"

Shearing was now almost level with Hyrst, suspended over that open pit,
looking down, a long way.

"You'll have to be quick, Hyrst. Please. Please get him out of there
before we have to kill him."

The current in the magnet was cut and Shearing fell, with a long
neighing scream.

* * * * *

Hyrst looked down. The repelling force of the lower magnet cushioned the
fall, and the upper magnet took hold, hard. Shearing stopped about three
feet above the stage floor and started slowly to rise again. He seemed
to be crying. Hyrst turned and ran back to the top of the aisle. Halfway
around the circle he found steps and went tearing down them. On the next
level--there were three--he saw two men leaning over the broad rail,
watching Shearing.

"Yes, there they are. You must find a weapon--"

Hyrst looked around, blinking like a mole in the dark. Seats, nothing
but seats. Ornamentation, but all solid. Small metal cylinder, set in a
wall niche. Chemical extinguisher. Yes. Compact and heavy. He took it.

"Hurry. He's almost through--"

The two men were tense and hungry, eager as wolves. One was the
Lazarite, a grey man, old and seamed with living and none of it good.
The other was Bellaver, and he was young. He was tall and fresh-faced,
impeccably shaven, impeccably dressed, the keen, clean, public-spirited
executive.

"I can give you more if you want it, Shearing," Bellaver said, his
fingers ready on a control-plate set into the broad rail. "How about
it?"

"Shut up, Bellaver," whispered the Lazarite aloud. "I've almost got it.
Almost--" His face was agonized with concentration.

"_Now!_"

The woman's voiceless cry in his mind sent Hyrst forward. His hand swung
up and then down in a crashing arc, elongated by the heavy cylinder. The
Lazarite fell without a sound. He fell across Bellaver, pushing him back
from the control-plate, and lay over his feet, bleeding gently into the
thick pile of the carpet. Bellaver's mouth and eyes opened wide. He
looked at the Lazarite and then at Hyrst. He leaped backward, away from
the encumbrance at his ankles, making the first hoarse effort at a shout
for help. Hyrst did not give him time to finish it. The first row of
seats caught Bellaver and threw him, and Hyrst swung the cylinder again.
Bellaver collapsed.

"Was I in time?" Hyrst asked of the woman, in his mind. He thought she
was crying when she answered, "Yes." He smiled. He stepped over the