"You were a most gracious host, Mr. Channing. But now I suspect your visit is of an entirely different nature."
"Well, yes. Yes, it is."
"I see that you are in danger of falling from Scylla into Charybdis, as it is said in your literature. You needn't mince words with me. You understand, I have my informants." The black eyes twinkled merrily, the crest atop the long, narrow head stirred.
I'll bet they're from Deneb, Channing wanted to say. This was a pretty pickle, with the Denebians sitting somewhere out of sight and chuckling over the whole thing. Why couldn't Nick have been even more myopic—near-sighted enough to miss Targoff entirely?
"There is no limit to what I can give your people," said Qui Dor. "Next week we are opening a line of jewelry, as you may know. It is cheaper than what you can get in your mines."
South Africa, here comes disaster. "Artificial jewels?" demanded Channing.
"No, not artificial."
"Natural?"
"No."
"Real?"