"He always stays at the Greater Martian," he told Greg. "We'll probably catch him there."
Two hours later the phone rang. It was the spaceport.
"That message you sent to Wilson," said the voice of the operator, "can't be delivered. Wilson isn't at the Greater Martian. The clerk said he checked out for New York last night."
"Didn't he leave a forwarding address?" asked Russ.
"Apparently not."
Russ hung up the receiver, frowning. "Wilson is in New York."
Greg looked up from a sheet of calculations.
"New York, eh?" he said and then went back to work, but a moment later he straightened from his work. "What would Wilson be doing in New York?"
"I wonder ..." Russ stopped and shook his head.