"We've had that helmet planted in your palace for two years, waiting for this moment. The Autarch android was studied carefully, and the agent who looked most like him—myself—was sent here. Your records were tampered with so that it would look as though I had always been a citizen of Apollyon. I was put under deep hypnosis, and false memories were implanted. It had to be deep so that your own hypnosis wouldn't dig anything up. But my compulsion vanished as soon as the assassin entered the Palace.
"It was all perfectly legal, you see. One human assassin is allowed. That was me. It's perfectly legal to use trickery. The other assassin which is causing so much trouble upstairs is an android—a special job, like your Peace Commissioner. It's controlled by a League man. But that android hasn't killed anyone but androids, anymore than I have."
Quom sat up. He giggled foolishly. "You mean I set it up? I brought you here? I picked you out? Why, that's wonderful! Nobody but me could defeat me—and I did it! That was quite a performance, young man; quite a performance. I'll see that you're properly rewarded. I'll make you Autarch! Yes! And give you a medal, too! I have lots of pretty medals! And I'll make you another uniform—with more gold on it!" Then he looked up, almost wistfully. "And this time, can I wear a pretty uniform, too?"
As he had been babbling, Bartol leaned over and gently grasped both his hands.
"Sure you can have a uniform."
"With gold on it?"
"With diamonds," said Bartol. And then the special energy flowed through his hands from the helmet, and the old man collapsed into painless unconsciousness.
Bartol released him and said softly, "Only I don't think you'll want anything that gaudy when the League psychiatrists finish with you."