and she was heaving her bosom at the invisible audience in anger,
sorrow, scorn, entreaty, and numerous other emotions.

"... this revolting crime," she was declaiming, in a husky contralto,
as Verkan Vall and Marnik entered, "foul even for the criminal beasts
who conceived and perpetrated it!" She pointed an accusing finger.
"This murder of the beautiful Lady Dallona of Hadron!"

Verkan Vall stopped short, considering the possibility of something
having been discovered lately of which he was ignorant. Olirzon must
have guessed his thought; he grinned reassuringly.

"Think nothing of it, Lord Virzal," he said, waving his knife at the
visiplate. "Just political propaganda; strictly for the sparrows. Nice
propagandist, though."

"And now," the woman with the magnificent natural resources lowered
her voice reverently, "we bring you the last image of the Lady
Dallona, and of Dirzed, her faithful Assassin, taken just before they
vanished, never to be seen again."

The plate darkened, and there were strains of slow, dirgelike music;
then it lighted again, presenting a view of a broad hallway, thronged
with men and women in bright varicolored costumes. In the foreground,
wearing a tight skirt of deep blue and a short red jacket, was Hadron
Dalla, just as she had looked in the solidographs taken in Dhergabar
after her alteration by the First Level cosmeticians to conform to the
appearance of the Malayoid Akor-Neb people. She was holding the arm of
a man who wore the black tunic and red badge of an Assassin, a
handsome specimen of the Akor-Neb race. Trust little Dalla for that,