of the doorway framed a heavy, pasty
face with liquid black eyes. The slug gun was aiming again, this time
at Penrun. He hurled himself sideways out of his chair as it roared a
second time. The heavy slug buried itself in the corpse of the old
Martian on the table. The face in the doorway vanished.

* * * * *

The next instant Penrun was through the door and racing down the long
promenade deck under the glow of the electric lights, for the
quartering sun was shining on the opposite side of the ship. Far down
the deck ahead fled the slayer.

The killer paused long enough to drop an emergency bulkhead gate. Five
minutes later when Penrun and the other passengers succeeded in
raising it, he had disappeared. One of the emergency space-suits
beside the air-lock was missing. Penrun sprang to a nearby port-hole.

Far back in space he saw the tiny figure shining in the sunlight,
while the long flame of his Sextle rocket-pistol showed that he was
checking his forward momentum as rapidly as possible. Unquestionably
he would be picked up by some craft now trailing the liner, for the
murder and theft of the paper must have been carefully planned. Penrun
turned from the port-hole thoughtfully.

The liner was in an uproar. News of the murder had spread like
wild-fire. Women were screaming hysterically and men shouting as they
rushed about in terror, believing that the ship was in the hands of
pirates. A squad of sailors passed on the double to take charge of the
buffet. There would be an inquest shortly. Penrun started for his
stateroom. He wanted to be alone a few minutes before the inquest took
place.

His room was on the deck above. The sight of the empty passage
relieved him, but he was surprised to discover that he had not locked
the door when he left an hour ago. He stepped into the room.

Instantly his hands shot upward. Something was prodding him in the
back.

"One move or a sound, and I shoot," warned a sharp whisper. "Stand as
you are till I find what I want."

His billfold was opened and dropped with an exclamation of
disappointment. The searcher hurried. Penrun calmly noted that the
fingers seemed to fumble and were not at all deft at this sort of
work. He glanced down, and smiled grimly. A woman! He jerked his body
away from the prodding pistol, gripped the slender hand that was about
to plunge into his coat pocket, and whirled round, catching the
intruder in his arms.

Big,