m the elevator when the men struck. One stood
on either side of the door in the shadow. The boy screamed and reeled
from the blow across the neck. Suddenly Roger heard the sharp pistol
reports. David dropped with a groan, and Roger staggered against the
wall from a powerful blow in the face. He shook his head groggily,
catching a glimpse of the two men running through the door into the
street below, as three or four people ran into the lobby, flushed out
by the shots.

* * * * *

Roger shouted, pointing to the door, but the people were looking at
the boy. Roger sank down beside his son, deft fingers loosening the
blouse. The boy's small face was deathly white, fearful sobs choking
his breath as he closed his eyes and shivered. Roger searched under
his blouse, trying to find the bullet holes--and found to his chagrin
that there weren't any bullet holes.

"Where did you feel the gun?"

David pointed vaguely at his lower ribs. "Right there," he said. "It
hurt when they shoved the gun at me."

"But they couldn't have pulled the trigger, if the gun was pointed
there--" He examined the unbroken skin on the boy's chest, fear
tearing through his mind.

A Security man was there suddenly, asking about the accident, taking
Roger's name, checking over the boy. Roger resented the tall man in
the gray uniform, felt his temper rise at the slightly sarcastic tone
of the questions. Finally the trooper stood up, shaking his head. "The
boy must have been mistaken," he said. "Kids always have wild stories
to tell. Whoever it was may have been after _somebody_, but they
weren't aiming for the boy."

Roger scowled. "This boy is no liar," he snapped. "I saw them shoot--"

The trooper shrugged. "Well, he isn't hurt. Why don't you go on home?"

Roger helped the boy up, angrily. "You're not going to do anything
about this?"

"What can I do? Nobody saw who the men were."

Roger grabbed the boy's hand, helped him to his feet, and turned
angrily to the door. In the failing light outside the improbability of
the attack struck through him strongly. He turned to the boy, his face
dark. "David," he said evenly, "you wouldn't be making up stories
about feeling that gun in your ribs, would you?"

David shook his head vigorously, eyes still wide with fear. "Honest,
dad. I told you the truth."

"But they _couldn't_ have shot you in the chest without breaking the
skin--" He glanced down at the boy's blouse and