pons. And
that is why we can't offer the place for sale. It would be suicide for
anyone to try to make a home there."

"_Has_ anyone ever tried it?" asked Harley. "Any competent adventurer, I
mean?"

"Yes. Twice we sold Z-40 before we realized that there was something
terribly wrong with it. Both buyers were hardy, intrepid men. The first
was never heard of after thirty-six hours on the asteroid. The second
man managed to escape in his Blinco Dart, and came back to Earth to tell
of a vast creature that had attacked him during one of the three-hour
nights. His hair was white from the sight of it, and he's still in a
sanitarium, slowly recovering from the nervous shock."

Harley frowned thoughtfully. "If this thing is more than a match for one
man, why don't you send an armed band with heavy atomic guns and clear
the asteroid by main force?"

"My dear sir, don't you suppose we've tried that? Twice we sent
expensive expeditions to Z-40 to blow the animal off the face of the
sphere, but neither expedition was able to find the thing, whatever it
is. Possibly it has intelligence enough to hide if faced by overwhelming
force. When the second expedition failed, we gave it up. Poor business
to go further. Already, Z-40 has cost us more than we could clear from
the sale of half a dozen planetoids."

For a long time Harley was silent. The Company was a hard headed, cold
blooded concern. Anything that kept them from selling an asteroid must
be terrible indeed.

His jaw set in a hard line. "You've been honest with me," he said at
length. "I appreciate it. Just the same--I still want to buy Z-40. Maybe
I can oust the present tenant. I'm pretty good with a ray-pistol."

"It would be poor policy for us to sell the asteroid. We don't want to
become known as a firm that trades in globes on which it is fatal to
land."

"Surely my fate is none of your worry?" urged Harley.

"The asteroid," began the executive with an air of finality, "is not
for--"

"Man, it's _got_ to be!" cried Harley. Then, with a perceptible effort
he composed himself. "There's a reason. The reason is a girl. I'm a poor
man, and she's heiress to fabulous--Well, frankly, she's the daughter of
3W28W12 himself!" The executive started at mention of that universally
known number. "I don't want to be known as a fortune hunter; and my best
bet is to find a potentially rich asteroid, cheap, and develop
it--incidentally getting an exclusive estate for my bride and