His master said nothing. He was standing motionless in the center of the cabin, waiting—waiting for he knew not what.
Then it came.
A preparatory sputter from the loudspeaker that spun Friday around. Hawk looked up, tensed. Again sounded the hard, sneering voice of Judd the Kite.
"We're ready now, Carse: there was a little delay. I'll give you, say, five seconds. Yes—one for each of the five men you did not kill. Shall I count them off? All right. You have till the fifth.
"One."
Friday's big eyes rolled nervously; he wiped a drop of sweat from his brow and cursed.
"Two."
e glanced at the Hawk, and tried himself to assume the unshakable steely calm of the great adventurer. But his fists would clench and unclench as he stared up at the visi-screen. No change! The brigand was running straight ahead as ever, apparently fleeing.