afety just as a pencil-ray flicked to
follow him.

"Got him," said the dog in a satisfied tone. "That's one!"

He took his post by the doorframe again, the tip of his nose just
outside. There was a consultation out there in the hallway, at which
Buregarde called, "Make a wild rush for us!"

Miss Lewis said, "What are we going to do?"

"Fight it out," said Peter. "They can't win so long as we're alive now.
I've got my crew on its way in a dead run, and if we make enough noise,
some of His Excellency's Peacemakers will step in and demand their cut
of the finances." He grinned. "How much are you worth, Miss Lewis?"

She shuddered. "I don't know how much father would pay--"

"Hit 'em low, Peter!" came Buregarde's snarl.

Three of them came in a-slant, bounced shoulders against the opened
door, caught their bearings and hell was out for noon. Buregarde caught
the first with a slash at the throat; they went down in a mad whirl of
dog and thug, paws, tail, arms, legs and a spurt of blood. The second
flicked his pencil-ray at Peter, its capsule charge faded to a mere
sting before it cut into him. The third aimed a kick at the struggling
dog. Vanessa Lewis snatched a box from the bureau and hurled it at the
second. Peter thumbed his pencil-ray and winged the third man in the
biceps. Buregarde leaped for the second man's gun hand and closed on it
as the hurled box opened and scatter-shotted his face with bric-a-brac.
The man with the bloody throat flailed out and caught Peter by the
ankle. Peter stomped his face with his other heel. Miss Lewis picked up
the table lamp and with a single motion turned off the light and
finished felling the one with the ray-burned shoulder.

Buregarde dropped from the second man's wrist and crouched to spring.
The man cowered back, his good arm covering his throat and his other arm
hanging limp. He mouthed fright-noises in some tongue native to some
star a thousand light-years across the galaxy.

Coldly, Peter stepped forward and belted him in the plexus.

"Now," he said calmly, "we shall vacate the premises!"

They went side by side, facing slightly outward, Buregarde between them
and slightly ahead. "We're coming out!" called the dog. "Three
Barbarians from Terra!"

* * * * *

Down on the dark street, they met their mercenary again. He eyed them
sourly. "I see you were, in a sense, successful."

Peter Hawley faced the mercenary. "We were successful an