"Nothing usable, sir."
Rath's thin lips tightened. It had been close to seven hours since the
customer had taken the Martian machine. There was no telling what harm
had been done by now. The customer would be justified in bringing suit
against the Company. Not that the money mattered much; it was the bad
publicity that was to be avoided at all costs.
"Beg pardon, sir," Haskins said.
Rath ignored him. What next? Rapid Transit was not going to cooperate.
Would the Armed Services make their records available for scansion by
somatotype and pigmentation?
"Sir," Haskins said again.
"What is it?"
"I just remembered the customer's friend's name. It was Magnessen."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Absolutely," Haskins said, with the first confidence he had shown in
hours. "I've taken the liberty of looking him up in the telephone book,
sir. There's only one Manhattan listing under that name."
Rath glowered at him from under shaggy eyebrows. "Haskins, I hope you
are not wrong about this. I sincerely hope that."
"I do too, sir," Haskins admitted, feeling his knees begin to shake.
"Because if you are," Rath said, "I will ... Never mind. Let's go!"
-- -- -- -- --
By police escort, they arrived at the address in fifteen minutes.
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