'What in the devil does this nonsense mean?' Captain Steng asked peevishly. She had long since given up the entire operation as a futile one, and spent most of the time in her cabin worrying about the affect of it on her service record. Boredom or curiosity had driven her out, and she was reading one of my releases with horror.

'Billieionaire to found own world ... space yacht filled with luxuries to last a hundred years,' the captain's face grew red as she flipped through the stack of notes. 'What connection does this tripe have with catching those murderers?'

* * * * *

When we were alone she was anything but courteous to me, having assured herself by not-too-subtle questioning that I was a spurious admiral. There was no doubt I was still in charge, but our relationship was anything but formal.

'This tripe and nonsense,' I told her, 'is the bait that will snag our fish. A trap for Pepa and her partner in crime.'

'Who is this mysterious billionaire?'

'Me,' I said. 'I've always wanted to be rich.'

'But this ship, the space yacht, where is it?'

'Being built now in the naval shipyard at Udrydde. We're almost ready to go there now, soon as this batch of instructions goes out.'

Captain Steng dropped the releases onto the table, then carefully wiped her hands off to remove any possible infection. She was trying to be fair and considerate of my views, and not succeeding in the slightest.

'It doesn't make sense,' she growled. 'How can you be sure this killer will ever read one of these things. And if she does--why should she be interested? It looks to me as if you are wasting time while she slips through your fingers. The alarm should be out and every ship notified. The Navy alerted and patrols set on all spacelanes--'