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don’t know. No goods have moved in or out of the warehouse for fifteen days. Everything was secure on the last round of the society guards and the picket between the fences has been strictly maintained. The fire started behind locked doors and we’re certain that nobody could have entered.’
    ‘Could some sort of time fuse or incendiary mechanism have been placed inside?’
    Catuul grimaced. ‘I know of no device obtainable hereabouts with such a long delay. But if you’re thinking this is the work of the Imaiz you pose a paradox. Those doors were sealed several days before your quarrel with Dion-daizan became actual. You could only suspect his hand if you were prepared to credit him with the magical powers you deny he possesses.’
    ‘Nevertheless, the timing’s too perfect to be a matter of coincidence. Even Di Irons hinted he suspected that the Imaiz was behind it. Well, if it is Dion’s work and there’s any evidence left to prove it, it will give us a good start for our harassment. Di Irons is all set to string up the Imaiz by the thumbs if he’s found responsible for the destruction of property during a private feud. All he needs is proof—and here come the boys who can give it to us.’
    Movement among the watchers on the road signaled the arrival of the cushion-craft emergency tender from the spaceport. Behind it came two more tenders containing compound foam and chemicals. They were deftly manipulated into place. In complete contrast to the laughable native fire appliances, these three vehicles, normally reserved for spacecrash emergencies, were magnificently equipped and manned by trained and competent crews. Within seconds the great pumps were working and hoses were being run ‘out as far as the river to bring in the additional water necessary to complete the work of the foam coverage.
    Pictor Don, the spaceport’s emergency commander, spared neither Ren nor Catuul a glance as he deployed his facilities for maximum effect. The foam from the hoses hit the side of the building and whatever it touched it solidified into glass slag and instantly formed an air-excluding seal that was also an impressive heat-reducing barrier. The properties of the solidifying foam were such that it could easily withstand the temperatures involved, while its noncommunicating cellular structure was light, yet strong enough to prevent the collapse of all but the heaviest parts of buildings. In dealing with a fire of these proportions the shell of the building could literally be filled with foam in a matter of minutes with a hundred per cent expectation of complete extinction of the fire.
    The radiated heat fell away dramatically as the foam blanket coated the walls and the forecourt. Ren and Catuul followed the fire team nearer as the work of filling the building’s shell with foam began. After a short while, however, they became aware that something was wrong—the flames in the interior, instead of yielding, had become concentrated in one central spot and now roared like a volcano. The flare hurled large pieces of congealed foam high into the air to fall at a distance, to the intense consternation of the onlookers.
    Finally Pictor Don dropped down from his command point and came over to Ren.
    ‘What have you got in there, Tito? Rocket fuel?’
    The agent shook his head. ‘No. Mainly high-grade crude oils and essential oils waiting shipment offworld to Rance for refining.’
    ‘But the oxidants,’ protested Don. ‘You should know better store oxidants with flammables.’
    ‘There are no oxidants there. In fact, no tonnages of oxidants are available on Roget.’
    Pictor Don shook his head. ‘That foam can extinguish anything up to and including a blazing well-head without trouble. But you’ve got something in there that could have put the whole building comfortably into orbit had the jet been pointed down instead of up. A few tons of liquid oxygen would do the trick with your high-grade oil—but without oxygen you