"Yes," said the first, "and not a damn word about it in the manifest. This makes the second one of these old coots we've hauled up this month—what do you say, shall we call this one conspiracy?"
"Why not?" countered the other.
Karns said nothing beyond the usual blustering protests that would be expected of him. Then he lapsed into silence as the two took over after ordering their own vessel to proceed.
They did not go to the commercial sky-yard, but to the official one. Other officers met them, and Hank Karns was led straight away to jail. He protested every step of the way, demanding to be taken before the Terrestrial resident commissioner, or to be booked in the usual way. Both those demands were refused, whereupon he asked for a lawyer.
"Don't kid yourself, old man," said one of his guards. "You're in Venus now. Here you are."
Ray-gun levelled, the guard shoved Hank stumblingly forward. He staggered and nearly fell, striking his head against the barred window. Outside he could see the form of a spaceship. But it was not the Swapper. The guard laughed and swaggered out.
There he was. There was no question about that. The barred door slammed behind his departing escort with an air of utter finality.
"Hi-ya, pop!" screamed some hoodlum down the corridor. "Whatcha in for?"