The tall slender figure of Director Barrow stood impassively beside Mart's desk and listened to a repetition of Wayne's report. Not a flicker of expression passed over his gaunt face.
As Wayne finished, the Director asked, "Is he armed? Anything taken from the ship's equipment, Captain?"
"Looks intact, but he probably has sidearms. All the pirates carry them. One funny thing, Director. The timer robot has been removed from the control panel. What on Callisto would he want with a loose timer?"
"Report back to headquarters immediately, Captain Wayne," Director Barrow ordered.
The hum of the carrier wave died and Mart clicked off the set. Then, belatedly, he stood up and saluted. "Anything I can do, sir? Everything's set for the freighters to clear as usual, so I'm more or less free—"
Barrow nodded. "Very good, Wells. You may go to the field and direct a search of the freighters. The Venusian's first thought will be to get away, and he may already be stowed in one of—"
A dry voice interrupted from behind the Director's back. "But the Venusian would not do anything so obvious, Director Barrow."
Mart whirled around. Barrow turned slowly and with dignity.
It was the tall man dressed in the uniform of a smelting plant worker who had spoken. But he wasn't dark-haired any more. Still seated, he was smiling at them sardonically as he fanned himself with a black wig he had just removed. The top of his head was as smooth as a billiard ball, and dead white. There was a line of demarcation where the dye he had applied to his face came to an end.