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Cleve seemed aloof, detached, indifferent to everything, with a white, weary, reckless scorn. Both men were far above the gaping ruffians around them. "Cleve, why'd you draw on Gulden?" asked Kells, sharply. "That's my business," replied Cleve, slowly, and with his piercing eyes on Kells he blew a long, thin, blue stream of smoke upward.
He slumped down in his seat and his chin thumped ringingly against the table. Alan looked at Hawkes in alarm. "What happened to him? Why'd he pass out?" Hawkes smiled knowingly. "An ancient Earth beverage known as the Mickey Finn. Two drops of a synthetic enzyme in his drink; tasteless, but extremely effective. He'll be asleep for ten hours or more." "How'd you arrange it?"
He seemed suddenly to have aged again. "Oh, grandad," said Jud, "how'd you guess he was there all the time?" "I dunno," said Pop. "Don't bother me." "But why'd you beg him to look into the attic? Didn't you know he'd see him right off?" "Because he goes by contraries, Jud. He wouldn't of started for the ladder at all, if you hadn't told him he'd probably break his neck on it.
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