"The xanite is worthless—" She paused. "The asphalt mixed with it is pitchblende. It was a secret of my father's that the lost Swamp Mine holds enough radium to buy the Universe—to return Venus to her rightful place again."
She raised the pistol, took aim at his chest. Her hand was without a tremor.
"At the swamps," said Flip, "you said you'd never killed a man."
"I spoke truth. Now I am alone—I must."
Flip heard a splash. A veedle scurried across the woman's boots. She screamed. The mud-mouse streaked off into the mist. The woman's arms dropped to her sides. Her eyes were wide. For a fleeting second, the epitome of womankind was on her face. And the warmth of irrational helplessness. Then quickly it was gone, the mask returned. She jerked up her gun and fired. The shot went over Flip's head as he dived. His lunge knocked her down. He snatched the pistol from her hand, hurled it into the mist.
Pinning her arms to the ground, Flip sat upon her and laughed.
"You're a woman," he gritted, "you're a woman—afraid of a mouse!" She struggled violently to free herself. "You're a woman, forced into a deadly legend—a persecution complex. You're beautiful...."