He had never seen this man before. The Autarch didn't look anything like the man Bartol had been doubling for. The Autarch was thin and old-looking. Hatred and fear blazed in his eyes.
"So you're Lavod Quom," Bartol said. "Alias the Autarchs of Apollyon, alias the Peace Commander."
"How did you know that name?" the man almost screamed, his voice was so shrill. "Where did you hear it?"
"We have our ways," Bartol said. "But never mind. I'm here to tell you that you are under arrest in the name of the Galactic League. The charges are planetary slavery and mass murder."
"But—but—how did you do it?" He lay there on the floor, still shivering.
"It took a lot of thinking," Bartol told him. "We've known what you've been doing for a long time now. You set up this little dictatorship so that you could play God with its people. We knew that the Commander was a remote control robot—operated by you. So were all the Autarchs who made public appearances.
"Then, every five years, you had the Benevolent Society of Assassins pick out someone to kill the Autarch. At the same time, you picked someone to double for the Autarch. Your twisted mind liked to watch two men fight to the death.
"It didn't matter which one won. If it was the phony Autarch, you simply put him under suspended animation for use five years later. If it was the assassin, he was immediately killed and an android was made up to duplicate him. Either way, you were safe."
"But you couldn't have known!" Lavod Quom said. "You couldn't have!"
"We did, though," Bartol said bluntly. "But we had to do it legally—we had to stop you according to your own laws. That is the Rule of the League.