There was a dull concussion and Reich was hurled to his face by the force of the explosion in the alcove. His back was slashed by flying particles. He darted into the bedroom, seized his traveling case, and turned like an animal at bay, his hands automatically opening the case and groping for the cartridge of Detonation Bulbs he always carried. There was no cartridge in the case.

Reich pulled himself together. He was aware of the bite of salt in the cuts in his back and the streaming blood. He was aware that he was no longer trembling. He went back into the bathroom shut off the massage buffers and inspected the alcove wreckage. Someone had removed the cartridge from his case during the night and planted a bulb in each of the massage buffers. The empty cartridge lay behind the alcove. Only a split-second miracle had saved his life… from whom?

He inspected his stateroom door. The lock had evidently been gaffed by a past-master. It showed no sign of tampering. But who? Why?

“Son of a bitch!” Reich growled. With iron nerve he returned to the bathroom, washed off the salt and blood, and sprayed his back with coagulent. He dressed, had his coffee, and descended to the Staging Hall where, after a savage skirmish with the peeper Customs Man (Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun!), he boarded the Monarch launch that was waiting to take him down to the city.

From the launch he called Monarch Tower. His secretary’s face appeared on the screen.

“Any news of Hassop?” Reich asked.

“No, Mr. Reich. Not since you called from Spaceland.”

“Give me Recreation.”

The screen herring-boned and then disclosed the chrome lounge of Monarch. West, bearded and scholarly, was carefully binding sheets of typescript into plastic volumes. He looked up and grinned.

“Hello, Ben.”

“Don’t look so cheerful, Ellery,” Reich growled. “Where the hell is Hassop? I thought you’d surely—”

“Not my problem any more, Ben.”

“What are you talking about?”

West displayed the volumes. “Just finishing up my work. History of my career with Monarch Utilities & Resources for your files. Said career ended this morning at nine o’clock.”

“What!”

“Yep. I warned you, Ben. The Guild’s just ruled Monarch out of bounds for me. Company Espionage is unethical.”

“Listen, Ellery, you can’t quit now. I’m on a hook and I need you bad. Someone tried to booby-trap me on the ship this morning. I beat it by an eyelash. I’ve got to find out who it is. I need a peeper.”

“Sorry, Ben.”

“You don’t have to work for Monarch, I’ll put you under personal contract for private service. The same contract Breen has.”

“Breen? A 2^nd? The analyst?”

“Yes. My analyst.”

“Not anymore.”

“What!”

West nodded. “The ruling came down today. No more exclusive practice. It limits the service of peepers. We’ve got to be dedicated to the most good for the most people. You’ve lost Breen.”

“It’s Powell!” Reich shouted. “Using every dirty peeper trick he can dig out of the slime to bitch me. He’s trying to nail me to the D’Courtney cross, the sneaking peeper! He—”