"From whom? Andrusco?"
"Yes ... Your message reported from switchboard ... had orders ..."
"Is it true?" Tom said frantically. "About Antamunda? Is the story
true?"
The little man nodded. Then he lifted one hand feebly towards the desk.
"Gary," he said. "Tell Gary ..."
Tom looked in the direction of the gesture, and saw the back of a framed
photograph.
When he turned to the treasurer again, the thin lips had stopped moving.
He lowered the body to the floor and went to the desk. The photo was
that of a young man with stiff-bristled blond hair and a rugged smile.
The inscription read:
"_To Pop, with deep affection, Gary._"
Tom shook his head, wonderingly. Were these creatures so very different?
* * * * *
When Tom stepped out on Fifth-Madison some ten minutes later, it was
just in time to watch a police vehicle draw up to the entrance of 320.
Sensing danger, he stepped into the shade of the Tuscany Bar awning, and
watched the uniformed men pound their way down the marbled lobby floor
towards the elevators. He thought fast, and decided that the arrival of
the police was connected with the shooting in Wright's office.
The question was--who were they after?
He walked into the Tuscany, and headed for the bank of visiphone booths.
He dialed the police commissioner, but ducked out of the path of the
visiphone eye.