The two followed the man along a central corridor to the forward end of the ship. Before a door their guide stopped and knocked.
“Come in,” commanded the voice they had heard over their receiving sets.
The guide swung open the door and motioned the others to step forward. As they did so, the door closed behind them and they stood alone, face to face with Max Robinson, cruelest, and most hunted space raider of the system.
They saw a man attired in a colorful uniform of powder blue, adorned with gold buttons, and with a red circle as a breast insignia. His forehead was high and his chin square, but not over-emphasized. A squat nose hulked above the slightest suggestion of a mustache and the lips were full and well formed. It was such a face as might have belonged to an ordinary, everyday business man of the Earth…..until one looked at the eyes, and there the brothers saw cold calculation and insane cruelty.
He sat behind a large desk of beautiful carved stone, which was at once recognized as Martian art. Perhaps the desk had been part of the loot taken from some flaming homestead upon which Robinson and his crew of vandals descended to obtain a cargo of food. Upon the walls of the room hung paintings, specimens of the best art of the world. Held in wall brackets were other works of art, vases and statues. A heavy rug carpeted the floor.
“You like my office?” queried Robinson. “It is appointed more tastefully than I would have imagined,” replied Vince and the implication of his words was not lost upon the man behind the desk.
“When you become more thoroughly acquainted with me,” he purred, “you will receive many surprises.”
“Doubtless,” said Vince.
Robinson’s eyes narrowed. He seemed on the point of speaking sharply, then appeared to change his mind. “Doing some mining?” he asked.
“No exploring,” lied Vince.