"Don't mind him, Alyce," said Marshall. "I've kept my bargain. Next week, after you've rested, I'm going to stage a coming out party for you. He has the papers, hasn't he? Come on. Let's get out."
"Wait a minute!" cried Rufus sharply. "Yes, I have the papers. But they'd never let me file them, not with charges of kidnaping against me. And once convicted, a thing your lawyers could see to, it would be illegal for me to own any property in space! Isn't that true, Marshall?"
The space commerce king shrugged his shoulders.
"Its truth does not concern our bargain," he began evasively.
"Nor do the space police who followed you," went on Rufus calmly.
"What's that?" demanded Dr. Haliburton. "I assure you, we came in utmost secrecy, and that—" He stopped, having seen the plain guilt on the face of Keith Randolph Marshall.
"Oh, damn the man!" stormed Marshall angrily. "What if I did? I'm a man of my word, and he's a man of his. Yes, your jig is up! You might as well give yourself up quietly, Rufus."
Marshall's hand came up from the lower part of his space suiting, holding a flame-gun that was pointed at Rufus Thallin, but that young man was no longer there. Leaping with all of his strength, he dove clear across the room. His shoulders struck the metal suiting and the gun flew from Marshall's hand.
One balled fist came up to a defensive position, kept on going. Rufus followed it with another, a straight punch that carried his full weight behind it. Keith Randolph Marshall went down. He wasn't out, but when he looked into the face of the man standing over him, he stayed down.
"Get out!" snorted Rufus furiously. "Get your spacetogs on and get out before I really do commit murder. Go out to your precious, skulking space coppers. And just let them try to take me—alive!"