d--vanished.

"Damn!" he breathed, explosively. The strength of the signal told him
that he was within a mile or so of the hide-out--first-class
computation--but the red flash warned him to keep away. Kinnexa--_it had
better be Kinnexa!_--would come to him.

How? By air? Along the road? Through the woods on foot? He had no way of
knowing--talking, even on a tight beam, was out of the question. He made
his way to the highway and crouched behind a tree. Here she could come
at him by any route of the three. Again he waited, pressing infrequently
a stud of his sender.

A long, low-slung ground-car swung around the curve and Phryges'
binoculars were at his eyes. It was Kinnexa--or a duplicate. At the
thought he dropped his glasses and pulled his guns--blaster in right
hand, air-pistol in left. But no, that wouldn't do. She'd be suspicious,
too--she'd have to be--and that car probably mounted heavy stuff. If he
stepped out ready for business she'd fry him, and quick. Maybe not--she
might have protection--but he couldn't take the chance.

The car slowed; stopped. The girl got out, examined a front tire,
straightened up, and looked down the road, straight at Phryges' hiding
place. This time the binoculars brought her up to little more than arm's
length. Tall, blonde, beautifully built; the slightly crooked left
eyebrow. The thread-line of gold betraying a one-tooth bridge and the
tiny scar on her upper lip, for both of which he had been
responsible--she always did insist on playing cops-and-robbers with boys
older and bigger than herself--it _was_ Kinnexa! Not even Norheim's
science could imitate so perfectly every personalizing characteristic of
a girl he had known ever since she was knee-high to a duck!

The girl slid back into her seat and the heavy car began to move.
Open-handed, Phryges stepped out into its way. The car stopped.

"Turn around. Back up to me, hands behind you," she directed, crisply.

The man, although surprised, obeyed. Not until he felt a finger
exploring the short hair at the back of his neck did he realize what she
was seeking--the almost imperceptible scar marking the place where she
bit him when she was seven years old!

"Oh, Fry! It _is_ you! _Really_ you! Thank the gods! I've been ashamed
of that all my life, but now...."

He whirled and caught her as she slumped, but she did not quite faint.

"Quick! Get in ... drive on ... not too fast!" she cautioned, sharply,
as the tires began to scr