th regret._

* * * * *

Brent Taber stood in the shelter of a doorway on the Lower East Side of
Manhattan and watched an entrance across the street. He had been there
for over an hour.

Another hour passed and Taber shifted from one aching foot to the other
as a man in a blue suit emerged from the entrance and moved off down the
street.

When the man had turned a corner, Taber crossed over and looked up at
the brownstone. It was a perfect place to hide--one of the many rooming
houses in the city where, if you paid your rent and kept your peace, no
one cared who you were or where you came from.

Not even, Taber reflected, if you had been born in a laboratory and had
come from someplace among the stars.

He climbed the steps of the brownstone and tried the knob. The door
opened. He went inside and found himself in a drab, dark hall furnished
with an umbrella stand, a worn carpet, and a table spread with mail.

There was a bell on the table. He tapped it and, after a lazy length of
time, a shapeless woman came through a door on the right and regarded
him with no great show of cordiality.

"Nothing vacant, mister. Everything I've got is rented."

"I wasn't looking for a room. I'm just doing a little checking."

"My license is okay," the woman said belligerently. "The place is clean
and orderly."

"That's not what I'm checking about. There's been some counterfeit money
passed in this neighborhood and we're trying to trace it down."

The woman had a pronounced mustache that quivered at this news.
"Counterfeit! My roomers are honest."

"I'm sure they are. But some people carry counterfeit money without
knowing it. Do they all pay in cash?"

"Only two of them."

"Men or women?"

"One girl--Katy Wynn."

"Where does she work?"

"Down in Wall Street."

"Not much chance we're interested. This money has been turning up around
Times Square."

"The other's a man--quiet, no trouble, pays his rent right on the dot
every week. John Dennis his name is and he doesn't look like no
counterfeiter."

Taber took a forward step. "What's his room number?"

"Six--on the second floor. But he isn't in now. He just went out."

"Okay. Maybe I'll be back. As I said, we don't suspect anybody. We're
just checking for sources."

Taber turned toward the door. The woman vanished back into her own
quarters as Taber snapped the lock. He stood in the vestibule for a
minute or two, studying some ca