"Here." The Lensman dropped an envelope upon the desk in such fashion that it came to rest within an inch of the hand.
"Prints. Here." Samms made prints. "Wash your hands, over there." Herkimer pressed a button. "Check all these prints, against each other and the files. Check the two halves of the torn sheet, fiber to fiber." He turned to the Lensless Lensman, now standing quietly before his desk. "Routine; a formality, in your case, but necessary."
"Of course."
Then for long seconds the two hard men stared into the hard depths of each other's eyes.
"You may do, Olmstead. We have had very good reports of you. But you have never been in thionite?"
"No. I have never even seen any."
"What do you want to get into it for?"
"Your scouts sounded me out; what did they tell you? The usual thing—promotion from the ranks into the brass—to get to where I can do myself and the organization some good."
"Yourself first, the organization second?"
"What else? Why should I be different from the rest of you?"