"A mechanical engineer," said Halsey. "An underofficial of the Earth
Federated Catalyst Corporation. But he associates with bad
companions--particularly Martians."
I had never heard of this George Prince, though I was familiar with
the Federated Catalyst Corporation, of course. A semigovernment trust,
which controlled virtually the entire Earth supply of radiactum, the
catalyst mineral which was revolutionizing industry.
"He was in the Automotive Department," Carter put in. "You've heard of
the Federated Radiactum Motor?"
We had, of course. It was a recent Earth discovery and invention. An
engine of a new type, using radiactum as its fuel.
Snap demanded, "What in the stars has this got to do with Johnny
Grantline?"
"Much," said Halsey quietly, "or perhaps nothing. But George Prince
some years ago mixed in rather unethical transactions. We had him in
custody once. He is known as unusually friendly with several Martians
in Greater New York of bad reputation."
"Well?"
"What you don't know," Halsey said, "is that Grantline expects to find
radiactum on the Moon."
We gasped.
"Exactly," said Halsey. "The ill-fated Ballon Expedition thought they
had found it on the Moon, shortly after its merit was discovered. A
new type of ore--a lode of it is there somewhere, without doubt."
He added vehemently, "Do you understand now why we should be
suspicious of this George Prince? He has a criminal record. He has a
thorough technical knowledge of radium ores. He associates with
Martians of bad reputation. A large Martian company has recently
developed a radiactum engine to compete with our Earth motor. There is
very little radiactum available on Mars, and our government will not
allow our own supply to be exported. What do you suppose that company
on Mars would pay for a few tons of richly radioactive radiactum such
as Grantline may have found on the Moon?"
"But," I objected, "That is a reputable Martian company. It's backed
by the government of the Martian Union. The government of Mars would
not dare--"
"Of course not!" Captain Carter exclaimed sardonically. "Not openly!
But if Martian Brigands had a supply of radiactum I don't imagine
where it came from would make much difference. The Martian company
would buy it, and you know that as well as I do!"
Halsey added, "And George Prince, my agents inform me, seems to know
that Grantline is on the Moon. Put it all together, lads. Little
sparks show the hidden current.
"More than that: George Prince knows that we have arranged to have the
_Planetara_ stop at the Moon and bring back Grantline's ore.... This
is your last voyage this year. You'll hear from Grantline this time,
we're convinced. He'll probably give you the signal as you pass the
Moon on your way out. Coming back, you'll stop at the Moon and
transport whatever radiactum ore Grantline has ready. The Grantline
Flyer is too small for ore transportation."
Halsey's voice turned grimly sarcastic. "Doesn't it seem queer that
George Prince and a few of his Martian friends happen to be listed as
passengers for this voyage?"
In the silence that followed, Snap and I regarded each other. Halsey
added abruptly:
"We had George Prince typed that time we arrested him four years ago.
I'll show him to you."
He snapped open an alcove, and said to his waiting attendant "Flash on
the type of George Prince."
Almost at once, the image glowed on the grids before us. He stood
smiling sourly before us as he repeated the official formula:
"My name is George Prince. I was born in Greater New York twenty-five
years ago."
I gazed at this televised image of George Prince. He stood somber in
the black detention uniform, silhouetted sharply against the
regulation backdrop of vivid scarlet. A dark, almost femininely
handsome fellow, well below medium height--the rod checking him showed
five foot four inches. Slim and slight. Long, wavy black hair, falling
about his ears. A pale, clean-cut, really handsome face, almost
beardless. I regarded it closely. A face that would have been
beautiful without its masculine touch of heavy black brows and firmly
set jaw. His voice as he spoke was low and soft; but at the end, with
the concluding words, "I am innocent!" it flashed into strong
masculinity. His eyes, shaded with long girlish black lashes, by
chance met mine. "I am innocent." His curving sensuous lips drew down
into a grim sneer....
Halsey snapped a button. He turned back to Snap and me as his
attendant drew the curtain, hiding the black grid.
"Well, there he is. We have nothing tangible against him now. But I'll
say this: he's a clever fellow, one to be afraid of. I would not blare
it from the newscasters' stadium, but if he is hatching any plot, he
has been too clever for my agents!"
We talked for another half-hour, and then Captain Carter dismissed us.
We left Halsey's office with Carter's final words ringing in our ears.
"Whatever comes, lads, remember I trust you...."
* * * * *
Snap and I decided to walk part of the way back to the ship. It was
barely more than a mile through this subterranean corridor to where we
could get the vertical lift direct to the landing stage.
We started off on the lower level. Once outside the insulation of
Halsey's office we did not dare talk of this thing. Not only
electrical ears, but every possible eavesdropping device might be upon
us. The corridor was two hundred feet or more below the ground level.
At this hour of the night the business section was comparatively
deserted. The stores and office arcades were all closed.
Our footfall echoed on the metal grids as we hurried along. I felt
depressed and oppressed. As though prying eyes were upon me. We walked
for a time in silence, each of us busy with memory of what had
transpired at Halsey's office.