"You might have let me in on your secret," Zacynthus said with a noticeable trace of bitterness. "I came within a hair of locking Giordino up when he bounded into my headquarters, demanding that I, together with Colonel Zeno's men, follow him into the labyrinth."

Pitt studied him. The inspector's face was grim. "I considered it," Pitt said honestly. "But I figured the less everyone concerned knew, the less chance there was for Darius to get suspicious. I also purposely kept the girl in the dark because it was essential that her message, warning your headquarters of my plans to search for the cavern, reek with serious intentions when Darius intercepted it. My actions were devious, I admit, but my reasons were valid."

"To think that the Bureau's finest investigator was shown up by a rank amateur." Then Zacynthus grinned and there was a warm hint in the smile that removed the acid from his words. "But it was worth it, well worth it."

Pitt was greatly relieved. He didn't wish to make an enemy of Zacynthus. He turned and looked at von Till. The old German stared back at Pitt with a contempt in his eyes that went far beyond mere hate. The only feeling that suddenly welled within Pitt was one of disgust. He spoke quietly, but his cold voice carried to every inch of the cavern.

"You would have to die a hundred thousand deaths, and then some, to repay all the lives you stole, old man. Most men are born and go to the grave without killing anyone, but your list stretches endlessly from the helpless prisoners you condemned to the cold waters of the North Sea to the schoolgirls you sold into slavery in the scum-infested back alleys of Casablanca. How ironic that a man who caused so many other people to die in agony should die horribly also. My only regret is that I won't be there to see your neck stretched, Heibert; see your withered old body jerk and bounce when it hits the end of the rope. They say the shock forces the bladder and the bowels to move. That's a fitting end for you, old man. Thrown in an unmarked pauper's grave to rot through eternity in your own filth."

Muttering incoherent words, his face distorted in blind anger, and entirely oblivious to the surrounding guns of the gendarmerie, von Till hurled himself at Pitt. It was the mad gesture of a hysterical man. Giordino's forty-five clubbed him on the back of the neck before he took the second step. He fell awkwardly to the deck in a crumpled heap and lay as if dead. Giordino didn't even look down as he holstered the gun.

"You cracked him a bit hard," Zacynthus said reprovingly.

"Vermin don't die easily," Giordino replied impassively, "especially when they're as mean as that old bastard."