une in his hands. Then he grimaced and
shoved the open can back in its case. He threw it back and began
stacking ammunition cases in front of the dope. Gordon went out to get
the others and start moving in the supplies and transferring the corpses
to the truck for disposal. Randolph scurried off to start setting up his
makeshift plant in the basement.

Mother Corey was staring about when they returned. "Filthy," he wailed.
"A pigpen. They've ruined the Coop, cobber. Smell that air--even _I_ can
smell it!" He sniffed dolefully.

Mother Corey sighed again. "Well, it'll give the boys something to do,"
he decided. "When a man gets old, he likes a little comfort, cobber.
Nice things around him..."

Gordon found what had been his old room and dumped his few things into
it. Sheila watched him uncertainly, and then took possession of the next
room. She came back a few minutes later, staring at the ages-old filth.
"I'll be cleaning for a week," she said. "What are you going to do now,
Bruce?"

He shook his head, and started back down the stairs. He hurried down
into the basement where Randolph was arranging his mimeograph.

The printer listened only to the first sentence, and shook his head
impatiently. "I was afraid you'd think of that, Gordon. Look, you never
were a reporter--you ran a column. I've read the stuff you wrote. You
killed and maimed with words. But you never dug up news that would help
people, or tell them what they didn't suspect all along. And that's what
I've got to have."

"Thanks!" Gordon said curtly. "Too bad Security didn't think I was as
lousy a reporter as you do!"

"Okay. I'll give you a job, for one week. See what outer Marsport is
like. Find what can be done, if anything, and do it if you can. Then
come back and give me six columns on it. I'll pay Mother Corey for your
food--and for your wife's--and if I can find one column's worth of news
in it, maybe I'll give you a second week. I can't see a man's wife
starve because he doesn't know how to make an honest living!"

* * * * *

Rusty and one of Mother Corey's men were on guard, and the others had
turned in. Gordon went up the stairs and threw himself onto the bed in
disgust.

"Bruce!" Sheila stood outlined in the doorway against the dim glow of a
phosphor bulb. Her robe was partly open, and hunger burned in him; then,
before he could lift himself, she bent over and began unfastening his
boots. "You all right,