concerting at first, but the spin gives enough gee-pull to make a man
feel comfortable, once he's used to it. That's one of the reasons why
Threadneedle Street was picked. As the financial center of the Belt, we
have a great many visitors from Earth, and one-quarter gee is a lot
easier to get used to than a fiftieth." Then he looked quickly at the
others and said, "Now, gentlemen, how can Lloyd's of London help you?"

He had phrased it that way on purpose, deliberately making it awkward
for them to bring up the subject they had on their minds.

It was Nguma who broke the short silence. "Quite simply, Mr. Martin, we
have come to put our case before you in person. It is not Lloyd's we
want--it is you."

"You refer to our correspondence on the Nipe case, Mr. Nguma?"

"Exactly. We feel--"

The man behind the desk interrupted him. "Mr. Nguma, do you have any
further information?" He looked as though such news would be welcome but
that it would not change his mind in the least.

"That's just it, Mr. Martin," said Nguma, "we don't know whether our
little bits and dribbles of information are worth anything."

The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair again. "I see," he said
softly. "Well, just what is it you want of me, Mr. Nguma?"

Nguma looked surprised. "Why, just what I've written, sir! You are
acknowledged as the greatest detective in the Solar System--bar none. We
need you, Mr. Martin! _Earth_ needs you! That inhuman monster has been
killing and robbing for ten years! Men, women, and children have been
slaughtered and eaten as though they were cattle! You've _got_ to help
us find that God-awful thing!"

Before there could be any answer, Arthur Gerrol leaned forward earnestly
and said, "Mr. Martin, we don't just represent businessmen who have been
robbed. We also represent hundreds and hundreds of people who have had
friends and relatives murdered by that horror. Little people, Mr.
Martin. Ordinary people who are helpless against the terror of a
superhuman evil. This isn't just a matter of money and goods lost--it's
a matter of _lives_ lost. Human lives, Mr. Martin."

"They're not the only ones who are concerned, either," Vandenbosch broke
in. "If that hellish thing isn't destroyed, more will die. Who knows how
long a beast like that may live? What is its life-span? Nobody knows!"
He waved a hand in the air. "For all we know, it could go on for another
century--maybe more--killing, killing, killing."

Th