Bland astonishment swept Kurland's face. Then, slowly, a grim smile
thrust aside his wonder.
"Forgive my start, Marward. You have stolen so much."
Fiercely Gion brushed aside the cold insult. He stepped back, his face
in shadow. The prison cell was electric with his vibrant hate. "You
will have it, will you, Kurland? I came to make an offer."
"Go on," said the outlaw, immobile.
"I am not loved, here on Jupiter," said Gion. "I usurp the authority of
greater men. I intrigue, I plot. I conquer and steal, if you will. It
requires gold. A fortune." He paused, watching the outlaw. "An agent
on Venus flashed me word that the Jewels of Orion, crown jewels of a
vanished race on some forgotten planet beyond the stars, were to be
shipped once more to Betelgoran. A hundred fortunes, Kurland. I gave
orders and he shipped as passenger, with the consigned jewels."
"And then?" Kurland's eyes burned through the gloom.
"The _Plutonian_ crashed somewhere ten million miles out in space,"
said Gion slowly. "My agent. He died with her, and with her people. But
he sent the coordinates through even as she went down on some uncharted
asteroid. I know where the hulk lies piled, an iron coffin for the
Orion jewels."