snarled. "None of them. There's
something funny going on here."

The steward's face was drawn. Dizzying forces had assailed him, and he
had almost collapsed several times during the questioning. He tried to
gather his hazy thoughts. Too many kept coming too fast.

"Yes, Excellency," he agreed. "Maybe it _is_ witchcraft."

Bel Menstal's face darkened. "Nonsense," he growled, rising part way out
of his chair. "Witchcraft be damned! There's some explanation to this,
and I'm going to find out what it is."

"Yes, Excellency."

The Baron looked up, then stared contemptuously at his man.

"Yes, Excellency," he mimicked in a singsong voice. "Always 'Yes,
Excellency.' Haven't you an idea of your own?"

"Yes, Excellency, I----"

"Inept fool! There's an explanation to this, I tell you. And peasant
superstition has no part in it. You should have found it. But no! You
came, dragging a whole detachment of guards in for me to question. Me,
the Baron! I have to do all the work--all the thinking. I tell you, I
want men about me who can think and act."

He got out of his chair and circled the table, striding close to the
steward.

"I'll give you one more chance, Weron. Go out and find what happened to
that money. I don't care how you do it, and I'm not going to be bothered
with your petty details. But find out where that money has gone. Is that
simple enough for you to understand?"

"Yes, Excellency." Weron backed toward the door. "I'll----"

Reckless fury shook Florel. Suddenly, he felt an irresistible craving
for direct, violent action. He picked a dagger from his belt.

"You're not only a fool," he shouted, "but a spineless one, as well. I
think I'll have to get another steward. A good one." He raised the
dagger, then paused.

"Here, weakling. You'd like to use this, wouldn't you? But you lack the
will. That's why you're a mere lackey." Abruptly, he threw the weapon at
Weron.

"Try it, fool. Try it, and see how a real man protects himself."

He stalked toward the steward.

The man cringed away, then, pressed by his master, suddenly sobbed with
rage. He raised the dagger. Bel Menstal, protected by his body shield,
brushed the stroke aside.

"Ha!" He snatched the weapon. "You would try it?"

Weron threw his arms before him, trying to ward off the blows, then
slumped as the blade sank into his flesh.

Bel Menstal struck the sagging body a few more times with the dagger,
then threw the weapon on top of the inert