Said the mouse to the cur,

deal more so," his father said. "So I made him a proposition. I'd give him two yearsit seemed enough, he was already amateur heavyweight championto prove himself, and at the end of that time if he hadn't made it he was to take his place in the factory. His first manager was as corrupt as they come and Johnny literally kicked him out at the end of a year. So I took over. I'd newly retired, I'd time on my hands, I'd a very strong vested interest in his well-being apart from the fact that he was my sonand, quite frankly, I'd begun to see that he really was going to get to the very top." He broke off thereso I took the opportunity to interrupt. "Zagero or Levin. Which is it?" "Zagero," the elder man answered. "Why the Levin?" "Some state and national boxing commissions refuse to permit a close relative to be either manager or second. Especially second. So I used an alias. A practice by no means uncommon, and officially winked at. A harmless deception." "Not so harmless," I said grimly. "It was one of the worst acting performances I've ever seen, and that was one of the primary reasons for my suspecting your son and, in turn, for Corazzini and Smallwood getting away with what they did. Had you come clean earlier on, I would have known that they were bound, even in the absence of all possible evidence, to be the guilty men. But with Solly LevinI'll find it very difficult to think of you as Mr Zagero, I'm afraidwith Solly Levin sticking out like a sore thumb as an obvious phonywell, I just couldn't leave you two out of the list of suspects." "I obviously modelled myself on the wrong personor type of person," Levin said wryly. "Johnny ribbed me about it all the time. I'm deeply sorry for any trouble we may have caused, Or Mason. I honestly never looked at it from your point of view, never realised the dangers involved in maintaining the impersonationif you could call it that. Please forgive me." "Nothing to forgive," I said bitterly. "A hundred to one I'd have found some other way of messing things up." Shortly after five o'clock in the evening Corazzini stopped the tractorbut he didn't stop the engine. He came down from the driver's seat and walked round to the cabin, pushing the searchlight slightly to one side. He had to shout to make himself heard above the roar of the tractor and the high ululating whine of the digital camera software downloads still-strengthening blizzard. "Half-way, boss. Thirty-two miles on the clock." "Thank you." We couldn't see Smallwood, but we could see the tip of his gun barrel protruding menacingly into the searchlight's beam. "The end of the line, Dr Mason. You and your friends will please get down." There was nothing else for it. Stiffly, numbly, I climbed down, took a couple of steps towards Smallwood, stopped as the pistol steadied unwaveringly on my chest. "You'll be with your friends in a few hours," I told Smallwood. "You could leave us a little food, a portable stove and tent. Is that too much to ask?" "It is." "Nothing? Nothing at all?" "You're wasting your time, Dr Mason. And it grieves me to see you reduced to begging." "The dog sledge, then. We don't even want the dogs. But neither Mahler nor Miss LeGarde can walk." "You're wasting your time." He turned his attention to the sledge. "Everybody off, I said. Did you hear me, Levin? Get down!" "It's my legs." In the harsh glare of the searchlight we could see the lines of pain deep-etched round Levin's eyes and mouth, and I wondered how long he had been sitting there suffering, saying nothing. "I think they're frozen or sleeping or something." "Get down!" Smallwood repeated sharply. "In a moment." Levin swung one of his legs over the edge of the sledge, his teeth bared with the effort. "I don't seem to be able" "Maybe a bullet in one of your legs will help," Smallwood said unemotionally. "To get the feeling back." I didn't know whether he meant it or not. I didn't think so -gratuitous violence wasn't in character for this man, I couldn't see him killing or wounding without sound reason. But Zagero thought differently. He advanced within six feet of Smallwood. "Don't touch him, Smallwood," he said warningly. "No?" The rising inflection was a challenge accepted, and Smallwood went on flatly: "I'd snuff you and him like a candle." "No!" Zagero said, softly and savagely, the words carrying clearly in a sudden lull in the wind. "Lay a finger on my old man, Smallwood, and I'll get you and break your neck like a rotten carrot if you empty the entire magazine into me." I looked at him as he crouched