_[8]_
The girl moved with the peculiar gliding walk so characteristic of aperson walking under low-gravity conditions, and the ease and grace withwhich she did it showed that she was no stranger to low-gee. To thethree men from Earth who followed her a few paces behind, the gee-pullseemed so low as to be almost nonexistent, although it was actually ashade over one quarter of that of Earth, the highest gravitational pullof any planetoid in the Belt. Their faint feeling of nausea was duesimply to their lack of experience with _really_ low gravity--thelargest planetoid in the Belt had a surface gravity that was only oneeighth of the pull they were now experiencing, and only onethirty-second of the Earth gravity they were used to.
The planetoid they were on--or rather, _in_--was known throughout theBelt simply as Threadneedle Street, and was nowhere near as large asCeres. What accounted for the relatively high gravity pull of this tinybody was its spin. Moving in its orbit, out beyond the orbit of Mars, itturned fairly rapidly on its axis--rapidly enough to overcome the feeblegravitational field of its mass. It was a solid, roughly spherical massof nickel-iron, nearly two thirds of a mile in diameter and, like theother inhabited planetoids of the Belt, honeycombed with corridors androoms cut out of the living metal itself. But the corridors and roomswere oriented differently from those of the other planetoids;Threadneedle Street made one complete rotation about its axis insomething less than a minute and a half, and the resulting centrifugalforce reversed the normal "up" and "down", so that the center of theplanetoid was overhead to anyone walking inside it. It was that factwhich added to the queasiness of the three men from Earth who werefollowing the girl down the corridor. They knew that only a few floorsbeneath them yawned the mighty nothingness of infinite space.
The girl, totally unconcerned with thoughts of that vast emptiness,stopped before a door that led off the corridor and opened it. "Mr.Martin," she said, "these are the gentlemen who have an appointment withyou. Mr. Gerrol. Mr. Vandenbosch. Mr. Nguma." She called off each nameas the man bearing it walked awkwardly through the door. "Gentlemen,"she finished, "this is Mr. Stanley Martin." Then she left, discreetlyclosing the door.
The young man behind the desk in the metal-walled office stood upsmiling as the three men entered, offered his hand to each, and shookhands warmly. "Sit down, gentlemen," he said, gesturing toward threesolidly built chairs that had been anchored magnetically to thenickel-iron floor of the room.
"Well," he said genially when the three had seated themselves, "how wasthe trip out?"
He watched them closely, without appearing to do so, as they made theirpolite responses to his question. He was acquainted with them onlythrough correspondence; now was his first chance to evaluate them inperson.
Barnabas Nguma, a very tall man whose dark brown skin and eyes made asharp contrast with the white of the mass of tiny, crisp curls on hishead, smiled when he spoke, but there were lines of worry etched aroundhis eyes. "Pleasant enough, Mr. Martin. I'm afraid that steady one-geeacceleration has left me unprepared for this low gravity."
"Well," said Stefan Vandenbosch, "it really isn't so bad, once you getused to it. As long as it's steady, I don't mind it." He was a ratherchubby man of average height, with blond hair that was beginning to grayat the temples and pale blue eyes that gave his face an expression ofalmost childlike innocence.
Arthur Gerrol, the third man, was almost as light-complexioned asVandenbosch. His thinning hair was light brown, and his eyes were a deepgray-blue, and the lines in his hard, blocky face gave him a look ofgrim determination. "I agree, Stefan. It isn't the low gravity _per se_.It's the doggone surges. We went from one gee to zero when the ship camein for a landing at the pole of Threadneedle Street. Then, as we cameback down here, the gravity kept going up, and that ... what do you callit? Coriolis force? Yeah, that's it. It made my head feel as though thewhole room was spinning." Then, realizing what he'd said, he laughedsharply.
The man behind the desk laughed with him. "Yes, it is a bitdisconcerting at first, but the spin gives enough gee-pull to make a manfeel comfortable, once he's used to it. That's one of the reasons whyThreadneedle Street was picked. As the financial center of the Belt, wehave a great many visitors from Earth, and one-quarter gee is a loteasier to get used to than a fiftieth." Then he looked quickly at theothers and said, "Now, gentlemen, how can Lloyd's of London help you?"
He had phrased it that way on purpose, deliberately making it awkwardfor them to bring up the subject they had on their minds.
It was Nguma who broke the short silence. "Quite simply, Mr. Martin, wehave come to put our case before you in person. It is not Lloyd's wewant--it is you."
"You refer to our correspondence on the Nipe case, Mr. Nguma?"
"Exactly. We feel--"
The man behind the desk interrupted him. "Mr. Nguma, do you have anyfurther information?" He looked as though such news would be welcome butthat it would not change his mind in the least.
"That's just it, Mr. Martin," said Nguma, "we don't know whether ourlittle bits and dribbles of information are worth anything."
The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair again. "I see," he saidsoftly. "Well, just what is it you want of me, Mr. Nguma?"
Nguma looked surprised. "Why, just what I've written, sir! You areacknowledged as the greatest detective in the Solar System--bar none. Weneed you, Mr. Martin! _Earth_ needs you! That inhuman monster has beenkilling and robbing for ten years! Men, women, and children have beenslaughtered and eaten as though they were cattle! You've _got_ to helpus find that God-awful thing!"
Before there could be any answer, Arthur Gerrol leaned forward earnestlyand said, "Mr. Martin, we don't just represent businessmen who have beenrobbed. We also represent hundreds and hundreds of people who have hadfriends and relatives murdered by that horror. Little people, Mr.Martin. Ordinary people who are helpless against the terror of asuperhuman evil. This isn't just a matter of money and goods lost--it'sa matter of _lives_ lost. Human lives, Mr. Martin."
"They're not the only ones who are concerned, either," Vandenbosch brokein. "If that hellish thing isn't destroyed, more will die. Who knows howlong a beast like that may live? What is its life-span? Nobody knows!"He waved a hand in the air. "For all we know, it could go on for anothercentury--maybe more--killing, killing, killing."
The detective looked at them for a moment in silence. These three menrepresented more than just a group of businessmen who had grown uneasyabout the Government's ability to catch the Nipe; they represented morethan a few hundred or even a few thousand people who had been directlyaffected by the monster's depredations. They represented the growingfeeling of unrest that was making itself known all over Earth. It waseven making itself felt out here in the Belt, although the Nipe had not,in the past decade, shown any desire to leave Earth. Why hadn't thebeast been found? Why couldn't it be killed? Why were its raids alwaysso fantastically successful?
For every toothmark that inhuman thing had left on a human bone, it hadleft a thousand on human minds--marks of a fear that was more than afear. It was a deep-seated terror of the unknown.
The number of people killed in ordinary accidents in a single week wasgreater than the total number killed by the Nipe in the last decade, butnowhere were men banding together to put a stop to that sort of death.Accidental death was a known factor, almost a friend; the Nipe was starkhorror.
The detective said: "Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but what I said in my lastletter still goes. I can't take the job. I will not go to Earth."
Every one of the three men could sense the determination in his voice,the utter finality of his words. There was no mistaking the iron-hardwill of the man. They knew that nothing could shake him--nothing, atleast, that they could do.
But they couldn't admit defeat. No matter how futile they knew it to be,they still had to try.
Nguma took a billfold from his jacket pocket, opened it, and took out anengraved sheet of paper with an embossed seal in one corner. He put iton the desk in front of the detective.
"Would you look at that, Mr. Martin?" he asked.
The detective picked it up and looked at it. The expression on his facedid not change. "Two hundred and fifty thousand," he said, in a voicethat showed only polite interest. "A cool quarter of a million. That's alot of money, Mr. Nguma."
"It is," said Nguma. "As you can see, that sum has just been depositedhere, in the Belt branch of the Bank of England. It will be transferredto your account immediately, as soon as you agree to come to Earth tofind and kill the Nipe."
The detective looked up from his inspection of the certificate. He hadknown that the three men had made a visit to the Bank's offices, and hehad been fairly sure of their purpose when he had received theinformation. He had not known the sum would be quite so large.
"A quarter of a million, just to take the job?" he asked. "And what if Idon't catch him?"
"We have faith in you, Mr. Martin," Nguma said. "We know yourreputation. We know what you've done in the past. The Government policehaven't been able to do anything. They're completely baffled, and havebeen for ten years. They will continue to be so. This alien's mind istoo devilishly sharp for the kind of men in Government service. We knowthat when you take this job the finest brain in the Solar System will besearching for that horror. If you can't find him ..." He spread hishands in a gesture that was partly a dismissal of all hope and partly anappeal to the man whose services he wanted so desperately.
The detective put the certificate down on the desk top and pushed ittoward Nguma. "That's very flattering, sir. Really. And I wish therewere some more diplomatic way of saying no--but that's all I can say."
"There will be a like sum deposited to your account as soon as youeither kill or capture the Nipe, or, discovering his hideout, enable theGovernment officials to kill or capture him," said Nguma.
"That's half a million in all," Gerrol put in. "We've worked hard toraise that money, Mr. Martin. It should be enough."
The detective kept his temper under icy control, allowing just enough ofhis anger to show to make his point. "Mr. Gerrol ... it is not aquestion of money. Your offer is more than generous."
"It's our final offer," Gerrol said flatly.
"I hope it is, Mr. Gerrol," the detective said coldly. "I sincerely hopeit is. For the past six months, you and your organization have beentrying to get me to take this job. I appreciate the sincerity of yourefforts, believe me. And, as I said, I am honored and flattered that youshould think so highly of me. On the other hand, your method of goingabout it is hardly flattering. I turned down your first offer of twentythousand six months ago. Since then, you have been going up and up andup until you have finally reached twenty-five times the originalamount. You seem to think I have been holding out for more money. I haveattempted to disabuse you of that notion, but you would not read what Iput down in my communications, evidently. If I had wanted more moneythan you offered at first, I would have said so. I would have quoted youa price. I did not. I gave you an unqualified refusal. I give it to youstill. _No._ Flatly, absolutely, and finally ... _no_."
Nguma was the only one of the three who could find his tongueimmediately. "I should think," he said somewhat acidly, "that you wouldconsider it your duty to--"
The detective cut him off. "My duty, Mr. Nguma, is, at this moment, tomy employers. I am a paid investigator for Lloyd's of London, Beltbranch. I draw a salary that is more than adequate for my needs andalmost adequate for my taste in the little luxuries of life. I am, forthe time being at least, satisfied with my work. So are my employers.Until one or the other of us becomes dissatisfied, the situation willremain as it is. I will not accept any outside work of any kind exceptat the instructions of, or with the permission of, my employers. I haveneither. I want neither at this time. That is all, gentlemen. Good day."
"But the money ..." Nguma said.
"The money should be withdrawn from the bank and returned to Earth. Isuggest you return it to the people who have donated it to yourorganization. If that is impossible, I suggest you donate it to theGovernment officials who are working so hard to do the job you wantdone. I assure you, they are much more capable than I of dealing withthe Nipe. Good day, Mr. Nguma, Mr. Vandenbosch, Mr. Gerrol."
They looked hurt, bewildered, and angry. Only Mr. Barnabas Nguma lookedas if he might have some slight understanding of what had happened. Hewas the only one who spoke. "Good day, Mr. Martin. I am sorry we havedisturbed you. Thank you for your valuable time," he said with dignity.And then the three men walked out the door, closing it behind them.
The detective sat behind his desk, looking at the door, almost as if hecould see the men beyond it as they moved down the corridor. Severalminutes later, when his secretary opened the door again, he was stillstaring thoughtfully at it. She thought he was staring at her.
"Something the matter, Mr. Martin?" she asked.
"What? Oh. No, no. Nothing, Helen; nothing. Just wool-gathering. Did yousee our visitors out all right?"
She glided in and closed the door behind her. "Well, none of them felland broke a leg, if that's what you mean. But that Mr. Gerrol looked asthough he might break a blood vessel. I take it you turned them downagain?"
"Yes. For the last time, I think. It's a shame they had to travel outhere, all that distance, to be turned down. They looked on me as theirgreat white hope. They couldn't really believe I would turn them down.Couldn't let themselves believe it, I guess. They're scared,Helen--bright green scared."
"I know. But if it weren't for the fact that I have certain pretensionsto being a lady, I would have booted that Gerrol into orbit without aspacesuit."
"Oh?"
"He implied," Helen said angrily, "that you were a coward. That you wereafraid to face the Nipe."
The detective chuckled. "I hope you didn't say anything."
"I wanted to," she admitted. "I wanted to tell him that guns were easyto buy, that all he had to do was buy one and go after the Nipe himself.I would like to have seen his face if I'd asked him how scared _he_ wasof the beast. But I didn't say a word. They weren't talking to me,anyway; they were talking to each other."
"I'd almost be willing to bet that Nguma disagreed with Gerrol. Ngumadidn't think I was a physical coward; he thought I was a moral coward."
"How'd you know?"
"Intuition. Just from the way he talked and acted. He felt the failuremore than the others because he felt that there was no hope left at all.He was quite certain that I, myself, did not believe the Nipe could becaught--by me or anyone else. He thinks that I turned down the jobbecause I know I'd fail and I don't want to have a failure on my record.Not _that_ big a failure."
"That's ridiculous, of course," the girl said angrily.
The detective noticed a faint note in her voice. _She thinks the same asNguma_, he thought, _but she doesn't want to admit it to herself_. Hemassaged his closed eyes with the tips of his fingers. _Maybe she'sright_, he thought. _Maybe they're both right._ Aloud, he said, "Well,we've had our little diversion. Let's get back to work."
"Yes, sir. You want the BenChaim file again?"
"Yes. I've got to figure that tricky line down to a T, or we may neversee that boy again. We haven't much time, either--two weeks at most."
She went over to the file cabinet and took out several heavy folders."Imagine," she said, almost to herself, "imagine them trying to get youaway from here when you have a kidnap case to solve. They must be out oftheir minds."
_There was no kidnap case six months ago_, the detective thought. _Sheknows that's not the reason. She's only trying to convince herself. Whydid I turn them down?_
His mind veered away from the dangerous subject, and for a moment hismental processes refused to focus on anything at all.
The girl put the files down on his desk.
"Thanks, Helen. Now, let's see ..." _I'll work on this_, he thought. _Iwon't even think about the other at all._