"We lost the resources of four worlds by that little trick," Bill agreed. "The police found enough in the ashes to convince them it was the plans." He smiled to himself slightly, like someone who expected something but wasn't quite sure he could count on it. He was probably the only one in the universe who wondered if those ashes really were the plans. What if they still existed—what if Molly Borden hadn't been working alone after all—what if those plans for an apparatus that could heat a whole planet were in the wrong hands—? Well, it would be a great telenews story at least, worth following this woman all the way from Earth on a hunch....
The Martian began coughing again and Ricker watched him get up, very tall, thin, emaciated. He was typically Martian with his dusty brown face, beaked nose and heavy handsomeness. He walked slowly down the aisle toward the water fountain.
"Funny how Adison's daughter swore she'd seen Senator Trexel leaving her pa's laboratory," continued the sourdough.
"Trexel proved he was somewhere else at the time," said Ricker. "He's got a bad reputation but it's graft—not murder. Dorothy Adison's just a dizzy debutante. She left for a hunting trip immediately after the inquest, couldn't be located for the trial. But with Molly Borden's confession there wasn't—"
It was a sound like a handclap. Ricker glanced up, then stiffened erect.
The Martian stood in the aisle beside the detective and the woman. He stared calmly over his shoulder at Ricker and the sourdough and in his right hand was a pistol leveled generally at them both.
"Please be very quiet," his lips moved in soft, even tones. Then without taking his snaky eyes from them, he spoke to the woman. "The key is in his left vest pocket," he said. "We'll take a small boat and drop out of this before the pilots can be warned."
Ricker stared like he was watching a tele-movie. Molly Borden's face was expressionless as a doll as she fumbled at the detective. Ricker heard a click and the fat man toppled out of his seat into the aisle. His limp body settled awkwardly on the floor, legs under the seat, and from the back of his head welled a dark stain that seeped into the carpet.
"He slugged 'im," breathed the sourdough.