Kinnison did not walk far, nor reflect much, before he changed his mind and retraced his steps; finding the messenger still in the restaurant.
“So you got wise to yourself and decided to crawl while the crawling’s good, eh?” he sneered, before the Lensman could say a word. “I don’t know whether the offer is still good or not.”
“No—and I advise you to muffle your exhaust before somebody rams a ray g*n down your throat.” Kinnison’s voice was coldly level. “I came back to tell you to tell your No. 1 that I’m calling his bluff. You know Checuster?”
“Of course.” The zwilnik was plainly discomfited.
“Come along, then, and listen, so you’ll know that I’m not running a blazer.”
They sought a booth, wherein the native himself got Checuster on the visiplate.
“Checuster, this is Cartiff.” The s
