Weatherbee glared at him through a long silence. Then he crushed out his cigarette, lit another, sighed, and said softly, "I care, Bolan. Justice isn't perfect in this country, but by God it's the best justice under the law that can be found anywhere. We can't have self-appointed judges and juries walking the streets with guns in their hands. Hell, man, this isn't Vietnam!"

"If I am being accused of a crime, isn't there a formality to be observed?" Bolan said, his features rigid in a set smile.

"You aren't being charged," the lieutenant replied. "Not yet. But I know exactly what happened, Bolan. You understand that. I know. I know that some one broke into The Hunt Shop on August 18th, took a shiny new.444 calibre Marlin lever-action rifle and a powerful scope. I know that he took the rifle out to the old quarry to sight it in. We know that somebody was out there for two hours on the morning of August 19th, firing methodically in bursts of five along three precise ranges-one of a hundred yards, another a hundred and ten, and one a hundred and twenty yards. The caretaker didn't think much about it until he saw the papers yesterday morning, and I won't insult your intelligence by trying to make you think he got close enough to identify anybody. Just so you'll know I'm not playing games with you, Sarge.

"Then two days ago our marksman went up to the fourth floor of the Delsey Building. He sat in an open window of an empty office. He smoked four Pall Malls- your brand, I see-and he used a Coke bottle for an ash tray. At almost exactly six o'clock he levered five soft-nosed slugs into the street below, with the punch of a bear-gun, and the Triangle Industrial Finance Company suddenly went temporarily out of business... And vengeance is mine, saith The Executioner."

The lanky sergeant shifted his weight, causing the chair to creak beneath him. If you know so much," he said softly, "why aren't you charging me?"