been with us for the past ten minutes."

"Let's stop at this stand and look at the baskets," Zircon invited
casually.

They did so, and pretended great interest in the huge variety of woven
ware while Scotty maneuvered to look back the way they had come. Rick
saw his pal's face change, then Scotty fingered a basket and used it as
a cover while talking.

"It's nice to find a familiar face in a strange place," Scotty said.
"Believe it or not, it's the man in the red fez who trailed us in
Manila!"

"Are you certain?" Zircon asked swiftly.

"Yes. It isn't just the fez, it's the face. Besides, he's wearing the
same clothes."

Zircon's normally loud voice dropped to a whisper. "Lay a plan, Scotty.
We'll mousetrap him. I have a few questions I'd like to ask."

"All right. Let's move on and look for a place. This is too crowded."

They sauntered on, elaborately casual, stopping now and then to examine
goods in an open market stall or to marvel at the colors of fish offered
for sale. Rick wondered about the man in the red fez. Since he had
trailed them in Manila, and had come all the way to Zamboanga, his
interest in them must be linked to the missing scientists. Maybe, if the
man would talk, they could finally learn something of value!

Rick kept his eyes open, watching for a likely place to set a trap. He
saw that the market place ended in an open park that ran along both
sides of the street leading from the wharves into town. Up the street,
where the park ended, he saw a big warehouse marked with the name MANUAL
WEE SIT & CO.

"That shed is the best bet," Scotty said softly. "Let's step it up a
little, walk to the end of the warehouse, then go around the corner.
Look for a doorway in which we can wait for him."

The three walked faster, but only as tourists might do who had left an
interesting area and wanted to go elsewhere. They passed the end of the
warehouse and rounded the corner. There was an open shed-type door
there, and seated in front of it on a nail keg was an elderly Chinese,
smoking his water pipe and getting the afternoon sun. He didn't look up
at the three Americans.

"Step in the doorway," Scotty said swiftly. "The old man must be
dreaming about something. He won't bother us."

It was cool and dim in the warehouse. Rick saw flour barrels and case
after case of canned food, many with American brand names.

Scotty took a position just inside the door where he could watch through
the opening. In