None of my ideas, it seemed, were happy ones. If McCann's body were even at this moment falling toward the sun, it was just as useful to me as if it were on some other asteroid. But, wait a second. Karpin and McCann had worked with the minimum of equipment, I'd already noticed that. They didn't have extras of anything, and they certainly wouldn't have extra rockets. Except for one fast trip to Chemisant City--when he had neither the time nor the excuse to buy a jato rocket--Karpin had spent all of his time since McCann's death right here on this planetoid. So that killed that idea. While I was hunting around for some other idea, Karpin spoke up again, for the first time in maybe twenty minutes. "You think I killed him, don't you?" he said, not looking around from his cleaning job. I considered my answer. There was no reason at all to be overly polite to this sour old buzzard, but at the same time I am naturally the soft-spoken type. "We aren't sure," I said. "We just think there are some odd items to be explained." "Such as what?" he demanded. "Such as the timing of McCann's cash-return form." "I already explained that," he said. "I know. You've explained everything." "He wrote it out himself," the old man insisted. He put down his cleaning cloth, and turned to face me. "I suppose your company checked the handwriting already, and Jafe McCann is the one who wrote that form." He was so blasted sure of himself. "It would seem that way," I said. "What other odd items you worried about?" he asked me, in a rusty attempt at sarcasm. "Well," I said, "there's this business of going to Chemisant City. It would have made more sense for you to go to Atronics City, where you were known." "Chemisant was closer," he said. He shook a finger at me. "That company of yours thinks it can cheat me out of my money," he said. "Well, it can't. I know my rights. That money belongs to me." "I guess you're doing pretty well without McCann," I said. His angry expression was replaced by one of bewilderment. "What do you mean?" "They told me back at Atronics City," I explained, "that McCann was the money expert and you were the metals expert, and that's why McCann handled all your buying on credit and stuff like that. Looks as though you've got a pretty keen eye for money yourself." "I know what's mine," he mumbled, and turned away. He went back to scrubbing the stove coils again. I stared at his back. Something had happened just then, and I wasn't sure what. He'd just been starting to warm up to a tirade against the dirty insurance company, and all of a sudden he'd folded up and shut up like a clam. And then I saw it. Or at least I saw part of it. I saw how that cash-return form fit in, and how it made perfect sense. Now, all I needed was proof of murder. Preferably a body. I had the rest of it. Then I could pack the old geezer back to Atronics City and get proof for the part I'd already figured out.