He heard the panel, which led into the outer office, squeak as it was slid back. A new voice asked, "What's the trouble, Trev?" It was a cold, clipped voice, yet the words were strangely blurred. Gavin could feel his palms grow damp against the back of his neck. He wanted to whip around, but the Martian still had the dart-gun clamped against his spine. Trev said, "No trouble, Captain Cabot." Gavin turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice. He saw a tall man with a lean wolfish face. The man, in handsome black shorts, was standing in the doorway to the outer office, one hand braced against the frame. Just behind the man, peering wide-eyed over his shoulder, was a girl. "Don't allow us to disturb you," said the man and, waving his companion inside, closed the door. He came stiffly, a little unsteadily, around in front and seated himself in Trev's chair. He was drunk, Gavin realized, drunk as a lord. The girl stood against the wall. "Not at all, Captain Cabot," said Trev to the newcomer, in a faintly sarcastic voice. "After all it's for your own protection." He patted Gavin's chest, found a small flat dart-gun no larger than a deck of cards. It was secured in a delicate spring clip—strapped beneath his left arm. "Lethal toy for a legitimate spaceman to be carting around," observed the Martian. "Hand tailored, isn't it?" When Gavin didn't reply, he added, "He's wearing a plastic dart-proof vest too." The Captain frowned. "What's the trouble, Trev?" Trev said, "Mr. Murdock, here, applied for the job as third assistant-engineer on your ship with a forged discharge from United Spaceways. United Spaceways never heard of him." "Hmmm," said Cabot. The Martian's long questing fingers continued the search. He discovered Gavin's money belt, unbuckled it, tossed it to the Captain. "Who do you think he is?" asked Cabot in that faintly blurred voice. "I don't know," replied Trev. "Take a look in his money belt." The Captain, frowning in concentration, unzipped the pockets with painful care. They held four hundred interplanetary credits, but that was all. Without commenting, Trev began to turn Gavin's pockets inside out, bringing to light coins, cigarettes and a lighter. "What are these?" The Martian came around in front again. He threw a pair of brass knuckles to the desk top. "Knucks," explained Gavin with a tight grin. "Antiques. But I've a fondness for 'em. Silent. Efficient." Trev regarded them with distaste. The Captain, on the contrary, looked interested. Gavin couldn't see how the girl reacted as she was sitting almost out of his angle of vision.