As Reich left the booth, a man clothed in an air of inept eagerness accosted him.

“Oh, Mr. Reich. Lucky I bumped into you. I just heard about Sanctuary and I thought a human interest interview with the originator of this wonderful new charity might—”

Lucky he bumped into him! The man was the “Industrial Critic’s” famous peeper reporter. Probably tailed him down and — Tenser, said the Tensor. Tenser, said the Tensor. Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.

“No comment,” Reich mumbled. Eight, sir; seven, sir; six, sir; five, sir…

“What childhood episode in your life brought about the realization of this crying need for—”

Four, sir; three, sir; two, sir; one…

“Was there ever a time when you didn’t know where to turn? Were you ever afraid of death or murder? Were—”

Tenser, said the Tensor. Tenser, said the Tensor. Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.

Reich dove into a Public Jumper and escaped.

Tate to Reich: The cops are really after Graham. They’ve got their entire Lab looking for the appraiser. God knows what kind of red-herring Powell’s following, but it’s away from you. I think the safety margin’s increasing.

Reich to Tate: Not until I’ve found that girl.

Marcus Graham had left no forwarding address and was pursued by half a dozen impractical tracer-robots dug up by the police lab. They were accompanied by their impractical inventors to various parts of the solar system. In the meantime, Marcus Graham had arrived on Ganymede where Powell located him at an auction of rare primitive books conducted at break-neck speed by a peeper auctioneer. The books had been part of the Drake estate, inherited by Ben Reich from his mother. They had been unexpectedly dumped on the market.

Powell interviewed Graham in the foyer of the auction room, before a crystal port overlooking the arctic tundra of Ganymede with the belted red-brown bulk of Jupiter filling the black sky. Then Powell took the Fortnighter back to Earth, and Dishonest Abe was inspired by a pretty stewardess to disgrace him. Powell was not a happy man when he arrived at headquarters, and Wynken, Blynken, and Nod did some salacious wynking, blynking and nodding.

Powell to staff: No hope. I don’t know why Reich even bothered to decoy Graham to Ganymede with that sale.

Beck to Powell: What about the game book?

Powell to Beck: Reich bought it, had it appraised, and sent it as a gift. It was in bad condition and the only game Maria could select was ‘Sardine.’ We’ll never get Mose to pin anything on Reich with that. I know how that machine’s mind works. Damn it! Where’s that girl!

Three low-grade operatives in succession were smitten with Miss Duffy Wyg& and retired in disgrace to don their uniforms once more. When Powell finally reached her, she was at the “4,000” Ball. Miss Wyg& was delighted to talk.

Powell to staff: I called Ellery West down at Monarch and he supports Miss Wyg&’s story. West did complain about gambling and Reich bought a psych-song to stop it. It looks like he picked up that mind-block by accident. What about that gimmick Reich used on the guards? And what about that girl?