NEVILLE DARTED OUT into the passage. The baggage of the sole passenger to get on at Pallas lay in the gangway, and its owner, Mr. Carstairs, stood impatiently beside it. He growled something about the rotten service on the Callisto-Earth run, but let the steward pick up the bags. Then he followed close behind.
“Lay out your t’ings, sor?” queried Neville, once inside the room.
“No,” said Carstairs savagely. “When I want anything I will ask for it. Otherwise, stay out of my room.”
“Yas, sor,” was what Neville said in return, but to himself “Phew! The old boy has changed. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.”
He had no intention of obeying Carstairs’ injunction to stay out of his room. That night he served the evening meal, and with it was a glass of water. He had taken the pr
