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 had been refused entrance. However, in spite of the fact that he had never seen the place the correspondent painted an unpleasing picture of what he called, "Tappan's slavelabor camp," and accused the guards of incredible brutalities. As he read this his jaw tightened. Actually the men, who hated to be called "guards" in the first place, were skillful criminologists who were as incapable of brutalities as any group of men alive. Most of them even refused to carry any sort of weapon.

However, as he read on, some of his ire changed to amusement. The writer seemed confused. In almost the same paragraph he described an ex-gambler who was becoming very wealthy as a mineral broker in the local mineral exchange. He described him in detail, brought up the fact that he had been one of the most successful gamblers in the business a few years previously. Tappan reminded himself to show the article to the gentleman in question, for the writer seemed alarmed at the idea of an ex-gambler being a broker. He was applying his talents at figuring odds quite successfully to the business of anticipating the price of uranium and gold now, and Tappan considered him one of his most promising subjects.

As he considered this, a disturbing thought struck him, and he turned off the microfilm viewer and entered another room, where there was a large telescreen. He switched it on and ordered into the mike beside it:"Put our little friend Van der Bush on, Jones. I'd like to see where he is now."

The screen glowed, and forms began to take shape. He could see the floor of the mineral exchange. An arrow of light pointed toward the booth in the center of the floor. "There he is, sir, over by Corrigan's booth. He's been buying diamonds."

Corrigan was the gambler mentioned in the article. Tappan watched the little man for a bit, speculatively. Then he said, "Thanks, Jones. Just keep a close eye on him." Then flipped the set off.

He returned to his desk and pressed a button summoning his secretary. She entered, a long-legged blond girl, with humorous intelligent blue eyes. She stood by the side of his desk, waiting to see what he wanted.

Tappan leaned back in his chair. "Shelia," he said, "what about having dinner and things with me at the Platinumrest tonight? We need a little relaxation."

Her eyes appraised him calmly. "Relaxation, Boss? Or some sort of business?" She had gone out with Tappan on several occasions, and his social life seemed to consist of nothing more than another method of keeping check on his criminals.

Tappan chuckled, "Well ... a little, perhaps. Mostly, though, just the pleasure of your company."

She replied, "All right, Chief. But I'd like to see you forget your job once in a while."

That night, Shelia and Tappan sat 28