d the chart table. A glance
showed that the ship was holding to its course with unchecked speed.
Only the meteor detector fluctuated from the presence of the little
space ship outside. No worry there. Disintegrator rays would soon
dissolve it, and with it the last visible evidence of their presence on
the ship.

"Now, Captain, you may turn about facing me. I want a little
information."

"You'll sniff gas for this!" snarled the officer. "This is piracy pure
and simple. Who are you, anyway?"

Winford smiled ironically. Captain Robers' eyes widened suddenly and he
paled slightly, as he recognized the dirty white uniform.

"The mines of Mercury!" he ejaculated. "We received a heliogram not
twenty-four hours ago warning us of your escape. You're Evan Winford of
Earth!"

Winford bowed slightly.

"At your service, Captain. My six companions are even now trussing up
the remainder of your crew down below. Don't choke, Captain. You are in
no danger, unless you make it yourself. I desire a little information
about the Universe. You see I have been out of touch for the last three
years during my enforced sojourn on Mercury."

Captain Robers glared at Winford.

"Tell me, Captain, who are you, and what is this craft?"

The officer thrust out his chin stubbornly, then glanced at the pistol
covering him and changed his mind.

"Captain Robers. The freighter is the _Golden Fleece_."

"Port?"

"New York. I am homeward bound with a cargo from Ceres of the
Asteroids."

Winford's eyes gleamed momentarily.

"Iridium, eh?"

Captain Robers declined to answer. The valuable metal, which was found
mostly in abundance among the Asteroids and particularly on Ceres, had
proved the bait that lured pirates in flocks from all parts of the
Universe to prey on the freighters that carried it, usually under heavy
guard. The _Golden Fleece_ had obviously been trying to slip through
under the camouflage of an ordinary tramp freighter when Winford and his
followers boarded her. Robers saw no reason for trying to lie about
Ceres, since Winford would discover it later when he examined the log.
Winford, however, did not press the question about the cargo.

"Who is the owner, Captain?"

"The Interstellar Transportation Company, New York, Silas Teutoberg,
president."

Winford leaped to his feet.

"Repeat that name, Captain," he ordered harshly.

"Silas Teutoberg," sullenly complied the officer. "But don't be so
excited. He has already r