ne Delacouer. No mannish
attire could disguise Diane's charms; nor could nerve and cold courage
that any man might envy detract from her femininity. Her dark, curling
hair was blowing back from her upraised face as the scented breezes
played about her; and the soft beauty of that face was enhanced by the
very starlight that revealed it.

It was here that Walt and Diane had learned to love; what wonder that
the fragrant night brought only remembrance, and forgetfulness of their
present plight. But Chet Bullard, while he saw them and smiled in
sympathy, knew suddenly that other eyes were watching, too; he felt the
bulky figure of Herr Schwartzmann beside him grow tense and rigid.

But Schwartzmann's voice, when he spoke, was controlled. "All right," he
called toward the ship; "all iss safe."

Yet Chet wondered at that sudden tensing, and an uneasy presentiment
found entrance to his thoughts. He must keep an eye on Schwartzmann,
even more than he had supposed.

Their captor had threatened to maroon them on the Dark Moon. Chet did
not question his intent. Schwartzmann would have nothing to gain by
killing them now. It would be better to leave them here, for he might
find them useful later on. But did he plan to leave them all or only
two? Behind the steady, expressionless eyes of the Master Pilot, strange
thoughts were passing....

* * * * *

There were orders, at length, to return to the ship. "It is dark
already," Schwartzmann concluded; "nothing can be accomplished at night.

"How long are the days and nights?" he asked Harkness.

"Six hours." Harkness told him; "our little world spins fast."

"Then for six hours we sleep," was the order. And again Herr
Schwartzmann conducted Mademoiselle Delacouer to her cabin, while Chet
Bullard watched until he saw the man depart and heard the click of the
lock on the door of Diane's room.

Then for six hours he listened to the sounds of sleeping men who were
sprawled about him on the floor; for six hours he saw the one man who
sat on guard beside a light that made any thought of attack absurd. And
he cursed himself for a fool, as he lay wakeful and vainly planning--a
poor, futile fool who was unable to cope with this man who had bested
him.

Nineteen seventy-three!--and here were Harkness and Diane and himself,
captured by a man who was mentally and morally a misfit in a modern
world. A throw-back--that was Schwartzmann: Harkness had said i