"I advise you, Captain," rasped Gilchrist viciously, "against defending Mr. Biggs' piratical actions. One thing I will not tolerate is defiance of my orders. "Donovan--" He turned to me--"you will remove the fruits of Mr. Biggs' labors from the _Saturn's_ hull. The heat which now inconveniences us will vanish when we are no longer the core of an electro-magnet. But just to make sure that no further efforts are made to beguile us into terror created by non-existent dangers, henceforth _I_ will assume responsibility for all electrical stores and equipment aboard. That is all! Get to work!" Thus ended our gay little tea-party.... * * * * * And of course it was just as Gilchrist had said. As soon as Biggs' fantastic maze of coils and wiring was removed from the _Saturn's_ hull, the thermometer crept back to normal. But friend Fahrenheit wasn't the only low thing on the _Saturn_ that evening. My spirits were _beaucoup_ slumpy when I slipped around to visit Mr. Biggs after dinner. He was pathetically glad to see me, but apprehensive on my account. "You--you won't get in any trouble, Sparks?" I said, "You're under arrest, but the balloon-headed little slob didn't say anything about solitary confinement--probably because he didn't think of it. Lance, what the hell are we going to do? I just ran over our figures again, and I got gooseflesh looking at them. The _Saturn's_ approaching the critical spot. If we don't do something--and damn soon--to make Gilchrist change his mind--" "I've been thinking feverishly, Sparks. You know my motto: 'Get the theory first!' I thought that by heating the ship I might frighten Gilchrist into changing course. But he caught on to my little trick." "And we can't try it again," I fumed, "because Major Nuisance has put all the electrical equipment under lock-and-key. In another twenty-four hours this freighter is going to be a bake-oven--" "I know," mourned Biggs. "And Diane--" He stopped suddenly. "Eh? What was that? What did you say, Sparks?" "Nothing," I told him glumly. "I was just moaning." "Oven!" cried Biggs. "Bake-oven! Of course! Ovens aren't all electrical. Listen--you know where the main fuel valve lies?" "Why--why, yes. But--" "Then get down there--quick! And shove the release lever to _Emergency Discharge_ position!" "And--and dump all those good tons of crude oil off into space?" I gasped. "Lance, you've lost your mind!" "Don't argue with me! Do what I say! Oh, something else--are you familiar with the refrigerating system?" "I'd better be. We're going to need it soon--" "Go to the condensation-valve and close it. Be sure it's tight, Sparks. Smash it if you have to!" I stared at him stupidly. It didn't make sense, but then the brilliant plots of Lancelot Biggs seldom do. I said hopefully, "You--you think it'll work, Lance?" "It has to!" he retorted grimly. "Or--but hurry!" * * * * *