Don did his best to explain but move-overs, dreams, and clutching hands in the dark were badly mixed together. “You eat too much late at night,” Charlie decided. Nevertheless he checked the place, with Don trailing after.
When he came to a window with a broken catch he did not say anything but went at once to the cash register and the lock box. Neither seemed to have been disturbed. Charlie nailed up the broken catch, shoved the move-overs back into the night, and said, “Go to sleep,” to Don. He returned to his own room.
Don tried to do so but it was some time before he could quiet down. Both his money and the ring were still at hand. He put the ring back on his finger and went to sleep with his fist clenched.
Next morning Don had plenty of time to think as he coped with an unending stack of dirty dishes. The ring was on his mind. He was not wearing it; not only did he wish to avoid plunging it repeatedly into hot water but also was now reluctant to display it.
Could it be possible that the thief was after the ring rather than his money? It seemed impossible—a half-credit piece of souvenir counter junk! Or perhaps five credits, he corrected himself, here on Venus where every important item was expensive. Ten at the outside.
But he was beginning to wonder; too many people had taken an interest in it. He reviewed in his mind how he had come by it. On the face of it, Dr. Jefferson had risked death—had died—to make sure that the ring went to Mars. But that was preposterous and because it was he had concluded by what seemed to be strict logic that it must have been the paper in which the ring was wrapped that must reach his parents on Mars. That conclusion had been confirmed when the I.B.I. had searched him and confiscated the wrapping paper.
Suppose he did assume the wild possibility that it was the ring itself that was important? Even so, how could anyone here on Venus be looking for that ring? He had just landed; he had not even known that he was coming to Venus.
He might have thought of several ways that that news could have gone on before him, but he did not. Moreover, he found it difficult to imagine why anyone would take any special pains on his account.
But he had one quality in a high degree; he was stubborn. He swore a mighty oath into the dishwater that he and the ring, together, would travel to Mars and that he would deliver it to his father as Dr. Jefferson had asked him to.
Business slacked off a little in the middle of the afternoon; Don got caught up. He dried his hands and said to Charlie, “I want to go uptown for a while.”
“What’s a matter? You lazy?”
“We work tonight, don’t we?”
“Sure we do. You think this is a tea room?”
“Okay, I work mornings and evenings—so I take a little time off in the afternoon. You’ve got enough clean dishes to last you for hours.”
Charlie shrugged and turned his hack. Don left.
He picked his way through the mud and the crowd back up the street to the I.T.&T. Building. The outer room held several customers but most of them were using the automatic phones or waiting outside the booths for a chance to do so. Isobel Costello was back of the desk and did not seem too busy, although she was chatting with a soldier. Don went to the far end of the desk and waited for her to he free.
Presently she brushed off the enterprising soldier and came to him. “Well, if it isn’t my problem child! How are you making out, son? Get your money changed?”
“No, the bank wouldn’t take it. I guess you had better give me back my ‘gram.”
“No hurry; Mars is still in conjunction. Maybe you’ll strike it rich.”
Don laughed ruefully. “Not likely!” He told her what he was doing and where.
She nodded. “You could do worse. Old Charlie is all right. But that’s a rough part of town, Don. Be careful, especially after dark.”