Brigands of the Moon | Page 3

"What you don't know," Halsey said, "is that Grantline expects to find radiactum on the
Moon."
We gasped.
"Exactly," said Halsey. "The ill-fated Ballon Expedition thought they had found it on the
Moon, shortly after its merit was discovered. A new type of ore--a lode of it is there
somewhere, without doubt."
He added vehemently, "Do you understand now why we should be suspicious of this
George Prince? He has a criminal record. He has a thorough technical knowledge of
radium ores. He associates with Martians of bad reputation. A large Martian company has
recently developed a radiactum engine to compete with our Earth motor. There is very
little radiactum available on Mars, and our government will not allow our own supply to

be exported. What do you suppose that company on Mars would pay for a few tons of
richly radioactive radiactum such as Grantline may have found on the Moon?"
"But," I objected, "That is a reputable Martian company. It's backed by the government of
the Martian Union. The government of Mars would not dare--"
"Of course not!" Captain Carter exclaimed sardonically. "Not openly! But if Martian
Brigands had a supply of radiactum I don't imagine where it came from would make
much difference. The Martian company would buy it, and you know that as well as I do!"
Halsey added, "And George Prince, my agents inform me, seems to know that Grantline
is on the Moon. Put it all together, lads. Little sparks show the hidden current.
"More than that: George Prince knows that we have arranged to have the Planetara stop
at the Moon and bring back Grantline's ore.... This is your last voyage this year. You'll
hear from Grantline this time, we're convinced. He'll probably give you the signal as you
pass the Moon on your way out. Coming back, you'll stop at the Moon and transport
whatever radiactum ore Grantline has ready. The Grantline Flyer is too small for ore
transportation."
Halsey's voice turned grimly sarcastic. "Doesn't it seem queer that George Prince and a
few of his Martian friends happen to be listed as passengers for this voyage?"
In the silence that followed, Snap and I regarded each other. Halsey added abruptly:
"We had George Prince typed that time we arrested him four years ago. I'll show him to
you."
He snapped open an alcove, and said to his waiting attendant "Flash on the type of
George Prince."
Almost at once, the image glowed on the grids before us. He stood smiling sourly before
us as he repeated the official formula:
"My name is George Prince. I was born in Greater New York twenty-five years ago."
I gazed at this televised image of George Prince. He stood somber in the black detention
uniform, silhouetted sharply against the regulation backdrop of vivid scarlet. A dark,
almost femininely handsome fellow, well below medium height--the rod checking him
showed five foot four inches. Slim and slight. Long, wavy black hair, falling about his
ears. A pale, clean-cut, really handsome face, almost beardless. I regarded it closely. A
face that would have been beautiful without its masculine touch of heavy black brows
and firmly set jaw. His voice as he spoke was low and soft; but at the end, with the
concluding words, "I am innocent!" it flashed into strong masculinity. His eyes, shaded
with long girlish black lashes, by chance met mine. "I am innocent." His curving
sensuous lips drew down into a grim sneer....
Halsey snapped a button. He turned back to Snap and me as his attendant drew the

curtain, hiding the black grid.
"Well, there he is. We have nothing tangible against him now. But I'll say this: he's a
clever fellow, one to be afraid of. I would not blare it from the newscasters' stadium, but
if he is hatching any plot, he has been too clever for my agents!"
We talked for another half-hour, and then Captain Carter dismissed us. We left Halsey's
office with Carter's final words ringing in our ears. "Whatever comes, lads, remember I
trust you...."
* * * * *
Snap and I decided to walk part of the way back to the ship. It was barely more than a
mile through this subterranean corridor to where we could get the vertical lift direct to the
landing stage.
We started off on the lower level. Once outside the insulation of Halsey's office we did
not dare talk of this thing. Not only electrical ears, but every possible eavesdropping
device might be upon us. The corridor was two hundred feet or more below the ground
level. At this hour of the night the business section was comparatively deserted. The
stores and office arcades were all closed.
Our footfall echoed on the metal grids as we hurried along. I felt depressed