"None of you have studied our traditions, our customs. But
now, perhaps, you will understand the added effect of my taking charge.
It will be a more ... profitable manner of using the downfall of this
... this power mad murderer."

Chessman said desperately, "Look, Barry, Natt, if you have to, shoot me.
At least give me a man's death. Remember those human sacrifices the
Tulans had when we first arrived? Can you imagine what went on in those
temples? Barry, Dick--for old time's sake, boys ..."

Barry Watson said to Taller, "He's yours. If this doesn't take the
pressure off us, nothing will."

X.

At the end of the third decade, the Texcocan delegation was already
seated in the _Pedagogue's_ lounge when Jerome Kennedy, Martin Gunther,
Peter MacDonald, Fredric Buchwald and three Genoese, Baron Leonar and
the Honorables Russ and Modrin appeared.

The Texcocan group consisted of Barry Watson, Dick Hawkins and Natt
Roberts to one side of him, Generalissimo Taller and six highly
bemedaled Texcocans on the other.

Before taking a seat Barry Watson barked, "Where's Amschel Mayer? I've
got some important points to cover with him."

"Take it easy," Kennedy slurred. "For that matter, where's Joe
Chessman?"

Watson glared at the other. "You know where he is."

"That I do," Kennedy said. "He's purged, to use a term of yesteryear. At
the rate you laddy-bucks are going, there won't be anything left of you
by the time our half century is up." He snapped his fingers and a
Genoese servant who'd been inconspicuously in the background, hurried to
his side. "Let's have some refreshments here. What'll everybody have?"

"You act as though you've had enough already," Watson bit out.

Kennedy ignored him, insisted on everyone being served before he allowed
the conversation to turn serious. Then he said, slyly, "I see we've been
successful in apprehending all of your agents, or you'd know more of our
affairs."

"Not all our agents," Watson barked. "Only those on your southern
continent. What happened to Amschel Mayer?"

Peter MacDonald, who, with Buchwald, was for the first time attending
one of the decade-end conferences, had been hardly recognized in his new
girth by the Texcocan team. But his added weight had evidently done
nothing to his keenness of mind. He said smoothly, "Our good Amschel is
under arrest. Imprisoned, in fact." He shook his head, his double chin
wobbling. "A tragedy."

"Imprisoned! By whom?" Taller