With catlike quickness Winford leaped behind the chart table. A glance showed that the ship was holding to its course with unchecked speed. Only the meteor detector fluctuated from the presence of the little space ship outside. No worry there. Disintegrator rays would soon dissolve it, and with it the last visible evidence of their presence on the ship. "Now, Captain, you may turn about facing me. I want a little information." "You'll sniff gas for this!" snarled the officer. "This is piracy pure and simple. Who are you, anyway?" Winford smiled ironically. Captain Robers' eyes widened suddenly and he paled slightly, as he recognized the dirty white uniform. "The mines of Mercury!" he ejaculated. "We received a heliogram not twenty-four hours ago warning us of your escape. You're Evan Winford of Earth!" Winford bowed slightly. "At your service, Captain. My six companions are even now trussing up the remainder of your crew down below. Don't choke, Captain. You are in no danger, unless you make it yourself. I desire a little information about the Universe. You see I have been out of touch for the last three years during my enforced sojourn on Mercury." Captain Robers glared at Winford. "Tell me, Captain, who are you, and what is this craft?" The officer thrust out his chin stubbornly, then glanced at the pistol covering him and changed his mind. "Captain Robers. The freighter is the _Golden Fleece_." "Port?" "New York. I am homeward bound with a cargo from Ceres of the Asteroids." Winford's eyes gleamed momentarily. "Iridium, eh?" Captain Robers declined to answer. The valuable metal, which was found mostly in abundance among the Asteroids and particularly on Ceres, had proved the bait that lured pirates in flocks from all parts of the Universe to prey on the freighters that carried it, usually under heavy guard. The _Golden Fleece_ had obviously been trying to slip through under the camouflage of an ordinary tramp freighter when Winford and his followers boarded her. Robers saw no reason for trying to lie about Ceres, since Winford would discover it later when he examined the log. Winford, however, did not press the question about the cargo. "Who is the owner, Captain?" "The Interstellar Transportation Company, New York, Silas Teutoberg, president." Winford leaped to his feet. "Repeat that name, Captain," he ordered harshly. "Silas Teutoberg," sullenly complied the officer. "But don't be so excited. He has already resigned." "Why?" A crafty light appeared in the captain's eyes. He sensed a slight advantage in retaining this knowledge himself. "I decline to answer," he stated. The lambent flames leaped ominously in Winford's eyes. He toyed with the ray pistol expressively, then glanced up at a sudden interruption. The control room door had opened, admitting Jarl and Ragna. "The crew is all accounted for," announced Jarl. "We imprisoned a hundred men and have control."