Barnard looked through narrowed eyes at Commander Lansfer of the Space Police, and he knew the man was lying. All his newsman's instinct told him that the dark-haired, sharp-featured police officer knew more than he was telling. He leaned across the desk.
"Commander, I came all the way from Earth to get the inside on this dope ring. Who's behind it? Where does it come from?"
Lansfer shrugged slightly. His face was expressionless, as always. "We are working on the problem," he said.
Barnard made a disgusted gesture. "We know that the outer planets are being flooded with neoin. Mars is full of human wrecks, and half the asterites are using the stuff. If it ever gets loose on Earth, the human race will have a worse enemy than the black plague."
"We will cooperate with the press," said Lansfer, "as far as it's practical to do so. In the meantime, you may be sure we're not sleeping."
"I hope not." Barnard glared at the policeman and made a mental note to pan the Space Police in his next despatch. "And how does Gail Melvin fit in?"
"Gail Melvin is a minor peddler. We've nothing on her—just took her in for questioning, to be sure she knew nothing important." A trace of annoyance shaded his eyes for a moment. "But we took her in quietly. How did you find out about it?"
"From my special secret service," said Barnard dryly.
"Then," said Lansfer, "your secret service can tell you the rest of the story. If you're quite through—"
They stood and for a second faced each other across the desk. Lansfer, six hard feet of spaceman, hard jawed and poker faced. Barnard, six lean flexible feet of newsman, crowding his thermostats. Then Barnard whirled and went out.