I took the picture into the Chief's office and laid it on his desk, waited for him to look down at it and study it for an instant, and then to look back up to me. Which he did.
"So?" he said.
"Wanted, isn't he?"
He nodded. "But a lot of good that'll do. He's holed up somewhere back on Earth."
"No," I said. "He's right here. I just saw him."
"What?" He nearly leaped out of his chair.
"I didn't know who he was at first," I said. "It wasn't until I looked in the files—"
He cut me off. His hand darted into his desk drawer and pulled out an Authority Card. He shoved the card at me. He growled: "Kill or capture, I'm not especially fussy which. Just get him!"
I nodded and took the card. As I left the office, I was thinking of something which struck me as somewhat more than odd.
I had idly listened to a little half-breed Martian boy whistling part of the William Tell Overture, and it had led me to a wanted killer named Harry Smythe.