The Secretary held up his hand, palm out, for silence. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. I can't take the unsubstantiated word of every crackpot that comes in here." He reached over and turned on the visiphone. "I'm going to have to call the police," he said. He looked over at the shorter of the two men who had brought Stone in. "Miller, take Mr. Stone into the other room and hold him until the police arrive."
The squat man took his gun out. "Let's go."
Kendall turned toward the man named Miller, and for the first time saw his face clearly. In the darkness outside, he hadn't had a really good look at the man, and since he'd been in the Secretary's study, he hadn't paid any attention to the men who stood behind him. But as he faced the pudgy little man, he realized that the face was definitely familiar. He struggled to recall where he had seen the man before.
"In here, fellow," the squat man said, jostling Stone into what was probably the library. Keeping the gun trained on him with one hand, Miller lit a cigarette with the other, and a cloud of bluish smoke curled upward.
Stone watched him. Suddenly, he remembered the face. The little man was the same one who had bumped into him in the spaceport terminal, just outside the Customs Room! He knew now what had happened to his ID booklet. The fat little man was a pickpocket.
And if he was working for the Secretary—
Stone sucked in his breath sharply. This involved more than mere ignorance about Rastolian customs; this was a conspiracy to wipe out the colony of Earthmen up there!
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Not much time left. Overhead, he heard the gentle whirring of a police helicopter. They weren't wasting a moment in getting him clamped away where he couldn't do any harm.
He glanced up at the noise, and Miller automatically glanced up too. Kendall's hand shot out, enclosing the squat man's gun hand in a vice-like grip. Miller started to yell, but his antagonist's fist smashed into his mouth before he could say anything. Miller dropped to the floor.
Kendall picked up the gun, shoved it into his pocket, and threw the little man easily over his shoulder. Then he headed for the French windows that opened onto the balcony.