"Sure, bucko! Take all the time you want. Take a half an hour if you like. I got a few things to do, anyhow. I'll just roll along and take care of them. You stay here and make up your mind. And, Phipps--you stay here and keep an eye on Mr. Warren," Jordan grinned. "Not that I don't trust you, you understand, bucko. You and me's going to be buddies. But you might want to play double sol, or somethin'. Well--see you later!" And with a wide anticipatory grin on his lips, the big man lumbered from the room. But barely had he disappeared than happened that which was most stunning of all which had befallen Chip Warren. Phipps, with an agility surprising in one so apishly squat, scurried across the room, and listened until the whine of the elevator advised him the coast was clear. Then he spun to Chip. "Listen, Warren," he husked, "I gotta talk fast; are you for his plan or ain't you?" Warren stared at the man in numb astonishment. "Why, I--I--" he faltered. "What are you getting at?" "Because if you're for his plan _and him_," hurried Scarface, "I'm through talking. But if you're for his plan and _against_ him, maybe you and I can do a little private business." "Private business?" Chip was still puzzled. "Private business?" "Strictly _ongtree-new_," grinned Phipps evilly, "I don't mind telling you, Warren, I'm fed up with the way I been kicked around by Blacky Jordan. I'm supposed to be his right hand man, but I'm one of those right hands that never knows what the left hand's doing. I run all the risks, like going into civilization for supplies and taking care of that space-cop, for instance, and Jordan gets all the gravy. Not only that, but he'd rat on me in a minute if it would put one bean in his soup. Like he just done a few minutes ago; talking about making you his chief partner when I've been his buddy and done his dirty work for years. "Well, I'm sick of it, see? And I'm pulling out. What I want to know is--if I take care of Blacky Jordan, can you and me make a dicker like the one he propositioned you on?" VI Chip stared at the man with a sort of sick distaste in his mouth. He did not like Blacky Jordan. The outlaw was coarse, brutal, bestial. But it had to be said to Jordan's credit that his villainy was at least open and aboveboard; not such treacherous, skulking infamy as this. Chip said contemptuously, "Aren't you taking an awful chance, Phipps? Suppose I were to tell Jordan about this proposition of yours?" Phipps' leer was the more vicious because it marred only the visible half of his face. "I ain't taking no chance, Warren. 'Cause if you're agreeable, I'll set the wheels moving. I've got _my_ followers, too. There won't be no Blacky Jordan to worry about. If you _ain't_ agreeable, well--" He patted the Moeller holster at his side with a sinister sort of affection--"I can always tell Blacky you tried to escape, you know."