nd her lovely young charges of secondary
importance.

"How many times do I have to tell you to hurry?"

"But these gowns--"

"Will need a pressing when you return to Mars anyway."

"And a prison break. I never saw a prison break before. It's so
exciting."

"You're not going to see it. You're just going to hear about it. Come
on, come on, all of you."

At that moment the room phone rang.

"Hello?" the widow Moriarity said.

"This is Jenkins, ma'am, desk. The spaceport called a few minutes ago.
I'm not supposed to frighten you, but, well, they're rather worried
about the prison break. The escaped convict, they figure, will head for
the spaceport. Disguised, he could--"

"Let him try masquerading as a member of _my_ group!" the widow
Moriarity said with a smile.

"All the same, if you could hurry--"

"We are hurrying, young man."

"Yes, ma'am."

The widow Moriarity hung up. "Gi-irls!"

The girls squealed and laughed and dawdled.

* * * * *

House Bartock felt like laughing.

He'd just had his first big break, and it might turn out to be the only
one he needed. On an impulse, he had decided to strike out directly for
the spaceport. He had done so, and now stood on the dark tarmac between
the manifest shed and the pilot-barracks. And, not ten minutes after he
had reached the spacefield a cordon of guards rushed there from
Interstelpen had been stationed around the field. Had Bartock arrived
just a few minutes later, he would have been too late, his capture only
a matter of time. As it was now, though, he had a very good chance of
getting away. Circumstances were in his favor.

He could get so far away that they would never find him.

It was simple. Get off Triton on a spaceship. Go anyplace that had a big
spaceport, and manage to tranship out in secret. Then all the police
would have to search would be a few quadrillion square miles of space!

But first he had to leave Triton.

From the activity at the port, he could see that three ships were being
made ready for blastoff. Two of them were purely cargo-carriers, but the
third--Bartock could tell because he saw hand-luggage being
loaded--would carry passengers. His instinct for survival must have been
working overtime: he knew that the third ship would be his best bet, for
if he were discovered and pursued, hostages might make the difference
between recapture and freedom.

Bartock waited patiently in the darkness ou