"Nothing," Quay said quickly. "Absolutely nothing. Bolen wants actual
tests badly, and the Institute wouldn't do it. Snap your fingers, and
give him a hundred and fifty people to work on, and it's yours to use
for nothing. He'll do the installing, and he _wants_ to keep it secret.
It's essential, he says, to get an accurate reaction from the subjects
affected. For him it's perfect, because we're running a continuous
efficiency check, and if this thing does the job like it's supposed to
do it, we'll have gained the entire benefits for nothing. How can we
lose?"
Cutter stared at Quay for a moment, his mind working swiftly. "Call
Horner in on this, but nobody else. Absolutely nobody else. Tell Horner
to write up a contract for this fellow to sign. Get a clause in there to
the effect that this fellow, Bolen, assumes all responsibility for any
effects not designated in the defining part of the contract. Fix it up
so that he's entirely liable, then get it signed, and let's see what
happens."
Quay smiled fully and stood up. "Right, sir." He had done a good job, he
knew. This was the sort of thing that would keep him solidly entrenched
in Cutter's favor. "Right, George," he said, remembering that he didn't
need to call Cutter sir anymore, but he knew he wouldn't hear any more
from Cutter, because Cutter was already looking over a blueprint, eyes
thin and careful, mind completely adjusted to a new problem.
* * * * *
Edward Bolen called the saucer-sized disk, the Confidet. He was a thin,
short, smiling man with fine brown hair which looked as though it had
just been ruffled by a high wind, and he moved, Cutter noticed, with
quick, but certain motions. The installing was done two nights after
Cutter's lawyer, Horner, had written up the contract and gotten it
signed by Bolen. Only Quay, Bolen, and Cutter were present.
Bolen fitted the disks into the base of the plastic chair cushions, and
he explained, as he inserted one, then another:
"The energy is inside each one, you see. The life of it is indefinite,
and the amount of energy used is proportionate to the demand created."
"What the hell do you mean by energy?" Cutter demanded, watching the
small man work.
Bolen laughed contentedly, and Quay flushed with embarrassment over
anyone laughing at a question out of Cutter's lips. But Cutter did not
react, only looked at Bolen, as though he could see somehow, beneath
that smallness and quietness, a certain strength. Quay had seen that
look on Cutter's face before, and it meant simply that Cutter would
wait, analyzing expertly in the meantime, until he found his advantage.
Quay wondered, if this gadget worked, how long Bolen would own the
rights to it.
Cutter drove the Cadillac into Hallery Boulevard, as though the
automobile were an English Austin, and just beyond the boundaries of the
city, cut off into the hills, sliding into the night and the relative
darkness of the exclusive, sparsely populated Green Oaks section.
Ten minutes later, his house, a massive stone structure which looked as
though it had been shifted intact from the center of some medieval moat,
loomed up, gray and stony, and Capra, his handyman, took over the car
and drove it into the garage, while Cutter strode up the wide steps to
the door.
Niels took his hat, and Mary was waiting for him in the library.
She was a rather large woman, although not fat, and when she wore high
heels--which she was not prone to do, because although Cutter would not
have cared, she kept trying to project into other people's minds and
trying, as she said, "Not to do anything to them, that I wouldn't want
them to do to me."--she rose a good inch above Cutter. She was pleasant
humored, and cooperative, and the one great irritant about her that
annoyed Cutter, was the fact that she was not capable of meeting life
wholeheartedly and with strength.
She steadily worried about other people's feelings and thoughts, so that
Cutter wondered if she were capable of the slightest personal
conviction. Yet that weakness was an advantage at the same time, to him,
because she worked constantly toward making him happy. The house was run
to his minutest liking, and the servants liked her, so that while she
did not use a strong enough hand, they somehow got things done for her,
and Cutter had no real complaint. Someday, he knew, he would be able to
develop her into the full potential he knew she was capable of
achieving, and then there wouldn't be even that one annoyance about her.
He sat down in the large, worn, leather chair, and she handed him a
Scotch and water, and kissed his cheek, and then sat down opposite him
in a smaller striped-satin chair.
"Did you have a nice day, dear?" she asked.
She was always pleasant and she always smiled at him, and she was
indeed a handsome woman. They had been married but five years, and she
was almost fifteen years younger than he, but they had a solid
understanding. She respected his work, and she was careful with the
money he allowed her, and she never forgot the Scotch and water. "The
day was all right," he said.
"My goodness," she said, "you worked late. Do you want dinner right
away?"
"I had some sandwiches at the office," he said, drinking slowly.
"That isn't enough," she said reproachfully, and he enjoyed her concern
over him. "You'd better have some nice roast beef that Andre did just
perfectly. And there's some wonderful dressing that I made myself, for
just a small salad."