he gets back,
for this!"

"He _was_ a green-seal thavrad," Verkan Vall corrected. "And he won't be
coming back."

"I hope you didn't have to deal summarily with him," Tortha Karf said.
"With his title, and social position, and his family's political
importance, that might make difficulties. Not that it wouldn't be all
right with me, of course, but we never seem to be able to make either
the Management or the public realize the extremities to which we are
forced, at times." He sighed. "We probably never shall."

Verkan Vall smiled faintly. "Oh, no, sir; nothing like that. He was
dead before I transposed to that time-line. He was killed when he
wrecked a self-propelled vehicle he was using. One of those Fourth
Level automobiles. I posed as a relative and tried to claim his body
for the burial-ceremony observed on that cultural level, but was told
that it had been completely destroyed by fire when the fuel tank of
this automobile burned. I was given certain of his effects which had
passed through the fire; I found his sigil concealed inside what
appeared to be a cigarette case." He took a green disk from the bag
and laid it on the desk. "There's no question; Gavran Sarn died in
the wreck of that automobile."

"And the nighthound?"

"It was in the car with him, but it escaped. You know how fast those
things are. I found that track"--he indicated one of the black
casts--"in some dried mud near the scene of the wreck. As you see,
the cast is slightly defective. The others were fresh this morning,
when I made them."

"And what have you done so far?"

"I rented an old farm near the scene of the wreck, and installed my
field-generator there. It runs through to the Hagraban Synthetics Works,
about a hundred miles east of Thalna-Jarvizar. I have my this-line
terminal in the girls' rest room at the durable plastics factory;
handled that on a local police-power writ. Since then, I've been hunting
for the nighthound. I think I can find it, but I'll need some special
equipment, and a hypno-mech indoctrination. That's why I came back."

"Has it been attracting any attention?" Tortha Karf asked anxiously.

"Killing cattle in the locality; causing considerable excitement.
Fortunately, it's a locality of forested mountains and valley farms,
rather than a built-up industrial district. Local police and wild-game
protection officers are concerned; all the farmers excited, and going
armed. The theory is that it's either a wildcat