The Space Ranger said, "Your point is well taken, Dr. Silvers. But consider this. The leader, whoever he is, must be in complete control of the gang's tactics. He must be able to enforce his own squeamish-ness about killing upon a group of what are probably the most desperate outlaws in the system. There is only one way he can do that, and that is by arranging it so that they cannot possibly continue without him. How? By controlling the supply of poison and the method of poisoning. Surely Bigman could do neither."
"How do you know that?" demanded Dr. Silvers.
"Because Bigman doesn't have the training that would enable him to develop and produce a new poison more virulent than any known. He doesn't have the laboratory or the botanical and bacteriological training. He doesn't have access to the food bins at Wingrad City. All of which, however, does apply to Benson."
The agronomist, perspiring profusely, raised his voice in a weak yell. "What are you trying to do? Test me as you tested Bigman just now?"
"I didn't test Bigman," said the Space Ranger. "I never accused him. I do accuse you, Benson. You are the brains and leader of the food-poisoning combine."
"No. You're mad."
"Not at all. Quite sane. Williams first suspected you and passed his suspicions on to me."
"He had no reason to. I was perfectly frank with him."
"Too frank. You made the mistake of telling him that it was your opinion that Martian bacteria growing upon farm products were the source of the poison. As an agronomist, you must have known that was impossible. Martian life is not protein in nature and could no more feed on Earth plants than we could feed on rocks. So you told a deliberate lie, and that made everything else about you suspect. It made Williams wonder if perhaps you had yourself made an extract of Martian bacteria. The extract would be poisonous. Don't you think so?"
Benson cried wildly, "But how could I possibly spread the poison? You don't make sense."
"You had access to the Makian farm shipments. After the first few poisonings you could arrange to obtain samples from the storage bins at the city. You told Williams how you carefully took samples from different bins, from different levels of a single bin. You told him how you used a harpoon-like affair you invented yourself."
"But what is there wrong with that?"
"A good deal. Last night I obtained keys from Hennes. I used them to get into the one place in the farm dome which is consistently kept locked-your laboratory. There I found this." He held the small metal object up to the light.
Dr. Silvers said, "What is it, Space Ranger?"
"It is Benson's sample taker. It fits at the end of his food harpoon. Observe how it works."
The Space Ranger adjusted a small knob at one end. "Firing the harpoon." he said, "trips this safety catch. So! Now watch."
There was the faintest buzzing noise. It ended after five seconds, and the fore end of the sampler gaped open, remained so for a second, then closed.
"That's the way it's supposed to work," cried Benson. "I made no secret of it."
"No, you didn't," said the Space Ranger sternly. "You and Hennes had been quarreling for days over Williams. You hadn't the stomach to have him killed. At the very last you brought the harpoon with you to Williams' bedside to see if the sight of it would surprise him into some action that would give him away. It didn't, but Hennes would wait no longer, anyway. Zukis was sent in to kill him."
"But what's wrong with the sampler?" demanded Benson.
"Let me show its workings again. But this time, Dr. Silvers, please observe the side of the sampler toward yourself now."
Dr. Silvers leaned across the table, watching closely. Bigman, blaster out once more, divided his attention between Benson and Hennes. Makian was on his feet, leathery cheeks flushed.
Once again the sampler was set, once again the little mouth flew open, and this time, as they watched the neutral side indicated, a covering sliver of metal withdrew there as well, revealing a shallow depression that glistened gummily.
"There," said the Space Ranger, "you can see what happened. Each time Benson took a sample, a few grains of wheat, a piece of fruit, a leaf of lettuce was smeared with that colorless gum, a poisonous extract of Martian bacteria. It is a simple poison, no doubt, that is not affected by subsequent food processing and eventually turns up in a loaf of bread, a jar of jam, a can of baby food. It was a clever and diabolical trick."
Benson was beating on the table. "It's all a lie, a rotten lie!"
"Bigman," said the Space Ranger, "gag the man. Stand near him and don't let him move."
"Really," protested Dr. Silvers, "you're making a case, Space Ranger, but you must let the man defend himself."
"There is no time," said the Space Ranger, "and proof that will satisfy even you will be forthcoming quickly."
Bigman used his handkerchief as a gag. Benson struggled and then sat in sweating stillness as the butt of Bigman's blaster collided noisily with his skull.
"The next time," said Bigman, "it will be hard enough to knock you out; maybe fix you up with a concussion."
The Space Ranger rose. "You all suspected, or pretended to suspect, Bigman when I spoke of a man with an inferiority complex because he was small. There are more ways of being small than in size. Bigman compensates for his size by belligerence and loud assertion of his own opinions. The men here respect him because of this. Benson, however, living here on Mars among men of action finds himself despised as a 'college farmer,' ignored as a weakling, and looked down upon by men whom he considers much his inferiors. To be unable to compensate for this except by murder of the most cowardly sort is another and worse kind of smallness.
"But Benson is mentally sick. To get a confession out of him would be difficult; perhaps impossible. However, Hermes would do almost as well as a source of knowledge about the future activities of the poisoners. He could tell us exactly where in the Asteroids we could find his various henchmen. He could tell us where the supply of poison, for use at midnight tonight, is kept. He could tell us many things."
Hennes sneered. "I could tell you nothing, and I will tell you nothing. If you shoot Benson and myself right now, matters will proceed exactly as they would if we were alive. So do your worst."
"Would you talk," said the Space Ranger, "if we guaranteed your personal safety?"
"Who would believe in your guarantee?" said Hennes. "I'll stick to my story. I'm an innocent man. Killing us will do you no good."
"You realize that if you refuse to talk, millions of men, women, and children may die."
Hennes shrugged.
"Very well," said the Space Ranger. "I have been told something about the effects of the Martian poison Benson has developed. Once in the stomach, absorption is very quick; the nerves to the chest muscles are paralyzed; the victim can't breathe. It is painful strangulation stretched over five minutes. Of course that is when the poison has been introduced into the stomach."
The Space Ranger, as he spoke, drew from Ms pocket a small glass pellet. He opened the sampler and drew it across the gummed surface until the glitter of the glass had been obscured by a sticky coating.
"Now if," he said, "the poison were placed just within the lips, matters would be different. It would be absorbed much more slowly and would take effect much more gradually. Makian," he called suddenly, "there's the man who betrayed you, used your farm to organize the poisoning of men and the ruin of the farm syndicates. Grab his arms and pinion them."