The Martian pulled his own gun, Trexel struggled out of the hot clothing, dropped it to the floor and sat down heavily. Ricker stared as if he'd been struck with a mallet.
"Now," the fat man said, pouring a drink, "I'd like to clear up just one minor point before we dispense with you two. Did Ricker know who you were all the time, Miss Adison?"
The woman didn't answer, looked at him like a caged animal. But to Ricker there flooded a sudden ray of hope. Trexel might still believe his stall about the President knowing his whereabouts. Did he still have an ace in the hole?
"Yes," he spoke for the woman, "Miss Adison and I have been working together for weeks. But that doesn't matter, Trexel. In a few moments your hide-out'll be swarming with Patrol ships. They know where I am and they'll be here any moment."
The fat man laughed. "Still trying to pull that stuff," he scoffed. "Well, it doesn't go over again. I contacted Washington and my agents tell me there's no truth whatsoever in your story. No one knows where you are. You were both working entirely on your own." He raised his pistol. "But enough of this!"
"Wait," said Vanger. He coughed behind his hand. "Why shoot the woman? Give her to me and she'll never speak a word of what she's seen if I have to cut her tongue out."
Trexel smiled. "So you, too, have been attracted by Miss Borden's beauty. But perhaps you won't like her, so well as Dorothy Adison, Vanger. Have you thought how she would look without that yellow dye on her skin, without that makeup on her eyes and with Dorothy Adison's blonde hair?"
"I like blondes," said Vanger. "And if I remember rightly, Dorothy Adison was a beauty in her own right."
"Well," said Trexel. "A dead woman's little use to anyone. If you'll remember about that tongue-cutting—"
Vanger laughed till he began coughing.