‘Is this the geiger counter we’ve been hearing so much about?’ said Spigett, using his bored voice.
‘There are many different types of detection equipment nowadays,’ said Manson, carrying on with the lecture almost as if the question hadn’t been asked, ‘and this is one of them. It is designed to detect gamma rays — and it is very important for you to grasp the fact that there are several different kinds of radiation. If we know which kind it is, it naturally helps us to find out what the source of the radiation is. For instance, cobalt-60 is principally a gamma radiator, whereas strontium-90 emits beta particles. Of course, when the chemical analysis of the metal has been completed, we will know for certain what the nigger in the woodpile is — or rather,’ he added, pleased with the pun, ‘the nigger in the pile.’ The effect of the joke was somewhat spoiled by his sudden realisation that the phrase was an unfortunate one in view of the presence of Mike Ganin. What was worse, he emphasized the faux pas with an embarrassed silence. Mike, however, was grinning to himself, thoroughly enjoying that man’s embarrassment. He didn’t care much for Manson — he was, in any case, one of them.
‘Anyway,’ continued Manson, his lecture now spoiled for him, ‘if I now switch on the equipment’ — he did so — ‘you will see that we get a reading from the contaminated tin but not from the other one.’ He picked up an object looking rather like a microphone that was attached to the main apparatus by a piece of cable, and held it near the tin. The meter on the instrument registered a few points. Then he held the microphone thing near the other can, and the needle sank back to zero.
‘Now we’ll check the contents.’ Once again he burrowed in the brief-case, this time coming up with two ordinary dinner-plates. ‘It is consistent with Seff’s theory — about the sauce dissolving the coating of the tin and thus acquiring the contamination itself — that the food inside also emits gamma rays; and that is just what happens, as you will see.’ He was obviously searching for something.
‘The tin-opener,’ said the Director gently, ‘is in your handkerchief pocket.’ Mr Rupert suppressed a titter. Manson decided not to notice it; but with the dexterity of much experience rapidly opened both cans and tipped the beans on to the plates. ‘Now, first the innocent beans… then the bad ones. You see?’
In fact, the needle rose rather higher than it had before.
Seff frowned. ‘That’s funny,’ he remarked. ‘I should have thought that the radiation would be higher from the can itself than from the food.’
Gatt said: ‘I think it makes sense, doesn’t it? If the contamination is in the inner coating of the metal, the gamma rays have to come through the tin to the outside, so they would be weaker. Let’s try sticking the detector inside the tin. That should bump it up a bit.’
Obediently Alec did so, and the meter gave about the same reading as it had for the contaminated food.
‘Fair enough,’ said Gatt. ‘Hallo, what’s happened to your toy, Alec?’ A red light was glowing on the front panel.
‘Blast! That means a fault has developed — probably a valve gone. Anyway, at least it lasted for the demonstration!’ There was general laughter.
And something that was still worrying Seff was put completely out of his mind. Which was a pity, because it was really very obvious.
When the engineers came up to collect the equipment, Manson instructed them to replace the faulty valve, and to leave everything, including the tins, in the small lab. ‘You can test it with one of these tins,’ he added. ‘The one on my right is gamma-active.’
The apparatus was then removed, and the meeting resumed.
But it was Dick now who was frowning to himself…
Ed Springle looked across his sunlit office at the fat, amiable Mrs Harper, his secretary. ‘It’s like sitting on a volcano,’ he said.
‘You’ll get used to it — after the first three.’
‘You mean, you expect me to go through this all over again — twice over?’
Mrs Harper burrowed in the filing cabinet, her ample rear view almost completely masking the thing from his vision. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she said. ‘You leave it to Mrs Springle — you’ve done your bit. She’s got a nurse with her; what more do you want? Here, let’s go through the Lifetime Dose Sheet for Marsdowne — that’ll give you something to do.’
She placed the chart on his desk. It was a ‘breakdown’ which showed the amount of irradiation each member of the staff had received. The entries were made once every thirteen weeks, during which period the maximum dose permitted per person was 3 roentgens. Usually the figure was well below this.
Ed scanned the chart for any figures that were entered in red. ‘Luther,’ he said aloud, ‘4.5 roentgens in the last period. How’d he get that?’
Mrs Harper studied a report she held in her hand. ‘It seems the idiot got nosy about Project 3. They caught him snooping about the control-room.’
‘He’s been transferred, has he, for the next period?’
‘Yes. He’s doing paper-work in the office block.’
‘That’ll teach him! Oh well, he can go back at the end of the period. Long as we keep his average down.’ Ed lit a cigarette. ‘I must say,’ he observed, ‘they take a hell of a lot more care than we used to mining for uranium back in Africa! I shudder to think what my total score was in those dark days!’
She smiled. ‘Oh well, you don’t look any the worse for it, Mr Springle! And even after you stopped that packet up at Project 3, you hardly seemed to turn a hair.’
‘My dear Mrs Harper! I was sick as a dog for two days.’ He pulled a face. ‘Anyway, old Seff reckoned I’d had enough for a while.’
Mrs Harper became serious. ‘You And it pretty dull down here, don’t you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. At least, I see more of June; and that makes up for all the other things.’
‘Now, you! Stop thinking about her or you’ll be worrying again. And you’ve forgotten to initial the chart, That’s better!’
The telephone rang — or, rather, tried to, He had the receiver in his hand in less time than it takes to split the atom. ‘Yes?’
Then he looked up at Mrs Harper rather sheepishly. ‘It’s Seff,’ he said.
She threw up her hands in despair.
‘You look,’ said Kate, ‘like a man in a dream.’
Dick was so absorbed he didn’t reply. Kate thought: I’m not getting through. Eventually Dick said: ‘You know about the travel arrangements for tonight? Manson is leaving by train for Birmingham in a few minutes — he can be contacted tonight at the canning wholesalers. Here’s the number.’ He tore a sheet from his pad. ‘You’d better have the car ready in about ten minutes. He’ll be returning first thing tomorrow.’
‘Uhuh. What about Seff?’
‘That’s all laid on. He’s flying up to Marsdowne immediately after the press conference. The Min. of Supply are laying on a plane, but you’d better get on to Selgate right away and ask him to meet him at Glennaverley airstrip. Air Traffic Control at London Airport will give you all the gen, but I think the flight number is M.X. One — a Dove, I think. He’ll need a car, of course, to get him to the airport. Incidentally, Mrs Seff is going too, so it might save time if the transport called for her first. I should phone her up, and check that she’s ready in good time.’
‘You’re terrifyingly efficient all of a sudden,’ said Kate.
‘I’m after promotion,’ he said automatically, a little irritated by her inept timing yet not wanting to snub her. He added: ‘If anyone wants me I’ll be in the No. 2 lab.’