The Captain, frowning in concentration, unzipped the pockets with painful care. They held four hundred interplanetary credits, but that was all.
Without commenting, Trev began to turn Gavin's pockets inside out, bringing to light coins, cigarettes and a lighter.
"What are these?" The Martian came around in front again. He threw a pair of brass knuckles to the desk top.
"Knucks," explained Gavin with a tight grin. "Antiques. But I've a fondness for 'em. Silent. Efficient."
Trev regarded them with distaste. The Captain, on the contrary, looked interested. Gavin couldn't see how the girl reacted as she was sitting almost out of his angle of vision.
The girl puzzled him. She was an unknown factor. He had never heard of her. Cabot, he had placed at once: Master of the Nova, which of all the slaveships was giving the Terran patrols the biggest headache. But the girl. Who was she? Where did she fit in the picture? She was a strikingly beautiful girl, that much he had seen in the momentary glance he had caught of her. Then she had moved out of his vision.
"Who are you?" the Martian asked Gavin bluntly.
"You've got my papers there on the desk. Only the discharge is faked."
"You said you hadn't had a ship in three years. Why?"
"The Commission suspended my license for a year."