might be compartmented, a man like Salgath Trod would know a great
deal. He would name names, and the bearers of those names, arrested
and narco-hypnotized, would name other names, in a perfect chain
reaction of confessions and betrayals.

Another police car had landed just ahead of them, and three men were
climbing out; two were in Paratime Police green, and the third,
hand-cuffed, was in Service Sector Proletarian garb. At first, Vall
though that Salgath Trod had been brought in disguised as a Prole
prisoner, and then he saw that the prisoner was short and stocky, not
at all like the slender and elegant politician. The two officers who
had brought him in were talking to a lieutenant, Sothran Barth,
outside the antigrav shaft kiosk. As Vall and Tortha Karf and Dalla
walked over, the car which had brought them lifted out.

"Something that just came in from Industrial Twenty-four, Chief,"
Lieutenant Sothran said in answer to Tortha Karf's question. "May be
for Assistant Verkan's desk."

"He's a Prole named Yandragno, sir," one of the policemen said.
"Industrial Sector Constabulary grabbed him peddling Martian hellweed
cigarettes to the girls in a textile mill at Kangabar Equivalent.
Captain Jamzar thinks he may have gotten them from somebody in the
Organization."

* * * * *

A little warning bell began ringing in the back of Verkan Vall's mind,
but at first he could not consciously identify the cause of his
suspicions. He looked the two policemen and their prisoner over