rnt-orange, and a couple of the brighter stars were winking into
visibility. Von Schlichten and the sergeant hurried a hundred yards
down the street between low, thick-walled office buildings to the
telecast station, next to the Administration Building.

A woman captain met him just inside the door of the big soundproofed
room.

"We have a wavelength open to Konkrook, general," she said. "In booth
three."

He nodded. "Thank you, captain.... We've all lost a true friend,
haven't we?"

Another girl, a tech-sergeant, was in the booth; on the screen was the
image of a third young woman, a lieutenant, at Konkrook station. The
sergeant rose and started to leave the booth.

"Stick around, sergeant," von Schlichten told her. "I'll want you to
take over when I'm through." He sat down in front of the combination
visiscreen and pickup. "Now, lieutenant, just what happened?" he
asked. "How did he die?"

"We think it was poison, general. General M'zangwe has ordered autopsy
and chemical analysis. If you can wait about ten minutes, he'll be
able to talk to you, himself."

"Call him. In the meantime, give me everything you know."

"Well, the governor decided to go to bed early; he was going hunting
in the morning. I suppose you know his usual routine?"

Von Schlichten nodded. Harrington would have taken a shower, put on
his dressing-gown, and then sat down at his desk, lighted his pipe,
poured a drink of Terran bourbon, and begun to write his diary.

"Well, at 2210, give or take a couple of minutes, the Kragan
guard-sergeant on that floor heard ten pistol-shots, as fast as they
could be fired semi-auto, in the governor's room. The door was locked,
but he shot it off with his own pistol and went in. He found Governor
Harrington on the floor, wearing only his gown, holding an empty
pistol. He was in convulsions, frothing at the mouth, in horrible
pain. Evidently he'd fired his pistol, which he kept on his desk, to
call help; all the bullets had gone into the ceiling. The sergeant
punched the emergency button, beside the bed, and reported, then tried
to help the governor, but it was too late. One of the medics got there
in five minutes, just as he was dying. He'd written his diary up to
noon of today, and broken off in the middle of a word. There was a
bottle and an overturned glass on his desk. The Constabulary got there
a few minutes later, and then Brigadier-General M'zangwe took charge.
A white rat, given fifteen drops f