In the library, I spent four days getting a line on Tintera. I read their history. I studied their geography and, as sneakily as I could, I tore out the best local maps I could find. On my trips through town, I took the time to look up Horst Fanger's place of business. It was a house, a shed and pen for the Losels, a stable, a truck garage (one truck--broken down) and a sale block, all housed in one rambling, shanty building. Mr. Horst Fanger was apparently a big man. Big deal. When I was ready, I scouted out the jail. It was a raw unpleasant day, the sort that makes me hate planets, and rain was threatening when I reached the jailpen. It was a solid three-story building of great stone blocks, shaped like a fortress and protected by bars, an iron-spike fence and two nasty-looking dogs. On my second trip around, the rain began. I beat it to the front and dodged in the entrance. I was standing there, shaking the rain off, when a man in a green uniform came stalking out of one of the offices that lined the first-floor hallway. My heart stopped for a moment, but he went right by without giving me a second look and went upstairs. That gave me some confidence and so I started poking around. * * * * * I had covered the bulletin boards and the offices on one side of the hall when another man in green came into the hall and made straight for me. I didn't wait, I walked toward him, too. I said, as wide-eyed and innocent as I could, "Can you help me, sir?" "Well, that depends. What sort of help do you need?" He was a big, rather slow man with one angled cloth bar on his shirt front over one pocket and a plate that said ROBARDS pinned over the pocket on the other side. He seemed good-natured. I said, "Jerry had to write about the capital, and Jimmy got the Governor, and I got _you_." "Hold on there. First, what be your name?" "Billy Davidow," I said. "I don't know what to write, sir, and I thought you could show me around and tell me things." "I be sorry, son," he said. "We be pretty caught up today. Could you make it some other afternoon or maybe some evening?" I said slowly, "I have to hand the paper in this week." After a minute, he said, "All right. I'll take you around. But I can't spare much time. It'll have to be a quick tour." The offices were on the first floor. Storage rooms, an arms room and a target range were in the basement. Most of the cells were on the second floor, with the very rough cases celled on the third. "If the judge says maximum security, they go on the third, everybody else on the second unless we have an overflow. Have a boy upstairs now." My heart sank. "A real bad actor. Killed a man." Well, that wasn't Jimmy. Not with a three-month sentence.