There was a long silence, during which Harshaw thought clinically that a man of Douglas’ age really should not indulge in such evident rage. Douglas did not leave the screen but he consulted offscreen and silently. At last he spoke—to the Man from Mars.

Mike had stayed on screen the whole time, as silently and at least as patiently as the Witness. Douglas said to him, “Smith, why do you insist on this ridiculous condition?”

Harshaw put a hand on Mike and said instantly, “Don’t answer, Mike!”—then to Douglas: “Tut, tut, Mr. Secretary! The Canons, please! You may not inquire why my client has instructed me. And let me add that the Canons are violated with exceptional grievance in that my client has but lately learned English and cannot be expected to hold his own against you. If you will first take the trouble to learn Martian, I may permit you to put the question again . . . in his language. Or I may not. But certainly not today.”

Douglas sighed. “Very well. It might be pertinent to inquire into what Canons you have played fast and loose with, too—but I haven’t time; I have a government to run. I yield. But don’t expect me to shake hands with this Caxton!”

“As you wish, sir. Now back to the first point. We are held up. I haven’t been able to find Caxton. His office says that he is out of town.”

Douglas laughed. “That’s hardly my problem. You insisted on a privilege—one I find personally offensive. Bring whom you like. But round them up yourself.”

“Reasonable, sir, very reasonable. But would you be willing to do the Man from Mars a favor?”

“Eh? What favor?”

“The talks will not begin until Caxton is located—that is flat and is not subject to argument. But I have not been able to find him . . . and my client is getting restive. I am merely a private citizen . . . but you have resources.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some minutes ago I spoke rather disparagingly of the Special Service squadrons—check it off to the not unnatural irk of a man who has just had his front door broken down. But in truth I know that they can be amazingly efficient . . . and they have the ready cooperation of police forces everywhere, local, state, national, and all Federation departments and bureaus. Mr. Secretary, if you were to call in your S.S. Commandant and tell him that you were anxious to locate a certain man as quickly as was humanly possible—well, sir, it would produce more meaningful activity in the next hour than I myself could hope to produce in a century.”

“Why on Earth should I alert all police forces everywhere to find one scandal-mongering reporter?”

“Not ‘on Earth,’ my dear sir—on Mars. I asked you to regard this as a favor to the Man from Mars.”

“Well . . . it’s a preposterous request but I’ll go along.” Douglas looked directly at Mike. “As a favor to Smith, only. But I shall expect similar cooperation when we get down to cases,”

“You have my assurance that it will ease the situation enormously.”

“Well, I can’t promise anything. You say the man is missing. If he is, he may have fallen in front of a truck; he may be dead—and I, for one, would not mourn.”

Harshaw looked very grave. “Let us hope not, for all of our sakes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve tried to point out that sad possibility to my client—but it is like shouting into the wind. He simply won’t listen to the idea.” Harshaw sighed. “A shambles, sir. If we can’t find this Caxton, that is what we will both have on our hands: a shambles.”

“Well . . . I’ll try. But don’t expect miracles, Doctor.”

“Not I, sir. My client. He has the Martian viewpoint . . . and he does expect miracles. So let’s pray for one.”

“You’ll hear from me. That’s all I can say.”

Harshaw bowed without getting up. “Your servant, sir.”

As the Secretary General’s image cleared from the screen Jubal sighed and stood up, and at once found Gillian’s arms around his neck. “Oh, Jubal, you were wonderful!”

“We aren’t out of the woods yet, child.”

“I know. But if anything can save Ben, you’ve just done it.” She kissed him.

“Hey, none of that stuff! I swore off smooching before you were born. So kindly show respect for my years.” He kissed her carefully and thoroughly. “That’s just to take the taste of Douglas out of my mouth—between kicking him and kissing him I was getting nauseated. Now go smooch Mike instead. He deserves it—for holding still to my damned lies.”

“Oh, I shall!” Jill let go of Harshaw, put her arms around the Man from Mars. “Such wonderful lies, Jubal!” She kissed Mike.