s, I know ... and of course," Miss Mines said, "you aren't
necessarily so lily white either. That's another possibility. And
there's still another one. You don't happen to be a Federation
detective, do you?"

Dasinger blinked. After a moment he said, "Not a bad guess. However, I
don't work for the Federation."

"Oh? For whom do you work?"

"At the moment, and indirectly, for the Dosey Asteroids Company."

"Insurance?"

"No. After Farous died, Dosey Asteroids employed a detective agency to
investigate the matter. I represent the agency."

"The agency collects on the salvage?"

"That's the agreement. We deliver the goods or get nothing."

"And Dr. Egavine?"

Dasinger shrugged. "If the doctor keeps his nose clean, he stays
entitled to half the salvage fee."

"What about the way he got the information from Farous?" she asked.

"From any professional viewpoint, that was highly unethical procedure.
But there's no evidence Egavine broke any laws."

Miss Mines studied him, her eyes bright and quizzical. "I had a feeling
about you," she said. "I ..."

A warning burr came from the tolerance indicator; the girl turned her
head quickly, said, "Cat's complaining ... looks like we're hitting the
first system stresses!" She slid back into the pilot seat. "Be with you
again in a while...."

* * * * *

When Dasinger returned presently to the control section Duomart sat at
ease in the pilot seat with coffee and a sandwich before her.

"How are the mutineers doing?" she asked.

"They ate with a good appetite, said nothing, and gave me no trouble,"
Dasinger said. "They still pretend they don't understand Federation
translingue. Dr. Egavine's a bit sulky. He wanted to be up front during
the prelanding period. I told him he could watch things through his
cabin communicator screen."

Miss Mines finished her sandwich, her eyes thoughtful. "I've been
wondering, you know ... how can you be sure Dr. Egavine told you the
truth about what he got from Leed Farous?"

Dasinger said, "I studied the recordings Dr. Egavine made of his
sessions with Farous in the hospital. He may have held back on a few
details, but the recordings were genuine enough."

"So Farous passes out on a kwil jag," she said, "and he doesn't even
know they're making a landing. When he comes to, the scout's parked, the
Number Three drive is smashed, the lock is open, and not another soul is
aboard or in sight.

"Then he not