Evans' blue lips twisted glumly as he pulled off his own belt and applied it to Stokely's ankles. Suddenly, he smiled.
"Say! What makes you think they'll believe your story about what happened? It's your word against ours. Suppose we tell 'em that—"
"You're daydreaming," Archer broke in. "You'll be a lot better off to resign yourself to spending five or ten years in a penal colony—probably on some planet worse than this one.
"In the first place, you could never pass the lie-detector test, although Stokely might. In the second place, it isn't just my word against yours—our psychometric ratings will be weighed, too, and I'll let you guess whose will be found wanting. And finally, what kind of criminal will murder for profit, then change his mind and toss the loot on the manager's desk, of his own free will?
"Which is just what I intend to do. But there'll be one string attached. A sizable hunk of this stuff, together with a shiny new mallet, goes to Dr. Grimwood's pals."