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in to box Retief, like alert, waist-high goblins modelled in
blotchy clay; their guns prodded him along an alley to a small metal door set
in the side of the brick building. The lieutenant opened it with a clumsy
electrokey, waved him inside. The door clanked shut and a shadowy figure rose
up, its face pale in the dim light.
     
     "Retief!"
First Secretary Magnan gasped. "You mean they captured you, too?"
     
     "It
seemed the simplest way to solve the problem of finding you," Retief said.
"Now all we have is the problem of getting out."
     
     
IV
     
     The
Skweeman sun was low in the sky now. A brisk, hot wind had sprung up from the
north, whirling streamers of dust into the cell through the barred window from
which Retief watched the activity in the street. Behind him, Magnan turned
away, coughing.
     
     "They're
as busy as Verpp in moulting season," he sniffed. "No one is paying
us the slightest attention. I suppose we may rot here for hours more before
Ambassador Treadwell secures our release."
     
     "There's
just one cop patrolling the jail now," Retief said. "The rest of them
have trooped off, arm in arm with their friends the Groaci. I think we picked a
bad time for our calls; they're up to something.
     
     "I
can't think what's keeping him!" Magnan eyed his watch fretfully.
"I'm missing my afternoon coffee break, to say nothing of dinner." He
sighed heavily, settled himself on the floor.
     
     "I
simply can't grasp it," he muttered. "The Groaci are famed for their
chicaneries, but open diplomat-napping broaches an entirely new field of
rascality. Why, an honest diplomat won't even be able to run around to trouble
areas, picking up eye-witness impressions, without the risk of being treated as
a mere spy."
     
     "On
the other hand, if we join in the spirit of the thing—" Retief turned from
the window—"we might find that it opens up new avenues to us, too."
He went across to the narrow door, leaned over the barred, waist-high opening,
and shouted for the guard.
     
     "Good
idea." Magnan got to his feet. "I think it's time we spoke sharply to
these brigands. Just step aside, Retief, and I'll drop a few broad hints."
His voice faded as the fierce visage of the police lieutenant appeared beyond
the aperture. Retief spoke first:
     
     "Do
you have any idea what a blaster would do to you if I fired from this
range?" he inquired. "Don't give any alarm," he went on as the
speechless cop goggled into the dark cell. "Just quietly unlock the
door—and be sure no one notices anything unusual going on."
     
     "B
... b ... b ..."the Skweeman said.
     
     "You
can express your astonishment later," Retief said briskly. "Open up
now, before I have to demonstrate how well armed I am."
     
     "I
...1 didn't see any weapon on you when we brought you in," the jailer
expostulated.
     
     "Naturally;
it's the sort of thing a fellow likes to keep secret. Hop to it, now. My
trigger finger is twitching."
     
     "I
had to be a wise guy and volunteer to be a big shot," the Skweeman
muttered to himself. Retief heard the scrape of the key in the lock. Tumblers
clicked over. The door swung in with a dry squeak.
     
     "Shhh!"
Magnan put a finger to his lips, looked severely at the native as he sidled out
past him. He looked both ways.
     
     "The
coast seems to be clear," he whispered as Retief lifted the cop's pistol
from its holster. "Maybe you'd better let me have one of the guns."
     
     "Hey!"
The Skweeman waved several sensory organs in an agitated way. "I don't see
any blaster— except mine!"
     
     "Nothing
wrong with your vision, anyway," Retief congratulated him. Now we have to
be running along." He looked thoughtfully at the local. "I really
should shoot you ..."he said judiciously.
     
     "Sh
... shoot me?" the Skweeman gulped. "But I' ve got a couple of dozen
chicks ready to break through the shell any day now! Those little devils will
have the hide off the old lady in five minutes flat if I'm not there to protect
her