rt and pile of other papers that lay upon the desk in front of
him.

"That closes one little incident," he said grimly. "That takes care of
our friend Wilson."

"Maybe you were a bit too harsh with him, Greg," suggested Russell Page.

Greg shook his head. "He was a traitor, the lowest thing alive. He sold
the confidence we placed in him. He traded something that was not his to
trade. He did it for money and now I've taken that money from him."

He shoved the pile of certificates to one side.

"Now I've got this stuff," he said, "I don't know what to do with it. We
don't want to keep it."

"Why not send it to Chambers?" suggested Russ. "He will find the
passport and the money on his desk in the morning. Give him something to
think about tomorrow."

_CHAPTER TWELVE_

Scorio snarled at the four men: "I want you to get the thing done right.
I don't want bungling. Understand?"

The bulky, flat-faced man with the scar across his cheek shuffled
uneasily. "We went over it a dozen times. We know just what to do."

He grinned at Scorio, but the grin was lopsided, more like a sneering
grimace. At one time the man had failed to side-step a heat ray and it
had left a neat red line drawn across the right cheek, nipped the end of
the ear.

"All right, Pete," said Scorio, glaring at the man, "your job is the
heavy work, so just keep your mind on it. You've got the two heaters and
the kit."

Pete grinned lopsidedly again. "Yeah, my own kit. I can open anything
hollow with this rig."

"You got a real job tonight," snarled Scorio. "Two doors and a safe.
Sure you can do it?"

"Just leave it to me," Pete growled.

"Chizzy, you're to pilot," Scorio snapped. "Know the coordinates?"

"Sure," said Chizzy, "know them by heart. Do it with my eyes shut."

"Keep your eyes open. We can't have anything go wrong. This is too
important. You swoop in at top speed and land on the roof. Stand by the
controls and keep a hand on the big heater just in case of trouble.
Pete, Max and Reg will go to the lockdoor. Reg will stay there with the
buzzer and three drums of ammunition."

He whirled on Reg. "You got that ammunition?"

Reg nodded emphatically. "Four drums of it," he said. "One solid round
in the gun. Another drum of solid and two explosive."

"There's a thousand rounds in each drum," snapped Scorio, "but they last
only a minute, so do your firing in bursts."

"I ain't handled buzzers all these years without knowing so