"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.