"I won't submit my friends to the indignity of negotiating with them,"
Marnark retorted. "I insist that you be represented by persons of your
own quality and mine."

"Oh, you do?" Olirzon broke in. "Well, is your objection personal to
me, or to Assassins as a class? In the first case, I'll remember to
make a private project of you, as soon as I'm through with my present
employment; if it's the latter, I'll report your attitude to the
Society. I'll see what Klarnood, our President-General, thinks of your
views."

A crowd had begun to accumulate around the table. Some of them were
persons in evening dress, some were Assassins on the hotel payroll,
and some were unattached Assassins.

"Well, you won't have far to look for him," one of the latter said,
pushing through the crowd to the table.

He was a man of middle age, inclined to stoutness; he made Verkan Vall
think of a chocolate figure of Tortha Karf. The red badge on his
breast was surrounded with gold lace, and, instead of black wings and
a silver bullet, it bore silver wings and a golden dagger. He bowed
contemptuously at Marnark of Bashad.

"Klarnood, President-General of the Society of Assassins," he
announced. "Marnark of Bashad, did I hear you say that you considered
members of the Society as unworthy to negotiate an affair of honor
with your friends, on behalf of this nobleman who has been courteous
enough to accept your challenge?" he demanded.