arded detail should not give him
away. He convinced the other I. F. P. man, anyway.

But Murray had an uneasy feeling that Balta was laughing at him, and
when the shifty soldier politician invited him into his ship for the
ride back to Tarog, Murray had a compelling intuition that he would
not be in a position to step out of the ship when it landed on the
parkway of Scar Balta's hotel.

Having infinite trust in his intuitions, Murray thereupon made certain
plans of his own.

He noted that the ship, which was far more luxurious than one would
expect a mere army colonel to own, had a trap-door in the floor of the
main salon. Murray pondered over the purpose of this trap. He could
not assign any practical use for it, in the ordinary use of the ship.

But he could not escape the conviction that it would be a splendid way
to get rid of an undesirable passenger. Dropped through that trap-door
a man's body would have an uninterrupted fall until it smashed on the
rocks below.

Murray then examined the neuro-pistol that had been given him. It
looked all right. But when he broke the seal and unscrewed the little
glass tube in the butt, he discovered that it was empty. The gray,
synthetic radio-active material from which it drew its power had been
removed.

Murray grinned at this discovery, without mirth. It was conclusive.

* * * * *

At the first opportunity he jostled one of the soldiers, knocking his
neuro-pistol to the floor--his own, too. And when he apologetically
stooped and retrieved them the mollified soldier had the one with the
empty magazine.

So far, so good. Murray noted that the wall receptacles were all
provided with parachutes. It would be simple to take one of these,
make a long count, and be on the ground before he was missed. Provided
that he could leave unobserved.

The ship was now well in the air, and beginning to move away from the
fort. But they were only ten miles away, and Murray had hardly
expected that Balta would be in such a hurry.

"You get off here!" Balta said, and Murray felt the muzzle of the
neuro-pistol on his spinal column.

A grinning soldier seized a countersunk ring and raised the trap-door.

"So you're going to murder me," Murray said, speaking calmly.

"I take no chances," was Balta's short answer. "Step!"

Murray stepped, swaying like a man in deadly fear. He lowered his feet
through the hole. Looking down, he saw that they were about t