of the century."

"Maybe," said Winstein. "The Government hasn't made any announcement
yet. Where's Porter?"

"Under arrest, where'd you think? After announcing that he would land on
his New Mexico ranch, he did just that. As soon as he stepped out, a
couple of dozen Government agents grabbed him. Violation of parole--he
left the state without notifying his parole officer. But they couldn't
touch me, and they knew it.

"Here's another bit of news for your personal information. A bomb went
off inside the ship after it landed and blew the drive to smithereens.
The only information is inside Porter's head. He's got the Government
where the short hair grows."

"Looks like it. See here, Terry; you get all the information you can and
be back here by Saturday. You're going to go on the Weekend Report."

"Me? I'm no actor. Let Maxon handle it."

"No. This is hot. You're an eye-witness. Maxon will interview you.
Understand?"

"O.K.; you're the boss, Ole. Anything else?"

"Not right now, but if anything more comes up, call in."

"Right. 'Bye." He hung up and leaned back in his chair, cocking his feet
up on the desk. It was Malcom Porter's desk and Malcom Porter's chair.
He was sitting in the Big Man's office, just as though he owned it. His
jaw still hurt a little, but he loved every ache of it. It was hard to
remember that he had ever been angry with Porter.

Just before they had landed, Porter had said: "They'll arrest me, of
course. I knew that when I left. But I think I can get out of it. There
will be various kinds of Government agents all over the place, but they
won't find anything. I've burned all my notebooks.

"I'll instruct my attorney that you're to have free run of the place so
that you can call in your story."

* * * * *

The phone rang. Elshawe grabbed up the receiver and said: "Malcom
Porter's residence." He wished that they had visiphones out in the
country; he missed seeing the face of the person he was talking to.

"Let me talk to Mr. Terrence Elshawe, please," said the voice at the
other end. "This is Detective Lieutenant Martin of the Los Angeles
Police Department."

"This is me, Marty."

"Good! Boy, have I had trouble getting to you! I had to make it an
official call before the phone company would put the call through. How
does it feel to be notorious?"

"Great. What's new?"

"I got the dope on that Skinner fellow. I suppose you still want it? Or
has su