Once more we trudged back through the swamp and jungle, following the trail we had made. Several times, huge shadowy forms flapped on the wing overhead, but there was no attack. Back at the cylinder, Captain Cragley ordered every man out into the open. He drew their attention. "There's serious business here," he said slowly, his eyes darting from face to face. "I want the man, or men who wrecked the _C-49_!" The captain snapped out the final words. Surprise, terror and alarm registered among the passengers, but Cragley evidently saw no admissions of guilt. "The man who is responsible for our present condition owns this!" exclaimed Cragley suddenly. From behind him where he had been concealing it, he drew forth a square box studded with knobs and dials. "I know which one of you owns this. It was found hidden in his room by one of my men." Again Cragley watched for a betraying face. At the time, I doubted Cragley's statement that he knew who owned the box. If he knew, I asked myself, why was it he did not come right out and make an accusation with whatever evidence he held? But that was not Cragley's way. "We've also uncovered his two accomplices," continued the captain in cool, level tones. "There is proof which points definitely to them." He paused. No one spoke. The silence of death had descended upon the entire group. For a moment my scalp prickled from the high tension of nerves which hung over this episode. Cragley's burning eyes made every man of us a criminal. "The penalty for this offense is--death!" Cragley hurled out the final word with dramatic suddenness. There was a stealthy movement among those who stood near the cylinder. "Drop it!" snapped Quentin. "Or I'll bore you!" One of the passengers, Davy by name, dropped an electric pistol and raised his hands. "Raynor!" thundered Cragley, pointing a denunciatory finger at another of the space ship's passengers. "Let's have an end to this shamming! Step out there with Davy! Give up your weapons!" With the attitude of a fatalist, Raynor stepped forward, allowing Quentin to disarm him. "And now for the owner of this little box," said Cragley, a cryptic promise in his tones. "This radio-electrifier excited an electric explosion of static in the radium repellors. The reason, I suppose, was prompted by designs on the shipment of platinum. Will the owner of this ingenious little invention step up--or do I have to call his name?" No one moved. "Just as I thought, Brady, you have the nerve to bluff this thing out to the finish!" The face of Chris Brady grew pale. He appeared stunned. Those nearest him stepped back in surprise. Davy and Raynor were the only ones who did not seem taken aback by the revelation. "But I've never seen that thing before," Brady protested. "Why, I----" "Not a chance of wiggling your way out of this, Brady! We've got the goods on you sure enough! Will you kindly explain how you intended making a getaway with the platinum?"