through the mob and found the man who had struck him the first time. He seized him by the collar and drove him to the floor, just as someone yelled, "Watch that table!"

He turned—not nearly in time. The flying table caught the back of his head with a sickening thunk, and he dropped unconscious to the floor.

A cold rag splashed wetly on his face, and a heavy voice said: "Bring him out of it. He's not badly hurt."

Elliot opened his eyes slowly. He was no longer in the Vestend, but in a large, well-decorated office. Behind a gleaming-surfaced desk sat a short, fat man with jowls that jiggled as he spoke, and standing to his left was a brawny, not-too-intelligent-looking man with a heavy spacetan.

"How do you feel, Mr. Elliot?" the fat man asked.

"All right, I guess." He rubbed the back of his head. "What happened?"

"You got in a fight. Fortunately Sam, here, got you out."

Elliot looked at his benefactor. "Thanks, pal."

Sam shrugged morosely.

The fat man steepled his fingers and leaned forward solicitously. "Tell me—aren't you the Daniel Elliot who cracked up a spaceship in the jungles five years ago?"

"That's me," Elliot said.

The fat man nodded. "Mr. Elliot, I understand that you were near the Venusian Temple of Light—that you actually saw the Dragonbird with your own eyes. Can you tell me if the thing is a robot or is it actually alive?"

Elliot grinned. He had seen the fabulous bird from the jungle, hidden from the Venusian priests who worshipped it, but even at a distance he could tell the thing was alive. No robot could have moved with such sinuous grace. "It's real," he said.

The fat man smiled unpleasantly. "I had hoped so, Mr. Elliot. I want that bird. You're the only one who can lead me to it."

Elliot rose to his feet and glared at the fat man. "Not me, mister. I don't like the jungle—and I don't like the idea of taking the Venusian's pet god, either."

The fat man's eyes grew hard. "Do you know who I am?"

 Prev. P 2/11 next