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simply a slide into unconsciousness then death. He had the single thought that the bulbous mask must contain an oxygen tank or his assail-ant would be falling, too. He must stay awake.
    Fight. Unconscious, he would be dragged to the opening and dispatched into the night like the other man.
    His eyes closed and he slid slowly down and sprawled, oblivious, on the deck.
    V. A PAID ASSASSIN
    “A fine sunny morning, sir, bit of cloud about but nothing to really speak of.”
    The steward flicked back the cur-tain so that a beam of molten sunlight struck into the cabin. With pro-fessional skill he pulled open the drawer on the night table and put the tray with the cup of tea upon it. At the same time he dropped the ship’s newspaper onto Washington’s chest so that he awoke and blinked his eyes open just as the door closed silently behind the man. He yawned as the paper drew his attention so that he glanced through the head-lines. HUNDREDS FEARED DEAD IN
    PERUVIAN EARTH-QUAKE. SHELLING REPORTED AGAIN ALONG
    THE RHINE.
    NEW YORK CITY WELCOMES CAESAR CHAVEZ. The paper was prepared at the line’s offices in New York, he knew that, then sent by ra-diocopy to the airship. The tea was strong and good and he had slept well. Yet there was a sensation of something amiss, a stiffness on the side of his face and he had just touched it and found a bandage there when the door was thrown open and a short, round man dressed in black and wearing a dog collar was projected through the doorway like a human cannonball, with Wing Commander Mason close behind him.
    “Oh my goodness, goodness gracious,” said the spherical man, clasping and unclasping his fingers, touching the heavy crucifix he wore about his neck, then tapping the stethoscope he wore over it as though unsure whether God or Aesculapius would be of most help. “Goodness! I meant to tell the stew-ard, dozed off, thousand pardons. Best you rest, sure of that, sleep the mender—for you not me, of course. May I?” Even as he spoke the last he touched Gus’s lower eyelid with a gentle finger and pulled it down, peering inside with no less concern and awe than he would have if the owner’s eternal soul had rested there.
    From confusion Gus’s thoughts skipped instantly to dismay, followed thereafter by a sensation of fear that sent his heart bounding and brought an instant beading of per-spiration to his brow. “Then it was no dream, no nightmare,” he breathed aloud. “It really hap-pened.”
    The ship’s commander closed the door behind him and, once secrecy was assured, he nodded gravely.
    “It did indeed, Captain Washing-ton. Though as to what happened we cannot be sure and it is my fondest wish that you enlighten me, if you can, as soon as possible. I can tell you only that the fire alarm sounded in the port engine room at 0011 hours Greenwich Mean Time. The first engineer, who was attending an engine in the starboard engine room at the time, responded instantly. He reports he found you alone and un-conscious on the deck, dressed as you are now, with lacerations on your face, lying directly below the fire alarm. Pieces of glass in your wounds indicate you set off the alarm with your head and this was necessitated by the fact that your an-kles and wrists were secured by handcuffs. An access door in the deck nearby was open. That is all we know. The engineer, who was wear-ing breathing equipment, gave you his oxygen and pulled you from the room. The Bishop of Botswana, this gentleman here, who is a physician, was called and he treated you. The manacles were cut from you and, un-der the bishop’s direction, you were permitted to sleep. That is all we know. I hope that you will be able to tell us more.”
    “I can,” Gus said, and his voice was hoarse. The two intent men then saw his calm, almost uncomprehend-ing expression change to one that ap-peared to be that of utter despair, so profound that the priestly physician sprang forward with a cry only to be restrained by the