"You can be certain of that," swore Star Pirate grimly.
The letter came two weeks later. It read as follows:
Dear McGuire—
Too dangerous to be worth anything as jewels, the "black pearls" are invaluable as samples of a hitherto unknown form of life, and because of their connection with that mysterious lost race, the Asterites.
So—I sold the six remaining pearls, and the alloy box, to the System government's big research facility on Pallas. The scientists there fully understand the danger the vapor-beasts represent to human life, if handled carelessly, exposed to light, and allowed to escape. Believe me, they will experiment most gingerly with the six remaining creatures, and will employ every conceivable precaution to see that they never harm a human being again.
Your friend,
Star Pirate
P. S. Enclosed is a check from the laboratory. It's not as big as what the jewellers on Mars might have paid for the pearls (if all they had really been was pearls), but it’s still sizeable enough to enable you to retire from space, and for Sue to go to that good school and buy those pretty clothes.
S.P.
And a check fluttered out of the envelope. Scotty snatched it from midair and stared at it with goggling eyes. It was made out to himself and to Sue, and the amount was more than most meteor miners earn in a full lifetime at their trade.
"Devils of space—!" whispered the skinny little Scotsman, a huge grin beginning to spread over his freckled face. Sue looked at the check, too, and smiled.
But she was not as jubilant as he: her eyes were dreamy ... as she thought of a tall, rangy, longlegged young adventurer whose mischievous green eyes sparkled under a curly mop of dark red hair ...