"I'm a gambler too, Zorn. I'm gambling you'll listen to what I have to say."
Zorn snatched the gun, stepped back. He looked at Retief.
"That wasn't the smartest bet you ever made, Mister; but go ahead. You've got maybe ten seconds."
"Nobody doublecrossed you, Zorn. Magnan put his foot in it. Too bad. Is that a reason to kill yourself and a lot of other people who've bet their lives on you?"
"They gambled and lost. Tough."
"Maybe you haven't lost yet—if you don't quit."
"Get to the point!"
Retief spoke earnestly for a minute and a half. Zorn stood, gun aimed, listening. Then both men turned as footsteps approached along the terrace. A fat man in a yellow sarong padded up to Zorn.
Zorn tucked the needler in his waistband.
"Hold everything, Shoke," he said. "Tell the boys to put the knives away. Spread the word fast. It's all off."