THE MULE'S CLOWN

The prince thrust the Visi-Sonar into the clown's hand. But his lecherous eyes remained upon Bayta. "Play, monster!" he roared.
Magnifico drew his fingers in rapid, rhythmic jumps from end to end of the instrument. A soft tone sounded-and underneath it was a dull tolling.
Suddenly the music was brassy, evil, writhing. Bayta struggled with strange emotions. The music was horrible, and she shrank beneath it. Then, after a seeming eternity, it ended. Magnifico's face was close to hers, sweaty, wild-eyed, lugubrious. The prince lay still at the foot of the table.
"My lady," the clown gasped, "how fare you?"
"Well enough," she whispered. "What was that you played?"
"I'd rather not say. It was an evil thing, not for your sweet innocence, my lady. What you felt was but the rim of it-from, afar."
"That was enough. Do you know you knocked out the prince?"
Magnifico spoke grimly. "I killed him, my lady!"