pounds—a little fatter than I am. He's blind, practically, in one eye. That's all I can tell you, because those are the only things he can't disguise."

The Kiddie seemed suddenly reluctant, but was persuaded by a gesture of Mac's—a gesture that cost him dear, as it turned out.

"Here," he said, to seal the bargain. "Here's an advance for you." Dexterously he flipped his knife from some recess of his shirt and presented it to the Kiddie.

Ecstacy was clearly shown by that Kiddie. His glow-glands fairly spat large orange sparks of joy. The tempered bronze—it was made of that metal only to avoid magnetic spotters—wasn't much good for cutting, but it certainly was a conductor of electricity.

"Well?" MacCauley said, growing impatient. He tapped the engrossed Kiddie and repeated the question. The asterite bobbed his head and pressed a stud on his pad. The writing vanished, and he was scribbling again.

"Hello there!" boomed a new voice from the doorway. "What's going on?"

MacCauley whirled. Kittrell was standing there, beaming broadly. "Hi," Mac said. "We were wondering—Hey! What the hell!"

Kittrell's eyes had narrowed and a snarl flashed out on his face. With the fastest draw MacCauley had ever seen, he snapped out his gun and blasted—

Not MacCauley. There was a stomach-squeezing hiss of sizzling flesh behind Mac. He spun again, to see the Kiddie, his shoulder and half his neck gone, slumped to the floor.

Mac knelt swiftly beside him. Dead as a Ganymedan Secessionist. "Now what the hell did you do that for?" Mac demanded. "I was on the trail of something hot." He stared at the pad and stylus that had dropped from the dead asterite's limp hand.

"I kni the man yu wan he is th." That was all it said.

"That's a big help," said MacCauley, confronting the other man, who was strangely tense. He thrust the tablet at him. "Now what do I do?"

Kittrell scanned it briefly, and relaxed a bit. "It looked bad to me," he explained. "There was that damned Kiddie with a knife in his hand. He had it up to throw at you—or me. Can't take chances."

Mac sighed, resigning himself to continued hard luck. "We all make mistakes, I guess," he said. Then, hardening: "But you've made your last boner on this case. From 

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