his huge figure blocking the doorway, his glance on the top sheet of the form-pad.
"No!" was the quick retort.
Ganley reached back and swung the cabin door shut.
"I'd like to glance over that message," suggested the man by the door. His tone was soft and purring, but there was a suggestion of claws behind the velvet.
"This is only ship's business," explained McKinnon, in an effort at appeasement. Yet he quietly ripped the written sheet from the pad, his spirit of latent obduracy now well stirred into life.
"Could I look over that message?" repeated Ganley, as quietly as before.
There was no mistaking the threat in his voice. McKinnon, eying him, saw his hand drop down to his side. The movement was quick and casual. But when the hand was raised again it held a revolver, a heavy, forty-four caliber thing of blue gun-metal, with a sawed-off barrel. The worn corners of the metal glimmered disagreeably, in baleful little touches of high-light, as Ganley held the barrel low, close in against the other man s startled body.
"What's this for?" asked McKinnon, his skirmishing thought frenziedly exploring the
