Under "I" was a set of false identity papers. Under "S" was a sleep bomb--strenuously outlawed in private hands. Under "B" were various blackmail letters, including one I secretly held over Spacker. I looked hopefully under "M" for money, but there my foresight had failed me. It had never occurred to me that a man with a quarter of a million in the bank, and three times as much in securities, would some day need money. I did find something under "M" that made me pause. Mendelsohn. It was a yellowed old folder, certainly the oldest in the entire file. My thoughts suddenly swirled back to college days. This was a project we had worked up together, when Solly was still hot on soil chemistry, and I hadn't settled on anything definite except somehow making a fortune. This was a technique for creating tillable topsoil out of solid rock in ten short years. About a million times faster than nature could do it, but who wanted to wait ten years? Not I, at least. And when I, who was to do the selling, cooled off on the idea, Solly lost interest too. Intriguing, though. Maybe Solly would like it back. Maybe the poor shlub could use it on Primus Gladus. I began stuffing things in my briefcase. Charlie Spacker returned. I could hear him enter the adjoining office. I gave him time to settle down at his desk, then made my appearance. "Bart!" He was genuinely startled. Charlie was a heavy-set, muscular man with deep resonant voice, short-cut wiry hair, and ruggedly sculptured Roman features. He was a good bargainer by instinct, a rough competitor within established ground rules, but weak on the frontiers, slow to assimilate new ideas, fearful of decisions. "You've been a long time in returning, Charlie. I've waited here almost an hour. The gentlemen outside are growing impatient." Charlie was confused. "They know you're here?" "How do you think I got in? Through the window?" "But I thought you were in serious trouble. Beach called and said--" "I know all about that. Beach is behind the time, and he's not getting any more of our business, do you understand?" I had been speaking harshly. Now I fell into the familiar friendly vein. "Charlie, this is the situation. I came within an inch of getting my head chopped off. But I spoke to the Central Committeeman, and the matter's being straightened out." I paced the office casually. "It's costing me money, of course. A cool half-million." Charlie's eyes grew to the first magnitude. "Canopus! Have you got that much?" "Not quite. Not in cash, anyway. There are some securities I can't put on the market right now. So I'm a hundred thousand short. Which isn't so much, actually." I had to make this sound completely nonchalant. "I thought I'd borrow it from the business for thirty days. I assume that's all right with you?" Spacker is no fool either. He hesitated. "Well sure, Bart, if we have it. But you know, with this Venus crisis we're running pretty close."