er hotly.

Teutoberg sneered.

"It will take more than a gold and gray uniform of the Interplanetary
Council military forces to convince me," he retorted. "Uniforms of any
kind can be obtained anywhere in the Universe where there happens to be
a competent tailor."

"The only pirates, excepting yourselves, aboard this ship are under lock
and key," said the commander. "That's where you will be before this
matter is settled."

Teutoberg laughed. His manner changed suddenly.

"What a line of talk for a pirate," he commented affably. "Come,
youngster, there is no need to sacrifice lives uselessly. Surrender,
since you're outnumbered anyway, and let's discuss this thing on a sane
basis."

Commander 6666-A hesitated. Winford could scarcely refrain from shouting
treachery. Then the marines lowered their shields and rays. Next instant
they went down under the charge of the invaders.

The young commander was chalky white when they dragged him bound and
helpless to his feet. A trickle of blood made a crimson line from the
corner of his mouth, and his eyes sparkled with helpless rage.

"You dirty snake!" he gasped. "You'll sniff gas for this!"

Teutoberg laughed scornfully.

"Take them back to the air-lock and shove them out naked one at a time,"
he ordered curtly. "That's the way they would have treated us. Save the
young bantam for the last. Now, where is this Evan Winford? I have an
old score to settle with him."

Up in his air tunnel Winford nodded grimly to himself. Teutoberg's words
only added to the proof that he knew all along that the _Golden Fleece_
was in the hands of the Interplanetary marines, for his request for
Winford revealed that he had been following the helio reports of the
capture of the ship by the marines and the stories being broadcast
throughout the Universe of how Winford and Jarl and their pirate
companions were being taken with the ship to Mars for piracy and
execution.

Neither Commander 6666-A nor his men deigned to answer Teutoberg, but
one of his own men had already discovered that Winford was locked in his
own stateroom, and he promptly indicated the door.

Teutoberg scowled, drew a pistol in either hand, and strode to the door.
One of the men unlocked it, and he kicked it open. He waited
expectantly, then advanced cautiously into the room. The sound of his
baffled curses filled the passage. Winford grinned mirthlessly.

"Someone dies for this!" shouted Teutoberg, storming out into