“All of us fall,” Church said. “All of us.”

“I expect so, Jerry. I haven’t yet. I’ve been lucky.”

“I wasn’t lucky,” the peeper leered. “I met you.”

“Jerry,” Reich said patiently. “I’ve never been your bad luck. It was your own luck that ruined you. Not—”

“You God damned bastard,” Church said in a horribly soft voice. “You God damned eater of slok. May you rot before you die. Get out of here. I want nothing to do with you. Nothing! Understand?”

“Not even my money?” Reich withdrew ten gleaming sovereigns from his pocket and placed them on the counter. It was a subtle touch. Unlike the credit, the sovereign was the coin of the underworld. Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun…

“Least of all your money. I want your heart cut open. I want your blood spilling on the ground. I want the maggots eating the eyes out of your living head… But I don’t want your money.”

“Then what do you want, Jerry?”

“I told you!” the peeper screamed. “I told you! You God damned lousy—”

“What do you want, Jerry?” Reich repeated coldly, keeping his eyes on the wizened man. Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun. He could still control Church. It didn’t matter that Church had been a 2^nd. Control wasn’t a question of peeping. It was a question of personality. Eight, sir; seven, sir; six, sir; five, sir… He always had… He always would control Church.

“What do you want?” Church asked sullenly.

Reich snorted. “You’re the peeper. You tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Church muttered after a pause. “I can’t read it. There’s crazy music mixing everything up…”

“Then I’ll have to tell you. I want a gun.”

“A what?”

“G-U-N. Gun. Ancient weapon. It propels projectiles by explosion.”

“I haven’t anything like that.”

“Yes, you do, Jerry. Keno Quizzard mentioned it to me some time ago. He saw it. Steel and collapsible. Very interesting.”

“What do you want it for?”

“Read me, Jerry, and find out. I haven’t anything to hide. It’s all quite innocent.”

Church screwed up his face, then quit in disgust.

“Isn’t worth the trouble,” he mumbled and shuffled off into the shadows. There was a distant slamming of metal drawers. Church returned with a compact nodule of tarnished steel and placed it on the counter alongside the money. He pressed a stud and the lump of metal sprang open into steel knuckle-rings, revolver and stiletto. It was a XX^th Century knife-pistol… the quintessence of murder.

“What do you want it for?” Church asked again.

“You’re hoping it’s something that can lead to black-mail, eh?” Reich smiled. “Sorry. It’s a gift.”

“A dangerous gift.” The ostracized peeper gave him that sidelong glance of snarl and laugh. “Ruination for someone else, eh?”

“Not at all, Jerry. It’s a gift for a friend of mine. Dr. Augustus Tate.”

“Tate!” Church stared at him.

“Do you know him? He collects old things.”

“I know him. I know him.” Church began to chuckle asthmatically. “But I’m beginning to know him better. I’m beginning to feel sorry for him.” He stopped laughing and shot a penetrating glance at Reich. “Of course. This will make a lovely gift for Gus. A perfect gift for Gus. Because it’s loaded.”