"Perhaps you could make a suggestion, Mr. Stubbs. Surely there must be opportunities on this side of the planet for a man with six-thousand credits?"

"I'm not quite sure what you're getting at," Leon Stubbs said.

"I think you do, Mr. Stubbs," Claude retorted. "I think we're both getting at the same thing. Suppose we dispense with the subtleties and get down to cases."

The Director sat down at the desk pyramiding his fingertips.

"Very well, Mr. Marshall," he said. "I'll be blunt. It's occurred to me that if the date on your claim were changed, the land would naturally be yours. The difficulty of course lies in the fact that there are duplicate records on Terra and we'd have to take care of the man who handles them. Otherwise the discrepancy would show up eventually. Actually, I want nothing for myself but these people in Washington—"

"Yeah, I know," Claude interrupted. "It's someone else who's getting the money. It's always someone else who's getting the money."

"It would take quite a bit, I'm afraid," the Director said ignoring the sarcasm.

"How much?"

The Director stubbed out the end of his cigar. "About five thousand," he said. "Yes. Five thousand ought to do it."

Claude looked at his wife.

And she looked back at him.

Outside, Billy had tired of the seven-year-old magazine and was hammering on the door for admittance.

"Can we have a few minutes to think it over?" Claude said.

"Certainly," Stubbs said amiably. "And I want to make it quite clear, Mr. Marshall, that this money is not for me. There's this fellow—"

"Yeah, I know. There's this fellow in Washington. Come on Joan. Let's step outside a moment."

Ten minutes later, Leon Stubbs answered their knock and ushered them to the desk chairs. After they were seated, he said: "I take it you've talked it over."

Claude nodded. "Yes, Mr. Stubbs. My wife and I talked it over 

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