"Ah," said Murphy. "That's why you came to see me."
Trimmer turned a look of injured innocence. "Now, Murphy, you're a little unfair. I'm a friendly guy. Of course I don't like to see the bank lose what we've got tied up in the Sultan."
"Why don't you send in a report yourself?"
"I have! But when they hear the same thing from you, a Know Your Universe! man, they might make a move."
Murphy nodded.
"Well, we understand each other," said Trimmer heartily, "and everything's clear."
"Not entirely. How's Ali going to launch a jehad when he doesn't have any weapons, no warships, no supplies?"
"Now," said Trimmer, "we're getting into the realm of supposition." He paused, looked behind him. A farmer pushing a rotary tiller, bowed politely, trundled ahead. Behind was a young man in a black turban, gold earrings, a black and red vest, white pantaloons, black curl-toed slippers. He bowed, started past. Trimmer held up his hand. "Don't waste your time up there; we're going back in a few minutes."
"Thank you, Tuan."