t your constituents, fully informed
as to the political situation in North America, you would undoubtedly
give me the key to safe-deposit box N469T414? For it is common
knowledge, in the Council at least, that there is a certain amount
of--shall we say turbidity?--in the supposedly pellucid reaches of North
American politics."

"What? Preposterous!" Morgan made a heroic effort, but could not quite
maintain his poise. "Private papers only, sir!"

"Perhaps. Certain of the Councillors believe, however mistakenly, that
there are several things of interest there: such as the record of
certain transactions involving one James F. Towne; references to and
details concerning dealings--not to say deals--with Mackenzie Power,
specifically with Mackenzie Power's Mr. Clander; and perhaps a juicy bit
or two concerning a person known as le Bay and a tekkyl coat. Of
interest no end, don't you think, to the dear people of North America?"

As Samms drove the harpoon in and twisted it, the big man suffered
visibly. Nevertheless:

"You refuse to cooperate, eh?" he blustered. "Very well, I will go--but
you have not heard the last of me, Samms!"

"No? Probably not. But remember, before you do any more rabble-rousing,
that this lock-box thing is merely a sample. We of the Service know a
lot of things that we do not mention to anybody--except in
self-defense."

"I am holding Fletcher, Mr. Samms. Shall I put him on now?" Norma asked,
as the completely deflated Morgan went out.

"Yes, please.... Hello, Sid; mighty glad to see you--we were scared for
a while. How did you make out, and what was it?"

"Hi, Chief! Mostly hadive. Some heroin, and quite a bit of Martian
ladolian. Lousy job, though--three of the gang got away, and took about
a quarter of the loot with them. That was what I want to talk to you
about in such a hurry--fake meteors; the first I ever saw."

Samms straightened up in his chair.

"Just a second. Norma, put Redmond on here with us.... Listen, Harry.
Now, Fletcher, did you see that fake meteor yourself? Touch it?"

"Both. In fact, I've still got it. One of the runners, pretending to be
a Service man, flashed it on _me_. It's really good, too, Chief. Even
now, I can't tell it from my own except that mine is in my pocket. Shall
I send it in?"

"By all means; to Dr. H.D. Redmond, Head of Research. Keep on slugging,
Sid--goodbye. Now, Harry, what do you think? It _could_ be one of our
own, you know."

"Could be, but