"Roal Hartford! Please help me. Come to Starhouse tonight on Transite
Street. I need your aid. Be careful. You are known."
"Who are you?" Roal burst out. The screen had remained blank.
"I am Alayna, I--"
The soft, golden voice was suddenly cut off with a shrill exclamation.
And then there was no more. Cursing, Roal switched off. There was no
way of telling now where the call came from.
He called three of his agents, Sims, Parkhurst, and Riley, ordering
them to the address on Transite street. He donned his cape and checked
his flame lance. No need for disguise now. Alayna had said that he was
known.
But by whom? That was the question. Obviously a break must have come
between Alayna and those who held power over her, and Roal had not a
doubt that she was in danger of her life at this very moment. And there
was nothing he could do except go to Transite Street and hope that by
some magic the Starhouse would again be there.
* * * * *
He drove swiftly through the brightening streets. But it was fifteen
minutes before he arrived. The agents were already there lounging
carelessly across the street from the address he had directed them to.
"I hope we didn't muff it, Captain, but I can't see anything here,"
said Parkhurst.
Roal stared along the length of Transite Street. There was no Starhouse
with the garish crimson sign he remembered. But the old abandoned
warehouse was still where it had always been--where he would have sworn
Starhouse should have been.
Roal began to question his own sanity. Surely he could not be so wrong
about it as this indicated. He knew he had received the phone call,
but he couldn't be too sure it was Alayna's voice because the narrow
circuits stripped away most of the golden overtones that made her voice
a sound of such exquisite beauty.
Or someone might be playing a colossal joke on him. He didn't
know--except he knew that somehow he had failed.
He circled the block, directing the deputies to cover adjacent squares.
When they finally met again in front of the old warehouse full
blackness had settled over Heliopolis and all the blaze of its million
lights boiled skyward into the blackness of space.
"It must have been a bum steer," said Roal, "There's nothing more that
we can do tonight. I'll check up on my information and let you know."
"O.K., Captain," said Parkhurst dubiously. His manner made it evident
that they wondered if Roal were off the track a bit. He had never
appeared so fumblingly on an investigation before.
When they were gone, Roal circled the block once again and then walked
up and down the length of Transite amid the glare of the signs and the
roaring bedlam of the street of crime.
There was simply no Starhouse. It was maddening to know he had followed
this very path right to its door. He knew it was no illusion or
drug-inspired dream. But it did not lead to Starhouse now.
Alayna was in deadly danger, and he knew of no way to find her or help
her.
He was about to turn about and return to his office for a futile check
on the progress being made by the Identification Office, when a thought
formed in his mind. There was yet one clue that he had not exploited--a
clue that stuck out so close to his face that he hadn't seen it.
The Martians--the Martians who had stolen the pellet of _harmeena_
from him on the desert. They were in contact with the dope peddlers of
Starhouse.
He raced to the nearest televise booth and called Commander Calvin's
home. But as the signal rang at the other end of the line Roal slowly
replaced the receiver.
He knew what Calvin's reaction would be. A hundred years of strict
peace with the Martians could not be violated by forceful entry into
one of the burrows. Calvin would never consent to that, especially
since he believed that the whole mystery was only a pipe dream in
Roal's mind anyway.
Roal abandoned the call and placed another one. In a moment he got an
answer.
"Hello, Shorty," he said. "Do you feel like a job tonight?"
"Sure, if it's a shooting job. I haven't had any excitement for a long
time."
"I'm serious, Shorty, and it may turn out to be a shooting job. Bring
along your lance."