"Me? I ... I don't know what he's talking about—"
Black Garroway's heavy laughter filled the hall.
"What? Oh, come now, Meacher! Of course you do. I appreciate the information you gave me on Morris. The reward I promised you will be waiting at the State Hall tomorrow. A thousand credits, wasn't it? Well, come and claim it—" He chuckled stridently—"if you can."
Before the quick suspicion rising in the eyes of the comrades he had betrayed, Meacher quailed. He tugged free of Shaughnessey's hand and scampered to the protection of Garroway's guard. His voice bleated shrill remonstrance.
"Sire ... you should not have told them! I served you faithfully and well ... wormed my way into their inner council! Were it not for me you would never have known—"
Black Garroway avoided the informer's frenzied clawing. His voice was hard, mocking, contemptuous.
"Fool! You brought me no information worth hearing! Through my own efforts I discovered Townsend's instrument and solved its secret. You are a dolt, a stupid bungler! I need no such aides."
"But I told you Morris held the Secret—"
"Bah! There is no longer a secret to be held."
"But there is, Sire! Before he died, Morris told it to—"