He went across to his cabin and stood for a while looking out the window. Then he lit a cigarette and lay down on his bunk thinking. After a time, he put out the cigarette and walked into the hall where he paced up and down.
As he passed the cell door for about the tenth time, he suddenly swung around and lifted the latch and entered. He went over to the robot, and with a key that he took from his pocket, he unlocked the greaves and chains.
"There's no point in keeping you bound up like this," he said. "I don't think you're very dangerous." He put the key back in his pocket.
"I suppose you know that this ship runs on an atomic pile," he said in a conversational tone of voice. "The cables are just under the floor in the control room and they can be reached through a little trap door."
Jordan looked directly into Hall's face. The robot was listening with great intentness.
"Well," the agent said, "we'll probably be leaving Earth's atmosphere in about fifteen minutes. I think I'll go play pinochle with the pilot."
He carefully left the door of the cell unlatched as he left. He walked to the control room and found Wilkins, a dry cigar butt clenched between his teeth, absorbed in a magazine.
"Let's have another game," Jordan said. "I want some of that seventy-six dollars back."
Wilkins shook his head. "I'm in the middle of a good story here. Real sexy. I'll play you after we take off."
"Nothing doing," Jordan said sharply. "Let's play right now."