"I'm not quite sure what you're getting at," Leon Stubbs said.
"I think you do, Mr. Stubbs," Claude retorted. "I think we're both getting at the same thing. Suppose we dispense with the subtleties and get down to cases."
The Director sat down at the desk pyramiding his fingertips.
"Very well, Mr. Marshall," he said. "I'll be blunt. It's occurred to me that if the date on your claim were changed, the land would naturally be yours. The difficulty of course lies in the fact that there are duplicate records on Terra and we'd have to take care of the man who handles them. Otherwise the discrepancy would show up eventually. Actually, I want nothing for myself but these people in Washington—"
"Yeah, I know," Claude interrupted. "It's someone else who's getting the money. It's always someone else who's getting the money."
"It would take quite a bit, I'm afraid," the Director said ignoring the sarcasm.
"How much?"
The Director stubbed out the end of his cigar. "About five thousand," he said. "Yes. Five thousand ought to do it."
Claude looked at his wife.
And she looked back at him.