It was an extinct volcano, he discovered, with a level-floored crater more than a hundred miles in diameter. Practically level, that is, except for a smaller cone which reared up in the center of that vast, desolate plain of craggy, tortured lava. Straight down into the cold vent of the inner cone the Lensman steered his ship; and in its exact center he dug a hole and buried his treasure. He then lifted his tugboat fifty feet and held her there, poised on her raving underjets, until the lava in the little crater again began sluggishly to flow, and thus to destroy all evidence of his visit. This detail attended to, he shot out into space and called Haynes, to whom he reported in full. "I'll bring the meteor in when I come--or do you want to send somebody out here after it? It belongs to the Patrol, of course." "No, it doesn't, Kim--it belongs to you." "Huh? Isn't there a law that any discoveries made by any employees of the Patrol belong to the Patrol?" "Nothing as broad as that, that I know of. Certain scientific discoveries, by scientists assigned to an exact research, yes. But you're forgetting again that you're an Unattached Lensman, and as such are accountable to no one in the Universe. Even the ten percent treasure-trove law couldn't touch you. Besides, your meteor is not in that category, as you are its first owner, as far as we know. If you insist I will mention it to the Council, but I know in advance that the Patrol can claim none of it, even if we wanted to--which we definitely do not." "QX, chief--thanks," and the connection was broken. There, that was that. He had got rid of the white elephant, yet it wouldn't be wasted. If the zwilniks got him, the Patrol would dig it up; if he lived long enough to retire to a desk job he wouldn't have to take any more of the Patrol's money as long as he lived. Financially, he was all set. And physically, he was all set for his first real binge as a meteor miner. His shoulder and arm were as good as new. He had a lot of metal; enough so that its proceeds would finance, not only his next venture into space, but also a really royal celebration in any spaceman's resort, even the one he had already picked out. For the Lensman had devoted a great deal of thought to that item. For his purpose, the bigger the resort the better. The man he was after would not be a small operator, nor would he deal directly with such. Also, the big kingpins did not murder drugged miners for their ships and outfits, as the smaller ones sometimes did. The big ones realized that there was more long-pull profit in repeat business. Therefore, Kinnison set his course toward the great asteroid Euphrosyne and its festering hell-hole, Miners' Rest. Miners' Rest, to all highly moral citizens the disgrace not only of a solar system but of a sector; the very name of which was--and is--a byword and a hissing to the blue-noses of twice a hundred inhabited and civilized worlds. XII.