He surged to his feet, overturning the table. Immediately the glass doors opening on the balcony were flung back with a splintering crash.
Four gleaming guardsmen charged out with drawn weapons, each obviously aching to become a hero. Wilkins prudently stood rooted, peering at them from the corner of his eye.
Vyrtl recovered his poise with an effort.
"As you were!" he ordered. "Help General Wilkins pick up the table I knocked over. Clumsy thing!"
It was done, and the guard captain apologized for the doors.
"Relax, Wilkins," said Vyrtl when they were again alone. "It just occurred to me that I ought to have another word with that woman. Have someone get hold of her at once!"
He left the disordered balcony and waited in a nearby library. The books lining the walls were real, he noticed idly—another painstaking point by the designer of the palace.
There Wilkins found him presently, to report that the Jursan envoy was already on her way back to that planet.
"I called the landing field guard," he explained, "but she had already taken off. His spotters swept space for them and got a curve on the ship."
"Of course," mused Vyrtl. "The treaty has been broadcast."