"Miss Ryan—" he began, but Arnold broke in.
"We would be delighted to take your case," he said. To Gregor he gave an I'll-explain-later wink.
"Oh, how wonderful!" Myra said. "How soon will you be ready?"
"As a rule," Arnold said, "we need a few weeks' notice. But for you—" He beamed fatuously. "For you, we are going to clear our calendar, postpone all other cases, and begin at once."
Gregor's long, sad face was unhappier than ever. "Perhaps you've forgotten," he told his partner. "Joe the Interstellar Junkman has our spaceship, due to a trifling bill we neglected to pay. I'm sorry, Miss Ryan—"
"Call me Myra," Myra said. "That's all right, my Hemstet four is fueled and ready to go."
"Then we'll leave tonight," Arnold said. "Have no fear, Myra. Your little planet is safe in our hands. We'll radio you as soon as—"
"Radio nothing," Myra said. "I'm going along. I wouldn't miss this for anything."
They arranged for Myra to obtain the clearances and meet them back at the office. As she walked to the door, Arnold said, "By the way, why did you ask if we were armed?"
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Since I came back to Terra, something's been following me. Something wearing gray and purple. I'm afraid it might be the Undead Scarb."
She closed the door gently behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Gregor shouted, "Have you gone completely out of your mind? Skags, Undead Scarbs—"
"She's beautiful," Arnold said dreamily.
"Are you listening to me? How are we supposed to decontaminate a haunted planet?"
"Coelle isn't haunted."
"What makes you think not?"
"Because the original Skag Burrow, according to the very best evidence, was on the planet Duerite, not on Coelle. A Skag ghost would know that. Ergo, what she saw was no ghost."
Gregor frowned thoughtfully.
"Mmm. You think someone wants to frighten her off Coelle?"
"Obviously," Arnold said.
"But the planet's been deserted for years. Why would someone take an interest in it now?"
"I'm going to find out."
"Sounds like a job for a detective," Gregor told him.
"Perhaps you've forgotten," Arnold said. "I am an honor graduate of the Hepburn School of Scientific Detection."
"That was only a six weeks' correspondence course."
"So what? Detection is simply the rational application of logic. Moreover, detection and decontamination are essentially the same thing. Decontamination just carries the process of detection to its logical conclusion."
"I hope you know what you're talking about," Gregor said. "What about this gray and purple creature that's been following Myra around?"
"No such thing. A case of overwrought nerves," Arnold diagnosed. "The poor girl needs someone to protect her. Me, for example."
"Yeah. But who's going to protect you?"
Arnold didn't bother answering, and the partners began to make their preparations.
II
They spent the rest of the day loading the Hemstet with various devices they had managed to keep out of hock. Gregor invested in a secondhand Steng needler. It seemed a good weapon against the more palpable forms of wizardry. After a quick dinner at the Milky Way Diner they started back to their office.
After they had walked several blocks, Arnold said, "I think we're being followed."
"You have overwrought nerves," Gregor diagnosed.
"He was in the diner, too," Arnold said. "And I'm sure I saw him at the spaceport."
Gregor glanced over his shoulder. Half a block behind he saw a man sauntering along and glancing idly into store windows, his attitude studiously casual.
The partners turned down a street. The man followed. They circled and returned to the avenue they had been on. The man was still there, keeping half a block between them.
"Have you noticed what he's wearing?" Arnold asked, wiping perspiration from his forehead.
Gregor looked again and saw that the man had on a gray suit and a purple tie — Skag colors.
"Hmm," Gregor said. "Do you suppose an Undead Scarb — if there were such a thing — could take on human form?"
"I'd hate to find out," Arnold said. "You'd better get that needler ready."
"I left it on the ship."
"That's just fine," Arnold said bitterly. "Just perfect. Someone — or something — is following us, probably with murderous intent, and you leave your blaster on the ship."
"Steady," Gregor said. "Maybe we can shake him."
They continued walking. Gregor looked back and saw that the man — or Scarb — was still there. He was walking more rapidly, closing the gap between them.
But coming down the street now was a taxi, its flag up.
They hailed it and climbed in. The man — or Scarb — looked around frantically for another cab, but there was none in sight. When they drove off he was standing on the curb, glaring at them, his purple tie slightly askew.
Myra Ryan was waiting for them at the office. She nodded when they told her about the follower.
"I warned you it might be dangerous," she said. "You can still back out, you know."
"What'll you do then?" Arnold asked.
"I'll go back to Coelle," Myra said. "No Skags are going to keep me off my planet."
"We're going," Arnold said, gazing tenderly at her. "You know we wouldn't desert you, Myra."
"Of course not," Gregor said wearily.
At that moment the door opened, and in walked a man wearing a gray suit and a purple tie.
"The Scarb!" Arnold gaped, and reached for his paperweight.
"That's no Scarb," Myra said calmly. "That's Ross Jameson. Hello, Ross."
Jameson was a tall, beautifully groomed man in his early thirties, with a handsome, impatient face and hard eyes.
"Myra," he said, "have you gone completely insane?"
"I don't think so, Ross," Myra said sweetly.
"Are you really going to Coelle with these charlatans?"
Gregor stepped forward. "Were you following us?"
"You're damned right I was," Jameson said belligerently.
"I don't know who you are," Gregor said, "but—"
"I'm Miss Ryan's fiancé," Jameson said, "and I'm not going to let her go through with this ridiculous project. Myra, from what you've told me, this planet of yours sounds dangerous. Why don't you forget about it and marry me?"
"I want to live on Coelle," Myra said in a dangerously quiet voice. "I want to live on my own little planet."
Jameson shook his head. "We've been through this a thousand times. Darling, you can't seriously expect me to give up my business and move to this little mudball with you. I've got my work—"
"And I've got my mudball," Myra said. "It's my very own mudball, and I want to live there."
"With the Skags?"
"I thought you didn't believe in that sort of thing," Myra said.
"I don't. But some trickery is going on, and I don't like to see you involved. It's probably that crazy hermit. There's no telling what he'll try next. Myra, won't you please—"
"No!" Myra said. "I'm going to Coelle!"
"Then I'm going with you."
"You are not," Myra said coldly.
"I've already arranged it with my staff," Jameson said. "You'll need someone to protect you on that ridiculous planet, and you can't expect much from these two." He glared contemptuously at Gregor and Arnold.
"Maybe you didn't understand me," Myra said very quietly. "You are not coming, Ross."
Jameson's firm face sagged, and his eyes grew worried. "Myra," he said, "please let me come. If anything happened to you, I'd — I don't know what I'd do. Please, Myra?"