"You all agreed to it," Johnny said shortly. "Every man here voted that, above everything, what we wanted was to get the radium." [F] The Gravely storage tanks--the power used by the Grantline expedition--were heavy and bulky affairs. Economy of space on the Comet allowed but few of them. [G] Electro-telescopes of most modern use and power were too large and used too much power to be available to Grantline. * * * * * A dynamic little fellow, this Johnny Grantline. Short of temper sometimes, but always just, and a perfect leader of men. In stature he was almost as small as Snap. But he was thick-set, with a smooth shaven, keen-eyed, square-jawed face, and a shock of brown tousled hair. A man of thirty-five, though the decision of his manner, the quiet dominance of his voice, mode him seem older. He stood up now, surveying the blue-lit glassite room with its low ceiling close overhead. He was bowlegged; in movement he seemed to roll with a stiff-legged gait like some sea captain of former days on the deck of his swaying ship. Queer-looking figure! Heavy flannel shirt and trousers, boots heavily weighted, and bulky metal-loaded belt strapped about his waist. He grinned at Swenson. "When we divide this treasure, everyone will be happy, Ollie." The treasure was estimated by Grantline to be the equivalent of ninety millions in gold-leaf. A hundred and ten millions in the gross as it now stood, with twenty millions to be deducted by the Federated Refiners for reducing it to the standard purity of commercial radium. Ninety millions, with only a million and a half to come off for expedition expenses, and the _Planetara_ Company's share another million. A nice little stake. Grantline strode across the room with his rolling gait. "Cheer up, boys. Who's winning there? I say, you fellows--" An audiphone buzzer interrupted him, a call from the duty man in the instrument room of the nearby building. Grantline clicked the receiver. The room fell into silence. Any call was unusual--nothing ever happened here in the camp. The duty man's voice sounded over the room. "Signals coming! Not clear. Will you come over, Commander?" Signals! * * * * * It was never Grantline's way to enforce needless discipline. He offered no objection when every man in the camp rushed through the connecting passages. They crowded the instrument room where the tense duty man sat bending over his helio receivers. The mirrors were swaying. The duty man looked up and met Grantline's gaze. "I ran it up to the highest intensity. Commander. We ought to get it--not let it pass." "Low scale, Peter?" "Yes. Weakest infra-red. I'm bringing it up, even though it uses too much of our power." The duty man was apologetic. "Get it," said Grantline shortly. "I had a swing a minute ago. I think it's the _Planetara_." "_Planetara!_" The crowding group of men chorused it. How could it be the _Planetara_?