Cap Hanson was looking at Biggs as if he were some kind of slimy snail. Cap made a faint rubbing gesture, and spat. Biggs' eyes sought mine--but I refused to meet them. For a long moment there was silence, then Thaxton said, "And how do I know you're telling the truth, Biggs?" "But--but I am!" protested Biggs. His lanky legs gangled; there was sweat on his forehead. He was an abject picture of fear and treachery. "You know I--" "I know nothing about you," said Thaxton crisply. "For all I know, the bins you mention may be designed in such a fashion as to explode if anyone opens them. If so--" Sudden hope leaped into Biggs' eyes. He bleated, "But--but you're an esper, aren't you?" "Yes, of course. What has that to do with it?" Biggs said triumphantly, "Well, then, now that you know which bins to concentrate on, can't you probe into them with your thoughts? Find out for yourself?" He added, "I--I always heard that really good espers could guess what was inside sealed boxes." The little spy bridled. "Not _guess_, Biggs!" he snapped. "_Know!_ That is a good idea. Perhaps you're sincere. Well, it won't take long to find out." Still holding the gun upon us rigidly, Thaxton went into his act. His body stiffened slightly. His pop-eyes seemed to bulge even more. His forehead creased with a sort of strain. His lips moved faintly. I could hear the words as his unusual sense of perception bridged for him the distance between this turret and the after holds. "Ah, the bins! Numbers 13, 14, 15. In the first I see boxes. Boxes filled with ammunition. Ah, yes! In the next I see--" Then a thought, so dazzling that it almost short-circuited, blazed across my brain. I nudged Cap Hanson and nodded toward Thaxton. In that state of half-catalepsy, he was almost vulnerable. There was a fighting chance that we might be able to dash across the room, knock him down, yank that gun from his hand before he got us. Or, at least, _both_ of us. * * * * * Hanson got my meaning immediately. His big fists balled at his sides. I felt his shoulder tense against mine. And then-- "No!" whispered Biggs sibilantly. "That doesn't help, Skipper! The _Cyclops_ will be here any minute, now!" "--ammunition," droned Thaxton. "Boxes piled to the ceiling. Ah! And in the third bin--" "Out of my way, you gutless wonder!" rasped Hanson viciously. "Let them come! If we die, we die like men!" "But," said Lancelot Biggs quietly, "we don't die!" And calmly, easily, almost tenderly, he raised his voice. "I speak to you, Thaxton," he said in the soothing tone of a parent. "Do you hear me? Do you hear me speak?" "--two hundred rotor-guns," said Thaxton. "Three cartons of fuse-caps, one carton of--Yes, I hear you speak." "That is well," said Biggs. "Listen, Thaxton, and do as I say. In a few minutes you--"