liner, or rather, it has found us!" exclaimed
the marine. "They say old Teutoberg has trained his heaviest guns on us
and is demanding that we surrender. Our skipper doesn't know just what
to make of it. He's arguing with Teutoberg by radio that this old tub is
in the hands of the law already and that he is taking it to Mars for the
piracy court. Teutoberg says he won't be fooled by any such bunk as
that; he knows we are all pirates and he is going to have this ship
regardless of anything, since it belongs to his line. I've got to be
hurrying along. We're getting the big guns ready, the few that we have."

Winford cautiously withdrew his head. His eyes were glowing. The whole
scheme was as plain as day now. Teutoberg knew as well as every informed
person in the Universe did that the _Golden Fleece_ was in the hands of
the Interplanetary Council marines. That talk about being entitled to
the freighter because it was owned by his shipping line was so much
rubbish. He was protected by insurance. What he wanted was the insurance
and the ten million dollars' worth of iridium in the hold as well.

Furthermore, he had intended to have it all along. It was part of his
diabolical scheme to put the shipment on an unprotected freighter. Then
he had chartered a liner privately for his venture in piracy. When the
liner was "lost" he was out searching for the _Golden Fleece_ along the
lanes where it should have been had not he, Winford, and his companions
captured the craft and sent it hurtling out toward Ganymede. And now
Teutoberg had succeeded in trailing it down.

* * * * *

Winford surveyed the transom pessimistically. Impossible to get through
it. If only he had a ray pistol to dissolve the door lock.... The air
ventilator! He dropped down on hands and knees and peered under the
bunk. The opening seemed large enough to let his shoulders through. If
he should become fast in one of the turns of the tunnel it would be all
up with him. They'd probably find his body when the ship went into dock
for repairs. But this was no time to think of that.

He crawled under the bunk, took out the grating and set it beside the
opening. Then he wormed his way into the tunnel. It was a tight fit, but
he could move. The first turn should bring him to the branch that opened
out on the passage not far from his stateroom door.

Never would he forget that struggle when he forced his cramped, tortured
body round the