"Why--why all of them, by God," Mackensie murmured, as I voiced it. "I wouldn't have traitors on my staff--" But this treasure of the T-catalyst--it might be worth a million decimars to the Venus revolutionists. And money can buy men--even men who have long been in honest service. The Second Officer--fat, jolly little Peter Green--he perhaps could be trusted. James Polter, the Purser? Of him I could not guess. Dr. Fyre, the Surgeon? Even with a plugged, counterfeit thousandth part of a decimar, I wouldn't take my eyes off him. * * * * * The handsome young giant, Wilson, stood gazing at us now in blank horror. He was hardly more than a boy. Quite evidently he knew completely nothing of what was going on. "But what are we going to do?" Mackensie was stammering. Then he spluttered, "By the God's I won't have this sort of thing on my ship. I'll muster them all up here--find out who this damned murderer is--" I seized him. "Easy Captain." Then I bent closer to him. "Captain Mackensie--things I don't understand yet about this. That big box in Miss Blake's room--" And on impulse I whispered: "Someone was climbing out her window a while ago. She called him Jim. She's in terror of him. Captain, see here, you've got to tell me everything about this." For an instant, his spluttering ineptitude left him. "I can't," he murmured. "That--that isn't mine to tell. Don't ask it, Penelle." Then he swung back to his own troubles. "What do you think we ought to do? By heaven--I'll turn back to Earth. Turn the whole damn ship's company over to the authorities." We were now some forty thousand miles from Earth--just about a sixth of the way to the Moon. "And have them see us swing?" I murmured. "Wouldn't that precipitate whatever it is they're planning to do?" Three of us here, in the control turret and chart room--and except for Nina, down there alone in her cabin, so far as I really knew, everyone else on the ship might be against us. Swiftly I questioned Mackensie. The _X-87_ was not equipped with any long-range guns, and very few side arms. What there were, we had now with us here in the chart room. Mackensie gestured to the little arsenal-locker, here in one of the walls beside us. "Are the crew members allowed to be armed?" I demanded. "Good Heavens, no!" "But they will be," young Wilson put in. "Mutineers will be armed--"