As the last of the Patrol Planes rose from the roof, Cosmo turned to Mia. "That's finis for the Renegade!"
"Bemmelman isn't the Renegade, really?" said Mia, half in doubt. "Is he?"
"Maybe not the Renegade," grinned Cosmo, "but he's certainly a renegade."
Mia gulped suddenly, said, "The map! Good heavens! What will the Commissioner do when he doesn't find anything but bird food?"
"Bird food, the devil," Cosmo said dryly. "I haven't the remotest idea where the Ormoos feed. That map will lead him straight to the spot where I've hidden every stick of loot I've—ah—accumulated." He pulled the Ormoo's whistle from his pocket.
Mia eyed it in alarm. "What are you going to do?"
"Take you to Venusport." He blew twice on the whistle. "We're going before the registrar today!"
"But Cosmo. Not on that—that monstrosity. I refuse to do it. I won't go." There was a disturbance in the cloud blanket directly overhead. A huge gray shape plunged Venusward. "Besides," she added in haste; "I can't go to Venusport like this—can I?"
"We'll stop by your plantation, spruce up a bit."
The Ormoo lit with a thud. It gave a pleased raucous squawk, eyed them with amiable red-brown eyes.