The cards came out slowly. The dealer was jittering as he dealt. Soft music was lacking, but not the motions that normally accompanied it. Cassal couldn't believe that cards could be so bad. Somehow the dealer was rising to the occasion. Rising and sitting.
"There's a nerve in your body," Cassal began conversationally, "which, if it were overloaded, would cause you to drop dead."
The dealer didn't examine his cards. He didn't have to. "In that event, someone would be arrested for murder," he said. "You."
That was the wrong tack; the humanoid had too much courage. Cassal passed his hand over his eyes. "You can't do this to men, but, strictly speaking, the dealer's not human. Try suggestion on him. Make him change the cards. Play him like a piano. Pizzicato on the nerve strings."
Dimanche didn't answer; presumably he was busy scrambling the circuits.
The dealer stretched out his hand. It never reached the cards. Danger: Dimanche at work. The smile dropped from his face. What remained was pure anguish. He was too dry for tears. Smoke curled up faintly from his jacket.
"Hot, isn't it?" asked Cassal. "It might be cooler if you took off your cap."
The cap tinkled to the floor. The mechanism in it was destroyed. What the cards were, they were. Now they couldn't be changed.
"That's better," said Cassal.