From back of the barrier ran Bee. She crouched beside him, and her enveloping warmth lifted the evil spell from his mind. The loud confusion of the crowd burst upon him, he saw the referee's swiftly lowering bubble. He was in control of himself, thanks to Bee's interference, and could act on the knowledge so dangerously gained.
"The murderer!" Grant pulled Bee up with him. "We've got him!"
Opposite them, Slag still lay on the court.
"I don't see how he did it," Grant said bewilderedly.
"Not Slag—him!" She pointed out the small, running figure.
Teagle battered vainly at a gate. The still-active screen held him back, and the man's face was a despairing white grimace. Then Grant was upon him, and took him by the throat.
Woods paced the dressing room, still confused. "I begin to see," he said, "but what can I do with the two of them?"
"Stop worrying." Grant was curt. "You can do nothing. The law will take Teagle, and without him Slag is just another bum."
"He never knew," marveled Bee. "Slag never knew how he won."