"Where was Bemmelman yesterday morning?"
"I don't know." The Martian overseer looked surprised. "He left in his
surface plane in the direction of the MacIver plantation."
"Alone?"
Rabaul nodded.
"Um. Has he ever received messages from the Cloud Mountains? Radio
calls?"
"Yes," admitted Rabaul grudgingly. "Though I can't tell you what
they're about. I've instructions to call him immediately when the call
signals come through. He takes them personally."
"Have you ever known him to make trips into the mountains?"
Again the Martian nodded. "Yes. He's made expeditions into them after
botanical specimens, I believe."
"We got him!" said the Commissioner and Cosmo could see him counting
his half of the reward. "That map is the most damning evidence of all.
It's in his handwriting, isn't it?"
"You can have it checked," said Cosmo complacently. "But there's one
thing more."
"Eh?"
"Motive."
* * * * *
Cosmo's face hardened. "Slaves aren't cattle. After Bemmelman started
his slave farm he couldn't expect profits for eighteen years. He
needed money, lots of money to carry on certain experiments. He was an
organic chemist. He believed it possible to force humans the same way a
gardener forces plants. An aging process isn't a new idea, but it took
Bemmelman to find a commercial use for it."
"It fits like a glove," said the Commissioner, "but how do you know
about the experiment?"
"I can tell you about the experiments," interposed Llana suddenly.
Everyone stared at her.
She bit her lip. "I'm a Terran. He--he kidnapped me, mated me with a
Dawn Man as an experiment. Sofi is my daughter."
"Not a bad experiment," said the Commissioner admiringly. His eyes ran
over the Blue Venus.
"That was only the beginning!" said Llana. "I found out he's got a
laboratory below stairs where he's constantly experimenting with the
slave children. He's obsessed with the scheme of maturing the children
quicker so that he can reap faster profits. Bemmelman is a monster."
"Go on," said the Commissioner eagerly.
"He--he succeeded at last."
"What do you mean?"
Llana pointed at the Blue Venus. "Sofi," she said in a low voice. "Sofi
is only seven years old!"
Absolute silence gripped the room.
"You'll swear to that?" asked the Commissioner at length.
"Of course. Half the serfs in the house know her age anyway."
"We've got him," cried the Commissioner jubilantly. "We've got him dead
to rights."
"It's a frame up," shouted Bemmelman in despair. "A dirty frame up, I
tell you."
Cosmo regarded the planter with opaque green eyes. "Save your breath,
Bemmelman," he counseled him dryly. "No one's going to believe the
Renegade--remember?"
From the flat roof of the manor house, Cosmo and Mia watched the
Security Patrol planes take off one by one for Venusport. The head
overseer was to take charge of the plantation until the courts
confirmed Cosmo's claims. Llana and Sofi planned to visit Earth after
Bemmelman's trial.
Cosmo had taken Big Unse aside, sent him off secretly with the men
to destroy any evidence in their hideout. They were to return to the
plantation. "I want the lot of you under my eyes," Cosmo had explained
with a grin, "where you won't be tempted to raid my plantation."
As the last of the Patrol Planes rose from the roof, Cosmo turned to
Mia. "That's finis for the Renegade!"
"Bemmelman isn't the Renegade, really?" said Mia, half in doubt. "Is
he?"
"Maybe not _the_ Renegade," grinned Cosmo, "but he's certainly a
renegade."
Mia gulped suddenly, said, "The map! Good heavens! What will the
Commissioner do when he doesn't find anything but bird food?"
"Bird food, the devil," Cosmo said dryly. "I haven't the remotest idea
where the Ormoos feed. That map will lead him straight to the spot
where I've hidden every stick of loot I've--ah--accumulated." He pulled
the Ormoo's whistle from his pocket.