compass. On a square plate, our position was always designated in relation to the C-49. By telescopic condensation of the field, Cragley was capable of bringing Deliphon on the instrument. It was well over two hundred miles beyond us.

"If Quentin doesn't have that televisor fixed by the time we get back, we are in a jam."

"There's the ship!"

We looked where the pointing arm of Brady designated. The wrecked space ship lay imbedded in the murky waters of a swamp, fully one-third of its bulk out of sight. Above, the torn and tangled mass of vegetation bore witness to the rapid descent of the craft. Mighty branches were torn away from giant trees. The ship itself was enwrapped by interlaced creepers which it had ripped loose from the upper foliage.

We waded through warm, stagnant water which teemed with marine life. We were halfway to the side of the C-49 when a cry from behind startled me into action. I turned and stared into the gaping jaws of a terrifying serpent wriggling through the shallow water on many legs. Several electric pistols flashed almost simultaneously. The loathesome monster turned belly up, floating dead upon the surface of the swamp water.

From then on, we advanced more cautiously. Coming alongside the crushed hull of the interplanetary liner, we made an inspection of its position. The space ship lay nearly right side up, the decks slanting a bit sharply to one side. Upon the outer deck of the C-49, Cragley scratched his head and looked the situation over.

"Not so bad as I'd feared," was his comment. "Wouldn't be much else but junk here if it hadn't been for the jungle breaking the fall." Cragley pointed upward to the strong barrier of interlaced foliage. "I hope to discover just why it was we fell."

"Wasn't there an explosion?" I inquired. "There was a great shock just before you opened the door to my stateroom. For a moment I thought we'd struck the planet."

"Yes—there was an explosion," Cragley replied, a bit reluctant to voice the admission. "It occurred somewhere in the mechanism operating our radium repellors. That's why the ship started falling. Its weight was left partly free against the gravity of Venus. We had to leave so quickly there was no time for inspection."

One by one, we descended into the wrecked C-49. In that part of the ship which lay lowest below water level, tiny streams of dirty water trickled between wrenched plates, forming pools of water which rose slowly about us. Cragley and his men inspected the radium repellors. They whispered strangely among themselves. A steely glint shone resolutely in Captain Cragley's eyes.

"There's deviltry been done here," he stated fiercely. "The C-49 was deliberately wrecked by someone on board!"

Heavy silence followed his words. One of the crew returned from the vault room. He announced to the captain that the C-49's shipment of platinum was intact as they had left it. Captain Cragley turned the matter over in his mind. He was an astute man. Having smelled out a conspiracy, he was planning the best way he knew to thwart it. The platinum itself presented an obvious motive. Finally he spoke.

"You passengers are to go up into the observation room and wait for us. Under no condition are you to leave the room and wander about the ship."

Captain Cragley's orders were obeyed to the letter.

In the observation chamber, Brady asked my opinion of the discovery Captain Cragley had made. "What's up, anyways?"

I shook my head. Brady was plainly nervous. Others of the passengers who had accompanied us shared his apprehension. Fully a half hour had passed and still Cragley and his men put in no appearance. Outside, myriads of life flew, crawled and swam about the damaged craft.

Presently, Cragley and his three men emerged from the lower levels of the C-49. They presented an uncouth spectacle bedraggled as they were with grime and dirty water. In their arms they carried many small boxes. Though small, each box was extremely heavy, being loaded with a fortune in platinum bars.

"We'll return to the cylinder," said Cragley. "There's important work to be done."

Once more we trudged back through the swamp and jungle, following the trail we had made. Several times, huge shadowy forms flapped on the wing overhead, but there was no attack. Back at the cylinder, Captain Cragley ordered every man out into the open. He drew their attention.

"There's serious business here," he said slowly, his eyes darting from face to face. "I want the man, or men who wrecked the C-49!"

The captain snapped out the final words. Surprise, terror and alarm registered among the passengers, but Cragley evidently saw no admissions of guilt.

"The man who is responsible for our present condition owns this!" exclaimed Cragley suddenly. From behind him where he had been concealing it, he drew forth a square box studded with knobs and dials. "I know which one of you owns this. It was found hidden in his room by one of my men."

Again Cragley watched for a betraying face. At the time, I doubted Cragley's statement that he knew who owned the box. If he knew, I asked myself, why was it he did not come right out and make an accusation with whatever evidence he held? But that was not Cragley's way.

"We've also uncovered his two accomplices," continued the captain in cool, level tones. "There is proof which points definitely to them."

He paused. No one spoke. The silence of death had descended upon the entire group. For a moment my scalp prickled from the high tension of nerves which hung over this episode. Cragley's burning eyes made every man of us a criminal.

"The penalty for this offense is—death!" Cragley hurled out the final word with dramatic suddenness.

There was a stealthy movement among those who stood near the cylinder.

"Drop it!" snapped Quentin. "Or I'll bore you!"

One of the passengers, Davy by name, dropped an electric pistol and raised his hands.

"Raynor!" thundered Cragley, pointing a denunciatory finger at another of the space ship's passengers. "Let's have an end to this shamming! Step out there with Davy! Give up your weapons!"

With the attitude of a fatalist, Raynor stepped forward, allowing Quentin to disarm him.

"And now for the owner of this little box," said Cragley, a cryptic promise in his tones. "This radio-electrifier excited an electric explosion of static in the radium repellors. The reason, I suppose, was prompted by designs on the shipment of platinum. Will the owner of this ingenious little invention step up—or do I have to call his name?"

No one moved.

"Just as I thought, Brady, you have the nerve to bluff this thing out to the finish!"

The face of Chris Brady grew pale. He appeared stunned. Those nearest him stepped back in surprise. Davy and Raynor were the only ones who did not seem taken aback by the revelation.

"But I've never seen that thing before," Brady protested. "Why, I——"

"Not a chance of wiggling your way out of this, Brady! We've got the goods on you sure enough! Will you kindly explain how you intended making a getaway with the platinum?"

"I'm innocent!" exclaimed Brady heatedly. "I don't know these men!"

"This contrivance was found hidden in your room, Brady! Communications between you and these men were also found!"

Chris Brady fell silent. The evidence was overwhelming. Cragley turned to the other culprits.

"Have either of you protests to make?"

"We know when we're caught," growled Raynor, shooting a swift glance at Brady. "You've got the goods on us. We're not squawking."

"You were taking orders from this man?" the captain inquired, pointing at Brady.

Both Davy and Raynor replied in the affirmative, adding further proof against Brady.

"Known him very long?"

"Don't know him at all," replied Raynor, "only that he's the boss."

"We've been taking orders from him since we left the