wrapping it."

"Yes, sir." The clerk seemed worried, too. He got the bottle and set
it on the counter. "That'll be two C, sir."

"I see you're wearing a Radical-Socialist button," the customer
commented. "Because you want to, or because Chet Pelton makes you?"

"Mr. Pelton never interferes with his employees' political
convictions," the clerk replied loyally.

Saying nothing, the customer took the bottle, swung it by the neck,
and smashed it over the clerk's head, knocking him senseless.

"That's all that rotgut's good for," the customer said, jumping over
the counter. "All right, boys; help yourselves!"

* * * * *

For a surprisingly long time, the riot was localized in China, where
it had begun. Using, alternately, three TV-pickups around the scene of
the disturbance, Prestonby watched its progress, and watched
successive details of store personnel, armed with clubs and a few
knives and sono pistols, hit the riot, shouting their battle cry, and
vanish. They were, of course, lambs of sacrifice, however unlamblike
their conduct. They were buying time, and they were drawing groups of
goons into the action in China and Glassware who might have been
making trouble elsewhere.

There was an outbreak on the sixth floor, in Liquor; Claire, touring
the store on the other TV-screen, spotted it and called his attention
to it. Back of the shattered glass partition, a mob of men were
snatching bottles from the shelves and tossing them out to the crowd.
One of the clerks, in his gray uniform jacket, was lying unconscious
outside. While Prestonby watched, another, and another, came flying
out the doorway. A fourth victim, in ordinary business clothes,
tattered and disheveled, came flying out after them, to land in a
heap, stunned for an instant, and then pick himself up. Prestonby
laughed heartily when he recognized Literate--undercover--First Class
Russell M. Latterman.

"I ought to have anticipated that," he said. "Any time there's a riot,
the liquor stores are the first things looted. The liquor stores, and
the--Claire! See what's going on in Sporting Goods!"

Sporting Goods, between Tools & Hardware and Toys, on the fifth floor,
was swamped. One of the clerks was lying on the floor in a puddle of
blood, past any help; none of the others were in sight. The gun racks
and pistol cases were being cleaned out systematically. This had been
organized in advance. There were four or five men work