Woller, stumbling and cursing, followed, and the Earthman. Vincennes opened the main lock and they went into the dome.
There were two great ships inside, dimly lighted by a string of pale lumes overhead. Nolan looked at the mass of them, at the rodlike projections clustered around the nose, and knew them for what they were. Warships!
Scaffolding was still around them. They were not yet ready for launching, not ready for whatever mission of treason Woller had planned them for. But by the look of them the day was close. And Nolan was—awaiting execution.
One look at Woller's iron countenance under the tape showed that. Vincennes' hand, tight-knuckled around the butt of his gun, was ample confirmation.
But the moment had not yet come. Woller said, "Are they waiting?"
Vincennes' glance sped to a lighted door at the far side of the hangar. "Looks that way," he said. "Shall I attend to Nolan first? He's tricky—"
Woller laughed softly. "He's used up all his tricks. We'll take him with us, alive. He might come in handy. He's been out of sight for three years now. I'm just a bit curious where he's been. Perhaps it's somewhere we should know about."
He groped for Vincennes' arm, found it. "Let's go," he said. "We can't keep the chief waiting."
Nolan was first through the door. He was in a small room where four or five ordinary-looking people were siting around at ease. One was in uniform, the others the perfect example of quite successful businessmen.