"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?"