Stiffy gulped a drink and blew fiercely through his whiskers.
"Oliver," he said, "you sure are a ring-tailed bearcat with them guns of yours. I wonder, would you tell me how you do it?"
"Look here, Mr. Grant," said Meek. "I wish you'd quit talking about what I did. It was just an accident, anyhow. What I'm mainly interested in is this Asteroid Prowler you were telling me about. Is there any chance I might find him if I went out and looked?"
Stiffy choked, almost purple with astonishment.
"Good gravy," he said, "now you want to go out and tangle with the Prowler!"
"Not tangle with him," Meek declared. "Just look at him."
"Mister," Stiffy warned, "the best way to look at that thing is with a telescope. A good, powerful telescope."
The swinging doors swung open and a man walked in.
The newcomer walked directly toward the table occupied by Stiffy and Meek. He halted beside it, black beard jutting fearsomely, eyes bleakly cold.
"I'm Blacky Hoffman," he said. "I suppose you're Meek." He disregarded Stiffy.