"Yeah," replied Stacey's unhappy voice, "we cased that joint too. I've had at least seven operatives hit that front door, on every sort of pretext from stolen nylon hosiery to roofing salesmen, and from governmental surveys on this and that to gents who insist that they look at the electric wiring, the plumbing, and the foundation. The joint is owned and tenanted by an elderly gentleman who has retired. His wife lives there too. One servant, a doddering old fogy who must have been the owner's father's gentleman's gentleman." "What's his name?" "Hoagland." "How about the car in the garage?" Paul could almost hear Stacey shrug. "So far, there is nothing suspicious about it from a legal standpoint," he said. "You'd have one hell of a time proving anything. So a woman--none too well acquainted with you--resigns from her position on a perfectly logical grounds, moves from her apartment on similar grounds, and deposits her car in a strange place and disappears." "But that last is the important thing. She disappeared." "Yeah? Where does her father live? Maybe she did go there?" "You're the detective," said Paul. "Chase it down." "This will cost like hell," warned Stacey. Paul laughed. "What I've got will pay for plenty from now on," he said. "I'll re-open the case, then." "You shouldn't have closed it." Stacey groaned. "How did I know you were that anxious?" "I was." "Okay. But I wanted your approval before I broke this thing wide open." "Will it?" "Sure. The first time I go to 7111 Bridge and ask about that automobile in the garage, which is registered under the name of Nora Phillips, someone is either going to get nasty, call the police, or start asking me embarrassing questions that might lead to Paul Grayson." "Stacey, the guy I found dead on Proxima I is another dead ringer for myself. That makes two characters killed off that resemble me. It looks like a plot, to me." "How was the deceased rendered that way?" "He was hit by a meteorite." "Act of God, I calls that," muttered Stacey. "You wouldn't go so far as to suggest that God is on your side?" "When a meteorite hits a man and a spacecraft in the same shower, both of which are prowling on a planet where they had no business and shouldn't have had any curiosity, it begins to look as though celestial mechanics, formerly run by the Act of God, might have been given a little aid and aim by the machiavellian hand of man or men unknown." "How could you aim a--" "Haul it to the right spot and drop it from a good height from a spacecraft. That's for the big one that wrecked the ship. Carry a boatload of little ones and drop 'em on the head of the character you desire to erase. Not one of them penetrated to the depths I'd have expected, now that it comes to mind." "Okay, Paul. I'm on the trail again. I'll send a man to collect your corpse and we'll attempt to identify it. Maybe that will give us a lead."