Van Rycke snorted.  “I can supply you five answers to that—­for one they may have known the affinity of those creatures for the wood, and it would be easy to predict as a result of our taking a load on board—­or again they may have deliberately planted the things on us through the Salariki—­But we can’t ever prove it.  It remains that they are going to get for themselves the Sargolian contract unless—­” He stopped short, staring straight ahead of him at the wall between Rip and Dane.  And his assistant knew that Van was exploring a fresh idea.  Van’s ideas were never to be despised and Jellico did not now disturb the Cargo-master with questions.

It was Rip who spoke next and directly to the Captain.  “Do you know what they plan to do about us, sir?”

Captain Jellico grunted and there was a sardonic twist to his mouth as he replied, “It’s my opinion that they’re now busy adding up the list of crimes you four have committed—­maybe they had to turn the big HG computer loose on the problem.  The tally isn’t in yet.  We gave them our automat flight record and that ought to give them more food for thought.”

Dane speculated as to what the experts would make of the mechanical record of the Queen’s past few weeks—­the section dealing with their landing in the Big Burn ought to be a little surprising.  Van Rycke got to his feet and marched to the door of the conference room.  It was opened from without so quickly Dane was sure that they had been under constant surveillance.

“Trade business,” snapped the Cargo-master, “contract deal.  Take me to a sealed com booth!”

Contracts might not be as sacred to the protective Service as they were to Trade, but Trade had its powers and since Van Rycke, an innocent bystander of the Queen’s troubles, could not legally be charged with any crime, he was escorted out of the room.  But the door panel was sealed behind him, shutting in the rest with the unspoken warning that they were not free agents.  Jellico leaned back in his chair and stretched.  Long years of close friendship had taught him that his Cargo-master was to be trusted with not only the actual trading and cargo tending, but could also think them out of some of the tangles which could not be solved by his own direct action methods.  Direct action had been applied to their present problem—­now the rest was up to Van, and he was willing to delegate all responsibility.

But they were not left long to themselves.  The door opened once more to admit star rank Patrolmen.  None of the Free Traders arose.  As members of another Service they considered themselves equals.  And it was their private boast that the interests of Galactic civilization, as represented by the black and silver, often followed, not preceded the brown tunics into new quarters of the universe.

However, Rip, Ali, Dane, and Weeks answered as fully as they could the flood of questions which engulfed them.  They explained in detail their visit to the E-Stat, the landing in the Big Burn, the kidnapping of Hovan.  Dane’s stubborn feeling of being in the right grew in opposition to the questioning.  Under the same set of circumstances how would that Commander—­that Wing Officer—­that Senior Scout—­now all seated there—­have acted?  And every time they inferred that his part in the affair had been illegal he stiffened.