He wished futilely that he had had time to do something before the mutiny. He wished that it wasn't too late to do something, now. Then he realized that there was something for him to do now. Gilligan was ordering him again, in no uncertain terms, to get that tooth-powder down to his tank-room. He smiled weakly at the ring-leader and picked up one box. * * * * * For the next half hour he was busy carrying his "fortune" down to his quarters. And it is doubtful if, in all his life, Manool Sarouk had ever been so miserable. He upbraided himself at every step for his cowardice and vacillation. He racked his brain, striving to devise some brilliant plan to circumvent the mutineers; and even as he did so, another part of his mind was scoffing at the futility of daring to oppose that group of ruffians. By the time he came back for the last box, he had admitted the absurdity of even trying it. They had emptied the gin bottles by that time. Some of them were singing, and some were shooting craps, gambling with their share of the cargo. Gilligan and a couple of others were gathered around Doc Slade. They had removed his bonds and had evidently been talking to him. "You'll take a chance with us or you'll take a chance with them two in the officer's mess," Gilligan was saying, menacingly, as Manool entered. It was evident that he had shared in the gin since Manool had started his work. He was looking ugly and seemed to be feeling the same way. Doc Slade's lip was curling with contempt before Gilligan had finished his sentence. "There's no choice," the doctor spat. "You give me passage to the mess-room and I'll go, right now. What have I got in common with a pack of space-rats like these? I don't like the smell of you, even." "Okeh!" Gilligan snarled, with an air of finality that showed that he was ending what had been an attempt to persuade Slade to join them. "I'll give you passage. Git out o' here and git down to the dinin' room." He flung the door open and gestured out into the passageway. Doc Slade looked at him, with a look in his eyes that Manool couldn't fathom. "Git!" repeated Gilligan, and drew his weapon. "Git out o' here before I forget myself and let you have a dose o' this." Doc hesitated the briefest second, then he shrugged and stepped out of the door. He started down the passageway swiftly, and Manool noticed that he neither slackened his pace nor looked backward. He was some sixty feet away when Gilligan muttered to the two or three who had crowded to the door, "All right. Let him have it!" And to Manool's horror, a half dozen shots cracked and echoed in the narrow confines of the hall. Doc staggered, put out a hand to the bulkhead, coughed and slumped to the floor. Gilligan ran forward and put another bullet in him. * * * * *