"It gets pretty chilly during the nights," said Charlie happily. "We'll get pneumonia before we starve." Flip looked helplessly about the room. They were bound to their chairs and the ropes looped through holes in the wall. There was no way Flip could get to Charlie and perhaps untie him. The house was of metal and through the rusty walls and the open door came the increasing chill of night. Captain Vixen's men had made them "comfortable," left them to the whistling wind. There was a draft on Flip's neck and he turned to see the rust had eaten away a small crack behind him. Just another thing, he thought. He was still caked with mud. Then he almost turned over his chair with excitement. He craned his neck, saw where the rope binding him was looped through the wall. They were two small holes, rusty as the rest. "Charlie," he said hoarsely, "these dumb Venusians! They've tied us to a _knife blade_!" "What?" "The holes they put the rope through! Look at the edges!" He began see-sawing back and forth with his chair. The rope rubbed against the rusty edges as he did so. "Maybe I can make it in time. It's been only a few minutes and they've got to warm up the ship." "You mean you're going to face them again. Saints o' Saturn! Leave well enough alone, boy!" Flip kept at his work. If he could get this part of the rope cut the rest would be simple. "And let 'em get that mine? Hell no! There's something about that xanite I don't understand and I'm going to find out what. I'd like a nice long chat with Miss Vixen too." Charlie gave up trying to dissuade him and Flip kept sawing. With the mufflers, he couldn't hear the ship leave but he was sure they hadn't gone yet. Those high-power planes took a lot of warming up, especially with Moxims. What to do when he got there? Flip Miller's mind never strayed far from the present. The rope broke. It was a matter of minutes before he was free. "Try the same thing, Charlie," Flip said at the door. "You wouldn't be much good out there with a busted wrist and I'll be back before long." "Maybe," said Charlie doubtfully as Flip streaked out into the rain. * * * * * The ship loomed before him in the mist and Flip halted, some degree of sanity entering the elation of his escape. He couldn't see through the fogged windows, but there were three skillful guns inside and he was unarmed. They had taken all the guns from the shack when they left. Besides, the ship's door was closed and a strato-plane's hull is solid metal. Though he considered it, he couldn't just go up and knock. The rise-rockets were idling. A pink glow appeared at each blast but there was only a soft hissing with the mufflers. The power jets hadn't started; they were geared with a synchronized heat progression which ignited them only when the proper temperature was reached.