Manning stood poised before the captives, rocking back and forth on his heels.
"A nice bag for one evening," he told Russ.
Russ grinned and stoked up his pipe.
Manning turned to the gangster chief. "What do you think we ought to do with these fellows? We can't leave them in those force shells too long because they'll die for lack of air. And we can't let them loose because they might use their guns on us."
"Listen, Manning," Scorio rasped hoarsely, "just name your price to let us loose. We'll do anything you want."
Manning drew his mouth down. "I can't think of a thing. We just don't seem to have any use for you."
"Then what in hell," the gangster asked shakily, "are you going to do with us?"
"You know," said Manning, "I may be a bit old-fashioned along some lines. Maybe I am. I just don't like the idea of killing people for money. I don't like people stealing things other people have worked hard to get. I don't like thieves and murderers and thugs corrupting city governments, taking tribute on every man, woman and child in our big cities."
"But look here, Manning," pleaded Scorio, "we'd be good citizens if we just had a chance."
Manning's face hardened. "You sent these men here to kill us tonight, didn't you?"