"All right, then." Monk rattled the paper. "How about Roth?"
"Uh-uh. He's the Chief Medical Officer. Very Army. He helped draft the
original physical standards for space flight."
"Davis!" said Monk.
"Well ..." Horner looked pensive. "He doesn't mind a fast buck now and
then. But he's only a Supplies Officer. He couldn't do anything about
smuggling you aboard."
"Christy."
"Don't know much about Christy. He's a pilot, and pretty
close-mouthed. Spends most of his time between trips in the bosom of
his family, so to speak. Which is maybe understandable, because he's
got a wife that is absolutely--"
"Skip that junk," said Garcia toughly. "The boss wants facts."
"Keep out of this, you," said Monk. He smiled humorlessly at Horner.
"What about Christy's wife?"
"Well, she's--I mean, she's a looker, understand? A real beauty. Only
from what I heard around the base, she's a groundworm's delight, if
you know what I mean--"
"I don't know what you mean," said Monk patiently.
"Well, with her husband away six months out of every year, and a
swell-lookin' doll like that ... Figure it out for yourself."
Monk grunted. "I'll keep it in mind," he said. "Now how about this
fellow Forsch?"
"Maybe there's something there," said Horner. "He's a doctor, too.
Handles most of the routine physicals. But I heard a rumor about some
pretty unethical practices he was mixed up in before he took this job.
There may be nothing to it, but if you could look into it--"
"I will," said Monk abruptly. He handed the paper over to the
Spacelane employee. "Anybody else here you want to tell me about?"
Horner looked over the list.
"That's about it, I guess," he said. "Nobody here can do you any good.
But you look into this guy Forsch. He may be your boy."
Monk smiled tightly.
"Pay him," he said to Garcia.
* * * * *
When the detectives handed Fletcher Monk the completed report on the
activities of Diana Christy, he read it through thoroughly, savoring
each juicy word between puffs of his cigar. The report was excellently
constructed. It was painstaking in its detail. It named names, places,
times, events, and even recorded certain revealing conversations. It
gave the background of each of Mrs. Christy's lovers, even down to
their income and place of birth.
It was a marvelous document, in Monk's estimation, and not the first
of its kind he had had prepared. A powerful piece of persuasion.
With great satisfaction, he replaced the volume in an envelope and
buzzed for Garcia. His instructions to the assistant were crisp and
definite. The assignment was the kind that Garcia both understood and
relished. He took the report from Monk's hands and went on his way to
call on the lady in question.
Bill Christy, recently returned from a Mars flight, was both amazed
and disturbed by the strange request his beautiful young wife made of
him. It was awful--illegal--even criminal! To arrange for the
certification of a man with a weak heart; to virtually counterfeit
the medical records of the Spacelane Company!
But he _was_ her uncle, Diana Christy pleaded. The only relative she
had in the world; the only one she loved outside of Christy himself.
He _must_ help her; he must give her poor sick uncle a chance to make
a new life for himself in the Mars Colony.
He wouldn't do it; he couldn't! But she cried, with great wet tears
streaming down the smooth planes of her face. Didn't he love her?
Wasn't this one little favor worth doing for the sake of her
happiness? No one would be hurt by it. The motives were altruistic,
after all.