He said in defiant triumph, "You think that
you'll win prestige and honor as a result of tracking the Movement down,
don't you, Mr. Woolford? Well, let me tell you, you won't! In six months
from now, Mr. Woolford, you'll be a laughingstock."

That did it.

Larry said, "You're under arrest. Turn around with your back to me."

The Professor snorted his contempt, turned his back and held up his hands,
obviously expecting to be searched.

In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford drew his gun and fired twice. The other
with no more than a grunt of surprise and pain, stumbled forward to his
knees and then to the floor, his arms and legs akimbo.

The door broke open and Steve Hackett, gun in hand, burst in.

"Woolford!" he barked. "What's up?"

Larry indicated the body on the floor. "There you are, Steve," he said.
"The head of the counterfeit ring. He was trying to escape. I had to shoot
him."

Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind him
half a dozen others of various departments.

The Boss came pushing his way through.

He glared down at the Professor's body, then up at Larry Woolford.

"Good work, Lawrence," he said. "How did you bring it off?"

Larry replaced the gun in his holster and shrugged modestly. "The Polk
girl gave me the final tip-off, sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a drink
and she talked. Evidently, she was a member of the Movement."

The Boss was nodding wisely. "I've had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious
weird. But we will have to suppress that Scop-Serum angle." He slapped his
favorite field man on the arm jovially. "Well, boy, this means promotion,
of course."

Larry grinned. "Thanks, sir. All in a day's work. I don't think we'll have
much trouble with the remnants of this Movement thing. The pitch is to
treat them as counterfeiters, not subversives. Try them for that. Their
silly explanations of what they were going to do with the money will never
be taken seriously." He looked down at the small corpse. "Particularly now
that their kingpin is gone."

A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men and prisoners washed into the room and
Steve Hackett and Larry were for a moment pushed back into a corner by
themselves.

Steve looked at him strangely and said, "There's one thing I'd like to
know: Did you really have to shoot him, Woolford?"

Larry brushed it off. "What's the difference? He was as weird as they
come, wasn't he?"

THE END

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTE