ozen man in a blue suit
with copper buttons.

"It's one of those old level cemeteries!" cried Mr. Milton. "I remember
seeing pictures like it, sir."

Captain Webber read aloud from the pamphlet.

"For fifty years," he began, "an outstanding cultural and spiritual
asset to this community, HAPPY GLADES is proud to announce yet another
innovation in its program of post-benefits. NOW YOU CAN ENJOY THE
AFTER-LIFE IN SURROUNDINGS WHICH SUGGEST THE HERE-AND-NOW. Never before
in history has scientific advancement allowed such a plan."

Captain Webber turned the page.

"For those who prefer that their late departed have really _permanent,
eternal_ happiness, for those who are dismayed by the fragility of all
things mortal, we of HAPPY GLADES are proud to offer:

"1. The permanent duplication of physical conditions identical to those
enjoyed by the departed on Earth. Park, playground, lodge, office
building, hotel or house, etc., may be secured at varying prices. All
workmanship and materials specially attuned to conditions on ASTEROID
K_{7} and guaranteed for PERMANENCE.

"2. PERMANENT conditioning of late beloved so that, in the midst of
surroundings he favored, a genuine Eternity may be assured.

"3. Full details on HAPPY GLADES' newest property, Asteroid K_{7}, may be
found on page 4."

The captain tossed the pamphlet to the floor and lit a cigarette. "Did
anyone happen to notice the date?"

Mr. Milton said, "It doesn't make any sense! There haven't been
cemeteries for ages. And even if this were true, why should anyone want
to go all the way through space to a little asteroid? They might just as
well have built these things on Earth."

"Who would want all this when they're dead, anyway?"

"You mean all these people are dead?"

For a few moments there was complete and utter silence in the lobby of
the building.

* * * * *

"Are those things true, that we read in your booklet?" asked Captain
Webber after Lieutenant Peterson had brought in the prisoner.

"Every word," said the little man bowing slightly, "is monumentally
correct."

"Then we want you to begin explaining."

Mr. Greypoole tushed and proceeded to straighten the coat of a
middle-aged man with a cigar.

Mr. Goeblin shuddered.

"No, no," laughed Mr. Greypoole, "_these_ are only imitations. Mr.
Conklin upstairs was head of a large firm; absolutely in love with his
work, you know--that kind of thing. So we had to