And one of them was no stranger! “Bob!” I gasped. “Bob Eskow!”
Gideon looked at me curiously. “An acquaintance of yours?” he asked.
“Just the best friend I have in the world, that’s all! Gideon, this is wonderful luck! How can we get to that tanker?”
He scratched his head doubtfully. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he objected mildly. “You know, Jim, we still haven’t figured out what Kelly was up to when he mugged you. And that’s Kelly’s Kingdom down there, where the freighters discharge.”
My expression must have convinced him. He grinned and surrendered. “All right. Come on,” he said.
We took a fast elevator down, but it seemed to take terribly long. At the discharge level we came out onto a badly lighted, poorly kept section of Thetis, much like the one I had come in at, but even worse in appearance if possible. There were the same long rows of warehouses, the same jostling, bustling crowds of dock workers. I stayed close by Gideon’s side as he struck out confidently.
But there was no trouble—not the sort of trouble I might have feared, at any rate. There was no sign of Kelly; no one even looked at us, much less tried to repeat Kelly’s attack. What actually happened was much, much worse.
We reached the tanker—5.5. Warren F. Howard was its name—and rode the little pneumatic lift to the entrance port. I stopped a crewman and asked directions to the bridge; with Gideon in tow, I raced along the narrow passageways and climbed through a hatchway to the bridgehouse.
Bob wasn’t there.
The pilot was talking casually to a deck officer; they turned to look at me with some irritation. I asked excitedly, “Is Bob Eskow here? I saw him from the dome—”
The pilot said something in a whisper. The deck man nodded thoughtfully. He said: “Who wants him?”
“My name,” I told him, “is—”
Gideon’s elbow caught me sharply in the ribs. He interrupted smoothly, “Just a couple of old friends of his, sir. Can you tell us where we can find him?”
The deck officer glowered. “How did you get aboard?” he demanded.
“Just walked, sir,” Gideon said with a wide-eyed look of innocence. “Was that wrong?”
The deck officer gave him a long look. Then, to me, he said:
“You’ll have to go ashore. Eskow’s in his quarters and can’t be disturbed.”
“But I just saw him!” I cried.
“You heard me.” The deck officer touched a bell, and a seaman popped through the hatch. “Show these men ashore,” the officer ordered.
Unwillingly I went. Back on the other side of the entrance port, I asked the seaman: “Can you take a message to Mr. Eskow for me?”
The seaman looked dubious, until he caught sight of my outstretched hand and the folded bill it contained. “Sure,” he said cheerfully. “What do you want me to tell him?”
I wrote a hasty note, signed it “Jim,” and handed it to the seaman, who disappeared into the entrance port with it. Gideon murmured:
“Don’t know if that was rightly smart, Jim. Know what ship this is?”
I shook my head. Gideon whispered: “Hallam Sperry’s tanker flagship. And that first officer is one of his personal pets, Jim; that’s why I didn’t want you telling him who you were.”
I said uncertainly, “But surely he wouldn’t have kept me from seeing an old friend!”
“Are you so very sure of that?” Gideon asked quietly. But I had no chance to answer, for the seaman was back. His face was extremely cold. He said:
“Mr. Eskow says he never heard of you.” And he disappeared again before I could collect my wits to answer.
Back in our hotel, I stared out the window at the bustling crowds of Marinians. Even Bob Eskow seemed to have turned against me! Except for Gideon, there seemed no one I could trust in all the world.
I never felt so lonesome in my life as at that moment.
I sat there, fruitlessly worrying, until Gideon came in. He had sent me on ahead while he ran some mysterious errand of his own, down in Kelly’s Kingdom; when he came into the room his face was grave. He said at once:
“Jim, something’s up. There’s talk down at the ’charge levels.
Sperry’s got something.”
“What has he got?”
Gideon looked worried. “That’s just it, I don’t know. Ever hear of a man named Catroni?”
“No.”
Gideon’s face was in harsh lines. “Fortunate for you,” he said. “Catroni. Kicked out of the States, kicked out of every country in Europe, on Hallam Sperry’s payroll here in Marinia. Payroll for what? Nobody knows—officially. But the man started out as a common hoodlum. Draw your own conclusions.”
“Sounds like someone you couldn’t trust very far,” I said.
Gideon nodded soberly. “That is the trouble, Jim. Somebody trusted him a little too far. He was with your uncle when the seacar was lost. And they say—” He hesitated, looking at me almost beseechingly. “They say—don’t draw too much hope from this, Jim, but they say that Catroni was seen going into Sperry’s quarters yesterday.”
I leaped up. “Gideon! That means—”
He said fretfully, “I know what it means. If it’s true that Catroni is here—and if he really was with Stewart Eden—then maybe there’s a chance. A chance of heaven knows what, Jim—for if Catroni came back secretly, there must be dirty work somewhere that he is covering up. But still—”
“Gideon,” I said tensely, “let’s go see Hallam Sperry!”
He stared. “You are out of your mind!”
“No, Gideon. I can see him. I have his invitation, after all—on the Isle of Spain he made me an offer. I can tell him I want to discuss it; and perhaps I can find something out.” Gideon was shaking his head somberly, but I rushed on. “Don’t you see, Gideon, I have to try it. Sperry won’t dare do anything openly—he has too much at stake. And besides—well, I’ll lay it on the line, Gideon: Suppose you’re wrong? Suppose Sperry isn’t quite as bad as you’ve painted him?”
He stopped me, mercifully, then. There was fierce pride and hurt in his eyes. He said carefully: “All right, Jim. I can’t blame you for wanting to see for yourself.” He slumped wearily into a chair, not looking at me. “I only hope,” he said, “that what you see doesn’t hurt you.”
“SIT, SIT,” Hallam Sperry rumbled impatiently.
I sat down. I started to say, “Mr. Sperry, I—”
He interrupted before I got started. “My son is here,” he said suddenly. “Brand. You remember Brand, eh? Told me a great deal about you. Maybe I should say about James Eden. Eh?”
The question seemed half-humorous, but his cold eyes were not humorous at all. “What do you mean?” I asked.