"Yes"--sourly. "Who invited you?" Olear looked at the factor levelly, appraising him. A big man, fat, but the fat well distributed. Saturnine face, dark hair, dark and bristly beard. The kind that thrived where other men became weak and fever-ridden. Also, to judge by his present appearance, an unpleasant companion and a nasty enemy. "Don't see what difference it makes to you," Olear answered in his own good time; "but the company invited me." "They would!" Morones growled. His eyes flickered to the door, and quick as a cat, Olear leaped to one side, his ray-pencil in his hand. Morones had not moved, and in the door stood the native, motionless and without expression. Morones laughed nastily. "Kind of jumpy, eh? What is it, Nargyll?" * * * * * Nargyll burst into a burbling succession of native phrases, which Olear had some difficulty following. "Nargyll wants to move your ship into one of the sheds, but the activator key's gone." "Yeah, I know," Olear assented casually. "I got it. Leave the ship till I get ready. Then I'll put it away. Get out, Nargyll." The native, hesitated, then on the lift of Morones' eyebrows departed. Olear shifted a chair so that he could watch both Morones and the door. He reopened the conversation easily: "Well, we understand each other. You don't want me here and I'm here. So what are you going to do about it?" Morones flushed. He struggled to keep his temper down. "What do you want to know?" "What happened to the factor who was here before you?" "I don't know. The translucene wasn't coming in like it should. Sammis went out into the jungle for a palaver with the chiefs to find out why. And he didn't come back." "You didn't find out where he went?" "I just told you," Morones said impatiently, "he went out to see the native chiefs." "Alone?" "Of course, alone. There were only two of us Earthmen here. Couldn't abandon this post to the wogglies, could we? Not that it'd make much difference. Except for Nargyll, none'll come near." "You never heard of him again?" "No! Dammit, no! Say, didn't they have any dumber strappers around than you? I told you once--I tell you again--I never saw hide nor hair of him after that." "Aw-right, aw-right!" Olear regarded Morones placidly. "And so you took the job of factor and radioed for an assistant, and when the assistant came he disappeared." Morones grunted, "He went out to get acquainted with the country and didn't come back." * * * * * Olear masked his close scrutiny of the factor under his idle and expressionless gaze. He was not ready to jump to the conclusion that Morones' uneasiness sprang from a sense of guilt. Guilty or not, he had a right to feel uneasy. The man would be dense indeed if he did not realize he was in line for suspicion, and he did not look dense. Indeed, he was obviously a shrewd character. "Let me see your 'lucene."