BY KEITH LAUMER
Illustrated by Gaughan
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
When the Great Galactic Union first encounters
Earth ... is this what is going to happen?
I
Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one.
"Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me." He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. "Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings."
"That's right, Mr. Snithian," Dan said. "I believe I can be of greathelp to you."
"Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me...." The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers.
"Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it—"
"Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today!"
"Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded."
"Now, wait a minute—" Kelly started.
"What's that?" Snithian cut in.
"You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night—"
"Two hundred and twenty-five," Kelly snapped.
"—but no one at all in the vault with the paintings," Slane finished.
"Of course not," Snithian shrilled. "Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside."
"The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault," Dan said."There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken."
"By the saints, he's right," Kelly exclaimed. "Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault."
"Another idiotic scheme to waste my money," Snithian snapped. "I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out!" Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees.
"I'll work cheap," Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. "I'm anart lover."
"Never mind that," Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door.
"Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work?"
"A hundred dollars a week," Dan said promptly. "Plus expenses," headded.
Kelly nodded. "I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet."
Dan looked around at the gray walls, with shelves stacked to the lowceiling with wrapped paintings. Two three-hundred-watt bulbs shed awhite glare over the tile floor, a neat white refrigerator, a bunk,an arm-chair, a bookshelf and a small table set with paper plates,plastic utensils and a portable radio—all hastily installed at Kelly'sorder. Dan opened the refrigerator, looked over the stock of salami,liverwurst, cheese and beer. He opened a loaf of bread, built up awell-filled sandwich, keyed open a can of beer.
It wasn't fancy, but it would do. Phase one of the plan had gone offwithout a hitch.
Basically, his idea was simple. Art co