The office itself was like a small museum. The walls were lined with photographs, mostly of poor quality but showing "interesting" devices that had been used in various department cases. The ones in which the color was better usually showed Smith in company with two or three men wearing space uniforms and self-conscious looks. Sometimes, a more assured individual was shown in the act of presenting some sort of memento or letter of appreciation to Smith. Lydman and Parrish also appeared in several of the pictures. _The record of our best cases_, thought Westervelt. _The bad ones are buried in the files._ Standing along the walls, or on little tables and bases of their own, were a good many models of spaceships, planetary systems, and non-humanoid beings. A few of the latter statues were enough to have made Beryl declare she was perfectly happy to stay out of Smith's office and be someone else's secretary. One model, which Westervelt secretly longed to examine at leisure, showed an entire city with its surrounding landscape on a distant planet. Westervelt tore his attention from the mementoes and turned toward the group as Smith settled himself behind the desk. "This is no longer even approximately funny," said the department head. "I've had a few calls put through. Do you know how little we're going to have to work with?" "I gather that it is not very much," said Parrish calmly. "There are less than fifty Terrans on that whole planet!" declared Smith, running the fingers of one hand through his already untidy hair. "The nearest colony or friendly spaceport from which we could have equipment sent in is twenty odd lightyears away." "Well, that could be done," said Lydman mildly. "Oh, of course, it could be done," admitted Smith. "But how long do we have to fool around? We don't know under what conditions Harris is being held." Parrish leaned forward to rest his elbows on Smith's desk. "We can deduce some of them pretty well," he suggested. "In the first place, if he got out several messages--which we'll have to assume he did--they must have found some means of providing him with air." "He could have lived a while on the air in this submarine he built," said Lydman. "Yes, but in that case, he would have used its radio for communication. We have to assume that they pried him out somehow, no?" The others nodded. "He wouldn't last too long in a spacesuit, even if they pumped in air under pressure," said Lydman judiciously. "So they must have built some kind of structure to house him, if only a big tank," said Parrish. Westervelt stirred, then closed his mouth rather than interrupt. Smith, however, had seen the motion and looked up. "Speak up, Willie," he invited. "It won't sound any sillier than anything else that's been said in this room." "I ... I was wondering about these Tridentians," said Westervelt. "Does anybody know how they live? Do they have cities built on the sea bottom?"