indication. The young man drew back. He smiled; it was feeble and
weary, but for all of that disdainful. Though one had a pity for
his forlornness, there was still an admiration. The waiter brought
glasses.

The young man swallowed his drink at a gulp, the other picked his
up and sipped it. Again he made the indication. The youth dropped
his hand upon the table, a pale blue light followed the movement
of his fingers. The older man pointed. So that was their
contention? A jewel? After all our phantom was material enough to
desire possession; his solicitude was calmness, but for all that
aggression. I could sense a battle, but the young man turned the
jewel to the palm side of his fingers; he shook his head.

The Rhamda drew up. For a moment he waited. Was it for surrender?
Once he started to speak, but was cut short by the other. For all
of his weakness there was spirit to the young man. He even
laughed. The Rhamda drew out a watch. He held up two fingers. I
heard Hobart mumble.

"Two minutes. Well, I'm betting on the young one. Too much soul.
He's not dead; just weary."

He was right. At exactly one hundred and twenty seconds the Rhamda
closed his watch. He spoke something. Again the young man laughed.
He lit a cigarette; from the flicker and jerk of the flame he was
trembling. But he was still emphatic. The other rose from the
table, walked down the aisle and out of the building. The youth
spread out both arms and dropped his head upon the table.