All of them knew him, most were inimical, but there were few who were not burning with curiosity and wonder in regard to the return of Jane Withersteen's racers.

Yet all were silent.

Here were the familiar characteristics--masked feeling--strange secretiveness--expressionless expression of mystery and hidden power.
"Has anybody here seen Jerry Card ?" queried Venters, in a loud voice.
In reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, not so much as dropping eye or twitching lip--nothing but a quiet, stony stare.
"Been under the knife?
You've a fine knife-wielder here--one Tull, I believe!...

Maybe you've all had your tongues cut out ?" This passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the stony calm was as oil on the fire within him.
"I see some of you pack guns, too!" he added, in biting scorn.

In the long, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he sat motionless on Black Star.