"She's your daughter, isn't she?" demanded the blond giant ruthlessly. "And a year ago she was queen of the interplanetary cafés. The doctors that attend her say she'll die in six months. What will you give for her life, Marshall?"
Falling back loosely into the seat, Keith Randolph Marshall began to quiver in every muscle of his body. Because he knew by the other's manner that he was serious.
"I've studied all the tricks of modern medicine," continued Rufus goadingly, "and know all the late practices and kinks. I'm not such a fool at that as I may be at running spacelines in the void!"
"I'll tell you," whispered Marshall savagely, his soul bare for the other's gaze. "And I'll tell you the truth! I'd give every cent I ever owned if she were sound and well. I'd give every space-ship I've got if she had the vitality of your oxlike body."
Whirling around, young Rufus pounced without warning, snapped up the flame-gun from the girl's lap, and held it before him. Then he began to rock with wild bursts of laughter.
"There's only one chance for her," he chuckled. "It's a cure most doctors, even now, are afraid to speak much about. But I've seen it happen. Out in space, a person's body is permeated with lots of solar rays you never get on Earth. Sometimes unhealthy tissue will heal like magic. The chances are slim, one in a hundred, but they're better than nothing."
Now Marshall's eyes were glazing with horror, and he seemed too paralyzed to move. The other's mockery drove him frantic.
"You wouldn't dare!" he gasped. "The physicians have said the shock on going to space will kill Alyce. It would be plain—murder!"
"You're a man of your word," yelled young Rufus. "I'll take that word. Don't forget that, Marshall! If I ever come back, it'll be to collect!"
With the flame-gun held expertly he leaned and scooped the girl's fragile body up in one powerful arm, then backed slowly away. Reaching the doorway, he leaped out of sight. His pounding feet echoed from down the hallway.