“Quizzard!” he shouted again. “Keno Quizzard!”

There was a muffled reply. Reich spun on his heels, ran to a door and pulled it open. A woman with eyes dyed red by plastic surgery was standing just inside and Reich blundered against her. She burst into unaccountable laughter, raised both fists and beat his face. Blinded and bewildered, Reich backed away from the powerful red-eyed woman, reached for the door, apparently missed it and seized the knob of another, for when he backed out of the room it was not into the circular foyer. His heels caught in three inches of plastic quilting. He tumbled over backwards, slamming the door as he fell, and struck his head a stunning blow against the edge of a porcelain stove.

When his vision cleared he found himself staring up into the angry face of Chooka Frood.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” Chooka screamed.

Reich shot to his feet. “Where is she?” he said.

“You get to hell out of here, Ben Reich.”

“I asked you where is she? Barbara D’Courtney. Where is she?”

Chooka turned her head and yelled: “Magda!”

The red-eyed woman came into the room. She held a neuron scrambler in her hand and she was still laughing; but the gun was trained on his skull and never wavered.

“Get out of here,” Chooka repeated.

“I want the girl, Chooka. I want her before Powell gets her. Where is she?”

“Get him out of here, Magda!” Chooka screamed.

Reich clubbed the woman across the eyes with the back of his hand. She fell backward, dropping the gun, and twitched in a corner, still laughing. Reich ignored her. He picked up the scrambler and rammed it against Chooka’s temple.

“Where’s the girl?”

“You go to hell, you—”

Reich pulled the trigger back into first notch. The radiation charged Chooka’s nervous system with a low induction current. She stiffened and began to tremble. Her skin glistened with sudden sweat, but she still shook her head. Reich yanked the trigger back to second notch. Chooka’s body was thrown into a break-bone ague. Her eyes stared. Her throat emitted the brute groans of a tortured animal. Reich held her in it for five seconds, then cut the gun.

“Third notch is death notch,” he growled. “The Big D. I don’t give a curse, Chooka. It’s Demolition for me one way or the other if I don’t get that girl. Where is she?”

Chooka was almost completely paralyzed. “Through… door,” she croaked. “Fourth room… Left… After turn.”

Reich dropped her. He ran across the bedroom, through the door, and came to a corkscrewed ramp. He mounted it, took a sharp turn, counted doors and stopped before the fourth on the left. He listened for an instant. No sound. He thrust open the door and entered. There was an empty bed, a single dresser, an empty closet, a single chair.

“Gulled, by God!” he cried. He stepped to the bed. It showed no sign of use. Neither did the closet. As he turned to leave the room, he yanked at the middle dresser drawer and tore it open. It contained a frost white silk gown and a stained steel object that looked like a malignant flower. It was the murder weapon; the knife-pistol.