"That's my final word."
"But, Val—?"
"Get out, and leave me alone! Come back when everything is settled, and we'll talk business. Until then, don't bother me."
"You dirty, slimy little rat!" Colonel Barber slapped Val Kenton squarely across the mouth. "I thought maybe Elise was right, and that you had just gone crooked for a moment; but now I can see just what kind of a man you really are." He spat directly into the seated man's face. "I'll go myself, before I get on my knees to you!"
Val Kenton came lithely to his feet, and his driving fist rocked the old patrolman hard against the wall. He followed his advantage, smashing with both hands, his eyes sullen and hate-filling. He laughed aloud as blood spurted from Barber's face.
And then the patrolman rallied, striking back with the power and precision that came from forty years of Patrol work. His right hand slashed out, drove the lighter man aside, his left darting in for a neck blow that partially paralyzed Kenton's left arm.
They stood and slugged for seconds, their breathing harsh and strained, their hands like brutal bludgeons smashing—smashing—smashing.
And Colonel Barber's physical condition gave him the edge. He took the offensive, driving Val Kenton before him, releasing his grief and terror in a wild flurry of blows that stretched the other on the cement flooring.
Val Kenton went down, tried to force his arms to lift him again. There was a dull respect in his mind for the other man, but it vanished almost instantly as agony from the patrolman's blows flooded his body. He shoved again with both hands on the floor, then crumpled into a fold of blackness that closed instantly over everything.
Colonel Barber leaned gaspingly against the wall, his eyes calmly speculative as he watched the feeble twitching of the unconscious Kenton. After a bit, he moved to the cell door, pounded for attention, gave quick orders when the guard arrived. Moments later, four guards carried Val Kenton's slack body out of the cell and up the ramp that led to the outside.