red and muttered, like a vast aviary waking.

"Ward and Gray," said one of the guards. "Moulton wants you."

Gray rose from his bunk with the lithe, delicate grace of a cat. The
monotony of sleep and labor was ended. Something had broken. Life was
once again a moving thing.

* * * * *

John Moulton sat behind the untidy desk. Dio the Martian sat grimly
against the wall. There was a guard beside him, watching.

Mel Gray noted all this as he and Ward came in. But his cynical blue
eyes went beyond, to a door with a ponderous combination lock. Then they
were attracted by something else--the tall, slim figure standing against
the black quartz panes of the far wall.

It was the first time he had seen Jill Moulton. She looked the perfect
sober apostle of righteousness he'd learned to mock. And then he saw the
soft cluster of black curls, the curve of her throat above the dark
dress, the red lips that balanced her determined jaw and direct grey
eyes.

Moulton spoke, his shaggy head hunched between his shoulders.

"Dio tells me that you, Gray, are not a volunteer."

"Tattletale," said Gray. He was gauging the distance to the hangar door,
the positions of the guards, the time it would take to spin out the
combination. And he knew he couldn't do it.

"What were you and Ward up to when the guards came?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Gray amiably. "He was telling me bedtime
stories." Jill Moulton was lovely, he couldn't deny that. Lovely, but
not soft. She gave him an idea.

Moulton's jaw clamped. "Cut the comedy, Gray. Are you working for Caron
of Mars?"

Caron of Mars, chairman of the board of the Interplanetary Prison
Authority. Dio had mentioned him. Gray smiled in understanding. Caron
of Mars had sent him, Gray, to Mercury. Caron of Mars was helping him,
through Ward, to escape. Caron of Mars wanted Mercury for his own
purposes--and he could have it.

"In a manner of speaking, Mr. Moulton," he said gravely, "Caron of Mars
is working for me."

He caught Ward's sharp hiss of remonstrance. Then Jill Moulton stepped
forward.

"Perhaps he doesn't understand what he's doing, Father." Her eyes met
Gray's. "You want to escape, don't you?"

Gray studied her, grinning as the slow rose flushed her skin, the
corners of her mouth tightening with anger.

"Go on," he said. "You have a nice voice."

Her eyes narrowed, but she held her temper.

"You must know what that would mean, Gray. There