"So what am I going to get now?"
"Look," grunted Edwards, "I'm forced into this. I'm going to issue an official report that you are on the trail of Black Morgan and that the loss of the radiosodium is only temporary. You'll be placed officially on the case and this time, Jeffries, you'll either collect Black Morgan or you'll find yourself in disgrace. Now go out and get him or you'll lose your shirt!"
It was bad, admitted Jeffries. But it got worse as the weeks wore on. To avoid making futile reports, Jeffries kept on the move, and every time that he took to space, Black Morgan hounded him.
The pirate held up the Callisto Clipper and took only personal valuables. He pirated a million dollars worth of borts—black tool-diamonds—from the Venus Girl that Jeffries knew nothing about until he read it in the paper in connection with his own name—mentioned as protector! Black Morgan breached the Brunnhilde of Mars for the sole purpose of pirating all the liquor and stores aboard. He stopped the Lunar Lady to get a replacement for his own celestial globe, leaving the ship without a detector for the rest of the ship, for Black Morgan took not only the spares, but the operating equipment as well.
And each time he appeared, Lieutenant Jeffries was the brunt of Black Morgan's perverted sense of humor. He stole Jeffries' shoes once and mailed them back to Terran Headquarters. He took the policeman's cigarette lighter and returned it—engraved with a taunting message from himself to the "Pride of the Solar Police." And Jeffries rode the space lines to get away from himself but found Black Morgan hounding him.
The lieutenant ignored repeated demands for action, dropping official letters in the wastebasket because he knew what they contained. He avoided his favorite haunts. He sought out of the way places, hoping to learn something about that huge black spacecraft that came up from behind at the speed of light and matched velocity in microseconds. He sought the counsel of scientists who claimed it impossible. He read the rosters of the ships of all ports, and he sought the manufacturers of spacecraft, hoping to discover one that might have made the pirate's ship. None had—or anything resembling that description.
For Jeffries took pictures for some time before he abandoned his camera in dismay. The fun he'd had with it now seemed flat and odious. He sold it in disgust in a small secondhand store on Mars. He sold his personal belongings to get money, for his requests for funds were being viewed with scorn, and a personal appearance with a request meant more scathing remarks on his inefficiency. To avoid facing his failure, Jeffries spent his own money. He changed his appearance because the papers printed his picture as a failure every time there was piracy.
Black Morgan, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He said so. Holding the entire ship's body at the point of his guns, Black Morgan taunted Lieutenant Jeffries: "I congratulate you, lieutenant," he said.