bulged excessively, top-heavy, and the tanned faces of
the men turned an unpleasant gray.

Magically, uniforms appeared at every exit.

"Attention," a harsh voice rang out. "Please line up. There are
criminals among you and we can identify them."

* * * * *

Jadiver didn't listen to the rest. His eyes were on the uniformed men.
Mercifully, they carried tangle guns. That much he was thankful for.
Burlingame and his crew would be taken alive. They might not like what
would happen later, but at least they would live.

The tangle gun was the most effective and least lethal weapon ever
conceived. It would bring down a butterfly at two hundred yards and hold
it there, without crumpling a wing or disturbing the dustlike scales. It
would do the same with a Venusian saurian or a Martian windbeast, either
of which outbulked an elephant and outsavaged a tiger.

It didn't have to hit the target. With proximity fuses--and it was
usually furnished that way--it was sufficient for the bullet to pass
near. Jadiver drew a deep breath. No one was going to get killed because
of him. Nevertheless, his skin crawled.

He gazed down at the guests lining up. They, too, knew what tangle guns
were.

Suddenly a man darted out of line and headed toward one of the exits. He
collided with an officer and the policeman went down. A tangle gun
snapped. The running man fell headlong. Three more times the tangle gun
fired at the man writhing on the floor--at his hands, at his face, and
again at his legs.

[Illustration]

The tangle gun propelled a plastic bullet, and that plastic was a
paradox. It was the stickiest substance known and would adhere to a
sphere of polished platinum, tearing away the solid metal if it were
forcibly removed without first being neutralized. It also extruded
itself into fine, wire-like strands on a moving object. The more
anything moved, the tighter it wrapped around. The victim was better off
to relax. He couldn't escape; no one ever had.

Jadiver watched the man threshing on the floor. One shot would have been
enough. Someone on the Venicity force liked to see men squirm.

As nearly as Jadiver could determine, the man on the floor was not
Burlingame. The leader hadn't been taken, but he didn't have long to
enjoy his freedom. The theory he had about teamwork was tarnished now--a
feint here and a block there--and they were all headed into the arms of
the Venicity police. It couldn'