"I noticed you'd slipped out of the courtroom," he went on. "I hope you don't mind my following you."
"Of course not, Mr. BenChaim," the detective said. "Sit down."
BenChaim sat in the chair across the desk from the detective. "I didn't wait for the verdict," he said. "I knew the conviction was certain after you testified."
"Thanks. My secretary got the news just before you came in. Guilty straight across the board. But your son's testimony was a lot more telling than mine."
"Guilty," BenChaim repeated with satisfaction. "Naturally. What else? I admit my son's testimony was good," he continued; "Little Shmuela told his story like a little man up there in the witness-box. Never looked scared, never got mixed up. But Shmuela's testimony was your testimony too, Mr. Martin. If it hadn't been for you, he wouldn't be here to testify, for which I'm grateful to God." Then he leaned back and spread his hands apart in a gesture of dismissal.
"But that's all over and done with," he said. "I came about a different matter." Again he paused, as if picking his words carefully. "Do you know a man named Barnabas Nguma?"
"Nguma? Yes; I met him once. Why?"
"He was in the courtroom today. He came to see me just before court convened."
"Oh?" the detective said noncommittally.
"Yes. He claims to represent an organization on Earth which has been trying to hire you for a job there. Is that right?"