"You've hocked this before?"
"Yes," chuckled Hank Karns. "And got it back, too."
"Hmmm," said the man. "It looks genuine. What do you want?"
"I—uh—am dropping into Mercury to do a little trading. When I get back I might want to buy a chair or so—mebbe a houseful of stuff—and just wanted to be sure my credit was good."
"You speak in riddles, my friend," said the man with a curious, tight little smile. He was tossing the ring thoughtfully all the while.
"I'm only a lone trader," said Hank Karns, wistfully, "and don't know no better. Supposing you keep the ring while I'm gone—to appraise it, so to speak. All I want to know is who to call for when I get back. If I get back."
The man pocketed the ring.
"Where will the call come from?"
"I dunno. Space, mebbe. Jail, mebbe."
"My radio call is care assistant dockmaster, Venusberg sky-yard. Mention berth twenty-three somehow. As to the jail angle, I do not as a general thing do business with people in jail. In that event, I might send you a lawyer, in consideration of this ring. Tell Rashab, the night turn-key—you'll know him by the double scar on his chin—that you want to see Mr. Brown. I can't guarantee he'll go, but if he does, bear in mind he's a very cagy fellow and that Venusberg jail is studded with dictaphones and scanners. If what you have in mind smacks at all of illegality, it's likely he'll walk out on you."