"My life of crime," chuckled Stacey, "tells me that there are as many motives for crime as there are men with ambition, avarice, and ability. The trouble is that there are more motives for crime than there are varieties of crime. If there is a motive for this cockeyed affair—and I've yet to see a crime without a motive, however involved or simple—you must know it."
"Aside from spacecraft stealing—"
"That's ruled out."
"Then I'll be eternally relegated to the nether regions if I know what it is."
Stacey nodded. "Maybe you know it and don't recognize it."
"Maybe I should visit my family psychiatrist?"
"He might be able to ferret out the hidden secret. But I'd waste no time on it. Just proceed and see what happens."
"Like another busted head?"
"As I recall, it's hard enough."
Paul laughed. One could hardly be sour in Stacey's presence. Nothing appeared serious to the detective; he managed to make everything sound quite cheerful and amusing, even the threat of further depredations. It was a trait disliked by many people, which was probably the main reason why Stacey was a small time operator instead of being the mainspring of a world-wide agency.