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one, I must see to the matter myself.”
    Ridolph strolled up Shadow Valley, approached the hangar where the inn’s aircraft were housed. From the shadow of one of the fantastic Kokod trees, he counted six vehicles: three carry-alls, two air-cars like the one which had conveyed him originally to the Control station, and a sleek red sportster evidently the personal property of either See or Holpers.
    Neither the hangar-men nor the pilots were in evidence; it might well be their dinner hour. Magnus Ridolph sauntered carelessly forward, whistling an air currently being heard along far-off boulevards.
    He cut his whistle off sharply, moved at an accelerated rate. Fastidiously protecting his hands with a bit of rag, he snapped the repair panels from each of the observation cars, made a swift abstraction from each, did likewise for the air-cars. At the sleek sportster he paused, inspected the lines critically.
    “An attractive vehicle,” he said to himself, “one which might creditably serve the purposes for which I intend it.”
    He slid back the door, looked inside. The starter key was absent.
    Steps sounded behind him. “Hey,” said a rough voice, “what are you doing with Mr. See’s car?”
    Magnus Ridolph withdrew without haste.
    “Offhand,” he said, “what would you estimate the value of this vehicle?”
    The hangarman paused, glowering and suspicious. “Too much not to be taken care of.”
    Magnus Ridolph nodded. “Thirty thousand munits, possibly.”
    “Thirty thousand on Earth. This is Kokod.”
    “I’m thinking of offering See a hundred thousand munits.”
    The hangarman blinked. “He’d be crazy not to take it.”
    “I suppose so,” sighed Magnus Ridolph. “But first, I wanted to satisfy myself as to the craft’s mechanical condition. I fear it has been neglected.”
    The hangarman snorted in indignation. “Not on your life.”
    Magnus Ridolph frowned. “That tube is certainly spitting. I can tell by the patina along the enamel.”
    “No such thing!” roared the hangarman. “That tube flows like a dream.”
    Ridolph shook his head. “I can’t offer See good money for a defective vehicle…He’ll be angry to lose the sale.”
    The hangarman’s tone changed. “I tell you, that tube’s good as gold…Wait, I’ll show you.”
    He pulled a key-ring from his pocket, plugged it into the starter socket. The car quivered free of the ground, eager for flight. “See? Just what I told you.”
    Magnus Ridolph said doubtfully. “It seems to be working fairly well now…You get on the telephone and tell Mr. See that I am taking his car for a trial spin, a final check…”
    The mechanic looked dumbly at Magnus Ridolph, slowly turned to the speaker on the wall.
    Magnus Ridolph jumped into the seat. The mechanic’s voice was loud. “The gentleman that’s buying your boat is giving it the once-over; don’t let him feed you no line about a bum tube; the ship is running like oil down a four mile bore, don’t take nothing else…What?…Sure he’s here; he said so himself…A little schoolteacher guy with a white beard like a nanny-goat…” The sound from the telephone caused him to jump back sharply. Anxiously, he turned to look where he had left Magnus Ridolph and Julius See’s sleek red air-car.
    Both had disappeared.
    Mrs. Chaim roused her peacock-shaped friend Mrs. Borgage rather earlier than usual. “Hurry, Altamira; we’ve been so late these last few mornings, we’ve missed the best seats in the observation car.”
    Mrs. Borgage obliged by hastening her toilet; in short order the two ladies appeared in the lobby. By a peculiar coincidence both wore costumes of dark green, a color which each thought suited the other not at all. They paused by the announcement of the day’s war in order to check the odds, then turned into the dining room.
    They ate a hurried breakfast, set out for the loading platform. Mrs. Borgage, pausing to catch her breath and enjoy the freshness of the morning,