Wales could imagine that. He knew Lee Kendrick, and he knew that even a breath of suspicion of a plan so ruthless and terrible would have had a shattering effect on him.
"So," Pudgy finished, "before Kendrick could get too suspicious and start talking, we went to Castletown and grabbed him, and took him to New York. And his disappearance was nearly as good as his statement would have been—the boobs all figured Kendrick hadn't left Earth, so they would not."
"But he's alive?" Martha cried. "They haven't killed him."
Pudgy shrugged. "Not so far. Fairlie still wants him to make that statement, so all the scum will feel sure it's safe and will stay on Earth till too late."
Wales suddenly felt a revulsion from all that he had heard, from the shocking nightmare quality of it.
"It's not true, it can't be true!" he exclaimed. "Martha, this man had to tell some story to save his skin, and that's all he's done!"
Her face was white in the distant firelight. "Jay, people have done things like that, terrible as it is. They have killed millions, in the past, for just such reasons."
He knew that, too, and it was a knowledge he fought against—struggling against a cold conviction that he could not quite down.
"If Lee is still alive, Lee could tell us!" she was saying. "If we could reach him, rescue him—"
Wales turned back to the sullen-faced Pudgy. "You said that Fairlie and the others were holding Kendrick near New York. Just where?"