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l under way an hour later when a couple of Mantor's men joined their chief, who stood with a somewhat bruised Marc Polder and an unharmed but furious Lee Treynor. Between them they carried a small, obviously heavy box. "You know what this stuff is, boss?" one of the men asked. "They got a hundred or a hundred-fifty boxes like this in there." He nodded at the Navy warehouse. They set the box down and Mantor flung back its lid. It was filled with small grey pellets. Mantor picked up a handful and stood fingering them. "Looks like rocket fuel," he said. "Only I've never seen any this color. And it's too heavy, also." He turned to the comptroller. "_You_ tell me what it is." Marc shrugged. "I don't know. It's a Navy secret." Mantor's eyes glinted. Without warning his fist flew out, sent the comptroller sprawling in the dust where he lay stunned. Lee's hands flew to her mouth barely in time to suppress a cry. After a few moments Marc rolled over slowly and pushed himself painfully to a sitting position. He looked up at Mantor who stood watching him coldly, his fist flexing. The comptroller licked his lips and looked around at the several men who stood watching, their faces impassive. "Okay," he said in a none-too-steady voice. "I'll tell you. You'd find out anyway from the files." "Cut the alibis and give," Mantor growled. "Keep your shirt on." Marc's voice indicated he was regaining control of himself. "It's H.D.T.--Hyper-Degenerate-Thorium--the stuff the destroyers use to get extra push." Mantor roared his glee. "Pack it aboard, boys--_all_ of it! And put it where it will be handy, just in case." This was it, Lee thought as she stood by, watching--the final bitter pill. Mantor had as much as told them he was working for Venus. And the H.D.T. was all Venus needed to be ready for war--a war that might well blast civilization from the Solar System. Strange that so much should depend upon one man; tragic that the one man was a weakling. With an effort Lee forced herself to be fair. It might have done no good to lie, she conceded. But anyone with even a normal amount of simple courage would have tried. It was about two hours later when the siren went off again like a banshee wailing to a low-hanging moon. Men came running from all directions, shouting questions at the tops of their voices. A midget auto came skidding down the pirate ship's ramp, its driver standing on the accelerator. The car kni
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