On the floor was a slightly yellowed spot where the impressor had flared and vanished. Lansberg was unconscious with a copiously bleeding right shoulder. Two other men were rapidly being brought around by the police. Three of the League agents were still out; nobody tried to wake them up, they were being handcuffed.
One of the women was crying and cursing the "damned filthy Nations police" over one of the bodies, and the other woman was sitting stonily, staring at her handcuffs with a faint sneer.
"Where's Brittain?" roared Karnes. The man was nowhere in the room.
"Gone," said one of the cops. "Evidently he skipped out while the rest of us were unconscious. He was the guy who threw the bomb."
Karnes glanced at his watch. One sixteen in the morning. They had been out about twelve or thirteen minutes.
"Where the devil did he go? How in—"
Lieutenant Carnotti came up to him, a look of self-disgust on his face. "I know how he got away, Mr. Karnes; I just talked to the boys on the roof. He grabbed a uniform coat and cap off Sergeant Joseph while he was out and commandeered a 'copter on the roof."
Karnes didn't wait for further information. He ran out into the hall and into the open elevator. Within less than a minute, he was on the roof.
One cop was speaking rapidly into a transmitter.