"_Sure_ you will," said Simonetta. She returned to her letters, and Westervelt hunched over his desk to brood. He wondered what Parrish and Beryl were up to in the file room. He could think of no innocent reason to wander in on business of his own. Perhaps, he reflected, he did not really want to; he might overhear something he would regret. He passed some time without directing a single thought to the problems of the Department. Then the door beyond Simonetta opened and Smith strolled out. He carried a pad as if he, too, had been doodling. "Well, Willie," he said cheerfully, "what are we going to do about this Harris fellow?" "All I can think of, Mr. Smith, is to offer to trade them a few people we could do without," said Westervelt. Smith grinned. He seemed to be willing to make up a little list. "Some who never would be missed, eh? And let's head the page with people who take messages from thinking fish!" He pottered about for a few moments before winding up seated on a corner of the unoccupied secretarial desk. "I was actually thinking of skin divers," he confided. "Then I realized that if it takes a twenty foot monster to wander the undersea wilds of Trident without being intimidated, maybe those waters wouldn't be too safe for Terran swimmers." "Unless they could get one of the monsters for a guide," suggested Westervelt. The three of them pondered that possibility. "I can see it now," said Simonetta. "My name Swishy. Me good guide. You want find pearl? Not allowed here; we no steal from other fish!" They laughed, and Smith demanded to know how one _thought_ in pidgin talk. They discussed the probability of fraud in the reports that Smith had received, and concluded reluctantly that, whether or not some trick might be involved, there was bound to be some truth in the story. "I suppose we'll have to use this fishy network to locate him," sighed Smith at last. "It would take too long to ship out parts of a small sub to be assembled on Trident. The whole thing makes me wonder if I'll ever eat another seafood dinner!" "Maybe somebody else will think of something," said Westervelt, partly to conceal the fact that he himself had come up with nothing. "Tell you what," said Smith, nodding. "Suppose you go along and see how Bob Lydman is making out, while I sign these letters. You might check at the com room sometime, too, in case anything else on the case comes in." Westervelt agreed, made sure he had something in his pocket to write upon should the need arise, and left. A few minutes later, he reached the end of the corridor, having cocked an ear at the door of the old file office as he passed and heard Beryl giggling at some remark by Parrish. He unclenched his teeth and knocked on Lydman's door. He waited a minute and tried again, but there was still no answer.