uried in a pile of papers, but now Murdoch
came around to stare at the gang leader. He inspected the forged work
papers, and jerked his thumb toward one of the hastily built cells where
a doctor would look O'Neill over--eventually. When Gordon and Jenkins
came back, Murdoch tossed the money to them. "Split it. You guys earned
it by keeping your hands off it. Anyhow, you're as entitled to it as he
was--or the grafters back at Police Headquarters. I never saw it.
Gordon, you've got a visitor!"

His voice was bitter, but he made no opening for them to question him as
he picked up the papers and began going through them again. Gordon went
down the passage to the end of the hall, in the direction Murdoch had
indicated. Waiting for him was the lean, cynical little figure of Honest
Izzy, complete with uniform and sergeant's stripes.

"Hi, gov'nor," the little man greeted him. "Long time no see. With you
out here and me busy nights doing a bit of convoy work on the side, we
might as well not both live at Mother's."

Bruce Gordon nodded, grinning in spite of himself. "Convoy duty, Izzy?
Or dope running?"

"Whatever comes to hand, gov'nor. The Force pays for my time during the
day, and I figure my time's my own at night. Of course, if I ever catch
myself doing anything shady during the day, I'll have to turn myself in.
But it ain't likely." He grinned in satisfaction. "Now that I've dug up
the scratch to buy these stripes and get made sergeant--and that takes
the real crackle--I'm figuring on taking it easy."

"Like this social call?" Gordon asked him.

The little man shook his head, his ancient eighteen-year-old face
turning sober. "Nope. I've been meaning to see you, so I volunteered to
run out some red tape for your captain. You owe me some bills, gov'nor.
Eleven hundred fifty credits. You didn't pay up your pledge to the
campaign fund, so I hadda fill in. A thousand, interest at ten per cent
a week, standard. Right?"

Gordon had heard of the friendly interest charged on the side here, but
he shook his head. "Wrong, Izzy. If they want to collect that dratted
pledge of theirs, let them put me where I can make it. There's no graft
out here."

"Huh?" Izzy turned it over, and shook his head. Finally he shrugged.
"Don't matter, gov'nor. Nothing about that in the pledge, and when you
sign something, you gotta pay it. You _gotta_."

"All right," Gordon admitted. He was suddenly in no mood to quibble with
Izzy's personal co