platins.

Remish turned and faced the row of bottles behind the bar. His face was blank. For a long minute he said nothing. Then:

"I don't like that, Barnard. I could use that as well as anybody. But there's something I like better."

Barnard hadn't liked it either. But hell—after some of the police he'd met on the outer planets, he couldn't help but be cynical. He raised his glass and threw down the drink.

"It's everyday stuff, of course," Remish conceded. "But I'm going to be one cop who's different. There's talk enough now about the Space Patrol—that we're fronting for pirates and transporting neoin. And some funny things have been going on."

He fingered his glass thoughtfully. "Nothing I can put a definite finger on," he mused. "But maybe you're the man who can do it. With the System News Service behind you—

"I don't know much," he went on. "But I'll play along with you—and I hope I'm doing the right thing. Gail Melvin—the chief had her under a Sokolsky lie detector. Greatest thing in lie detectors yet. She was clear—has no connection with the dope ring."

Barnard caught his breath. Gail Melvin had no connection with the neoin gang? But Lansfer had said she was a minor peddler?

The patrolman stared into his glass of boorsha for a moment, hesitating. He turned again to Barnard. "Another thing. That George Melvin is faking. He's no more of a half-wit than I am—I hope. When I last saw him, he was on Venus running the swankiest gin mill in Lidice. He and his partner—Quong Kee!"

Barnard stared incredulously at the patrolman. "George Melvin faking! Not a chance—he's just what he seems to be, and I wouldn't bet any more on a royal flush!"

"I know," Remish shrugged. "And do you want to know something else? I haven't been able to find a person who's seen Quong Kee since he came to Mars!"

Barnard slowly put down his drink and left the saloon.

He sailed into Quong Kee's, paused cautiously to see that the fiend who had attacked him was sleeping with his head on the table, and plunged through the drapes into the back room. There was an answer to this and he was bound he'd find it.

A gray, tired Chinese looked up from behind a desk. His right hand had darted to the edge of the desk when 

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