The heads of the four men at the table came around simultaneously. The eyes of two of them widened for an instant. Then Marras Cooms began laughing softly. "Now everything's happened!" he said. "Cooms," the commodore said testily, "I prefer not to be interrupted. Now--" "Can't be helped, commodore," Quillan said, moving forward, Perk shuffling along unhappily beside him. "I've got news for Movaine, and the news can't wait." "Movaine?" the commodore repeated, blue eyes bulging at Quillan. "Movaine! Cooms, who _is_ this man?" "You're looking at Bad News Quillan," Cooms said. "A highjacking specialist, with somewhat numerous sidelines. But the point right now is that he isn't a member of the Brotherhood." "_What!"_ Velladon's big fist smashed down on the table. "_Now_ what kind of a game ... how did he get _in_ here?" "Well," Quillan said mildly, "I oozed in through the north wall about a minute ago. I--" He checked, conscious of having created some kind of sensation. The four men at the table were staring up at him without moving. Baldy Perk appeared to be holding his breath. Then the commodore coughed, cleared his throat, drummed his fingers on the table. He said reflectively: "He could have news--good or bad--at that! For all of us." He chewed on one of his mustache tips, grinned suddenly up at Quillan. "Well, sit down, friend! Let's talk. You can't talk to Movaine, you see. Movaine's um, had an accident. Passed away suddenly half an hour ago." "Sorry to hear it," Quillan said. "That's the sort of thing that happens so often in the Brotherhood." He swung a chair around, sat down facing the table. "You're looking well tonight, Fluel," he observed. The Duke of Fluel, lean and dapper in silver jacket and tight-fitting silver trousers, gave him a wintry smile, said nothing. * * * * * "Now, then, friend," Velladon inquired confidentially, "just what was your business with Movaine?" "Well, it will come to around twenty per cent of the take," Quillan informed him. "We won't argue about a half-million CR more or less. But around twenty per." The faces thoughtful. After some seconds, the commodore asked, "And who's we?" "A number of citizens," Quillan said, "who have been rather unhappy since discovering that you, too, are interested in Lady Pendrake and her pals. We'd gone to considerable expense and trouble to ... well, her ladyship was scheduled to show up in Mezmiali, you know. And now she isn't going to show up there. All right, that's business. Twenty per--no hard feelings. Otherwise, it won't do you a bit of good to blow up the Star and the liner. There'd still be loose talk--maybe other complications, too. You know how it goes. You wouldn't be happy, and neither would Yaco. Right?" The commodore's massive head turned back to Cooms. "How well do you know this man, Marras?" Cooms grinned dryly. "Well enough." "Is he leveling?"