dge of a fin
and planted the magnets of his boots firmly on the hull.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later, when Tremont was beginning to
worry again about his air supply, that the hatch of the air lock began
to open.

Crystals of frost puffed out as the water vapor left the air. Braigh's
helmet appeared, then the whole spacesuited figure floated up before
the spot where Tremont was watching. The highjacker dropped the
magnet of his life line against the hull and started to turn around.

Tremont grabbed the edge of the hatch with one hand, yanked the magnet
loose with the other, and kicked Braigh in the right area.

The spacesuited figure shot off, tumbling end over end, into the void.
A startled squawk sounded over Tremont's receiver.

"See how _you_ like it!" he snarled.

He ignored the begging of the suddenly frightened voice, and dived
into the air lock. In seconds, he had the outer hatch shut and was
nervously watching the air pressure building up on the gauge.

_If they notice at all, they'll think it's Braigh coming back!_ he
exulted.

He made it into the central shaft without meeting anyone. Pulling
himself forward in the bulky suit was an awkward task, but well worth
it for the expression on Peters' face when Tremont burst through the
control-room hatch.

After dealing with the pilot in about two minutes, most of it spent in
catching him, Tremont went back along the shaft and found Dorothy in
her bunk. Before she could release the netting, he folded the bunk
upon her and secured it to the hook. Only then did he allow himself
the time to remove his helmet and make free of the ship's air.

"What are you going to do?" demanded the girl, rather shrilly.

Tremont realized that she must have seen the unconscious Peters
floating outside in the shaft.

"You won't like it!" he promised.

"Tremont! I didn't know they'd do anything to you. Can't ... you and I ...
make some kind of ... deal?"

Tremont stared at her levelly.

"But I'd have to really sleep sometime," he pointed out gently. "How
can I trust you...?"

* * * * *

He was hardly a million miles out from the satellite system of
Centauri VI when the Space Patrol ship he had called managed to put a
pilot aboard to land the _Annabel_ for him on the largest moon.

Tremont returned wearily from helping the man in the air lock--which
he did with a practiced efficiency that surprised the pilot--to resume
his talk wit