remaining scar will be the one on my mind, and even that will be fading. I turned into the drive, wound around the homestead road, and pulled up in front of the big, rambling house. It looked bleak. The front lawn was a bit shaggy and there were some wisps of paper on the front porch. The venetian blinds were down and slatted shut behind closed windows. Since it was summer by now, the closed windows and the tight door, neither of which had flyscreens installed, quickly gave the fact away. The Harrisons were gone. Another disappearance? I turned quickly and drove to the nearest town and went to the post office. "I'm looking for the Harrison family," I told the man behind the wicket. "Why, they moved several weeks ago." "Moved?" I asked with a blank-sounding voice. The clerk nodded. Then he leaned forward and said in a confidential whisper, "Heard a rumor that the girl got a touch of that spacemen's disease." "Mekstrom's?" I blurted. The clerk looked at me as if I'd shouted a dirty word. "She was a fine girl," he said softly. "It's a shame." I nodded and he went into the back files. I tried to dig alone behind him, but the files were in a small dead area in the rear of the building. I swore under my breath although I'd expected to find files in dead areas. Just as Rhine Institute was opened, the Government combed the countryside for dead or cloudy areas for their secret and confidential files. There had been one mad claim-staking rush with the Government about six feet ahead of the rest of the general public, business and the underworld. He came back with a sorrowful look. "They left a concealed address," he said. I felt like flashing a twenty at him like a private eye did in the old tough-books, but I knew it wouldn't work. Rhine also made it impossible for a public official to take a bribe. So instead, I tried to look distressed. "This is extremely important. I'd say it was a matter of life and death." "I'm sorry. A concealed forwarding address is still concealed. If you must get in touch with them,
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