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them would be killed by their parents for reasons never quite understood by men.
Yellowbirds - ostrich-like bipeds with soft yellow scales - strode quietly through
the crowd, heads raised high, eyes rolled up. Like a parade of monsters in a
dipsomaniac's delirium passed the population of Sclerotto City.
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Stalls at either side of the street displayed simple goods - baskets, pans, a
thousand ustensiles whose use only the seller and the buyer knew. Other shops
sold what loosely might be termed food - fruits and canned goods for men, hard
brown capsules for the Yellowbirds, squirming red worm-things for the
Aldebaranese. And Magnus Ridolph noticed here and there little knots of
tourists, for the most part natives of Earth, peering, talking, laughing, pointing.
Boek pulled his car up to a long corrugated-metal shed, and again they stepped
out into the dust.
The warehouse was full of a hushed murmur. Scores of tourists walked about,
buying trinkets - carved rock, elaborately patterned fabrics, nacreous jewels that
were secreted in the bellies of the Kmaush, perfumes pressed from seaweed,
statuettes, tiny aquaria in sealed globes, with a microscopic lens through which
could be seen weirdly beautiful seascapes peopled with infusoria, tiny sponges,
corals, darting squids, infinitesimal fish. Behind loomed bales of the planet's
staple exports: seaweed resin, split dried seaweed for surfacing veneer, sacks of
rare metallic salts.
"There's the warehouse manager," said Boek, nodding toward an antlike creature
standing waist high on six legs. It had dog-like eyes, a pelt of satiny gray fur, a
relatively short thick thorax. "Do you want to meet him? He can talk, understand
you. Mind like an adding-machine."
Interpreting Magnus Ridolph's silence as assent, Boek threaded the aisles to the
Tau Gemini insect-thing.
"I can't introduce you," said Boek jovially - Magnus Ridolph noticed that he
assumed affability like a cloak in the presence of the town's citizens - "because the
manager here has no name."
"On my planet," said the insect in a droning accentless voice, "we are marked by
chords, as you call them. Mine is - " A quick series of tones came from the two
flaps near the base of his head."
"This is Magnus Ridolph, representing the Mission Headquarters."
"I'm interested," said Magnus Ridolph, "in identifying the criminal known as
McInch. Can you help me?"
"I'm sorry," came the ant-creature's even vibrations. "I have heard the name. I am
aware of his thefts. I do not know who he is."
Magnus Ridolph bowed.
"I'll take you to the fire-chief," said Boek.
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The fire-chief was a tall blue-eyed Negro with dull bronze hair, wearing only a
pair of knee-length scarlet trousers. Boek and Magnus Ridolph found him at an
observation tower near the central square, with one foot on the bottom rung of
the ladder. He nodded to Boek.
"Joe, a friend of mine from home," said Boek. "Mr. Magnus Ridolph, Mr. Joe
Bertrand, our fire-chief."
The fire-chief darted a swift surprised glance at Magnus Ridolph, at Boek, and
back again. "How do you do," he said as they shook hands. "I think I've heard
your name somewhere before."
"It's an uncommon name," said Magnus Ridolph, "but I presume there are other
Ridolphs in the Commonwealth."
Boek looked from one to the other, shifted his weight on his short legs, sighed,
looked off down the street.
"Not many Magnus Ridolphs, though," said the fire-chief.
"Very few," agreed the white-bearded sage.
"I suppose you're after McInch."
"I am. Can you help me?"
"I know nothing about him. I don't want to. It's healthier."
Magnus Ridolph nodded. "I see. Thank you, in any event."
Boek jerked his plump thumb at a tall building built of woven seaweed panels
between bleached bone-white poles. "That's the city hall," he said. "The Mayor
lives upstairs, where he can, ha, ha, guard the city funds."
"Just what are his other duties?" Magnus Ridolph asked, gently beating the dust
from the front of his tunic.
"He meets all the tourist ships, walks around town wearing a red fez. He's the
local magistrate, and then he's in charge of town funds and pays the municipal
salaries. Personally, I don't think he's got the brains to be McInch."
"I'd like to see the safe that McInch is so free with," said Magnus Ridolph.
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They pushed through a flimsy creaking door, into a long low room. The seaweed
paneling of the walls was old, worn, shot with cracks, and each crack admitted
twin rays of light, these painting twin red and blue images on the floor. The safe
bulked against the opposite side of the room, an antique steel box with button
combination.
A long yellow-scaled neck pushed down through a hole in the ceiling, and a flat
head topped by a ridiculous little red fez turned a purple eye at them. A sleek
yellow body followed the head, landing on thin flexible legs.
"Hello there, Mayor," said Boek heartily. "A man from Mission Headquarters -
Mr. Ridolph, our Mayor, Juju Jeejee."
"Pleased-to-meet-you," said the Mayor shrilly. "Would you like my autograph?"
"Certainly," said Magnus Ridolph. "I'd be delighted."
The Mayor ducked his head between his legs, plucked a card from a body pouch.
The characters were unintelligible to Magnus Ridolph.
"That is my name in the script of my native planet. The translation is roughly
'Enchanting Vibration.' "
"Thank you," said Magnus Ridolph. "I'll treasure this memento of Sclerotto. By
the way, I'm here to apprehend the creature known as McInch" - the Mayor gave
a sharp squawk, darted its head back and forth - "and thought that perhaps you
might be able to assist me."
The Mayor wove his neck in a series of S's. "No, no, no," he piped, "I know
nothing, I am the Mayor."
Boek glanced at Magnus Ridolph, who nodded.
"Well, we'll be leaving, Mayor," said Boek. "I wanted my friend to meet you."
"Delighted," rasped the Mayor," and tensing his legs, hopped up through the hole
in the ceiling.
A hundred yards through the red and blue shimmer brought them to the jail, a
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