distractedly.

“Tony!”

From somewhere above his voice spoke with annoyance.

“They’ve got a gravity beam on me. I could get loose, but I’d break my neck.” The sound trailed off into a distant murmur. “I’ll murder Von Zorn for this....”

Quade felt solid metal beneath his feet. The beam faded. Blinking, he looked around. This was the lower lock of a police ship. Black-clad officers were wheeling away the great anti-gravity lens. A man with a captain’s bars took his finger off the button that had closed the lock and looked at Quade speculatively.

“What’s the idea?” Quade demanded crossly.

“Sorry, sir. We’re looking for a Moonship stowaway. You answer his description.”

“My name’s Quade. I don’t suppose you’d even look at my credentials.”

The captain looked blank.

“Might be forged, you know. We can’t afford to take chances. If you’re Tony Quade, Mr. Von Zorn can identify you.”

“He will,” Quade said between his teeth. “Yeah—he will!”

Five minutes later they stood in Von Zorn’s office. The film executive looked up from a script and nodded coldly.

“Tell him who I am,” Quade said in a weary voice. “I’ve got a date.”

“It’s not as easy as that. You’re either Quade or a Moonship stowaway. If you’re Quade I’ve got to talk to you.”

“I’ve got a date. Also, I quit.”

Von Zorn ignored this.

“If you’re not Quade it means jail, doesn’t it?” He glanced at the captain, who nodded.

Quade thought it over. Of course he could get out of jail without much trouble, but not perhaps for some hours. Besides, he was beginning to wonder what mishap had occurred. It must be pretty serious.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m Quade. Now tell your stooge to rocket out of here.”

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