"Local tobacco," said Trimmer. "Very good." He lit up thoughtfully. "Well, you might say that the Cirgameski are schizophrenic. They've got the docile Javanese blood, plus the Arabian élan. The Javanese part is on top, but every once in a while you see a flash of arrogance.... You never know. I've been out here nine years and I'm still a stranger." He puffed on his cigar, studied Murphy with his careful eyes. "You work for _Know Your Universe!_, I hear." "Yeah. I'm one of the leg men." "Must be a great job." "A man sees a lot of the galaxy, and he runs into queer tales, like this sjambak stuff." Trimmer nodded without surprise. "My advice to you, Murphy, is lay off the sjambaks. They're not healthy around here." Murphy was startled by the bluntness. "What's the big mystery about these sjambaks?" Trimmer looked around the room. "This place is bugged." "I found two pick-ups and plugged 'em," said Murphy. Trimmer laughed. "Those were just plants. They hide 'em where a man might just barely spot 'em. You can't catch the real ones. They're woven into the cloth--pressure-sensitive wires." Murphy looked critically at the cloth walls. "Don't let it worry you," said Trimmer. "They listen more out of habit than anything else. If you're fussy we'll go for a walk." The road led past the palace into the country. Murphy and Trimmer sauntered along a placid river, overgrown with lily pads, swarming with large white ducks. "This sjambak business," said Murphy. "Everybody talks around it. You can't pin anybody down." "Including me," said Trimmer. "I'm more or less privileged around here. The Sultan finances his reclamation through the bank, on the basis of my reports. But there's more to Singhalût than the Sultan." "Namely?" Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly. "Now we're getting in where I don't like to talk. I'll give you a hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in more valleys is a waste of money, when there's Hadra and New Batavia and Sundaman so close." "You mean--armed conquest?" Trimmer laughed. "You said it, not me." "They can't carry on much of a war--unless the soldiers commute by monorail." "Maybe Prince Ali thinks he's got the answer." "Sjambaks?" "I didn't say it," said Trimmer blandly. Murphy grinned. After a moment he said. "I picked up with a girl named Soek Panjoebang who plays the _gamelan_. I suppose she's working for either the Sultan or Prince Ali. Do you know which?" Trimmer's eyes sparkled. He shook his head. "Might be either one. There's a way to find out." "Yeah?" "Get her off where you're sure there's no spy-cells. Tell her two things--one for Ali, the other for the Sultan. Whichever one reacts you know you've got her tagged." "For instance?"