Milligan stared at the greenish fumes with distaste. He did not smoke. He said shortly, "Allow me to continue, M. Lowndes. I am as distressed by this affair as you are. After all, five hundred thousand kredits." He broke off, eyed the green fumes curling from the tip of Lowndes' plovur, then continued, "Frankly, Mr. Lowndes, I never heard of anything so fantastic." Lowndes couldn't control his hands. He dropped the plovur on the carpet. He stood. He couldn't control his shaking legs. He grasped the edge of Milligan's desk. "What-dya mean, you never heard of anything so fantastic?" he croaked weakly. "What'd Nestor tell Farrell he was going to do with the kredits?" Milligan's face blanched. His voice in turn quavered. "What? You mean _you_ don't know? Why, Nestor told Farrell he was going to tell you--in case an emergency came up. Farrell says Nestor walked out of here with a great big grip jammed full of the kredits. Said he was going to _bury_ them. Said he'd be back and redeposit them after the recession was going good--when a kredit would be worth a kredit!"