hat."

"Sorry," Bending said. "I didn't. Most of the financial work around here
is done through my Mr. Luckman. I'm not acquainted with the monetary end
of the business."

Olcott smiled. "Quite all right. Evidently I am not as well known to you
as you are to me. Not that it matters. Why did you ask?"

Bending stood up. "I'm going to show you something, Mr. Olcott," he
said. "Would you care to come with me to the lab?"

Olcott was on his feet in a second. "I'd be glad to, Mr. Bending."

* * * * *

Bending led the man into the lab. "Over here," he said. At the far end
of the laboratory was a thick-legged table cluttered with lengths of
wire, vacuum tubes, transistors, a soldering gun, a couple of meters,
and the other various paraphernalia of an electronics workshop. In the
center of the table, surrounded by the clutter, sat an oblong box. It
didn't look like much; it was just an eighteen by twelve by ten box,
made of black plastic, featureless, except for a couple of dials and
knobs on the top of it, and a pair of copper studs sticking out of the
end.

Still, Olcott didn't look skeptical. Nor surprised. Evidently, his
informant had had plenty of information. Or else his poker face was
better than Bending had thought.

"This is your pilot model?" Olcott asked.

"One of them, yes. Want to watch it go through its paces?"

"Very much."

"O.K. First, though, just how good is your technical education? I mean,
how basic do I have to get?" Sam Bending was not exactly a diplomat.

Olcott, however, didn't look offended. "Let's say that if you keep it on
the level of college freshman physics I'll get the general drift. All
right?"

"Sure. I don't intend to get any more technical than that, anyway. I'm
going to tell you _what_ the Converter does--not _how_."

"Fair enough--for the moment. Go ahead."

"Right." Sam flipped a switch on the top of the box. "Takes a minute or
so to warm up," he said.

When the "minute or so" had passed, Bending, who had been watching the
meters on the top of the machine, said: "See this?" He pointed at a dial
face. "That's the voltage. It's controlled by this vernier knob here."
He turned the knob, and the needle on the voltmeter moved obligingly
upwards. "Anything from ten to a thousand volts," he said. "Easily
adjusted to suit your taste."

"I don't think I'd like the taste of a thousand volts," Olcott said
solemnly. "Might affect the tongue adversel