"I don't know," he admitted, "but he's doing it. He can't go back now. Anyway, Smitty simmered down fast and promised a draft for expenses would be waiting for him when the ship made planetfall. Technically, the D.I.R. ought to pay, because it turns out the guy is on their rolls and was only working with us temporarily." Simonetta nodded wisely. "You watch our boss," she predicted. "He'll have this man on our lists. He always gets free with the money when he sees a good prospect from the main branch. Even if they stay in the honest side of the outfit, they co-operate with the back room here." Smith walked in with Parrish, beaming. His eye found Westervelt. "Willie," he said, "make a note, and tomorrow look up the planet Rotchen II. I have to send credits, and I didn't want to say into wide, wide space that I didn't know where it is. Bad for the department's prestige!" He looked about genially. "I see you've told the news," he commented. "It was a lift for me too. We haven't done too badly, after all. Won two, lost one--damn!--and one is still a stalemate." "Anyone tell Bob?" asked Parrish quietly. They all exchanged searching glances. Smith began to lose some of his ebullience. After a moment, he turned to Pauline. "Buzz his office!" he said in a preoccupied tone. Westervelt tried to subdue a mild chill along the backbone as Pauline gave Smith a wide-eyed look and slipped into her cubbyhole. _He couldn't have phoned downstairs_, he reassured himself. _Pauline would say all the lines were busy, or cut off or something. But what if he looked out a window?_ Smith had sauntered over to the center desk, where he waited beside the phone. It seemed to be taking Pauline a long time. "Check with Joe," advised Parrish. "Then try around the other rooms. Ten to one he's in the lab." "Has anyone seen him in the last half hour?" asked Smith. Westervelt pointed out that he had been the chief's company in the communications room. The girls had not seen Lydman, but admitted that he might have gone past in the corridor without their having noticed. "Yeah, he doesn't make much noise," Parrish agreed. Smith had a thought. He moved toward his own office, paused to jerk his head significantly toward Parrish's, and opened his own door. Parrish went over past Beryl's desk and thrust his head into his own office. Lydman was not in either room. "Mr. Smith!" called Pauline in a worried tone. "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to reach him." "Oh, Christ!" said Parrish. "He isn't talking again!" He did something Westervelt had never seen that self-possessed man resort to before this evening. He began to gnaw nervously upon a knuckle. He saw the youth staring, and snatched his hand from his mouth. Smith glowered unhappily at the floor. Westervelt thought he could hear his own pulse, so quiet had the office grown. The chief backed up to the unpleasant decision.