sharp murmur of the
sending apparatus. Then he swung the door wide on its noiseless and well
oiled hinges. A dim light gleamed across the room! A dark figure was
crouched tensely over the table that held the sending set. At the moment
Gerry could not see who it was.

Two steps Gerry took into the room. Three steps. The rubberoid soles of
his shoes made no sound. Then a crushing weight descended on top of his
head! In the half second before he lost consciousness, he realized that
there had been a second interloper in the radio room. Someone who had
been crouching against the wall by the door, and who had slugged him as
he passed.

* * * * *

When consciousness returned to Gerry Norton, he was lying alone on the
floor of the darkened radio room. He sat up, and rubbed his aching head,
and swore softly. There was no sign of the interlopers, nor any clue to
their identity.

The whole incident puzzled him. His assailants must have been from among
the _Viking's_ crew. That was surprising enough in itself, but there was
also the problem of motive. Why would anybody be sending a secret
message when there was no receiving set within millions of miles? The
thing just didn't make sense.

Closing the radio room behind him Gerry went back to the control-room
and drew Steve Brent aside.

"Look here, Steve! I just found someone sending a secret message out
over the radio, and got knocked on the head before I could see who it
was."

"You must have been reading some of those funny old Twentieth Century
gangster yarns of evil deeds!" Steve grinned.

"I'm serious. That really happened." Gerry snapped. The grin faded from
Brent's freckled face.

"Then it must have been Chester Sand," he said promptly.

"Why do you say that?"

Brent shrugged.

"Because he's the only man aboard that I don't know too well to
suspect."

"Interesting logic," Gerry grunted, "But we can't lock a man up on such
negative grounds. Keep your eyes open. I'm going to try to sweat some
information out of someone as soon as we get through this ceremony of
visiting the king of this place."

* * * * *

Women working in the fields looked up as the _Viking_ passed, lifting a
hand to shade their eyes as they stared aloft at the soaring space-ship.
Other women drove small carts along the white roads that wound through
the fields. There did not seem to be any men in this land at all. Then,
along