Paul sat down again. He had not intended to leave anyway. "So," he said, "what better way to divert Paul Grayson than to bait him with a gorgeous dame?" Stacey grunted. "To divert you long enough to clip you, to steal your papers, to enter your ship--for what purpose?" "That's where the mystery comes in. The guy had plenty of time to fire up the drivers and grab an armful of sky. The galaxy makes a fine hiding place, John. They scoured the stellar systems of a hundred and more suns before they found that Neosol had a planet that was capable of harboring Terran life without difficulty. God knows, no man hunting for a place to live would wait and head for Proxima I. Yet that seems to be what the crook had tried to do." Stacey shook his head. "You are supposing that Nora Phillips was mingled in some sort of plot to steal a spacecraft. Granting that, Paul, explain me one thing. Just why would a person intent upon delaying you go so far towards helping you?" "Huh?" "She did sort of rub your skull, didn't she?" "And a fine job she did of it, too." "Professional?" "Seemed as if. If not professional, at least experienced." "So she brought you out of the unconscious, painful dark in time to intercept the criminal at his business?" "Uh--" "And Nora Phillips strode up and kissed you with warm, mad passion on the street, thus immobilizing your skull long enough for the enterprising sharpshooter to take a stance and perfect his backswing." "So you don't think so?" Stacey thought for a moment. "This does not smack of simple theft," he said at length. "Hell," growled Grayson, "That's what I've been trying to tell you." "Um. I see--" "So someone looks like me. He tried to swipe my ship, it would appear. But they didn't need a dame to distract me; I could have been pushed off by a gunman. Frankly, I am of the type that will gladly hand over my wallet, my shoes, and/or my worldly goods rather than to have a hole drilled through my dinner. So, John, here is Nora Phillips' address. You can get the name of the defunct crook from the police, I'm sure. See what connection they might have had." Stacey looked at Paul with a smile. "You're not making uranium out of broken pop bottles are you?" "Nope. I'm just a guy working for the Bureau of Astrogation." "Uh-huh. But with a secret under his hat large enough to keep him from yelping too loud." "You know the reason for that." "And how many others?" "Damned few. Less than six, I'd guess." Stacey shook his head again. "They don't clip screwballs for having a half-baked idea crammed in their simple skulls. So far as I can see it, you've got nothing to conceal, nothing to steal, and nothing much worth hiding." "If Haedaecker knew what I had--" Stacey grunted. "If Haedaecker wanted to stop you he would not have to hire a bunch of phony actors to do it," he said succinctly. "But what else?"