So I told him. So it turned out that Thaxton was aboard the Saturn on forged papers in the first place, and that in the second place we couldn't clap him in irons even if he were a secret agent of the Venusian government, and that in the third place we shouldn't have let ourselves get in such a jam to begin with.
"Besides," tapped Joe, "all you've got to do is to keep your collective mouths shut. You're running under a navicert, and that means you won't be inspected at Sun City. You'll be free to make a short hop to New California and leave the aft hold cargo with the assigned parties." And with that he signed off.
A moment later the door busted open and in came Cap Hanson, his face the color of an uncleaned pullet. He bawled,
"Sparks! Sparks, for gosh sakes' get in touch with Earth immediately, if not sooner! Find out what we're to do! That there Thaxton guy, he's a phony. A—"
"Park it, Cap," I said glumly, "and hear the rest. He's a spy. And he's also an esper."
"You—you knew?"
"Mr. Biggs guessed it an hour ago. We talked the situation over."
Then I told him about calling Joe Marlowe, and went on to detail the hopelessness of our situation. But Hanson is a fighting man. He flinched as I threw verbal lefts and rights at him, but he was still sparring feebly when the bell rang.
He came up with, "Well, then, get in touch with Chief Garrity. Tell him to turn this crate around. We'll go back to Earth—"
Came the dawn! "Right!" I yelled. "Right!"