that, Beardsley? Forty minutes! Excellent man, Arnold. I'm sorry I ever
doubted--"

Beardsley wasn't listening. He stared about at the miracle of
reconstruction, and there was more of amazement on his face than
distress. Adjusting his glasses, he gazed thoughtfully at Jeff Arnold's
retreating figure.

Mandleco was saying, "Just as well your little experiment didn't go any
further! Dangerous precedent ... don't know what possessed me ... you
realize that in the last analysis I'll have to put my faith in ECAIAC!
No bad feelings?"

"No, sir," Beardsley pronounced somberly. "No bad feelings, because I'm
holding you to your word. ECAIAC hasn't solved your case and it never
will."

Mandleco stood still, open-mouthed. "What's that? Nonsense! Arnold just
assured me--"

"He assured you of nothing! I'm more convinced than ever now. I'm the
only one who can solve this case, and I'm holding you to your word."

Mandleco seemed undecided whether to laugh or censure. His heavy fingers
opened and closed aimlessly, as he stared across the room at Arnold and
back at Beardsley. Finally his teeth snapped together. "Beardsley," he
choked--"I warn you, if this is some sort of trickery--"

Beardsley shook his head solemnly. "You'd do well to believe me, sir. I
was never more serious."

"So you're determined to go on with it! Very well, Beardsley. You have
something like forty minutes, and believe me you'd better prove
yourself! May I remind you"--fraught with meaning, his voice bordered on
anticipation--"may I remind you, Beardsley, that already you've given
sufficient cause for a complete review of your qualifications as
Cooerdinator?"

Beardsley looked at him and smiled. "Yes, sir. And may I remind _you_,
sir," he nodded toward the far door, "that your guests have arrived?"

* * * * *

Mrs. Carmack, Beardsley thought as he watched her, was that rare type of
woman who could defy all the current conventions of style and carry it
off successfully; her type of beauty was unostentatious and yet vibrant.
She was dressed impeccably in black and silver, her hair was authentic
honey-blonde in a coronet braid, and her face possessed that pure line
of profile together with the quality of translucence one sees in rare
porcelain.... Sheila Carmack was thirty-five, and she paid her
beauticians that many thousands annually to keep her looking fifteen
years younger. Just now she seemed in buoyant good spirits