Sukey's skin was of a wonderful, delicate olive shade, and she hated it. Whenever one of the female travelers would come in to eat, looking ghostly pale and opulent in their Martian lizard-skin coats, Sukey Jones would sigh. I could tell that in her small body there was a man-sized inferiority complex building up, but I didn't mention it to Harry. He would only have worried about her. He was thoughtful of Sukey, and many a time when we got in, and he had business with Customs or the Port Authority, he would say to me, "Chuck, go and see Sukey for me, and tell her I'll be along." And as for Sukey Jones, she may not have been overly bright, but that kind of treatment had been a rare thing in her twenty-three years of hard knocks. She worshipped Harry Thurbley. That night in March we had set the _Altair_ down on the field just after dusk. Harry had business at the Office, and I was to drop in and see Sukey first and let her know that he'd be in later. I didn't mind. I was always glad to do it. I went into the restaurant, and the place was crowded with passengers for the 2200 Marsflight. I couldn't find Sukey. There was a strange girl behind the cash register. I asked her about it, and she said she didn't know anything; she had just been hired. So I finally got Linda, one of the waitresses, aside, and got the story from her. Seemed there had been a couple of women--society dames in from Venus on the Saturday run--and Sukey had heard one of them make a remark about her complexion. It was nothing much, just a whispered knife of criticism, but Sukey had flared up. Then the woman got really insulting, and Sukey had reached over the cash register and pulled out a big handful of her platinum locks. That grab had cost her her job. * * * * * I went to her apartment, in a ramshackle tenement a couple of blocks away, and knocked on the door. A girl who claimed to be her roommate answered, and said that Sukey had moved out. She wasn't supposed to tell me where Sukey had gone if my name was Harry. I said, who was Harry. I was an insurance claim adjuster, and had some money for her. Sukey had gone to live with a Mrs. Althea Campbell. The address was 1711 Oak Drive. That was all the roommate knew. Harry was waiting down at the office when I got back there. I told him what I had learned, and we caught a coptercab out to 1711 Oak Drive. I remember it was on a Thursday. That turned out to be kind of important. It was almost ten o'clock when we arrived, but the lights were still on, and 1711 turned out to be quite a palace. "I didn't know Sukey had any friends like that!" I said. Harry didn't answer. His mouth was a firm, tight line. He was still thinking of Sukey running out on him. I pressed the button, and an egg-headed man in a monkey suit answered. He was the butler; you could tell that. "A Miss Sukey Jones live here?" I said.