“Wait a minute!” Duffy spoke sharply. “I know that one. The little bem. Let’s square this off. He was a cop?”

“Now Duffy, if—”

“I asked a question.”

“He was a cop.”

“Following this Hassop?”

“Yes.”

“Hassop… Bleached man? Dusty hair? Dusty blue eyes?”

Powell nodded.

“The louse,” Duffy muttered. “The low-down louse!” She turned on Powell furiously. “And you think I’m the kind that does his dirty work, do you! Why, you — you peeper! You listen to me, Powell. Reich asked me to do him a favor. Said there was a man up here working on an interesting musical code. Wanted me to check him. How the hell was I supposed to know be was your goon? How was I supposed to know your goon was masquerading as a musician?”

Powell stared at her. “Are you claiming that Reich tricked you?”

“What else?” She glared back. “Go ahead and peep me. If Reich wasn’t in the Reservation you could peep that double-crossing —”

“Hold it!” Powell interrupted sharply. He slipped past her conscious barrier and peeped her precisely and comprehensively for ten seconds. Then he turned and began to run.

“Hey!” Duffy yelled. “What’s the verdict?”

“Medal of Honor,” Powell called over his shoulder. “I’ll pin it on as soon as I bring a man back alive.”

“I don’t want a man. I want you.”

“That’s your trouble, Duffy. You want anybody.”

“Whooooo?”

“Any-y-bod-y.”

“NO LOUD TALKING OR LAUGHTER… PLEASE!”

Powell found his police sergeant in the Spaceland Globe Theater where a magnificent Esper actress stirred thousands with her moving performances — performances that owed as much to her telepathic sensitivity to audience response as to her exquisite command of stage technique. The cop, immune to the star’s appeal, was gloomily inspecting the house, face by face. Powell took his arm and led him out.

“He’s in the Reservation,” Powell told him. “Took Hassop with him. Took Hassop’s luggage too. Perfect alibi. He was shaken up by the crash and he needs a rest. Also company. He’s eight hours ahead of us.”

“The Reservation, huh?” the sergeant pondered. “Twenty-five hundred square miles of more damned animals, geography, and weather than you ever see is three lives.”

“What’s the odds Hassop has a fatal accident, if he hasn’t had one already?”

“No takers at any price.”

“If we want to get Hassop out we’ll have to grab a Helio and do some fast hunting.”

“Uh-uh. No mechanical transportation allowed in the Reservation.”

“This is an emergency. Old Man Mose has got to have Hassop!”

“Go let that damn machine argue with the Spaceland Board. You could get special permission in maybe three four weeks.”

“By which time Hassop’d be dead and buried. What about Radar or Sonar? We could work out Hassop’s pattern and—”

“Uh-uh. No mechanical devices outside of cameras allowed in the Reservation.”

“What the hell plays with that Reservation?”

“Hundred percent guaranteed pure nature for the eager beavers. You go in at your own risk. Element of danger adds spice to your trip. Get the picture? You battle the elements. You battle the wild animals. You feel primitive and refreshed again. That’s what the ads say.”