"I want to talk to Mr. Norton himself."
The clerk spoke into a wrist transmitter. "Mr. Norton, a man to see
you."
In a few moments a bulbous man came heavily down the aisle, peering
through dark tinted glasses at Philon. "Yes?"
"I have a very rare first edition of Smyth's _Atomic Energy_," said
Philon, showing the book.
Norton adjusted his glasses, then took the book. He carefully handled
it, looking over the outside of the covers, then thumbed the pages.
After a long frowning moment, he said, "Publication date is nineteen
forty-six but the book's fairly new. Must have been kept hermetically
sealed in helium for a good many years."
"Yeah, yeah, it was," Philon said matter-of-factly. "Came from my
paternal grandfather's side of the family. A book like this ought to
be worth at the very least seventy-five thousand."
But the bulbous Mr. Norton was not impressed. He shrugged vaguely.
"Well--it's just possible--" He looked up at Philon suddenly. "Before
I make any offer to you I shall have to radiocarbon date the book. Are
you willing to sacrifice a back flyleaf in the process?"
"Why a flyleaf?"
"We have to convert a sample of the book into carbon dioxide to
geigercount the radioactivity in the carbon. You see, all living
things like the cotton in the rags the paper is made of absorb the
radioactive carbon fourteen that is formed in the upper atmosphere by
cosmic radiation. Then it begins to decay and we can measure very
accurately the amount, which gives us an absolute time span."
With a frustrated feeling Philon agreed. "Well okay then. It's a waste
of time I think. The book is obviously a first edition."
"It will take the technician about two hours to complete the analysis.
We'll have an answer for you--say after lunch."
The two hours dragged by and Philon eagerly hastened to the store.
When Mr. Norton appeared he wore the grim look of a righteously angry
man. He thrust the book at Philon. "Here, sir, is your book. The next
time you try to foist one over on a book trader remember science is a
shrewd detective and you'll have to be cleverer than you've been this
time. This book is, I'll admit, a clever job, but nevertheless a
forgery. It was not printed in nineteen forty-six. The radiocarbon
analysis fixes its age at a mere five or six years. Good day, sir!"
Philon's mouth fell open. "But--but the MacDonalds have had it
for...." He caught himself, and stammered, "There must be some mistake
because I...."