It was a better answer than words. Tight-lipped, Burke groped frantically for some new plan, some trick, some lingering straw of hope to cling to.
Theseus said, "Don't worry, outlander. You'll get your chance at the Minotaur."
He stalked forward as he spoke; poised a doubled fist close by Burke's jaw. "Just remember, though: while you're taking care of the monster, I'll be taking care of Ariadne!"
The poised fist lashed out. When Burke tried to jerk his head aside, Theseus' other hand came up in a casual, almost lazy arc and slapped it back into place.
Fist and jaw met. Burke's brain exploded inside his skull. The flickering lamp seemed to burst into a blaze of dazzling, kaleidoscopic stars.
Then, one by one, they faded. Blackness closed in....
CHAPTER III
The feeling, Burke decided, basically was one of frustration—a moiling, roiling, boiling tension that crept higher and higher as his own helplessness became the more apparent.
Well, what else could he expect, in a situation sprung from monomania's loins? From the beginning, everything about this business had had the spell of madness on it. Success, when the cards were down, had always been too much to hope for.