A vague twilight dwelt in the interior. Larry led the way to the bridge. The frozen lock was cut out by means of a torch. With set jaws he went inside.
"Better load 'em out quick, boys. If the sunlight starts to thaw 'em there'll be a hell of a mess. Throw 'em clear of the ship. It's tough—but it's a sky-man's end, and we may all meet the same some day."
While Abe and Jeff carried the corpses away, he found the log and traced back to the vessel's start. There he located the cargo list. Two hundred million was correct, as the refining company had stated when the ship was lost.
Their next job was to cut into the hold. The sight of two hundred million dollars in gold bullion took their breath away. Jeff sat down and began laying the ponderous bars into three piles, muttering:
"One for me, one for you, and one for Abe. One for—"
Larry laughed, "Get to work, you half-baked lout. We've got to lug all these out to where they'll make quick loading. Friar Bacon should loom up in about four hours. I'll set the flares—"
And then they all went stiff, hands reaching for energy-pistols. Through the ship's floor came the thud-thud-thud of walking men!
Larry sprang into the hall. Three whirled at his advance. He snapped on his transmitter, the instrument operating through the metal floor like a telegraph.
"Get the hell out of here!" he barked. "You're fifty thousand miles out of your territory. Is this how Haggard keeps a bargain?"