As though the last phrase were a cue, a burst of noise rattled from the speaker--of which only the words "Bradlow Thyron" were intelligible to the un-Lensed members of the crew. That name, however, explained why they were not being attacked--yet. Kalonia had heard much of that intransigent and obdurate pirate and of the fabulous prowess of his ship; and Kinnison was pretty sure that they were much more interested in his ship than in him. "I can't understand you!" The Gray Lensman barked, in the polyglot language he had so lately learned. "Talk pidgin!" "Very well. I see that you are indeed Bradlow Thyron, as we were informed. What do you mean by this outrageous attack? Surrender! Disarm your men, take off their armor, and march them out of your vessel, or we will blast you as you lie there--Mendonai, vice admiral, speaking!" "I abase myself." Kinnison-Thyron did not sneer--exactly--and he did incline his stubborn head perhaps one millimeter; but he made no move to comply with the orders so summarily issued. Instead: "What kind of planet is this, anyway?" he demanded, hotly. "I come here to see this louse Harkleroy because a friend of mine tells me that he's a big shot and so interested in my line that we can do a lot of business with each other. I give the lug fair warning, too--tell him plain that I've been around plenty and that if he tries to give me the works I'll rub him out like a pencil mark. So what happens? In spite of what I just tell him he tries dirty work on me, and I go to work on him--which he certainly has got coming to him. Then you and your flock of little tin boats come barging in as though I'd busted a law or something. Who do you think you are, anyway? What license you got to be butting into a private business deal?" "Ah, I had not heard that version." Vision came on; the face upon the plate was typically Kalonian--blue, cold, cruel, and keen. "Harkleroy was warned, you say? Definitely?" "I warned him plenty definitely. Ask any of the zwilniks in that private office of his. Most of them are still alive, and they all must of heard it." The plate fogged, the speaker again gave out gibberish. The Lensmen knew, however, that the commander of the cruisers above them was indeed questioning the dead zwilnik's guards. They knew that Kinnison's story was being corroborated in full. "You interest me." The Boskonian's language again became intelligible to the group at large. "We will forget Harkleroy--stupidity brings its own reward and the property damage is of no present concern. From what I have been able to learn of you, you have never belonged to that so-called Civilization. I know for a fact that you are not, and never have been, one of us. How have you been able to survive? And why do you work alone?"