The joint was jumping, and so was the dealer again. Sweat rolled down his face and there were tears in his eyes. So much liquid began to erode his fixed smile. He kept replenishing it from some inner source of determination. Cassal looked up. The crowd had drawn back, or had been forced back by hirelings who mingled with them. He was alone with the dealer at the table. Money was piled high around him. It was more than he needed, more than he wanted. "I suggest one last hand," said the dealer-manager, grimacing. It sounded a little stronger than a suggestion. Cassal nodded. "For a substantial sum," said the dealer, naming it. Miraculously, it was an amount that equaled everything Cassal had. Again Cassal nodded. "Pressure," muttered Cassal to Dimanche. "The sedative has worn off. He's back at the level at which he started. Fry him if you have to." The cards came out slowly. The dealer was jittering as he dealt. Soft music was lacking, but not the motions that normally accompanied it. Cassal couldn't believe that cards could be so bad. Somehow the dealer was rising to the occasion. Rising and sitting. "There's a nerve in your body," Cassal began conversationally, "which, if it were overloaded, would cause you to drop dead." The dealer didn't examine his cards. He didn't have to. "In that event, someone would be arrested for murder," he said. "You." That was the wrong tack; the humanoid had too much courage. Cassal passed his hand over his eyes. "You can't do this to men, but, strictly speaking, the dealer's not human. Try suggestion on him. Make him change the cards. Play him like a piano. Pizzicato on the nerve strings." Dimanche didn't answer; presumably he was busy scrambling the circuits. The dealer stretched out his hand. It never reached the cards. Danger: Dimanche at work. The smile dropped from his face. What remained was pure anguish. He was too dry for tears. Smoke curled up faintly from his jacket. "Hot, isn't it?" asked Cassal. "It might be cooler if you took off your cap." The cap tinkled to the floor. The mechanism in it was destroyed. What the cards were, they were. Now they couldn't be changed. "That's better," said Cassal. * * * * * He glanced at his hand. In the interim, it had changed slightly. Dimanche had got there. The dealer examined his cards one by one. His face changed color. He sat utterly still on a cool stool. "You win," he said hopelessly. "Let's see what you have." The dealer-manager roused himself. "You won. That's good enough for you, isn't it?" Cassal shrugged. "You have Bank of the Galaxy service here. I'll deposit my money with them _before_ you pick up your cards." The dealer nodded unhappily and summoned an assistant. The crowd, which had anticipated violence, slowly began to drift away. "What did you do?" asked Cassal silently.