For an instant he was aware of Walton's nervous breathing, then it stopped--there was a low chuckle. "Listen, Ballard! I'd be crazy to let you in. Don't you think I've seen you watching me like a hawk ever since we found the rotenite, just waiting for a chance to catch me off guard! I should have done this weeks ago, but it didn't occur to me how clean and easy it would be until I thought of the airlock jamming with you outside. So--the lock is jammed and you have left little over two hours of suit oxygen. And while you're out there suffocating to death, I'll be waiting in my sleep-tank on a nice euphoriac jag. It's going to be nice being the richest man in the--" "Wait! Walton, listen! You're all wrong! I--" Walton had cut his radio. For a moment, Ballard dumbly stood there, his mind racing around like a pin-wheel. Slowly it stopped, as numbing fear coursed through his nervous system. He'd under-concealed his suspicions, after all; Walton had suspected him of the very same thing he'd suspected Walton of. Suddenly, in spite of his predicament, in spite of death waiting for him only a few hours in the future, Ballard smiled. He really couldn't hate Walton for what he'd done; it was the old cliche again of too much greed and suspicion. He realized that this didn't alter the fact that he was going to die--unless he could think of something fast. Ballard looked at his chronometer; he now had less than two hours. In spite of this, his mind suddenly calmed and became clear. First he'd have to think of all the possibilities of getting into the _Minnow_, then allot only so much time to each possibility. There was the welding torch, the heat-beam, a pneumatic jackhammer, and miscellaneous hand tools. Surely with that assortment he could knock or burn a hole in the ship. All the air would swish out, but there were enough suit cylinders to allow him to take the ship back if he didn't damage it too badly getting in. And Walton would be safe in his sleep-tank; Ballard would see to that by disconnecting the awakener. * * * * * Ballard smiled at the stars as he bounded back to the hill where the tools lay. Walton had been a fool to lock him out here with cutting, burning, and pounding equipment--and almost two hours in which to use them. Things weren't so bad after all. He decided to try the welding torch first. He crossed over to the almost-completed blinker tower and picked up the torch and power-pack, then from a tool box he selected a cutting nozzle.