Dark red flooded into Andrias' sallow face. His jaws bunched angrily
and there was a ragged thread of incomplete control to his voice as he
spoke.
"I'll have your neck for this, Duane," he said softly.
Duane looked at the man's eyes. Death was behind them, peeping out.
Mentally he shrugged. What difference did it make?
"Give me the pen," he said shortly.
Andrias exhaled a deep breath. You could see the tension leave him, the
mottled anger fade from his face and leave it without expression. He
handed the paper to Duane without a word. He gave him a pen, watched
him scrawl his name.
"That," he said, "is better." He paused a moment ruminatively. "It
would have been better still if you'd not stalled me so long. I find
that hard to forgive in my associates."
"The money," Peter said. If he were playing a part--pretending he knew
what he was doing--he might as well play it to the hilt. "When do I get
it?"
Andrias picked up the paper and looked carefully at the signature. He
creased it thoughtfully, stowed it in a pocket before answering.
"Naturally," he said, "there will have to be a revision of terms. I
offered a hundred and ten thousand Earth-dollars. I would have paid
it--but you made me angry. You'll have to pay for that."
* * * * *
Duane said, "I've paid already. I've been dragged from pillar to post
by you. That's enough. Pay me what you owe me, if you want any more of
the same goods!"
That was a shot in the dark--and it missed the mark.
Andrias' eyes widened. "You amaze me, Duane," he said. He rose and
stepped around the desk, confronting Duane. "I almost think you really
have lost your memory, Duane," he said. "Otherwise, surely you would
know that this is all the rifles I need. With them I'll _take_ whatever
else I want!"