There was nothing, especiallyon Earth, which could set himfree—the truth least of all!
Dane Phillips slouchedin the window seat, watchingthe morning crowdson their way to work and carefullyavoiding any attempt toread Jordan's old face as theeditor skimmed through the notes.He had learned to make his tall,bony body seem all loose-jointedrelaxation, no matter what hefelt. But the oversized hands inhis pockets were clenched sotightly that the nails were cuttinginto his palms.
Every tick of the old-fashionedclock sent a throb racing throughhis brain. Every rustle of thepages seemed to release a freshshot of adrenalin into his bloodstream. This time, his mind waspleading. It has to be right thistime....
Jordan finished his reading andshoved the folder back. Hereached for his pipe, sighed, andthen nodded slowly. "A nice jobof researching, Phillips. And itmight make a good feature forthe Sunday section, at that."
It took a second to realize thatthe words meant acceptance, forPhillips had prepared himself toothoroughly against another failure.Now he felt the tautenedmuscles release, so quickly thathe would have fallen if he hadn'tbeen braced against the seat.
He groped in his mind, huntingfor words, and finding none.There was only the hot, suddenflame of unbelieving hope. Andthen an almost blinding exultation.
Jordan didn't seem to noticehis silence. The editor made aneat pile of the notes, noddingagain. "Sure. I like it. We've beenshort of shock stuff lately andthe readers go for it when wecan get a fresh angle. But naturallyyou'd have to leave outall that nonsense on Blanding.Hell, the man's just buried, andhis relatives and friends—"
"But that's the proof!" Phillipsstared at the editor, trying topenetrate through the haze ofhope that had somehow grownchilled and unreal. His thoughtswere abruptly disorganized andout of his control. Only the urgencyremained. "It's the keyevidence. And we've got to movefast! I don't know how long ittakes, but even one more daymay be too late!"
Jordan nearly dropped the pipefrom his lips as he jerked uprightto peer sharply at theyounger man. "Are you crazy? Doyou seriously expect me to getan order to exhume him now?What would it get us, other thanlawsuits? Even if we could getthe order without cause—whichwe can't!"
Then the pipe did fall as hegaped open-mouthed. "My God,you believe all that stuff. Youexpected us to publish it straight!"
"No," Dane said thickly. Thehope was gone now, as if it hadnever existed, leaving a numbemptiness where nothing mattered."No, I guess I didn't reallyexpect anything. But I believethe facts. Why shouldn't I?"
He reached for the papers withhands he could hardly controland began stuffing them backinto the folder. All the carefuldocumentation, the fingerprints—smudged,perhaps, in some cases,but still evidence enough for anyonebut a fool—
"Phillips?" Jordan said questioninglyto himself, and then hisvoice was taking on a new edge."Phillips! Wait a minute, I've gotit now! Dane Phillips, not Arthur!Two years on the Trib. Then youturned up on the Register in Seattle?Phillip Dean, or some suchname there."
"Yeah," Dane agreed. Therewas no use in denying anythingnow. "Yeah, Dane Arthur Phillips.So I suppose I'm throughhere?"
Jordan nodded again and therewas a faint look of fear in hisexpression. "You