The screen blacked out. Reich ground his teeth and tasted blood. He turned, dashed out of the Rainbow House and located a vacant coin-Jumper. He dropped a half-credit into the lock, opened the door and lurched in. As he took off with a hissing roar, he clattered against a thirtieth story cornice and nearly capsized. He realized dazedly that he was in no condition to pilot a Jumper or set a booby-trap.

“Don’t try to think,” he thought. “Don’t try to plan. Leave it to your instincts. You’re a killer. A natural killer. Just wait and kill!”

Reich fought himself and the controls all the way to Hudson Ramp, and he fought the Jumper down through the crazy, shifting North River winds. The killer instinct prompted him to crash-land in Powell’s back garden. He didn’t know why. As he pounded the twisted cabin door open, a canned voice spoke: “Your attention, please. You are liable for any damage to this vehicle. Please leave your name and address. If we are forced to trace you, you will be liable for the costs. Thank you.”

“I’m going to be liable for a lot more damage,” Reich growled. “You’re welcome.”

He plunged under a heavy clump of forsythia and waited with the scrambler ready. Then he understood why he had crashed. The girl who answered Powell’s phone came out of the house and ran down through the garden toward the Jumper. Reich waited. No one else came from the house. The girl was alone. He surged up out of the brush and the girl spun around before she heard him. A peeper. He pulled the trigger to first notch. She stiffened and trembled… helpless.

At the moment when he was about to pull the trigger all the way back to the big D, instinct stopped him again. Suddenly, the booby-trap for Powell came to him. Kill the girl inside the house. Seed her body with Detonation Bulbs and leave that bait for Powell. Sweat broke out on the girl’s swarthy face. The muscles in her jaws twitched. Reich took her by the arm and led her up the garden to the house. She walked with the stiff-legged gait of a scarecrow.

Inside the house, Reich led the girl through the kitchen to the living room. He found a long, corded modern lounge and thrust the girl down on it. She was fighting him with everything short of her body. He grinned savagely, bent down and kissed her full on the mouth.

“My love to Powell,” he said, and stepped back, raising the scrambler. Then he lowered it.

Someone was watching him.

He turned, amost casually, and darted a quick look around the living room. There was no one. He turned back to the girl and asked: “Are you doing that with TP, peeper?” Then he raised the scrambler. Again he lowered it.

Someone was watching him.

This time, Reich prowled around the living room, searching behind chairs, inside closets. There was no one. He checked the kitchen and the bath. No one. He returned to the living room and Mary Noyes. Then thought of the upper floor. He went to the stairs, started to mount them, and then stopped in mid-stride as though he had been pole-axed.