"A new voice!" crowed the auctioneer. "A voice from the back row! Five hundred, did you say?" "Two hundred," Herndon repeated coldly. "Two-fifty," said a nearby noble promptly. "And twenty-five more," a hitherto-silent circus proprietor said. Herndon scowled. Now that he had entered into the situation, he was--as always--fully committed to it. He would not let the others get the proteus. "Four hundred," he said. For an instant there was silence in the auction-ring, silence enough for the mocking cry of a low-swooping sea-bird to be clearly audible. Then a quiet voice from the front said, "Four-fifty." "Five hundred," Herndon said. "Five-fifty." Herndon did not immediately reply, and the Agozlid auctioneer craned his stubby neck, looking around for the next bidder. "I've heard five-fifty," he said crooningly. "That's good, but not good enough." "Six hundred," Herndon said. "Six-twenty-five." Herndon fought down a savage impulse to draw his needler and gun down his bidding opponent. Instead he tightened his jaws and said, "Six-fifty." The proteus squirmed and became a pain-smitten pseudo-cat on the auction stand. The crowd giggled in delight. "Six-seventy-five," came the voice. * * * * * It had become a two-man contest now, with the others merely hanging on for the sport of it, waiting to see which man would weaken first. Herndon eyed his opponent: it was the courtier, a swarthy red-bearded man with blazing eyes and a double row of jewels round his doublet. He looked immeasurably wealthy. There was no hope of outbidding him. "Seven hundred stellors," Herndon said. He glanced around hurriedly, found a small boy standing nearby, and bent to whisper to him. "Seven-twenty-five," said the noble. Herndon whispered, "You see that man down front--the one who just spoke? Run down there and tell him his lady has sent for him, and wants him at once." He handed the boy a golden five-stellor piece. The boy stared at it popeyed a moment, grinned, and slid through the onlookers toward the front of the ring. "Nine hundred," Herndon said. It was considerably more than a proteus might be expected to bring at auction, and possibly more than even the wealthy noble cared to spend. But Herndon was aware there was no way out for the noble except retreat--and he was giving him that avenue. "Nine hundred is bid," the auctioneer said. "Lord Moaris, will you bid more?" "I would," Moaris grunted. "But I am summoned, and must leave." He looked blankly angry, but he did not question the boy's message. Herndon noted that down for possible future use. It had been a lucky guess--but Lord Moaris of the Seigneur's court came running when his lady bid him do so. "Nine hundred is bid," the auctioneer repeated. "Do I hear more? Nine hundred for this fine proteus--who'll make it an even thousand?"