"Say!" he protested, "Don't scare me like ... like...." He broke off, his eyes wide with the dawn of an idea. "Pell!" he blurted eagerly, "that thing will cut through these walls like butter!" "Huh?" Pell grunted, startled. "Yeah," Heintz asserted excitedly. "That gadget of yours will carve out the lock on that door in two shakes." "Through _decyte_ alloy? Not in your life time!" Pell replied sadly. "Hell, bright boy, you ain't in an Earth jail. Those walls are steel, nothing more." It was Pell's turn to be excited. Hastily he rose to his feet and approached the door. He examined the metal surface and saw that the fat man was correct. * * * * * Thoughtfully he looked at the lighter in his hand. On Earth it was nothing more than a triviality--a novelty that could be acquired anywhere. But here! Yes, here it might be a means to salvation. There was just a chance, he reflected. The whole culture on Centaura seemed to be geared on a pre-atomic level of technology except for the blaster towers. And even the builders of those fabulous machines for defense never considered the possibility that they might be attacked from within. Such things as atomic lighters on Centaura were not dreamed of; jail cells would not be constructed of _decyte_ alloys that could resist their weak blasts. He looked at the black metal cylinder in his hand; flicked it tentatively and smiled at its short blue flame. Holding his breath, Pell felt along the lock edge of the door for indentations that would indicate the critical bolt joints. But it was completely smooth and he was able to find nothing. "Whatcha think?" Heintz asked from behind him. Pell shushed him frantically. "Pretty good, I think. But don't speak so loudly--I don't know whether there's a guard out there." He bent to the edge of the door and pressed the stud of the lighter. Its small beam began to chew into the steel sheeting around the lock. With agonizing slowness the beam cut into the steel until it reached a depth beyond which it would not penetrate. Pell released the stud and tinkered with the lighter with the thin edge of a coin. Then he directed it again at the door. Its seemingly innocuous blue flame was brighter and longer. It cut into the steel with renewed vigor. Suddenly there was a small snap and the door slid slowly back into the wall. Pell crouched, ready to spring upon the guard. But there was none. The corridor was empty and silent as a tomb. Pell glanced at his watch and the need for haste was pressed more firmly than ever upon him. An hour gone by already! He crept cautiously into the corridor with Heintz on his heels. It was dim and damp; the moisture seemed to congeal on his brow like sweat. With Heintz dogging his footsteps like some huge, bloated shadow, Pell approached the main corridor. It, too, was deserted. He turned to Heintz and asked in a low voice, "Where do you think they keep the atomic weapons?"