“Thank you for waiting.
A new record that came on the Scorpion.
I could not resist the temptation to see it before I went to bed.
But what do you wish?”
“I’m very sorry—” began John Star.
He paused, stammered, and then, seeing that the thing had to be done, went on swiftly:
“Sorry, but I am ordered by Captain Ulnar to place you under arrest.”
The dark eyes met his in quick surprise; there was pain in them, as if they saw some dreaded thing.
“May I ask why?”
The voice was low and courteous, unsurprised.
“Captain Otan was murdered last night.”
Jay Kalam stood up quickly, but did not lose self-possession.
“Murdered?” he repeated quietly, after a time.
“I see.
So you are taking me to Ulnar?”
“To the cells.
I am sorry.”
For an instant John Star thought the unarmed man was going to attack him; he stepped back, a hand going to his proton gun.
But Jay Kalam smiled a hard brown smile, without amusement, and told him quietly:
“I shall go with you.
A moment, to pick up a few articles of clothing.
The old dungeons are not famous for comfort.”
John Star nodded, and kept his hand near the needle.
Crossing the court, they descended the spiral stair to a hall cut through red volcanic rock.
With his pocket light-tube, John Star found the corroded metal door; he tried it with keys Eric Ulnar had given him, and failed to open it.
“I can turn it,” offered his prisoner.
John Star gave him the key; he opened the door after a little effort, gravely returned the key, and stepped through into dank darkness.
“I’m very sorry about all this,” apologized John Star. “An unpleasant place, I see.
But my orders———”
“Never mind that,” said Jay Kalam quickly.
“But remember one thing, please!”
His tone was urgent.
“You are a soldier of the Legion.”
John Star locked the door and went after Hal Samdu.
To his astonishment, this man met him in the dress uniform of a general of the Legion, complete with every decoration ever awarded for heroism or distinction in service.
White silk, gold braid, scarlet plume—his splendor was blinding.
“It came on the Scorpion,” Hal Samdu informed him.
“Very good, don’t you think?
Though the shoulders are not quite———”
“I’m surprised to see you in a general’s uniform.”
“Of course,” Hal Samdu said seriously,
“I don’t wear it in public —not yet.
I had it made, to be ready for promotion.”
“I regret it,” said John Star, “but I’ve been ordered to place you under arrest.”
“To arrest me?”
The broad, red face showed ludicrous amusement.
“What for?”
“Captain Otan has been killed.”
“The Captain—dead?”
He stared in blank incredulity that changed to slow anger.