"My life of crime," chuckled Stacey, "tells me that there are as many motives for crime as there are men with ambition, avarice, and ability. The trouble is that there are more motives for crime than there are varieties of crime. If there is a motive for this cockeyed affair--and I've yet to see a crime without a motive, however involved or simple--you must know it." "Aside from spacecraft stealing--" "That's ruled out." "Then I'll be eternally relegated to the nether regions if I know what it is." Stacey nodded. "Maybe you know it and don't recognize it." "Maybe I should visit my family psychiatrist?" "He might be able to ferret out the hidden secret. But I'd waste no time on it. Just proceed and see what happens." "Like another busted head?" "As I recall, it's hard enough." Paul laughed. One could hardly be sour in Stacey's presence. Nothing appeared serious to the detective; he managed to make everything sound quite cheerful and amusing, even the threat of further depredations. It was a trait disliked by many people, which was probably the main reason why Stacey was a small time operator instead of being the mainspring of a world-wide agency. It took a long acquaintanceship with Stacey before people realized that the light banter was only a false front used to keep Stacey's own spirits from bogging down in the world of trouble. A sympathetic sort himself, Stacey forced himself to treat every case as impersonally as he could because only a man uninvolved emotionally can make clear decisions based on fact and not feelings. Newcomers meeting Stacey resented the fact that the detective obviously treated their troubles as less than the most important thing in the world. But Paul Grayson knew Stacey well and he was willing to let the detective handle the case completely from this point, knowing that Stacey would do it honestly and quickly, friend or not. Paul waved good-bye at the door and drove towards home. He went in and sat down, ticking things off on the fingers of his hand. One, identification cleared Two, wallet returned Three, puzzle-solution started Four-- Grayson went to the telephone and called the spaceport, was connected with the calculations department. "Grayson," he said. "How's for my course this evening?" "Sure you want to go?" came the dry retort. "Absolutely." "Want to bet?" "Look," grunted Grayson, no longer angry at the voice, "you've got a fine calculating gadget there. Why not have it figure out the betting possibilities and make book on me?" "We tried to make it pick horses for us once but the answer came back as 'Data incomplete, factors uncertain.' The elecalc does not like horses." "But I'm not a horse." "I hear there's a woman tied up in this thing. That's the predictably unpredictable factor, that men, the imbeciles, will get involved with women--even as you and I. Anyway, Grayson, we'll have you a course. It won't be as cold turkey as last night's, but it will serve in a way."