"None, sir. It was in the mirage country, you know, and I have nothing to search even plain and simple desert, let alone that weird district. Perhaps some day I may be able to push my claim and make up an expedition."
"And until that time...."
"With your permission, sir, I should like to write a letter to accompany the Vadirrian. Then ... I shall go home."
"Home?"
"My ... beach home, sir. I have considerable property fronting on the Nergal Sea, you know. As far as I care to walk," he added with some bitterness.
Bannerman shrugged. "Public property, Thorne. There are pens and paper there. I'll see your letter off with the box."
"Thank you, sir."
But, pen in hand, Thorne sat staring into space, nibbing thoughtfully at the tip. It was not easy. Finally, he began to write, slowly, awkwardly forming the letters he had not shaped for two years and more. But, presently, warming to the unaccustomed task, they came more easily and the pen scratched briskly in the silent office. Bannerman buried himself in his paper work, ignoring the visitor at the other table.
Dear Miss Thurland,
You will remember me, I think, even if only as a poor space-bum dragged by the heels from the Nergal Sea, on Mars, just outside Vulhan City. You were kind to give me money, twenty credits.