"Bentley murdered? Good Lord—why—what ..."
"Somebody was tampering with the ship's gravity," I murmured swiftly. "I felt it go off in a section of the main corridor—went down to the magnet-room. Bentley's there dead—drilled through the chest—"
"Bentley killed? Murder, here on my ship! Why, by the Gods of the starways—" Big Mackensie was momentarily stupified, his eyes widened, his heavy face mottled an apoplectic red with his rush of anger.
"I caught this fellow Penelle—" young Wilson began.
"Don't be an ass," Mackensie roared. "He's a Government crime-tracker—stationed here on board this voyage—"
My gesture tried to stop him. "Easy Captain. Listeners might be on us—"
The chart room door, here beside us, which opened onto the superstructure roof, was closed. But the small oval window beside it, also facing sternward, was open. I dashed to it. The dim roof deck seemed empty. I noticed a light in Len Smith's helio cubby.
I drew down the metal shade of our window. Whirled back. The astonished young Wilson stared at me in numbed amazement. "They're coming into the open," I murmured. "Look here, Captain, we've got to plan—"
"Why—why, good Lord—I thought we were guarding against a plot on the Moon—"
"Well, we're not. It's here—now—" I told him what Nina had said; five of the crew. The new men, placed here on board. And how many of the officers might be in it—