his hands.

"Mr. Wright!"

The treasurer groaned. "Sorry," he said. "Instructions, Mr. Blacker ..."

"From whom? Andrusco?"

"Yes ... Your message reported from switchboard ... had orders ..."

"Is it true?" Tom said frantically. "About Antamunda? Is the story true?"

The little man nodded. Then he lifted one hand feebly towards the desk. "Gary," he said. "Tell Gary ..."

Tom looked in the direction of the gesture, and saw the back of a framed photograph.

When he turned to the treasurer again, the thin lips had stopped moving.

He lowered the body to the floor and went to the desk. The photo was that of a young man with stiff-bristled blond hair and a rugged smile. The inscription read: