When he had taken this assignment to come through the "door" between the worlds, he had known that there would be hardships, and that his life would be continually in danger, but it was moments like these that he hated the most—moments when he was not able to dictate the next step.
Approximately twenty years earlier—in 1950—the aliens had somehow made their "door" between the worlds; that "door" which never appeared twice in the same spot. At first they had been content to come in, circle their noiseless vessels through the air as they observed the Earth, then return through their shifting "door." They had refused all contact. Then gradually evidence began to come in that they were raiding undefended areas, abducting men and stealing property. Their depredations increased through the years until eventually they constituted a major menace.
There was no effective defense against them. Now and then one of their air ships was shot down but invariably it exploded before crashing. At last, in desperation, the United Governments had attempted to get operatives through with the captured persons. Ostby was one of the few instances of success.
For six months now, by dint of adroit maneuvering and luck, he had managed to stay alive, but he was no nearer to closing the "door."
Impatiently Ostby climbed to his feet and began pacing the room. He had never been able to get used to these rooms, with no corners, and all their furniture in the center. But they made for convenient pacing.
Had he been wrong in his estimate of the Duchess, he wondered. She had appeared too much woman to let matters of the state come ahead of her private affairs. Suddenly he stopped in mid-stride as there came a gentle tapping on his door. He had not been wrong!
II
The Duchess had been a woman of her word, Ostby reflected, as he leaned against the counter sipping his drink. Knowing full well who he was, she had allowed him to leave, making no demands of him, and inviting him back whenever he cared to come. She was quite a woman. Some day, if and when he was able to clear up this business, he would return.
Now the time had come for him to change tactics. He had been able to accomplish nothing by playing a lone hand. He needed help. When you opposed the police the best place to seek help—he had decided—was among others who broke the law. Thus he returned to the Flats, hangout of the underworld.