resolute shoulder into the crowd and went after her.

They were waiting at the baggage counter when he came up. Miss Vaun looked over the crowd, tapping her foot. "Now where is the yokel that was to meet us?"

"Miss Vaun?"

She took a step backward as Flint loomed before her.

"Yes?"

"I'm the yokel."

"Oh," she said. Then, without apology, "Excellent. You're Mr. Flint—the Governor radioed us to expect you. We can leave immediately."

"You don't want to rest a bit first, Karen?" one of her little men asked. Flint shouted to himself, "No!" From what he'd seen and heard he was ready to go through the whole thing now, and Greeno was waiting at the radio for the word go.

But Miss Vaun apparently had the energy of a cash register. "These liners are virtually traveling hotels, John," she said. "I'm quite rested and I want to look over this property so I can close the deal in the morning." She turned to Flint. "Shall we go?"

Flint led them silently toward his plane, grinning inwardly at the deal that by morning certainly should be well closed.

Lounging over the controls, Flint could see his guests behind him in the mirror. Rudely enough, he hadn't been introduced to the men but from their conversation he had determined that Mr. John Leggett—short, black-mustached, slick-haired—was Miss Vaun's legal advisor. Mr. Simon Hudson—short, bald, bug-eyed—was a fur expert.

The three faced each other around the two jump seats pulled down from the sides of the cabin. While they talked, Flint had whispered into his radio, "It's a woman, Greeno, not a man."

Through the plane's plexiglass nose and ceiling, the Ring sparkled in all its glory, like a bridge of jewels across the heavens. But its wonders were wasted on Karen Vaun. "I had no idea it was this far out," she said. Her pale face was bored.

"Increased shipping costs," the lawyer said.

"The heat, too," the fur expert added, mopping his bald head. "Have to watch out for deterioration."

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