Part 10 (1/2)

Smith nodded, gravely preoccupied with coming events, and nerving himself to meet them.

He had no gun. Clinch's big automatic bulged under his armpit.

When the girl had ascended the creaking stairs and her door, above, closed, Clinch walked unsteadily to the door, opened it, fished out his pistol.

”Come on out,” he said without turning.

”Where?” enquired Smith.

Clinched turned, lifted his square head; and the deadly glare in his eyes left Smith silent.

”You comin'?”

”Sure,” said Smith quietly.

But Clinch gave him no chance to close in: it was death even to swerve.

Smith walked slowly out into the starlight, ahead of Clinch--slowly forward in the luminous darkness.

”Keep going,” came Clinch's quiet voice behind him. And, after they had entered the woods,--”Bear to the right.”

Smith knew now. The low woods were full of sink-holes. They were headed for the nearest one.

On the edge of the thing they halted. Smith turned and faced Clinch.

”What's the idea?” he asked without a quaver.

”Was you in Roosia?”

”Yes.”

”Was you an officer?”

”I was.”

”Then you're spyin'. You're a cop.”

”You're mistaken.”

”Ah, don't hand me none like that! You're a State Trooper or a Secret Service guy, or a plain, dirty cop. And I'm a-going to croak you.”

”I'm not in any service, now.”

”Wasn't you an army officer?”

”Yes. Can't an officer go wrong?”

”Soft stuff. Don't feed it to me. I told you too much anyway. I was babblin' drunk. I'm drunk now, but I got sense. D'you think I'll run chances of sittin' in State's Prison for the next ten years and leave Eve out here alone? No. I gotta shoot you, Smith. And I'm a-going to do it. G'wan and say what you want ... if you think there's some kind o'

G.o.d you can square before you croak.”