"Why should I?" Cassel asked.
"Because," Morse answered, almost in a whisper, "I am about to ram it right down your fat throat."
Cassel grinned and tightened his fists. "Pleasure," he said. "I'm tired of looking at that scar of yours." He stood up.
"Cut it," Edwardson said wearily. "Watch the birdie."
"No reason to, really," Morse said, leaning back. "There's an alarm bell attached." But he looked at the dial.
"What if the bell doesn't work?" Edwardson asked. "What if the dial is jammed? How would you like something cold slithering into your mind?"
"The dial'll work," Cassel said. His eyes shifted from Edwardson's face to the motionless indicator.
"I think I'll sack in," Edwardson said.
"Stick around," Cassel said. "Play you some gin."
"All right." Edwardson found and shuffled the greasy cards, while Morse took a turn glaring at the dial.