"Another thing," he said grimly, "is that I hate the idea of somebody
singling me out as a target. As if they were going to make a financial
example of me."

"And it sounds as if someone has," agreed Russ.

Greg leaned back again, drained his glass and set it down.

"It certainly does," he said.

Outside, seen through the window beside the fireplace, the harvest moon
was a shield of silver hung in the velvet of the sky. A lonesome wind
moaned in the pines and under the eaves.

"I got a report from Belgium the other day," said Greg. "The spaceship
is coming along. It'll be the biggest thing afloat in space."

"The biggest and the toughest," said Russ, and Greg nodded silent
agreement.

The ship itself was being manufactured at the great Space Works in
Belgium, but other parts of it, apparatus, engines, gadgets of every
description, were being manufactured at other widely scattered points.
Anyone wondering what kind of ship the finished product would be would
have a hard time gathering the correct information, which, of course,
was the idea. The "anyone" they were guarding against was Spencer
Chambers.

* * * * *

"We need a better television set," said Russ. "This one we have is all
right, but we need the best there is. I wonder if Wilson could get us
one in Frisco and bring it back."

"I don't see why not," said Greg. "Send him a radio."

Russ stepped to the phone, called the spaceport and filed the message.

"He always stays at the Greater Martian," he told Greg. "We'll probably
catch him there."

* * * * *

Two hours later the phone rang. It was the spaceport.

"That message you sent to Wilson," said the voice of the operator,
"can't be delivered. Wilson isn't at the Greater Martian. The clerk said
he checked out for New York last night."

"Didn't he leave a forwarding address?" asked Russ.

"Apparently not."

Russ hung up the receiver, frowning. "Wilson is in New York."

Greg looked up from a sheet of calculations.

"New York, eh?" he said and then went back to work, but a moment later
he straightened from his work. "What would Wilson be doing in New York?"

"I wonder ..." Russ stopped and shook his head.

"Exactly," said Greg. He glanced out of the window, considering, the
muscles in his cheeks knotting. "Russ, we both are thinking the same
thing."

"I hate to think it," said Russ evenly. "I hate to think such a thing
about