Elliot grinned. He had seen the fabulous bird from the jungle, hidden from the Venusian priests who worshipped it, but even at a distance he could tell the thing was alive. No robot could have moved with such sinuous grace. "It's real," he said.
The fat man smiled unpleasantly. "I had hoped so, Mr. Elliot. I want that bird. You're the only one who can lead me to it."
Elliot rose to his feet and glared at the fat man. "Not me, mister. I don't like the jungle—and I don't like the idea of taking the Venusian's pet god, either."
The fat man's eyes grew hard. "Do you know who I am?"
Elliot shook his head. It was a mistake; his neck was still sore from the clobbering earlier, and the pain made him wince.
"You're talking to Housten Blayne," Sam said.
Elliot stared silently. He knew Housten Blayne. Blayne was the Venusian Commissioner for the Interplanetary Trade Board.
"You were in a brawl in a tavern, Mr. Elliot," said Blayne mildly. "I could revoke your pilot's papers for that. It might even appear that you were—ah—intoxicated when you smashed up the Space Needle. Naturally we couldn't let you take off in the Space Needle II, could we?"
Elliot saw the picture then. The fight in the bar had been staged. Blayne had shrewdly framed him in order to get him to lead him to the Dragonbird. And the fat man could do everything he said he would. Elliot was in his pocket.
"All right, Blayne," Elliot said stiffly. "When do we start?"