"Come in, Quillan," Commissioner Tate said from within the office.
Quillan went in and closed the door behind him. "What did I do?" he asked bewilderedly.
"Nothing much," said Holati. "You just share the misfortune of being a male human being. At the moment, Trigger's against 'em. She blew up the Brule Inger setup last night."
"Oh!" Quillan sat down. "I never did like that idea much," he said.
The Commissioner shrugged. "You don't know the girl yet. If I'd hauled Inger in, she would never have really forgiven me for it. I had to let her handle it herself. Actually she understands that."
"How did it go?"
"Her cover reported it was one hell of a good fight for some seconds. If you'd looked closer, you might have just spotted the traces of the shiner Inger gave her. It was a beaut last night."
Quillan went white.
"But if you're thinking of having a chat with Inger re that part of it," the Commissioner went on, "forget it." He glanced at a report from the medical department on his desk. "Dislocated shoulder ... broken thumb ... moderate concussion. And so on. It was the throat punch that finished the matter. He can't talk yet. We'll call it square."
Quillan grunted. "What are you going to do with him now?"