full
significance of the affair began to dawn on the officer. The
translucene trees grew only in this favored section of Mercury, and
the Earth company had a monopoly of the entire supply. Justly, for
only on Earth was cancer known, and it was on the increase. That
small, almost useless pile on the floor connoted a terrible drug
famine for the human race.

* * * * *

Morones' smile might have been a grin of satisfaction, at Olear's
question:

"Is that all you've bought since the last freighter was here?"'

"It is," he replied. "The last load went off six months ago, and this
here shed should be full to the eaves. There'll be hell to pay."

"It may not be tactful," Olear remarked, "but if you've got your
takings cached away somewhere to hold up the Earth for a big ransom,
you'd better come across right now. You can't get by with it, fellow.
You should have close to six million dollars' worth of it, and you
can't get away. You just can't."

Morones controlled his anger with an effort.

"Like any dumb strapper, you've got your mind made up, ain't you?
Well, go ahead. Get something on me. Here I was almost set to give you
a lead that might get you somewhere. And you come shooting
off--trying to make out I stole the 'lucene and killed those two
fellows, eh? Go ahead! Get something on me! But not on Company
grounds. You're leaving now!"

With that he made a lunge at the officer, quite beside himself with
rage. Olear could have burnt him down, but he was far too experienced
for such an amateurish trick. Instead he ducked to evade Morones'
blow. But the big man was as agile as a panther. In mid-air, so it
seemed, he changed his direction of attack. The big fist swept
downward, striking Olear's head a glancing blow.

But the men of the Force have always been fighters, whatever their
shortcomings as diplomats. Olear countered with a strong right to the
body, thudding solidly, for Morones' softness did not go far below the
surface. The factor whirled instantly, but not quite fast enough to
bar the door. Olear was out and inside his ship in a few seconds,
slamming the hatch.

"Tact!" he grinned to himself, inserting the activator key. "Tact is
what a fella needs." The little space flier shot aloft, until the tiny
figure of the factor stopped shaking its fist and entered the
residence. The post had a flier of its own, of course, but Morones was
too wise to use it in pursuit.

Olear con