"We'd boost the ante some," said Pringle.
"It still is not for sale."
"That's your final word?" asked Case. "Your considered opinion?"
Sutton nodded.
Case sighed. "Then," he said, "I guess we've got to kill you."
He took a gun out of his pocket.
XXV
The psych-tracer ticked on, endlessly, running fast, then slow, skipping a beat now and then like the erratic time measurement of a clock with hiccoughs.
It was the only sound in the room and to Adams it seemed as if he were listening to the beating of a heart, the breathing of a man, the throb of blood along the jugular vein.
He grimaced at the pile of dossiers which a moment before he had swept from his desk onto the floor with an angry sweep of his hand. For there was nothing in them…absolutely nothing. Every one was perfect, every one checked. Birth certificates, scholastic records, recommendations, loyalty checks, psych examinations — all of them were as they should be. There was not a single flaw.