you'll
get your throat cut." He sniffed at his dope-stick. "What's keeping
Shoke?" he muttered.

Magnan stepped to a tall glass door, eased it open and poked his head
through the heavy draperies. As he moved to draw back, a voice was
faintly audible. Magnan paused, head still through the drapes.

"What's going on there?" Zorn rasped. He and Retief stepped up behind
Magnan.

"--breath of air, ha-ha," Magnan was saying.

"Well, come along, Magnan!" Ambassador Crodfoller's voice snapped.

Magnan shifted from one foot to the other then pushed through the
drapes.

"Where've you been, Mr. Magnan?" The Ambassador's voice was sharp.

"Oh ... ah ... a slight accident, Mr. Ambassador."

"What's happened to your shoes? Where are your insignia and
decorations?"

"I--ah--spilled a drink on them. Sir. Ah--listen...."

The sound of an orchestra came up suddenly, blaring a fanfare.

Zorn shifted restlessly, ear against the glass.

"What's your friend pulling?" he rasped. "I don't like this."

"Keep cool, Zorn," Retief said. "Mr. Magnan is doing a little emergency
salvage on his career."

The music died away with a clatter.

"--My God," Ambassador Crodfoller's voice was faint. "Magnan, you'll be
knighted for this. Thank God you reached me. Thank God it's not too
late. I'll find some excuse. I'll get a gram off at once."

"But you--"

"It's all right, Magnan. You were in time. Another ten minutes and the
agreement would have been signed and transmitted. The wheels would have
been put in motion. My career ruined...."

Retief felt a prod at his back. He turned.

"Doublecrossed," Zorn said softly. "So much for the word of a diplomat."

* * * * *

Retief looked at the short-barreled needler in Zorn's hand.

"I see you hedge your bets, Zorn," he said.

"We'll wait here," Zorn said, "until the excitement's over inside. I
wouldn't want to attract any attention right now."

"Your politics are still lousy, Zorn. The picture hasn't changed. Your
coup hasn't got a chance."

"Skip it. I'll take up one problem at a time."

"Magnan's mouth has a habit of falling open at the wrong time--"

"That's my good luck that I heard it. So there'll be no agreement, no
guns, no fat job for Tammany Zorn, hey? Well, I can still play it the
other way, What have I got to lose?"

With a movement too quick to follow, Retief's hand chopped down across
Zorn's wrist. The needler clattered as Zorn reeled,