"That's it!" he yelled. "That's it!"
For a moment it was touch and go. Thaxton's forefinger tightened ominously on the trigger of his pierce-gun, and I found myself wondering how I'd look with a hemstitched abdomen. Then, as Biggs shouted no more, a look of curiosity spread over the little man's features.
"Might I inquire, Mr. Biggs—" he began.
Biggs' face was red. He looked embarrassed at his outburst. He glanced sheepishly at the skipper and at me.
"I—I'm sorry. But I've been wondering how I could—" He faltered. "Well, anyway, I just thought of a way. That is—if you're agreeable?"
Thaxton's bug eyes goggled at him.
"Speak sense, man!" he ordered pettishly. "How you could what? A way to what? If I'm agreeable to what?"
Biggs drew a deep breath. Then, carefully,
"Well, here's my thought. I'm planning to be married very soon, Mr. Thaxton. I have no desire whatsoever to be incarcerated in a Venusian jail—especially for participation in something over which I have no control. It was my thought, my hope, that in consideration for services rendered, you might agree to give me my liberty—"