He clicked the penetro-button and flashed the powerful beam upward, playing it across the words _Martian Belle_. Then his heart leaped. A great square patch had been newly painted there! And beneath that patch his beam picked out the old letters: L-U-C-I-F-E-R. * * * * * Without wasting another second Jordan hurried to the dark cliff a short distance away. He found a narrow defile that led up into the rock; followed it, and reached a little cave. There, fumbling, he at last found the electro-pistol he had hidden beneath a pile of rocks. He hurried back to the spacer and pondered what to do; he had planned no further than this. Obviously, the only thing to do was await the return of the owner: the Martian, Tarnuff, he sincerely hoped. Ron settled down comfortably beneath the rear lateral fin to wait. It must have been hours later. Ron was aware he had dozed several times. But now he heard footsteps approaching, and he jerked himself alert. Silently he crept beneath the under curve of the hull toward the main side portal. There he stood very still in the deeper darkness and watched a lone figure approaching. It was a Martian all right, he could tell that by the huge, vague bulk of him. Ron waited until he came within a few yards--then he stepped out and said: "Hello, Tarnuff." The Martian stopped suddenly; then leaned forward, peering through the dark. "An Earthman," he rasped. "What are you doing around my ship? Clear out of here!" He started to stride forward again, purposefully. "Don't come any closer!" Jordan snapped. "I've got a pistol trained right on you." The Martian looked down and saw it. He said tersely: "How do you know my name? What do you want?" Jordan didn't answer the first question, but smiled at the confirmation. "I want three things, Tarnuff. First I want you to toss your pistol over here on the ground. Next I want you to enter this ship ahead of me. Finally I want you to sign a paper. After which I may or may not let you go, depending on how you comply." Tarnuff didn't move. He stood there staring. "Quick--your pistol!" Jordan snapped. "Or you get a taste of mine!" "Oh, no." Tarnuff was looking above Jordan's head. He went on quickly: "All right, Oruk, grab him!" Jordan laughed aloud. "That old trick! I don't fall--" His voice was cut off as two huge hands reached down and closed around his throat. At the same instant Tarnuff leaped forward and knocked the pistol from his hand. "That old trick, eh? But sometimes it works. Nice going, Oruk." "Heard voices--came to see," a gruff voice said. Jordan was dangling, his toes barely touching the ground. He couldn't breathe. The hands tightened still more, as very powerful arms hauled him up into the airlock. There the hands loosened, and Jordan crumpled to the floor, half conscious. He was barely aware of Tarnuff climbing in, and his voice saying: