“It seems to me that it is of limited use in war,” George told him, “that is, unless you can reverse it and repel to an equal extent. It will mean a greater use of non-ferrous metals by an enemy, of course, but what else?”
“It cannot be used repulsively,” Pang Li admitted. “Perhaps you are right in thinking it a minor and not a great weapon. If it could be made repellant it would indeed be more useful. But you take a short view in thinking of it only as a weapon. When this war is over and the Japanese barbarians are driven back to their islands the true value of the beam will be seen all over the world, Wu-Chin-tan's name will be more famous than that of Edison.”
“How?” George wanted to know.
Pang Li shrugged.
“Who can tell?” he replied. “But I can suggest just one application of it which will alter transport in many countries. The beam is highly efficient — that is to say it requires a small consumption of fuel for the power it produces —also, for lower power it can be made very compact. I foresee that if iron sections were set in the roads at, say, 100 yards intervals, a vehicle generating the beam would be able to pull itself along by means of them with great economy. All the power at present lost in transmission would be gained and the beam would be far cheaper to generate than the present rotary motion. I can think, too, of many ways in which it could be used to simplify haulage and handling of goods. There are applications, too, to the docking of ships, and the handling of aeroplanes on the ground. But those are matters for the technicians. I know only that where a cheap source of power is available it will in some way or other be used.”
“I see.” George was less interested in the future developments of the beam than in its present use. He turned the conversation back. “You know why I am here, Li. What do you want me to tell them?”
“How much did they ask you to find out?”
“Everything, naturally.”
“They would like to make beam projectors for themselves if they could?”
“Of course.”
Pang Li appeared to consider.
“I will show you one in action,” he said, and struck a gong to summon his secretary.
The machine was not impressive. To begin with, there was little to see. The generator was enclosed in a cubical brass box some twenty inches high. This was clamped by braces, which seemed of absurdly disproportionate strength, to a wall of concrete six feet thick.
“The pull on the machine is of course equal to the pull on the object,” Pang Li explained, “and the moving of heavy objects therefore necessitates a firm anchorage. The beam,” he added, “passes through the wall which is thus made to serve the double purpose of holding back the machine and of protecting it.”
Together they walked fifty yards or more at right angles to the beam's path. The Chinese carried a control box with wires reaching back to the generator. They stopped and he pointed to a heap of scrap iron a quarter of a mile away over the barren ground.
“Watch,” he said.
He tipped over a switch and advanced a rheostat slightly. In the distance, the pile of scrap stirred slightly, and a faint squeak of rusty pieces rubbing together floated across the open ground.
“A little more power,” said Pang Li, turning the knob.
The heap seemed to flatten out. The lighter pieces, old cans and rusty mudguards began to roll towards the wall. Li gave still more power, and now all the pieces were in motion, scurrying and tumbling over the ground for all the world as if they were blown by a gale. Suddenly, halfway to the generator, they were stopped.
“Now,” said Li. “Full power.”
He turned the control as he spoke. Instantaneously the scrap iron leapt forward. It flew as though it had been fired from a gun. It hit the wall with a shattering crash and remained glued to the concrete face.
The two walked back.
“Try to pull it away,” Li suggested.
George laid hold of an old cooking pot and put his full weight behind the tug he gave. It wrenched his arm, but the pot did not move.
“Stand back,” Li directed.
He did so, and as the Chinese flicked back the switch all the suspended pieces fell into a loose heap at the foot of the wall.
George contemplated the heap for a few minutes in silence, then he asked.
“What is the power of a generator this size?”
“It depends on the spread,” Li told him. “At an angle of 20° full strength it will exert a pull of between thirty an forty tons at a range of a mile. At 10° the pull is increased to nearly sixty tons at the same range. It is quite a small machine for experimental purposes. A 1,000-ton, 20°, one-mile machine can be housed in a four-foot cube, a ten-thousand-ton machine in about six foot.'
“I see,” said George, thoughtfully. As they walked back to Pan Li's office, he added. “What's the point of showing me all this, Li? What is up that wide and elegant sleeve of yours?”
The Chinese smiled.
“Did you not come here to learn about it?”
“That's what the Japs sent me for, but I scarcely expected to be shown the thing straight off.”
Pang Li smiled again.
“I don't think you are much wiser for having seen it at work,” he remarked.
Back in the office, George sat down and lit a cigarette while Pang Li went to a large wall safe. He returned to his desk with a shallow round case, smaller than a tooth-powder tin and enamelled black.
“This, George, will make you one of the most estimable spies in the Japanese service,” he said.
“How nice for me,” said George. “What is it?”
“The thing which at least seven spies have lost their lives trying to get. Plans of the magnetic generator.”
“In that?” said George suspiciously.
“Yes. Several types, in fact, including the pattern for aerial defence. They are all beautifully photographed on a piece of 8-millimetre film.”
“How nice,” said George again. He looked curiously at the little box and then back to Li's face. “And when they've built them, and find they won't work, what do you suppose happens to me?” he inquired.
“But they will work. These are perfectly genuine-working drawings.”
There was a pause.
“All right. I'll buy it. What's the game?”
“Game, George?”
“Game. Do you mean to say you're giving them your weapon?”
“You yourself said it was of limited use.”
“Yes, but — hang it, you just told me you had shot seven spies who were after it.”
“It makes for verisimilitude. They might have thought it surprising and a little suspicious if the very first spy had been successful.”
“Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,” murmured George. “But I don't see how—?”
“That is a language I do not know,” said Li.
“Troy, the Wooden Horse and all that,” George explained.
“Yes, the Wooden Horse.” Li spoke reflectively.
“All the same, I don't see—” George began again.
“It is not necessary for you to see. All you have to do is to deliver the plans and say how difficult they were to obtain. A really heavy expense account should prove most convincing.'
“All right. But I have your word, Li, that these are the genuine thing?”
“You have.” He handed across the little box of film and watched George put it away carefully in an inside pocket.