that would have
torn out the eyes of a slower man, following it up instantly with a
savage kick for the groin. No automaton this, geared and set to perform
certain fixed duties with mechanical precision, but a lithe, strong man
in hard training, fighting with every foul trick known to his murderous
ilk.

But Costigan was no tyro in the art of dirty fighting. Few indeed were
the maiming tricks of foul combat unknown to even the rank and file of
the highly efficient under-cover branch of the Triplanetary Service; and
Costigan, a Sector Chief, knew them all. Not for pleasure,
sportsmanship, nor million-dollar purses did those secret agents use
Nature's weapons. They came to grips only when it could not possibly be
avoided, but when they were forced to fight in that fashion they went in
with but one grim purpose--to kill, and to kill in the shortest possible
space of time. Thus it was that Costigan's opening soon came. The
pirate launched a vicious _coup de sabot_, which Costigan avoided by a
lightning shift. It was a slight shift, barely enough to make the kicker
miss, and two powerful hands closed upon that flying foot in midair like
the sprung jaws of a bear-trap. Closed and twisted viciously, in the
same fleeting instant. There was a shriek, smothered as a heavy boot
crashed to its carefully predetermined mark--the pirate was out,
definitely and permanently.

The struggle had lasted scarcely ten seconds, coming to its close just
as Bradley finished blinding and deafening the robot. Costigan picked up
the projector, again donned his spy-ray goggles, and the two hurried on.

"Nice work, Chief--it must be a gift to rough-house the way you do,"
Bradley exclaimed. "That's why you took the live one?"

"Practice helps some, too--I've been in brawls before, and I'm a lot
younger and maybe a bit faster than you are," Costigan explained
briefly, penetrant gaze rigidly to the fore as they ran along one
corridor after another.

Several more guards, both living and mechanical, were encountered on the
way, but they were not permitted to offer any opposition. Costigan saw
them first. In the furious beam of the projector of the dead pirate they
were riven into nothingness, and the two officers sped on to the room
which Costigan had located from afar. The three suits of Triplanetary
space armor had been locked up in a cabinet; a cabinet whose doors
Costigan literally blew off with a blast of force rather than consume
time in traci