Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. “Grail!” said Ann Veronica, and then: “Oh, yes—of course! Anything but a holy one, I’m afraid. I find it impossible to associate you with—my little friend of the ‘Ambassador’s. But for me it doesn’t matter. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. “I killed him.
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