"O.K.," smiled Jeffries. "So piracy is impossible. Then how does Black Morgan do it?"
"You know what I think?" said Jones.
"I'm a mind reader, of course," grinned Jeffries.
"Well, I wouldn't put it above certain blackguard spacecraft operators to pirate their own ships and then put up a large tale about Black Morgan. Does anybody ever really know—?"
"There have been authentic reports, made by reliable witnesses."
"O.K.," grunted Jones. "Then you tell me how it is done!"
"Me?" laughed Jeffries. "I'm hoping that Black Morgan will tell me in person."
Lieutenant Jeffries, although his very appearance was "policeman," did not act the part on this trip. He was the vacationer, the tourist. He danced well, considering his bulk, drank moderately, spoke quietly and intelligently, and made friends readily. He was always handy with his camera when something interesting went on, and he borrowed the spacecraft's darkroom to prepare the little tri-dimensional images of his fellow passengers.
In the latter, Jeffries was well-liked because he managed to flub all shots that were unflattering. Either he overexposed the block, or he miscalculated the development time, or he was forced to apologize for his clumsy fingers in the dark. At any rate, no pictures emerged from any shot that might be viewed with the owner's distaste.