"The criminal Blascomb," Crane said, the fixed smile still on the thin lips, "has been observed near the Donovan metallurgical plants. The Komitet suspects that someone close to your office may have established contact with him for illegal rejuvenation."
His eyes left Donovan's taut face and scanned the office walls. Control boards recording operations in extra-terrestial metallin plants lined two sides of the office. The only break in the sternness of the walls was an antique painting, a still-life abstraction that must have dated way back to the 20th century. Crane stared at its flashes of color, the fixed smile turning to amused contempt.
Donovan dared not ask for additional details. The word or whim of the Komitet was law. Criminal Destroyer! Donovan shuddered; he had spent the past six months in quietly transferring ownership of the Trust to various fronts for Blascomb. A fortune worth several erg-units squared to the 6th power had already changed hands. Had the C.D. caught him before Blascomb could deliver on the rejuvenation and time-escape deal?
"We have nothing to hide," Donovan said, "my staff will cooperate with the C.D. I assume you want access to the psycho-record files?"
Edel W. Crane, contemptuous eyes turning away from the still-life, reached a bony hand for the approval slip.
"I will let you know what I find."
Donovan stood up, and when the C.D. agent left he frantically sent out a conscious call to Blascomb's thought-frequency number.
"By the Komitet!" Blascomb's wave-induced voice rang in Donovan's ears, "I told you never to call me unless it was most urgent."
"This is urgent," Donovan thought desperately, "Crane, a C.D. agent, was here a minute ago. He's going to look over the books of the Trust."