He got away," the tough-looking noncom said grimly. "Took the courier
boat and scooted away from here."

"Why did he set the timer on the drive, then? What was the purpose of
that fifty-gee blast?"

"To distract us, I'd say, sir. While we were chasing this thing, he
hightailed it out."

"He might have, at that," the major said musingly. "A one-man courier
_could_ have gotten away. Our new detection equipment isn't perfect
yet. But----"

At that moment, one of the troopers pushed himself down the corridor
toward them. "Look, sir! I found this in the pocket of the Carrot-skin
who was taped up in there!" He was holding a piece of paper.

The major took it, read it, then read it aloud. "Greetings, fellow
Earthmen: When you read this, I will be safe from any power you may
think you have to arrest or punish me. But don't think _you_ are safe
from _me_. There are other intelligent races in the galaxy, and I'll be
around for a long time to come. You haven't heard the last of me. With
love--Sebastian MacMaine."

The silence that followed was almost deadly.

"He _did_ get away!" snarled the sergeant at last.

"Maybe," said the major. "But it doesn't make sense." He sounded
agitated. "Look. In the first place, how do we know the courier boat
was even aboard? They've been trying frantically to get word back to
Keroth; does it make sense that they'd save this boat? And why all the
fanfare? Suppose he did have a boat? Why would he attract our attention
with that fifty-gee flare? Just so he could leave us a note?"

"What do you think happened, sir?" the sergeant asked.

"I don't think he had a boat. If he did, he'd want us to think he was
dead, not the other way around. I think he set the drive timer on this
ship, went outside with his supplies, crawled up a drive tube and
waited until that atomic rocket blast blew him into plasma. He was
probably badly wounded and didn't want us to know that we'd won. That
way, we'd never find him."

There was no belief on the faces of the men around him.

"Why'd he want to do that, sir?" asked the sergeant.

"Because as long as we don't _know_, he'll haunt us. He'll be like
Hitler or Jack the Ripper. He'll be an immortal menace instead of a
dead villain who could be forgotten."

"Maybe so, sir," said the sergeant, but there was an utter lack of
conviction in his voice. "But we'd still better comb this area and keep
our detectors hot. We'll know what he was up to when we catch him."