and then not hearing about the case for security
reasons during the one-tenth of the time he was with her.

Four times now Pell had been ready to take his vacation; four times last
minute business had come up. No more, though, by golly. Tonight he'd get
out of here just as quickly as....

The Identifier, beyond the door, began to hum. That meant somebody was
putting his hand to the opaque screen, and if the scanner recognized the
fingerprints the door would open. Pell scowled at the bulky shadows
outside.

"Go away, whoever you are," he muttered to himself.

Some of the other agents were out there, no doubt; they were always
getting sudden inspirations late at night and returning to use the
computers again. In fact, it had been tactfully suggested to Agent
Richard Pell that he might use the computers a little more himself
instead of relying on hunches as he so often did. "Investigation's a
cold science, not a fancy art," Chief Larkin was fond of saying to the
group--with his eyes on Pell.

Well, whoever it was, Pell was definitely through. No time-wasting
conversation for him! He was ready for six glorious weeks of saved-up
vacation time. He and Ciel, early tomorrow, would grab a rocket for one
of the Moon resorts, and there they'd just loaf and relax and pay
attention to each other. Try to regain whatever it was they'd had....

* * * * *

The door opened and Chief Larkin walked in.

Chief Eustace J. Larkin was tall, in his forties, but still boyishly
handsome. He dressed expensively and well. He was dynamic and confident
and he always had about him just the faintest aroma of very expensive
shaving cologne. He had a Master's degree in criminology and his rise to
the post of Director, C.I.B., had been sudden, dramatic and impressive.
Not the least of his talents was a keen sense of public relations.

"I--uh--was on my way out," said Pell. He reached for his hat. Funny
about hats: few people traveled topside anymore, and in the
climate-conditioned tunnels you didn't need a hat. But C.I.B. agents had
to be neat and dignified; regulations required hats and ties and cuffs
and lapels. Thus, you could always spot a C.I.B. agent a mile away.

Larkin had a dimple when he smiled and Pell would bet he knew it. "We'd
have called your home if we hadn't found you here. Sit down, Dick."

Pell sat glumly. For the first time, he noticed the men who had come in
with the Chief. He recognized bot