ers apart, and get them
separated enough so that burning wax won't run from one to another."

"Well, why can't we store it in the spaceport area?" Murell wanted to
know. "It is going out on the next ship. I'm consigning it to Exotic
Organics, in Buenos Aires." He turned to Joe. "Are those skins all
marked to indicate who owns them?"

"That's right. And any we gather up loose, from busted skins, we can
figure some way of settling how much anybody's entitled to from them."

"All right. Get me a car and run me to the spaceport. Call them and
tell them I'm on the way. I'll talk to Fieschi myself."

"Martha!" Joe yelled to his wife. "Car and driver, quick. And then
call the spaceport for me; get Mr. Fieschi or Mr. Mansour on screen."

Inside two minutes, a car came in and picked Murell up. By that time,
Joe was talking to somebody at the spaceport. I called the paper, and
told Dad that Murell was buying the wax for his company as fast as it
was being pulled off the fire, at eighty centisols a pound. He said
that would go out as a special bulletin right away. Then I talked to
Morton Hallstock, and this time he wasn't giving me any of the
run-along-sonny routine. I told him, rather hypocritically, what a
fine thing he'd done, getting that equipment from Hunters' Hall. I
suspect I sounded as though I were mayor of Port Sandor and Hallstock,
just seventeen years old, had done something the grownups thought was
real smart for a kid. If so, he didn't seem to notice. Somebody
connected with the press was being nice to him. I asked him where
Steve Ravick was.

"Mr. Ravick is at Hunters' Hall," he said. "He thought it would be
unwise to make a public appearance just now." Oh, brother, what an
understatement! "There seems to be a lot of public feeling against
him, due to some misconception that he was responsible for what
happened to Captain Kivelson's ship. Of course, that is absolutely
false. Mr. Ravick had absolutely nothing to do with that. He wasn't
anywhere near the _Javelin_."

"Where's Al Devis?" I asked.

"Who? I don't believe I know him."

After Hallstock got into his big black air-limousine and took off, Joe
Kivelson gave a short laugh.

"I could have told him where Al Devis is," he said. "No, I couldn't,
either," he corrected himself. "That's a religious question, and I
don't discuss religion."

I shut off my radio in a hurry. "Who got him?" I asked.

Joe named a couple of men from one of the hunter-ships.