al planets and all we had to do was keep adding to the list of
planets.

The release and follow-ups all harped on one theme. I expanded on it,
waxed enthusiastic, condemned it, and worked it into an interview. I
wrote as many variations as I could, so it could be slipped into as many
different formats as possible. In one form or another I wanted the basic
information in every magazine, newspaper and journal inside that
expanding sphere.

"What in the devil does this nonsense _mean_?" Captain Steng asked
peevishly. He had long since given up the entire operation as a futile
one, and spent most of the time in his cabin worrying about the affect
of it on his service record. Boredom or curiosity had driven him out,
and he was reading one of my releases with horror.

"Billionaire to found own world ... space yacht filled with luxuries to
last a hundred years," the captain's face grew red as he flipped through
the stack of notes. "What connection does this tripe have with catching
those murderers?"

* * * * *

When we were alone he was anything but courteous to me, having assured
himself by not-too-subtle questioning that I was a spurious admiral.
There was no doubt I was still in charge, but our relationship was
anything but formal.

"This tripe and nonsense," I told him, "is the bait that will snag our
fish. A trap for Pepe and his partner in crime."

"Who is this mysterious billionaire?"

"Me," I said. "I've always wanted to be rich."

"But this ship, the space yacht, where is it?"

"Being built now in the naval shipyard at Udrydde. We're almost ready to
go there now, soon as this batch of instructions goes out."

Captain Steng dropped the releases onto the table, then carefully wiped
his hands off to remove any possible infection. He was trying to be fair
and considerate of my views, and not succeeding in the slightest.

"It doesn't make sense," he growled. "How can you be sure this killer
will ever read one of these things. And if he does--why should he be
interested? It looks to me as if you are wasting time while he slips
through your fingers. The alarm should be out and every ship notified.
The Navy alerted and patrols set on all spacelanes--"

"Which he could easily avoid by going around, or better yet not even
bother about, since he can lick any ship we have. That's not the
answer," I told him. "This Pepe is smart and as tricky as a fixed
gambling machine. That's his st