"Let him go, Kenesaw," a new voice broke in. Sanderson grunted, but released the detective. He nodded toward the door.
"Got off early, eh, Hobbs?"
"A little." The man in the doorway was as big as Sanderson, but his face was benevolent, gentle, and seamed with care. White hair bristled in a ruff above his broad forehead. "A little," he repeated. "Zeeth and I must go back tonight for the festival."
"Sta. We must go back tonight," said Zeeth, in the Venusian dialect. He appeared from behind Hobbs, a native of Venus, with the familiar soft plumpness and huge feet of the race. His dog-like eyes examined Vanning. "New?"
The detective introduced himself. He was secretly puzzled. One of these three men, apparently, was Callahan—but which one? None of them resembled the man Vanning had seen on the micro-projector back at Venus Landing. But, still—
III
On impulse, Vanning took out the make-up kit and held it up. "I found this under the shelves. Yours, Hobbs? Or Sanderson?"
Both men shook their heads, frowning. Vanning glanced at the Venusian.
"Yours, Zeeth?"