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.Or, rather, his multiplicity of prizes.There was Fay herself, the three houses, the money, the status …By the time Lorimer reached the apartment building where he lived he was almost drunk with happiness.He drove his skimmer up the ramp, grounded it with a flourish, and rode up to his apartment in the elevator tube.In the privacy of his own rooms, he stood for a moment savouring the sheer pleasure of being alive, then poured himself a tall drink.He was raising it to his lips when the door chimes sounded.Lorimer carried his drink to the door, sipping it as he walked.He opened the door, saw two grim-faced men standing on the threshold, and a stab of anxiety pierced his euphoria.“Michael T.Lorimer?” one of the men said.Lorimer nodded cautiously.“What of it?”“Police.You’re under arrest.We’re taking you to Police Central.”“That’s what you think,” Lorimer said, with automatic defiance, and began to back away.The man who had spoken to him glanced at his companion and said, “Don’t take any chances with him.”“Right.” The companion raised his hand, and Lorimer glimpsed the flared snout of a bolas gun.Without hesitation, the policeman fired the weapon and a weighted ribbon of metal wrapped itself around Lorimer’s shins, solidifying into an unbreakable bond in less than a second.Another shot hit him in the chest, pinning his arms to his sides.Deprived of all power of movement, he overbalanced and would have gone down had the two men not caught him.They dragged him to the elevator tube, and took him down to a large skimmer and lifted him inside.One of them slipped into the driving seat, and Lorimer fought to control his panic as the vehicle surged towards the exit ramp.“You’re making one hell of a mistake,” he said, forcing his voice to sound both angry and confident.“What am I supposed to have done?”Neither of the men answered and Lorimer guessed they had no intention of speaking to him, no matter what he said.He watched the route the vehicle was taking, until he was certain they really were heading for Police Central, then he turned his attention to the problem of what he ought to do next.Something had gone wrong—that much was only too obvious—but what? The only thing he could think of was that Settle had been picked up very quickly and, at the last minute, had funked making a confession.The obvious thing for him to do then would be to accuse Lorimer of the killing.Lorimer forced himself to think calmly about the situation, and felt a growing conviction that he had hit on the truth.Settle’s weakness and instability had been an adverse factor all along, and it would be in character for him to back away from the final decisive step which would lead to his death.It was just what one would expect from an ineffectual suicidal type, but—Lorimer felt an upsurge of optimism—Settle was backing a loser.His fingerprints, not Lorimer’s, were on the murder weapon, and he had entered the house in a manner which was an indictment in itself.Those two circumstances were damning enough, but the blackest mark against him was that Fay would not corroborate his story.It was the word of a shabby down-and-out against the combined testimonies of a rich and respected woman and a citizen who had never been in any previous trouble.In a few minutes of ghosting through quiet streets the skimmer reached Police Central and came to rest in the entrance bay.One of the men snipped the coil away from Lorimer’s legs, making it possible for him to get out of the vehicle with reasonable dignity, but they left his arms strapped to his sides.Inside the brightly lit building a number of people glanced curiously at Lorimer and, while he was being bundled into an elevator tube, he began rehearsing his lines.An air of injured innocence would, he decided, be more effective than loud indignation.Perhaps, a tone of mild reproach and a hint of reluctance to consider suing for wrongful arrest …When he was led into an office to face three officials in the blue collarettes of Inspectors, Lorimer was fully composed and almost looking forward to the contest of wits.“Perhaps one of you gentlemen will explain what’s going on here,” he said, meeting their eyes unflinchingly.“I’m not accustomed to this sort of thing.”“Michael Thomas Lorimer.” The senior Inspector of the three spoke in a careful voice while glancing at a compcard in his hand.“I am charging you with the murder of Gerard Avon Willen.”“Gerard Willen? Dead?” Lorimer looked shocked.“I can’t believe it.”“Have you anything to say in reply to the charge?”“Who would want to …?” Lorimer paused for a moment as though he had just comprehended the Inspector’s opening statement.“Wait a minute—you can’t charge me with murder.I didn’t know anything about it.I haven’t been near the Willen place for weeks.”“We have a witness.”Lorimer gave a comfortable laugh.“I’d like to know who he is.”“The principal witness is not a man.Mrs Willen has testified that she saw you shoot her husband and run from the house.”The floor seemed to heave beneath Lorimer’s feet.“I don’t believe you,” he said.One of the other Inspectors shrugged and held up a recorder.On its small screen there appeared an image of Fay, her cheeks glistening with tears, and Lorimer heard her say the words which condemned him
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