the delegates were moving away, leaving a clear space around de grasse and burgess. cudyk heard some of them clattering down the stairs.

rack was leaning over the table, supporting himself with one hand, while the other rested at his waist. his attitude, together with his frozen expression, suggested that he was merely bending over to examine burgess' body. but in the next moment he turned slightly, lifted the hand that was pressed to his side, and looked at the dark stain that was spreading over his shirt.

de grasse stood up. cudyk went to burgess and knelt beside him. the man was conscious and moving feebly. "lie still," said cudyk. someone pushed his shoulder roughly, and he looked up to see de grasse transferring the revolver from his left hand to his right. the youngster's lips were compressed. "get out of the way," he said harshly.

"no," said rack. "leave him alone." he sat down carefully. after a moment de grasse went around the table and joined him.

cudyk lifted burgess' jacket carefully. there was not much bleeding, and he did not think the wound was dangerous. burgess said weakly, "did i kill him, laszlo?"

"no," said cudyk. "no one was killed."

burgess turned his head away.

there were footsteps on the stairs, and moskowitz came into the room, followed by lee far and two men with a stretcher. moskowitz glanced at burgess and at rack, then knelt beside burgess without a word. he pulled out the knife expertly, pressing a wad of bandage around the wound.

"i'll take that," said spider, bending over with his grey hand outstretched.

moskowitz dropped the knife on the floor and went on bandaging burgess. spider picked it up, glared at the doctor and went back around the table.

cudyk waited until moskowitz had finished with burgess and started probing for the bullet in rack's side. following the stretcher bearers down the stairs, he went out into the clear morning sunlight.