stateroom."

Winford surveyed him curiously.

"I warn you that I'll take advantage of any opportunity to escape," he
said.

The officer grinned.

"That's to be expected. So would any other man doomed to die. But the
coronium doors, locks and walls of the _Golden Fleece's_ staterooms are
practically escape proof, and with two of my marines on guard outside
your door, with orders to kill if you break out, I feel reasonably
safe."

Imprisoned in his stateroom, Winford threw himself on his bunk. Too
early to attempt anything yet, he considered. It would be better to wait
a few days--at least until _Eagle_ had departed. Besides, he would have
to work out a plan for escape.

He glanced up at the port-hole. The sunlight was shifting. He arose and
peered out. Twenty-five miles away he could see the battle sphere
standing out across the Void on a sunward course. The _Golden Fleece_
was turning her nose toward distant Mars, a long journey, since the Red
Planet was on the opposite side of the sun, seven hundred million miles
away.

Winford knew what was taking place. The commander of the battle sphere
was again resuming his mission of searching for the missing liner, while
the young officer and his crew were taking the _Golden Fleece_ with its
iridium cargo and pirate crew directly to Mars.

Meantime the radio and audio-vision announcers on all the planets were
broadcasting the sensational news of the capture of the escaped
convict-pirates and their forthcoming trial and certain execution on
Mars. Winford turned bitterly away from the port-hole.

* * * * *

One week had passed. Winford started up out of a sound sleep. He
listened tensely. There was a murmur through the big freighter. He
recognized it as the clanging of the great alarm gongs through the hull
of the big ship, muffled by the walls of his stateroom. Something was
afoot!

He threw off the covers, sprang out on the deck and pulled on his
clothes. This might be a break! Those gongs never sounded without plenty
of cause.

He pulled a chair to the door, mounted it, and cautiously opening the
transom which he had previously loosened, thrust his head out into the
passage.

A marine was running down the passage. The guards before Winford's door
tried to stop him, but the man ran on. Presently another came along. The
guard was more successful.

"Say, Buddie, what's all the excitement?" he demanded.

"We've found Teutoberg's