Alayna was in deadly danger, and he knew of no way to find her or help her.
He was about to turn about and return to his office for a futile check on the progress being made by the Identification Office, when a thought formed in his mind. There was yet one clue that he had not exploited—a clue that stuck out so close to his face that he hadn't seen it.
The Martians—the Martians who had stolen the pellet of harmeena from him on the desert. They were in contact with the dope peddlers of Starhouse.
He raced to the nearest televise booth and called Commander Calvin's home. But as the signal rang at the other end of the line Roal slowly replaced the receiver.
He knew what Calvin's reaction would be. A hundred years of strict peace with the Martians could not be violated by forceful entry into one of the burrows. Calvin would never consent to that, especially since he believed that the whole mystery was only a pipe dream in Roal's mind anyway.
Roal abandoned the call and placed another one. In a moment he got an answer.
"Hello, Shorty," he said. "Do you feel like a job tonight?"
"Sure, if it's a shooting job. I haven't had any excitement for a long time."
"I'm serious, Shorty, and it may turn out to be a shooting job. Bring along your lance."
Shorty sobered. "Sure, Cap. When and where?"