"Yes; come to take you away." He spoke swiftly. "We have no time to waste, Joan. Is there any binding material in the room?"
"I—I believe there is. Dad always kept odds and ends in the store chest near the bookshelves."
"Go and get it then. We'll truss up his most Mercutian Magnificence—No you don't," Hilary said harshly; "keep your hands in front of you and don't move."
The Viceroy was stealthily reaching for the sun-tube dangling from his belt. He jerked his hand back, a cold sweat beading his forehead. Hilary's finger had compressed on the trigger; the slightest extra pressure meant flaming death.
"That's better," Hilary approved.
"You shall pay for this," howled the Mercutian, finding voice again. "You shall suffer a hundred deaths in one."
"Softly," Hilary grinned. "Just a little while ago you were very anxious to meet me. Now that I'm here you don't seem overmuch pleased." Joan was rummaging frantically in the open chest.
The Viceroy started, his unlidded pink eyes opened wider. But he was careful to keep his hands in plain view.
"You are the Earth dog who killed the Magnificents."
"I wouldn't call names," Hilary advised. "It might be unhealthy. But I am that very individual. And I trust"—he bowed mockingly-"to have more notches on my gun before I am through."