"Do you have the crates down there?"
"Uh-uh. Mr. Kent said he'd skim them in sometime tomorrow. He was coming up to get the switch O.K.'d by you. Why? Anything wrong?"
Joe opened the center drawer of his desk.
"No. Nothing's wrong. Listen carefully, Reader. I'm going to take care of those crates myself. If I'm—not in my office tomorrow you are not to load them on-ship! No matter what Mr. Ke—anyone says or does! If the crates come in refrigerate them and call the Patrol and send the name of the addressee to Detain immediately!"
Reader came as near as he ever had to looking surprised. Nothing wrong? His right eyebrow shot up several millimeters. Joe added, "Keep this in your cheek and there'll be double credits for you pay-day."
Reader nodded. "Yeah, boss. Don't I always?"
Joe took his atom pistol out of the drawer, handling it with unfamiliar fingers. It had been a long time since those target shooting days in Iowa. He checked the gun quickly, reloaded it with fresh pellets.
He had left the visiphone on, and when Reader had broken his connection, the interior of Miss Kal's office and the surprised face of that eavesdropper had automatically returned. She stared at the atom pistol.
"Miss Kal," Joe said softly. "Get me a canal-cab."