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A Cunning Criminal of the Future Meets His Nemesis in a Battle of Scientific Wits!

The Nth Degree

By Mort Weisinger
Author of "Price of Peace," "The Impossible Dimension," etc.

DARIUS WAXMAN, president of Solar Spaceways, was on the verge of apoplexy. His fat round face, seamy as an ancient tree, was the color of port. His scalp, under the few grey hairs plastered upon it, was the same shade. His shirt clung in soaked patches to his tubby old body. He went lax in his chair and smiled nervously. His lips curled back from his yellow teeth and his shrewd old eyes bored at his captor.

"Listen, Ainsworth," he said confidently, "you won't get away with this. This is nineteen-eighty, If you called me here to your laboratory to dispose of me, forget it. You can't kill me! Lots of people know you've got it in for me and when they find my body they'll know whom to nail. Then it will be execution for you—in the Ray Chambers. Why, I'll wager that right now every autorobot policeman on sublevels A to L is looking for me with his aura-o-scope. You'd better unlock these handcuffs!"

Arthur Ainsworth, the brilliant biochemist, pushed back his chair, stood up and smashed one fist against his duraluminum-topped desk. He walked over to Waxman and jabbed his thick shoulder with two fingers.

"See here," he said irritably, "when I get finished with you nothing will remain of your body but some thin syrup in a test tube. The Federal Crime' Bureau may not be able t...

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