"Well, I'm not disputing that," said the purser mildly. "This fellow--"
"We're in no mood for argument," Dr. Frank cut in. "Clouding the issue...."
"I won't let it be clouded," the Captain exclaimed.
I had never seen Carter so choleric. He added:
"Johnson, you've been acting suspiciously. I don't give a damn whether I've proof of it or not. Did you or did you not meet George Prince and that Martian, last night?"
"No, I did not. And I don't mind telling you, Captain Carter, that your tone also is offensive!"
"Is it?" Carter seized him. They were both big men. Johnson's heavy face went purplish red.
"Take your hands--!" They were struggling. Carter's hands were fumbling at the purser's pockets. I leaped, flung an arm around Johnson's neck, pinning him.
Snap tried to help me. "Go on! Bang him on the head, Gregg. Now's your chance!"
We searched him. A heat ray cylinder--that was legitimate. But we found a small battery and eavesdropping device similar to the one Venza had mentioned that Shac the gambler was carrying.
"What are you doing with that?" the Captain demanded.
"None of your business! Is it criminal? Carter, I'll have the line officials dismiss you for this! Take your hands off me--all of you!"
From Johnson's breast pocket the surgeon drew a folded document. It was a scale drawing of the _Planetara_ interior corridors, the lower control rooms and mechanisms. It was always kept in Johnson's safe. And with it, another document: the ship's clearance papers--the secret code passwords for this voyage, to be used if we should be challenged by any Interplanetary Police ship.
Snap gasped, "My God, that was in my radio room strong box! I'm the only one on this vessel except the Captain who's entitled to know those passwords!"
Out of the silence, Balch demanded, "Well, what about it, Johnson?"
The purser was still defiant. "I won't answer your questions, Balch. At the proper time, I'll explain--Gregg Haljan, you're choking me!"
I eased up. But I shook him. "You'd better talk."
"Enough!" exploded Carter. "He can explain when we get to port. Meanwhile I'll put him where he'll do no more harm. Gregg, lock him in the cage."
We ignored his violent protestations. The cage--in the old days of sea vessels on Earth, they called it the brig--was the ship's jail. A steel-lined, windowless room located under the deck in the peak of the bow. I dragged the struggling Johnson there, with the amazed watcher looking down from the observatory window at our lunging starlit forms.