with the Governor this evening; his secretary heard the whole thing."

"I'm sure he knew the man in the space suit," Leggett said. "He told us he was going to meet a man here and when he came in he called him 'Greeno.'"

And by now, Flint thought, Greeno had taken the girl back to his planetoid, following the plan exactly without the faintest idea it had misfired. If Greeno could only pick up thoughts at this distance! Flint cursed silently. Well, there were two things to be done and done fast. Get word to Greeno, somehow; tell him to get the girl back to Saturn. And get after that bat. He couldn't let this mess throw a hitch into something he'd been trying to do all these years.

The easiest way to straighten Greeno out was by radio; good thing he'd taken that set out to him. "Now, listen," he said, "I haven't got time to go into a lot of explanations. A space bat's showed up in the Ring; it's worth a lot of money to me. Let me get to the radio and I'll have Miss Vaun safely back on Saturn in an hour. It's all a mistake. When I get through bat hunting I'll clear up the whole business."

The big patrolman laughed. "He'll be glad to help us out when he gets time; that's a good one." Then he stopped laughing, took a step toward Flint. "You're going to tell us where this Greeno took the girl. Right now."

Flint saw a free-for-all shaping up. There seemed to be no other way out. He got ready for trouble, but he didn't think it was coming so quick.

Apparently the big patrolman was used to getting his information the hard way. His hand shot out in a short arc and swatted Flint across the mouth. "Talk!"

Flint staggered back, got his balance, and let go at the beefy face under the red cap. One of the other patrolmen caught his arm. The third one brought the barrel of his ray gun down on his head. Flint sat down on the jump seat.

"Where's Greeno's hideout?" the big one said. "You know every planetoid in the Ring. Where'd Greeno take her?"

Flint felt the bump on his head. "You and I got a lot of other things to discuss now, Fatty."

The beefy one stepped away from the door. "Okay. Go cut our rockets off, Mike," he said to one of his men who stood there, twirling Flint's ice gun on his forefinger. "This guy wants to play with us. We'll have to give him the air treatment."

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