ver this."

* * * * *

In the freighter's cabin the chronometer was again approaching the hour
of twenty-two; for nearly twenty-four hours the ship had been on her
plodding way. And, lacking the A.D.D.--the Automatic Destination
Detector--and other refinements of instrumental installations of the
passenger ships, Pilot O'Malley had to work out his position for
himself.

And where a faster craft would have driven through with scarcely a
quiver, the big ship trembled with the buffets and suction of a wintry
blast that drove dry snow like sand across the lookout glasses. The
twelve thousand level was an unbroken cloud of snow--a gray smother
where the red ship's blunt and rusty bow nosed through.

O'Malley clung to the chart table as the air gave way beneath them and
the ship fell a hundred feet or more before her racing fans took hold
and jerked her back to an even keel. He managed to check his figures,
then moved to the door of his cabin, opened it and called softly.

Chet was beside him in an instant. It had seemed best that he remain in
hiding, and he knew what the pilot's call meant. "Made it, did you!" he
exclaimed. "Now I'll take a look about and pick up my bearing points."

But one look at the ports and he shook his head.

"That's dirty," he told O'Malley, and his eyes twinkled as he felt the
old ship rear and plunge with the lift of a driving gale; "and how the
old girl does feel it! She can't rip through, and she can't go above.
You've had some trip, Spud; it's been mighty decent of you to go to all
this--"

* * * * *

A flashing of yellow light on the instrument panel brought his thanks to
a sudden halt. A voice, startling in its sudden loudness, filled the
little room.

"Calling three--seven--G--four--two! Stand by for orders! Patrol
O--sixteen--L sending; acknowledge, please!"

Chet's eyes were staring into those of O'Malley. "That's Jimmy Maddux
back on our trail," he said. "Now, what has got them suspicious?"

He glanced once at the collision instrument. "He's right overhead at
thirty thousand," he added; "and there are more of them coming in from
all sides. Now what the devil--"

Spud O'Malley had his hand on the voice switch. "Be quiet!" he
commanded; then spoke into the transmitter--

"Three--seven--G--four--two acknowledging!" he said, and again Chet
observed how all trace of accent had departed from his voice; it was an
indi