wly. "He'll be at the Coronation. You know he's going to wear
the Necklace of Algol as well as anyone, and you--"

Suddenly, he leaned forward a little farther, his right hand stabbing
out toward Drake's leg beneath the table.

But Anson Drake was ready for him. Dobigel's hand was a full three
inches from Drake's thigh when a set of fingers grasped his wrist in a
viselike hold. Steely fingers bit in, pressing nerves against bone. With
a gasp, Dobigel opened his hand. A small, metallic cylinder dropped out.

Drake caught it with his free hand and smiled. "That's impolite, Dobbie.
It isn't proper to try to give your host an injection when he doesn't
want it."

Casually, he put the cylinder against the arm which he still held and
squeezed the little metal tube. There was a faint _pop!_ Drake released
the arm and handed back the cylinder. Dobigel's face was white.

"I imagine that was twelve-hour poison," Drake said kindly. "If you
hurry, old Belgezad will give you the antidote. It will be painful,
but--" He shrugged.

"And by the way, Brother Dobigel," he continued, "let me give you some
advice. The next time you try to get near a victim with one of those
things, don't do it by talking to him about things he already knows. It
doesn't distract him enough."

Dobigel stood up, his fists clenched. "I'll get you for this, Drake."
Then he turned and stalked off through the crowd.

* * * * *

No one had noticed the little by-play. Drake smiled seraphically and
finished his drink. Dobigel was going to be uncomfortable for a while.
Twelve-hour poison was a complex protein substance that could be varied
in several thousand different ways, and only an antidote made from the
right variation would work for each poison. If the antidote wasn't
given, the victim died within twelve hours. And even if the antidote was
given, getting over poison wasn't any fun at all.

Reflecting happily on the plight of Jomis Dobigel, Anson Drake paid his
bill, tipped the waiter liberally, and strolled out of the Flamebird
Room and into the lobby of the Royal Gandyll Hotel. The Coronation would
begin early tomorrow, and he didn't want to miss the beginning of it.
The Shan's Coronation was _the_ affair of Thizar.

* * * * *

He went over to the robot newsvender and dropped a coin in the slot. The
reproducer hummed, and a freshly-printed newsfax dropped out.

He headed for the lift t