"You forget, Cartwright," said West. "You're going to kill me. You've got a gun pointed at me and you're all set to pull the trigger."
"Not necessarily," said Cartwright. "We might make a deal."
I've got him now, thought West. I know exactly where he is. I can't see him, but I know where he is. And the pay-off is in a minute. It'll be one of us or the other.
"You aren't much use to us," said Cartwright, "but we might need you later. You remember Langdon?"
"The one that got lost," said West.
Cartwright chuckled. "That's it, West. But he wasn't lost. We gave him away. You see there was a—a—well, something, that could use him for a pet and so we made it a present of Langdon."
He chuckled again. "Langdon didn't like the idea too well, but what were we to do?"
"Cartwright," West said, evenly, "I'm going for my gun."
"What's that—" said Cartwright, but the other words were blotted out by the hissing of his gun, firing even as he talked.
The beam hissed into the wall at the foot of the staircase, a spot that had been covered only a split second before by West's head.