I walked inside, took in the entire room with a sweep of my eyes, gauging the extent of his activities and cataloguing them in my mind. Although the layout was compact and gave no illusion of any size whatsoever, it was an extensive operation with equipment well into the five figure mark.
At one corner was a table with two metal chairs and Boster pulled one out, offered it to me and sat in the other one. “Now, Mr. Mann...”
“Louis Agrounsky. I’m looking for him.”
A shadow seemed to pass over Boster’s face and his eyes had a withdrawn look. “Yes, indeed,” was all he said.
“I understand you’ve been approached before.”
“That is correct. I also understand that Louis was engaged in project work that put him in a special category.”
“There’s no security involved now. There’s a commercial aspect of one of his inventions I’m interested in. I’m authorized to locate him if possible.”
“By whom, sir?”
Sometimes you have to go all the way and I did the same thing with him I did with Vincent Small. I told him to contact I.A.T.S. in New York and ask for Charlie Corbinet. He studied me a moment, then, without answering, pulled a phone out from under the desk, dialed the operator and gave her the information. The call went through in thirty seconds and Claude Boster had Charlie on the other end giving him my name, a description, then handed the phone to me. I talked for ten seconds more, enough so Charlie was certain it was me, then handed the phone back. What he said satisfied Boster and he hung up.
“Cloak-and-dagger business, eh?”
I shrugged, watching his face relax, and said, “Can we get to Agrounsky now?”
He opened his palms helplessly. “What can I say? Louis just disappeared.”
“People like him don’t just disappear.”
“He did,” Boster insisted.
“How well did you know him?”
“We were good friends, Mr. Mann. Closer, perhaps, from a technical viewpoint than a social one, but friends. I presume you know about his hobby.”
“Slightly. You both seem to have the same one.” I nodded toward the rest of the room.
“With me it isn’t a hobby. It started that way, but it’s serious work now. Miniaturization is a vital aspect of most engineering developments today and offers me a comfortable livelihood. I only wish Louis were with me now. I hate to admit it but he was well ahead of me in the major stages of mini-work.”
“You familiar with the details?”
Boster shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, otherwise I would be tempted to duplicate his experiments. If his work is lost to the world, it’s a great pity.” He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Louis was a genius,” he said simply.
“How great?”
“Possibly one of the greatest. There was a power unit he developed that could be activated remotely, capable of lighting an entire house. The whole thing was small enough to hold in the hollow of your hand. His subminiature circuits, even at that time, were several times smaller than my most recent refinements, and I might say that I am foremost in this particular field at this moment. Yes, it was quite a pity.” He looked up at me seriously and added, “Have you any idea where he might be?”
“No.”
Claude Boster nodded again. “I believe you,” he told me. He seemed to purse his lips in thought, then: “But it is strange. He was always so vitally interested in his work. You see... he too believed that subminiaturization was the answer to the complicated technical problems that beset space projects. He searched for the answers and found them. Then... it was all changed. It was that accident,” he mused.
“The car wreck?”
“That’s right,” Boster agreed. “It seemed to be nothing at first. After he was released from the hospital everything seemed to be all right, then he started to change.”
“How?”
Boster made an impatient gesture. “Oh, nothing definite. He... he seemed withdrawn, distant. We weren’t as close any more. It was a surprise to me when he sold everything and left. I never heard a word from him.”
“No complaints about the accident... no permanent injury?”
“He never mentioned anything and he seemed fit enough except for periods of extreme nervousness. At these times he’d leave for a few days and come back feeling better. I assumed he merely rested somewhere. We never discussed it.” Boster paused, thought a moment, then went on. “Those periods became more frequent. Frankly, I couldn’t understand it and since he was loath to talk about it, I never mentioned it. Such a pity.”
“And he left no records?” I prompted.
Boster smiled wistfully. “None. I inquired personally. I searched what little effects he had here and found nothing. In fact... one day... it was one of those times when he was feeling very badly... he mentioned in passing that when he completed his special project he was going to destroy all written details of it. Frankly, I didn’t think he would. It was much too unscientific a thing to do, so I passed it off to his condition. But... I guess he meant it, all right.”
I took a cigarette from the pack, offered one to Boster, and lit them up. “He ever discuss politics with you?”
“Never. The subject didn’t seem to interest him. Only his work was important.”
I said, “He discussed philosophy with Vincent Small.”
“That and politics are far different matters. Occasionally he would make statements that seemed to be connected with his work — whether or not the world should exist with such products in its hands... that sort of thing. A bit incoherent, I thought. The present world situation always distressed him, but doesn’t it everyone?”
“Everyone with sense,” I agreed.
“A few times he left and didn’t return for three days.”
“I see,” I said absently.
“I wish I did, Mr. Mann.”
“Well, thanks for the talk.”
“Did I help?”
“Everybody helps somehow or other. I may call on you again. If anything occurs to you, keep it in mind.”
“Gladly. I wish I could do more. He had few friends and I doubt if any of us could give a complete picture of him. However, you might consult the doctor who attended him after the accident. During that time he was fairly close to Louis. At least he saw him several times a day.”
“Remember his name?”
“Carlson. Dr. George Carlson. He has his own clinic now one block from the shopping center.”
I stood up and held out my hand. “I’ll do that. And thanks. Hope I didn’t put you out.”
“Not at all.”
Boster went to the door and opened it for me. I stuck my hat on and flipped my cigarette out into the night, watching it arc like a tiny flare... and that pinpoint of light saved my skin because it was cut off briefly by something that moved in front of it and I shoved Boster back with one hand and hit the floor even as two shots blasted above me and ricocheted around the room behind us.
There wasn’t time to get the .45 out... barely enough to kick the door shut and yell, “The lights!”
Boster hit a switch by the door sill and the room went dark. I said, “Stay there,” then yanked the door open, pulled the gun from the sling and cocked it, then went out into the night in a diving roll, hoping I wasn’t going into a sucker trap.
I hit the bushes, waited, watched for movement against the lights in the background, but whoever it had been hadn’t waited to see the results of his attempted kill. When I was sure the area was clear I went back inside, turned the lights back on and had Boster pull the blinds shut.
“Mr. Mann,” he said, his breath caught in his throat. “What... was that for?”
“I don’t know, friend,” I said. “I’m just curious about one thing.”