HE SNIP-SNAPPED SOMETHING around the edges of the gleaming sort of dispatch case, which opened. Mooney, peering over his shoulder, caught glimpses of shiny things and spinning things and things that seemed to glow. So did the driver.
“Hey,” he said, interested, “what’ve you got there?”
“My business,” said Harse, calmly and crushingly.
The driver blinked. He opened his mouth, and then he shut it again, and his neck became rather red.
Mooney said rapidly: “Say, isn’t there—uh—isn’t there a lot of snow?” He feigned fascination with the snow on the road, leaning forward until his face was nearly at the frosty windshield. “My gosh, I’ve never seen the road so snowy!”
Beside him, Harse was methodically taking things out of other things. A little cylinder popped open and began to steam; he p
