up both hands to wrench her away. As if in supplication, Ada Quonsett eased her grasp and seized his hands.
At the same instant, Gwen Meighen leaned forward toward the inside seat. She reached out and in a single even movement---almost without haste---she grasped the attache case firmly and removed it from Guerrero's knees. A moment later the case was free and in the aisle. Between Guerrero and the case, Gwen and Ada Quonsett were a solid barrier.
The curtain across the doorway from the first class cabin swept open. Vernon Demerest, tall and impressive in uniform, hurried through.
His face showing relief, he held out his hand for the attache case. "Nice going, Gwen. Let me have it."
With ordinary luck the incident---except for dealing with Guerrero later---would have ended there. That it did not was solely due to Marcus Rathbone.
Rathbone, until that moment, was an unknown, unconsidered passenger, occupying seat fourteen-D across the aisle. Although others were unaware of him, he was a self-important, pompous man, constantly aware of himself.
In the small Iowa town where he lived he was a minor merchant, known to his neighbors as a "knocker." Whatever others in his community did or proposed, Marcus Rathbone objected to. His objections, small and large, were legendary. They included the choice of books in the local library, a plan for a community antennae system, the needed disciplining of his son at school, and the color of paint for a civic building. Shortly before departing on his present trip he had organized the defeat of a proposed sign ordinance which would have beautified his town's main street. Despite his habitual "knocking," he had never been known to propose a constructive idea.
Another peculiarity was that Marcus Rathbone despised women, including his own wife. None of his objections had ever been on their behalf. Consequently, the humiliation of Mrs. Ouonsett a moment earlier had not disturbed him, but Gwen Meighen's seizure of D. O. Guerrero's attache case did.
To Marcus Rathbone this was officialdom in uniform---and a woman at that!---impinging on the rights of an ordinary traveler like himself. Indignantly, Rathbone rose from his seat, interposing himself between Gwen and Vernon Demerest.
At the same instant, D. O. Guerrero, flushed and mouthing incoherent words, scrambled free from his seat and the grasp of Ada Quonsett. As he reached the aisle, Marcus Rathbone seized the case from Gwen and---with a polite bow---held it out. Like a wild animal, with madness in his eyes, Guerrero grabbed it.
Vernon Demerest flung himself forward, but too late. He tried to reach Guerrero, but the narrowness of the aisle and the intervening figures---Gwen, Rathbone, the oboe player---defeated him. D. O. Guerrero had ducked around the others and was heading for the aircraft's rear. Other passengers, in seats, were scrambling to their feet. Demerest shouted desperately, "Stop that man! He has a bomb!"
The shout produced screams, and an exodus from seats which had the effect of blocking the aisle still further. Only Gwen Meighen, scrambling, pushing, clawing her way aft, managed to stay close to Guerrero.
At the end of the cabin---like an animal still, but this time cornered---Guerrero turned. All that remained between him and the aircraft's tail were three rear toilets; light indicators showed that two were empty, one was occupied. His back to the toilets, Guerrero held the attache case forward in front of him, one hand on its carrying handle, the other on a loop of string now visible beneath the handle. In a strained voice, somewhere between a whisper and a snarl, he warned, "Stay where you are! Don't come closer!"
Above the heads of the others, Vernon Demerest shouted again. "Guerrero, listen to me! Do you hear me? Listen!"
There was a second's silence in which no one moved, the only sound the steady background whine of the plane's jet engines. Guerrero blinked, continuing to face the others, his eyes roving and suspicious.
"We know who you are," Demerest called out, "and we know what you intended. We know about the insurance and the bomb, and they know on the ground, too, so it means your insurance is no good. Do you understand?---your insurance is invalid, canceled, worthless. If you let off that bomb you'll kill yourself for nothing. No one---least of all your family---will gain. In fact, your family will lose because they'll be blamed and hounded. Listen to me! Think."
A woman screamed. Still Guerrero hesitated.
Vernon Demerest urged, "Guerrero, let these people sit down. Then, if you like, we'll talk. You can ask me questions. I promise that until you're