The knife in Herkimer's hand flashed in the sun and was suddenly a spinning wheel that tracked the running android. It caught him before he reached the wall and he went down into a heap of huddled clothing.
The knife, Sutton saw, was neatly buried in his neck.
XLVII
"Have you noticed, sir," said Herkimer, "how the little things, the inconsequential, trivial factors, come to play so big a part in any happening?"
He touched the huddled body with his foot.
"Perfect," he said. "Absolutely perfect. Except that before reporting to us he should have smeared some lacquer over his identification mark. Many androids do it, in an attempt to hide the mark, but it's seldom much of a success. After only a short time the mark shows through."
"But, lacquer?" asked Sutton.
"A little code we have," said Herkimer. "A very simple thing. It's the recognition sign for an agent reporting. A password, as it were. It takes a moment only. Some lacquer on your finger and a smear across your forehead."
"So simple a thing," said Eva, "that no one, absolutely no one, would ever notice it."
Sutton nodded. "One of Trevor's men," he said.