Mundin said calmly, "I'll take your questions in order. I am talking about one hundred thousand dollars. What is in that container is something worth one hundred thousand dollars. You should do it because of one hundred thousand dollars."
Dr. Proctor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, almost speechless. "But—but—if you assured me that the fluid would be entirely harmless—"
"I'll do no such thing! Where I come from you can get away with doing quite a lot of harm for one hundred thousand dollars." Mundin smiled frostily. "Come now, doctor. Think of one hundred thousand dollars! Think of the ecological significance and the thrilling morphology. And then sign this receipt, and then take the check."
Dr. Proctor looked at the check. "It's post-dated a month," he said tremulously.
Mundin shrugged and began to repack his briefcase. "Well, if you're going to quibble—"
Dr. Proctor snatched the check. He scribbled his name on the receipt and, with a quick, furtive movement, dropped the flat can of fluid into his desk.
In the copter Mundin and Bligh looked at each other. "Right on schedule, Charles," Norvie Bligh said gravely.
The attorney shook his head, marveling. "Yes, Norvie. Right on schedule."
They were back in the offices of Mundin & Ryan, Attorneys-at-Law, before close of business. And Norvie Bligh had not yet sat down when Mishal came hunting him with news that he had a visitor. "Bring him in, Mike," Norvie ordered the Ay-rab. "No, wait a minute. I'll get him."
Norvie flustered out to the waiting room. "Arnie!" he said eagerly. "Come in, come in, come in!" He piloted Arnie by the elbow down the halls, around the corners, through the labs and recreation rooms, chattering and ignoring Arnie's bulging eyes. There was a shorter way; but it didn't lead past the labs and recreation rooms.
"Beer, Arnie?" Norvell asked, in his own office. He pushed a button; Miss Prawn came in and dailed the beer for them. "Not those chairs, please; something more comfortable." Miss Prawn dialed two enormous armchairs.
Arnie said, swallowing his beer with some difficulty: "I imagine you realize that I've gone pretty far out on a limb for you."
"Oh, no, Arnie! Please! How do you mean?"
Arnie shrugged, covertly looking around the enormous room. "Oh, nothing I begrudge you," he said. "After all, friendship is what really counts. As We Engineers say, 'You brace my buttress, and I'll brace yours.'" He set his glass down. "And when you asked me, as a friend, to get you the file numbers and locations of the G.M.L. units, why naturally I did it. Though I confess I never expected," he went on moodily, "to stir up such a ridiculous fuss about perfectly trivial records. Corporate secrecy that hampers an able technological man is inefficiency, and inefficiency is a crime. Still, anything to oblige you and Charles Mundin."
"I never expected you'd have any difficulty!" Norvie lied. "But you got them?"
Arnie raised his eyebrows. "Naturally, Norvell. And microfilmed them. I have them right here. But—"
"Let's see them," Norvell said bluntly.
He finally got his hands on the microfilm and riffled through the index tables. All there, on film—lots of it. Serial numbers. Dates. Locations. Maintenance histories. "Arnie," he said gently, "stand up, will you, please?"
The engineer frowned, "What's the matter?" He stood up.
Norvell Bligh put the microfilm in his desk. He said, "Arnie, you didn't get those as a favor to me. You got them because you thought it would get you a better job."
Arnie flushed and said severely, "Norvell, a friend doesn't—"
"Shut up, Arnie. Remember what you said about 'destructive testing' the other day?" Bligh demanded. "Well, let's try some."
He swung. In the next three minutes he took quite a clobbering about the head and ears, but when the three minutes were up Arnie was on the floor, trying to stanch a nose that ran with blood, and Norvell was still on his feet.
"Good-by, Arnie," he said, happily, ringing for the guide. "Mishal will show you the way out."
He made his way to the chem lab that operated behind locked doors and tossed the film onto the desk where Mundin was sitting, watching the flow of golden fluid into enamel-lined cans. Mundin snatched it up testily. "Keep it away from that stuff, for God's sake!" he cried.
Norvell grinned. "I guess we better," he agreed. "If this gets ruined we'll have trouble getting any more out of Arnie. I beat him to a pulp."
Which was a considerable exaggeration; but pardonable under the circumstances.
Mundin, holding tight to the arms of the seat, said, "Norvell, are you sure you can fly this thing? After all, it's a lot bigger than the ones General Recreations—"
Norvie Bligh said briefly, "Don't worry about a thing." The helicopter zoomed straight up from the landing stage into the night. Apparently from sheer joy of living, Norvie buzzed the tallest nearby building before locking the course for Coshocton, Ohio.
He turned around casually in the pilot's seat. "Well, that's that. Play a game of cards? It's a long trip."
Mundin shook his head. "I'm a little jumpy," he admitted.
"Oh, everything's going to go off all right," Norvie said reassuringly.
The little man had changed more than somewhat in a few weeks. Now all Mundin hoped was that The New Norvell Bligh really could fly a copter as advertised, well enough, at least, to get the night's dirty work out of the way.
Bligh cheerfully switched on a dome light and began reading a magazine. Mundin leaned back and tried to relax, thinking about the things that had happened in one crowded, tense week.
Everything seemed to be running smoothly. Ryan, packed to the eyebrows with new and expensive drugs, walked and talked like a man, though collapse would come, sooner or later. Still, he was happy; and, more important, he was keeping the Lavins under control. Nonna Lavin was even helping, to some small extent; and Don was catching up on his months of quiescence with a protracted bout of hell-raising. Still, he was always on hand when needed; Norma made sure of that.
And the three silent partners—Hubble, Coett, and Nelson— had complimented Mundin on the way he was spending their money. At the last meeting Hubble had been worried by only one thing, he said.
"Speak up, Bliss," Mundin smiled. "We'll certainly try to straighten it out."
"Oh, it's not your end of it, Charles," Hubble said slowly. "Actually, it's ours. We can't get through to Green, Charlesworth."
Coett scowled; Hubble turned on him warningly. "Now, Harry, don't start that again. How can Charles run things intelligently unless we level with him?"
Green, Charlesworth, thought Mundin. Again. "Level with me about what, Bliss?" he asked.
Hubble shrugged. "It's just some kind of an abnormal situation, Charles, that's all. The three of us just don't seem to be getting through to Green, Charlesworth. Oh, we're doing business with them. But not, you know, any kind of real communication."
Mundin thought of Captain Kowalik, unnerved and jittery because Commissioner Sabbatino didn't talk to him any more. He said: "Do I run into Green, Charlesworth anywhere along the line?"
They smiled politely and said no, that wouldn't be likely. Green, Charlesworth did nothing on the operating or manufacturing end. They were money men. "But," Buss Hubble said, trying to appear unconcerned, "if they should show up, Charles, don't try to handle it yourself. Get in touch with us."
Nelson nodded worriedly. "Frankly," he said, "we don't know where they stand on this thing, Charles. Bliss and I rather think they wouldn't give a damn one way or the other. Harry thinks they'd be all for us, not that they vote any G.M.L. stock, you know, but they have, well, moral influence." He swallowed. "But we can't get through to them."
Mundin asked, "Want me to go calling on them?"