to provoke suspicion.' This was true. Actually I was not eager, for a personal reason, for Shaba to deliver the ring. I respected what he had done in the exploration of Gor. I knew him to be a man of intelligence and courage. He was a traitor, yes, but there was something about him, indefinable, which I found to my liking. I did not particularly wish to see him subjected to whatever Priest-Kings, or their human allies, might deem fit as the fate of a traitor. I did not think that if they set their minds to it they would be less ingenious than Kurii. Perhaps it would be better if I slew him. I would do so swiftly, mercifully.
'The ring, please,' said Shaba.
'Give him the ring,' said Msaliti.
I handed Shaba the false ring and he slipped it on the chain.
'Were there not eleven strings dangling from the ceiling?' he asked.
Msaliti quickly turned and looked. 'I do not know,' he said. 'Are there more now?'
I had not taken my eyes from Shaba. 'There were twelve' I said.
'There are twelve now,' said Msaliti, counting.
'Then there are the same number now as before,' said Shaba.
'Yes,' I said, regarding him evenly.
'I must commend you,' said Shaba. 'You have powers of observation worthy of a scribe-or of a warrior.'
He turned the chain and slipped a ring from it, handing it to me.
Geographers and cartographers, of course, are members of the Scribes.
I allowed for the turning of the chain. I received in my hand the ring which had originally hung on the chain.
Shaba, the false ring on the chain, again fastened the chain behind his neck.
He stood up, and so, too, did Msaliti and myself. 'I am leaving Schendi tonight,' said Shaba.
'I, too,' said Msaliti. 'I have lingered too long here.'
'It would not be well for you to be too much missed,' smiled Shaba.
'No,' said Msaliti. I did not understand their exchange.
'I wish you well, my colleagues in treachery,' said Shaba.
'Farewell,' said we to him. He then, bowing, took his leave.
'Give me now the ring,' said Msaliti.
'I will keep it,' I said.
'Give it to me,' said Msaliti, not pleasantly.
'No,' I said. I then looked at the ring. I turned it in my hand. I wished to see the minute scratch which would, for me, identify the Tahari ring. I turned the ring feverishly. My hand shook. 'Stop Shaba!' I said. 'This is not the ring!'
'He is gone,' said Msaliti. 'That is the ring from the chain on his neck, where he carried the shield ring.'
'It is not the shield ring,' I said, miserably.
I had been outwitted. Shaba was a brilliant man. He had established for us, earlier, yesterday evening, that the ring on the chain had been the shield ring. Tonight, however, he had substituted a new ring. I might have discerned this had he not appeared to be intent on misdirecting our attention, calling it to the simple warning system, that of the threads and peas, in the ceiling, presumably to effect switch of the rings while our attention was diverted. I had not permitted my attention, however, to be diverted. Too, when he had turned the chain, I had made certain that the ring which he had surrendered to me had been the ring originally on the chain. The exchange of rings, of course, had actually taken place earlier, in privacy. The ring he had apparently intended to exchange for the true ring would have been the false ring, returning it to us as the true ring. I had not permitted this. My smugness at preventing this exchange had blinded me, foolishly, to the possibility that the ring on the chain this evening might not have been the true ring to begin with.
Msaliti looked sick. I gave him the ring.
Shaba now had both the true ring, the Tahari ring, and the false ring, that which Kurii had intended to be delivered to the Sardar in lieu of the true ring.
'How do you know it is not the true ring?' asked Msaliti.
'Surely you have been taught to identify the true ring?' I asked.
I thought swiftly.
'No,' said Msaliti.
The copy of the true ring was well done. At the edge of the silver plate, that held in the ring's bezel, there was indeed a minute scratch. It was similar to, but it was not the identical marring which I recalled from the Tahari. The jeweler who had duplicated the ring for Shaba had failed slightly in that particular. There was a slight difference in the depth of the scratches, and one small difference in the angulation.
'This resembles the true ring closely,' I told Msaliti. 'It is large, and of gold, and, in its bezel, has a rectangular silver plate. On the back of the ring, when you turn it, there is a circular, depressible switch.'
'Yes, yes,' said Msaliti.
'But look here,' I said. 'See this scratch?'
'Yes,' he said.
'The true ring, according to my information, possesses no such identifying marks,' I said. 'It is supposedly perfect in its appearance. Had it been thusly marred I would have been informed of this. Such a sign would make identification simple.'
'You are a fool,' said Msaliti. 'Doubtless Shaba scratched it.'
'Would you yourself treat so valuable an object with harshness?' I asked.
Msaliti turned the ring about. He looked at me. Then he depressed the switch. Nothing happened. He howled with rage, the ring clutched in his fist.
'You were tricked!' he cried.
'We have been tricked,' I corrected him.
'Shaba then has the perfect ring,' he said.
'True,' I said. Shaba had the perfect ring, which was the false ring. He also had the true Tahari ring, which the ring in Msaliti's hand so ingeniously resembled.
'You must put men upon Schendi's Street of Coins,' I said. 'Shaba must not be permitted to cash the notes he carries.'
'Surely he must realize that could be done,' said Msaliti. 'He is not mad. How does he expect to get his gold?'
'He is quite intelligent, even brilliant,' I mused. 'Doubtless he has anticipated such a move. Yet it must be made.'
'It will be made,' said Msaliti, angrily.
'How then. I wonder,' said I, 'does he intend to obtain the gold?'
Msaliti looked at me, in fury.
'He must have a plan,' I said.
'I am leaving,' said Msaliti.
'Surely you will wish to don your disguise,' I said.
'I do not need it longer,' he said.
'What are you going to do?' I asked.
'I must move swiftly,' he said. 'There are many instructions to be issued. There must be an apprehension of Shaba.'
'How may I be of assistance?' I asked.
'I will handle matters from here on out,' he said. 'Do not trouble yourself about them.'
He threw a brocaded aba about his shoulders and, angrily, strode from the room.
''Wait!' I called.
He had left the room.
Angrily I followed him. As soon as I had passed through the anteroom and stepped across the threshold, to the street outside, I felt my arms pinioned behind me. A dozen or more men were there waiting, beside the building, on either side of the door. Some seven or eight were askaris, including the two huge fellows whom I had seen yesterday, black giants in skins and feathers, with golden armlets. Another five or six were guardsmen of
