"Why don't you buy a brand with a lighter in the box?" asked Westervelt. Nevertheless, he walked over to the switchboard cubicle for the office desk lighter that had been appropriated by Pauline. Returning with it after a moment, he lit Beryl's cigarette and inquired, "Well, what did you and Parrish dig up?" "I don't know," she sighed, leaning back, "but, boy, did we dig!" "Yeah, I thought I heard the shovel clink once," said Westervelt, thinking of the laughter he had heard through the door of the dead file office. Beryl, concerned with her own complaints, ignored him. "We must have looked up thirty or forty cases," she went on. "I never even heard of most of those places on the newscasts!" "Did he find anything that gave him an idea?" asked Simonetta. "Not a thing! There seemed to be some real crazy spots in the records, but nobody ever got in jail at the bottom of an ocean." "You'd think it would have happened sometime," said Simonetta thoughtfully. "I suppose," suggested Westervelt, "that on any planet where Terrans were taken underwater, they didn't live long enough to be one of our cases. On a place like Trident, they usually wouldn't have any trouble. They'd stay on land, and any local life would stay in the sea. It took a nut like Harris to go poking around where he wasn't wanted." "That's what Mr. Parrish hinted," said Beryl. "All I know is that it sounds like a story out of a laughing academy. They shouldn't allow them to get into places like that." "Then we'd all be looking for work," said Westervelt. "Don't complain, Beryl--maybe it will happen to you someday." The blonde shivered and turned to face her desk. "Not me," she declared. "I'm staying on Terra, even if they do offer me a field trip as a sort of vacation." _Ah, he's already started that line on her, thought Westervelt. I wonder if there's anything in the files on how to spring a secretary from a penthouse?_ Lydman and Parrish walked in, the latter pausing to exchange remarks with Pauline, the switchboard operator. A moment later, Smith opened his door as if expecting someone. He must have phoned them for a change, Westervelt realized. "Oh, there you are, Willie," said the chief. "I suppose you might as well sit in on this too. We might need something, and meanwhile, you can be picking up a tip or two." Westervelt rose and followed the others into Smith's office, where he took a chair by the window. The others clustered around the chief's desk, a vast plateau of silvery plastic strewn with a hodge-podge of papers and tapes.