en give
back the information on a printed slip that number 32 stood for the
trademark of leaving cigar butts at the scene of the crime.

"Got five hundred now," said Kronski. "I'll let a few more run in case
we need alternates."

"Okay," said Pell. "I'll start this batch through the analyzer."

He took the cards across the room to a machine about twenty feet long
and dropped them into the feeder at one end. Channels and rollers ran
along the top of this machine and under them were a series of vertical
slots into which the selected cards could drop. He cleared the previous
setting and ran the pointer to _Constants_. He set the qualitative dial
to 85%. This meant that on the first run the punch hole combinations in
the cards would be scanned and any item common to 85% of the total would
be registered in a relay. Upon the second run the machine would select
the cards with this constant and drop them into a slot corresponding
with that heading. Further scanning, within the slot itself, would pick
out the constant number.

Pell started the rollers whirring.

Kronski came over. He rubbed his battered nose. "Hope we get outside on
this case. I'm gettin' sick o' the office. Haven't been out in weeks."

Pell nodded. Oh, for the life of a C.I.B. man. In teleplays they
cornered desperate criminals in the dark ruins of the ancient cities
topside, and fought it out with freezers. The fact was, although
regulations called for them to carry freezers in their shoulder
holsters, one in a thousand ever got a chance to use them.

Pell said, "Maybe you need a vacation."

"Maybe. Only I keep putting my vacation off. Got a whole month saved up
now."

"Me, too." Pell sighed. Ciel would probably be pacing the floor back
home now, trying to make up her mind. To break it up, or not to break it
up? There would be no difficulty, really: she had been a pretty good
commercial artist before they were married and she wouldn't have any
trouble finding a job again somewhere in World City.

The rollers kept whirring and the cards flipping along with a whispering
sound.

"Wonder what we're looking into these Supremists for?" asked Kronski. "I
always thought they were some kind of harmless crackpots."

"The Chief doesn't think so. Neither does Theodor Rysland." He told
Kronski more about the interview last night.

Presently the machine stopped, clicked several times and began rolling
the other way.

"Well, it found something," said Kronsk