Wan said, smiling, "I also heard some idle rumor that in a few such
cases discord within a group was alleviated by sudden suicide.
Presumably a psychologist can grow impatient and push a certain button
in the mind--"
"Sounds like a good idea," Beldman said. "Do you think if we offered
this Manoba the right kind of money--"
"You don't mean that, Mister Beldman," cut in the chairman
reprovingly. "You're joking again."
"We're all great jokers," said Beldman, and laughed.
Everyone laughed.
"I move we vote a sum for the hiring of a Manoba psychologist."
"Seconded, how about five hundred thousand?"
"I don't know their fees," the chairman objected cautiously.
"You can turn back any surplus. We stand to lose more than that by
several orders of magnitude. Spend it at your discretion."
"Make it seven hundred thousand. Give him a little more room."
"I so move."
"Seconded."
"Carry it to a vote."
They slipped their hands under the table edge before their respective
seats, and each man ran his fingers over two buttons concealed there,
before him, chose between the _yes_ and the _no_ button and pushed
one, the choice of his fingers unseen by the others.
Two numbers lit up on the small divided panel before the chairman. He
looked at them with his mild face expressionless. "Rejected by one
vote."
Unanimity was the law on Board decisions, which by a natural law was
probably the reason why no love was lost among them, but this time
irritation was curbed by interest. They sat watching each other's
expressions with glances which seemed casual. Whose was the one vote?
"I move that the vote be repeated and made open," someone said.
"Seconded."
"All in favor of the appropriation for the psychologist raise your
left hand," the chairman requested.
They complied and looked at each other. All hands were up.
"Carried on the second vote," the chairman said without apparent
interest. "For my own curiosity will the gentleman who voted nay on
the secret vote the first time speak up and explain his objections,
and why he changed his mind on the open vote?"
There was silence a moment--Neiswanger looking at his neat
fingernails, Bryce Carter smoking, and smiling slightly as he always
smiled, Stout leaning back casually scanning his eyes from face to
face. Beldman lit a cigar and released a cloud of blue smoke with a
contented sigh. No one spoke.
"Gentlemen," said the chairman. "It is entirely likely that the
culprit is among us."
"Never mind the melodrama, John." Irving tapped the table impatiently.
"We've dealt with that. Let's get on to the next business."