Then he stooped to help Dalla gather her things, picking up a few of them—­a lighter, a tiny crystal perfume flask, miraculously unbroken, a face-powder box which had sprung open and spilled half its contents.  He handed them to her, while Sothran Barth bent over the prisoner and gave him an injection, then went to the body of the other pseudo-policeman, forcing open his mouth.  In his cheek, still unbroken, was a second capsule, which he added to the first.  Tortha Karf was watching him.

“Same gang that killed that Carera slaver on Esaron Sector?” he asked.  “Of course, exactly the same general procedure.  Let’s have a look at the other one.”

The man in Proletarian dress must have had his capsule between his molars when he had been killed; it was broken, and there was a brownish discoloration and chemical odor in his mouth.

“Second time we’ve had a witness killed off under our noses,” Tortha Karf said.  “We’re going to have to smarten up in a hurry.”

“Here’s one of us who doesn’t have to, much,” Vall said, nodding toward Dalla.  “She knocked a needler out of one man’s hand, and we took him alive.  The Force owes her a new shoulder-bag:  she spoiled that one using it for a club.”

“Best shoulder-bag we can find you, Dalla,” Tortha Karf promised.  “You’re promoted, herewith, to Special Chief’s Assistant’s Special Assistant—­You know, this Organization murder-section is good; they could kill anybody.  It won’t be long before they assign a squad to us.  Blast it, I don’t want to have to go around bodyguarded like a Fourth Level dictator, but—­”

A detective came out of the control room and approached.

“Screen call for you, sir,” he told Tortha Karf.  “One of the news services wants a comment on a story they’ve just picked up that we’ve illegally arrested Councilman Salgath and are holding him incommunicado and searching his apartment.”

“That’s the Organization,” Vall said.  “They don’t know how their boys made out; they’re hoping we’ll tell them.”

“No comment,” Tortha Karf said.  “Call the girl on my switchboard and tell her to answer any other news-service calls.  We have nothing to say at this time, but there will be a public statement at ... at 2330,” he decided after a glance at his watch.  “That’ll give us time to agree on a publicity line to adopt.  Lieutenant Sothran!  Take charge up here.  Get all these bodies out of sight somewhere, including those of Councilman Salgath and Detective Malthor.  Don’t let anybody talk about this; put a blackout on the whole story.  Vall, you and Dalla and ... oh, you, over there; take the prisoner down to my office.  Sothran, any reports from any of the cars that were chasing that fake police car?”

Verkan Vall and Dalla were sitting behind Tortha Karf’s desk; Vall was issuing orders over the intercom and talking to the detectives who had remained at Salgath Trod’s apartment by visiscreen; Dalla was sorting over the things she had spilled when her bag had burst.  They both looked up as Tortha Karf came in and joined them.