Again, the heavy foot crashed toward the rear. This time, the temptation was too great. Deftly, Stan swung his toe through a small arc, sweeping Vernay's ankle aside and putting the man off balance.
He moved quickly away, further trapping the ankle and getting clear of the flailing arms.
For a breathless instant, Vernay tried to hop on one foot, his arms windmilling as he fought to regain his balance. Then he crashed to the floor, his head banging violently against the stones.
Stan looked at the body in consternation. He had merely intended to make the fellow look a little silly.
"Hope he's got a hard head," he told himself.
The workroom guard came up warily.
"What's all this?"
"I don't know, sir." Stan managed a vaguely puzzled look. "First thing I knew, he was swinging his arms all over the place. Then he went down. Maybe he had a fit, huh?"
"Yeah." The guard was sardonic. "Yeah, maybe he had a fit. Well, no more trouble out of him for a while." He raised his voice.
"Hey, you over by the first-aid kit. Grab that stretcher."