"Girse," Doctor Satan's harsh, arrogant voice rasped out.
The monkey-like small man with the hairy face hopped forward.
"The plate," said Doctor Satan.
Girse brought him a thick iron plate, which Doctor Satan set upon the bench.
On the plate were two small, dark patches; discolorations obviously made by the heat of something being burned there. The two little discolorations were all that was left of two little dolls that had been molded in the image of Martial Varley, and the comedian, Croy.
Doctor Satan placed the two dolls on the plate that he had taken from the drawer: the likenesses of Beatrice Dale and Ascott Keane.
"Kessler went to Keane," Doctor Satan rasped, the red mask over his face stirring angrily. "We shall tend to Kessler—after he has paid tonight. We shall not wait that long to care for Keane and the girl."
Two wires trailed over the bench from a wall socket. His red-gloved fingers twisted the wires to terminals set into the iron plate. The plate began to heat up.
"Keane has proved himself an unexpectedly competent adversary," Satan's voice droned out, "with knowledge I thought no man on earth save myself possessed. We'll see if he can escape this fate—and avoid becoming, with his precious secretary, as Varley and Croy became."
Small waves of heat began to shimmer up from the iron plate. It stirred the garments clothing the two little dolls. Doctor Satan's glittering eyes burned down on the mannikins. Girse and the legless giant, Bostiff, watched as he did. . . .
Fifty-nine stories above the pseudo-developing shop, Keane smiled soberly at Beatrice Dale.
"I ought to fire you," he said.
"Why on earth" she gasped.
"Because you're such a valuable right-hand man, and because you're such a fine person."
"Oh," Beatrice murmured. "I see. More fears for my safety?"
"More fears for your safety," nodded Keane. "Doctor Satan is out for your life as well as mine, my dear. And"
"We've had this out many times before," Beatrice interrupted. "And the answer is still: No. I refuse to be fired, Ascott. Sorry."
There was a glint in Keane's steel-gray eyes that had nothing to do with business. But he didn't express his emotions. Beatrice watched his lips part with a breathless stirring in her heart. She had been waiting for some such expression for a long time.
But Keane only said: "So be it. You're a brave person. I oughtn't to allow you to risk your life in this private, deadly war that no one knows about but us. But I can't seem to make you desert, so"
"So that's that," said Beatrice crisply. "Have you decided how you'll move against Doctor Satan tonight?"
Keane nodded. "I made my plans when I first located him."
"You know where he is?" said Beatrice in amazement.
"I do."
"How did you find it out?"
"I didn't. I thought it out. Doctor Satan seems to have ways of knowing where I am. He must know I've located here in the National State Building. The obvious thing for him to do would be to conceal himself on the other side of town. So, that being the expected thing, what would a person as clever as he is, do?"
Beatrice nodded. "I see. Of course! He'd be"
"Right here in this building."
