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his pockets. He taketh: his key ringe, his noxious tobacco weed and hisse tinder and flame maker for to lighte them, hee taketh the scabbard for the .357 Magnume and hee taketh spare ammo. He sayeth, "Verily, My Lord, thy fleetness of foote is legend."
    Auden looked at his watch.
    Hisse Squire relieveth him also of his timepiece. Spencer said, "Stand up straight." He closeth the car door. Spencer, touching him lightly on the iron muscle in his shoulder, said softly, "You're doing a good thing, Phil." He said so no one else heard the battle cry, "A Wang! A Wang! Scourge of the Tibetans."
    He wasn't going to tell him the odds. Sometimes you just got through life the best you could. Sagarmatha Hill . . . Auden closed his eyes in silent prayer.
    Spencer said, "Andrew Marvell." He said, quoting the death of King Charles, "He nothing common did or mean, Upon that memorable scene. He—"
    He loseth hisse patience. Auden said, "All right, I'm here! I'm ready! For Christ's sake, just get on with it, will you!"
    It was 8:02 A.M.
    Sir Phillip, Auden Coeur de Lion . . .
    He touched at where, for the moment at least, that poor dumb bastard his heart was pumping away unconcerned and happy and . . . softlie . . . sigheth .
    Out of the walls there dripped a dank, dark liquid. It wasn't blood. It was condensation. It was near enough. In the room, Lim, with O'Yee at the window in the lightning as all the phones went on ringing and ringing, Lim, twisting his hands together in front of his shining brass belt buckle, said in a whisper, "Sir, do you think we should do something?"
    O'Yee said in a whisper, "Yes."
    "Like what, sir?"
    There was, now, from somewhere inside the wall, from somewhere Down There, a faint moaning sound. It was just the Prince of Darkness getting up out of his coffin for the day. There was a rusty hinge creaking sound as he opened his coffin.
    Lim said in a tiny voice, "Sir . . . ?"
    O'Yee said, "Right!"
    He felt better about that.
    O'Yee said, "Right!" Behind him, in the window, the lightning flashed in silent sheets of light. There was no thunder. O'Yee said, "Right!"
    O'Yee was a Eurasian, the product of a Chinese father, an Irish mother and a San Francisco upbringing. If he had thought about it for a full moon, the Prince of Darkness couldn't have found a better candidate.
    He was also a cop, an armed, trained defender of the citizenry, a person of good repute and honest and true demeanor who could be relied on in any emergency to take charge.
    He took charge.
    O'Yee said, "Right!"
    Lim, nodding, also a trained defender, but only trained for nine months and not so good at it yet, said, "Right!"
    That settled that.
    O'Yee, wondering what the hell he was saying it about, said again just to make sure it was absolutely clear, ". . . Right! "
    He steeleth himselfe in the face of the sheete lightning for the Hordes. Auden said, "I'm ready. Bring on the Tibetan Tornado."
    He giveth a weak grinne.
    He seeth Squire Spencer taketh out his Omega stopwatch and sayeth to himself, "Oh, shit."
    8:28 A.M.
    In Old Himalaya Street the rush hour had started.
    In Old Himalaya Street, the autobank machine on the wall of the Russo Harbin Hong Kong Trading Bank went click and opened its little smoked glass window for the day's business.
    It was 8:30 A.M. exactly.
    In the Detectives' Room, having got them right where it wanted them, the wall, dripping condensation, went, ". . . Creakkk . . ."

2
    T he crocodile was over five feet long from head to tail. After it had had the top of its head smashed in with what had probably been an iron bar, it had been half dragged over the railing of its compound and disemboweled. By it, there was a dead fallow deer that, before or after, must have tried to run. It had crashed into a mesh netting where there had been sheep, become caught on the wire, and had its throat cut. It hung with its head down on the path with both its eyes open, looking surprised. In the compound behind it, both the sheep were also