“That’s not our pie. Come on.”
A gray-haired man, tied securely in his chair, swore as the hypodermic pierced his skin. Ballard waited a minute and then jerked his head at the two guards behind him.
“Get out.”
They obeyed. Ballard turned to the prisoner.
“Gunther was supposed to report to you every day. If he failed, you were told to release a certain message he gave you. Where’s the message?”
“Where’s Gunther?” the gray-haired man said. His voice was thick, the words slurring as the scopolamin began its work.
“Gunther’s dead. I arranged matters so that he’d telecall you on a tapped beam. I traced the call. Now where’s the message?”
It took a little while, but at last Ballard unscrewed a hollow table leg and took out a thin roll of recording wire tape, carefully sealed.
“Know what’s in this?”
“No. No. No-”
Ballard went to the door. “Kill him,” he said to the guards, and waited till he heard the muffled shot. Then he sighed with heartfelt relief.
He was, at last, impregnable.
Barney Ffoulkes called his chief of staff. “I hear Ballard’s robot is finished. Clamp down. Put the squeeze on him. Force him to liquidate. Tell the Donner boys about the robot.”
Dangerfield’s face showed no expression as he made thumb and forefinger into a circle.
What Gunther had called Cain’s thermodynamic patent was in reality something different, as the wire tape showed. Actually it was “McNamara, Torsion Process, Patent No. R-735-V-22.” Ballard recorded that in his capacious memory and looked up the patent himself. This time he wished to share the secret with no one. He was enough of a scientist, he thought, to be able to work out the details himself. Besides, Gunther’s machines for diamond-making were already set up in the castle laboratory.
Ballard immediately ran into an annoying, though not serious, hitch. The original McNamara process was not designed to create artificial diamonds. It was a method of developing certain electronic alterations in matter, and through torsion changing the physical structure involved. Gunther had taken McNamara’s system, applied it to carbon, and made diamonds.
Ballard felt certain he could do the same, but it would take time. As a matter of fact, it took exactly two weeks. Once the new application was discovered, the rest was incredibly easy. Ballard started to make diamonds.
There was one other difficulty. The annealing process took nearly a month. If the carbon was removed from the chamber before that time, it would be merely carbon. In the past, Gunther had kept a supply of diamonds on hand for emergencies; that supply was depleted now, most of the gems having gone to cover the golden robot. Ballard sat back and shrugged. In a month- Long before that Ffoulkes struck. He clamped down with both hands.
Propaganda, whispering campaigns, releasing of new patents that rendered Ballard’s worthless-all the weapons of economic warfare were unleashed against the diamond king. Holdings depreciated. There were strikes in Ballard’s mines and factories. An unexpected civil war knocked the bottom out of certain African stocks he held. Word began to go around that the Ballard empire was collapsing.
Margin was the answer-that, and security. Diamonds were excellent collateral. Ballard used up his small hoard lavishly, trying to plug the leaks in the dike, buying on margin, using the tactics that had always succeeded for him in the past. His obvious confidence stemmed the tide for a while. Not for long. Ffoulkes kept hitting, hard and fast.
By the end of the month, Ballard knew, he would have all the diamonds he needed, and could re-establish his credit. In the meantime-
The Donner gang tried to steal Argus. They didn’t know the robot’s capabilities. Argus fled from room to room, clanging an alarm, ignoring bullets, until the Donners decided to give it up as a bad job and escape. But by that time the police had arrived, and they failed.
Ballard had been too busy pulling strings to enjoy his golden plaything. The advent of the Donners gave him a new idea. It would be a shame to mar the robot, but the diamonds could be replaced later. And what good was a bank except for emergencies?
Ballard found a canvas bag and went into the robot’s room, locking the doors behind him. Argus stood motionless in a corner, his diamond eyes inscrutable. Ballard took out a tiny chisel, shook his head rather sadly, and said in a firm voice, “What light through yonder window breaks-”
He finished the scrambled quotation and walked toward the robot. Argus silently went away.
Ballard moved his shoulders impatiently. He repeated the key sentence louder. How many decibels were necessary? A good many- Argus still ran away. This time Ballard yelled the key at the top of his voice.
And the robot’s flight mechanism continued to operate. The automatic alarm began to work. The siren screech hooted deafeningly through the room.
Ballard noticed that a little envelope was protruding from a slot in Argus’ cuirass. Automatically he reached for it-and the robot fled.
Ballard lost his temper and began to follow Argus around the room. The robot kept at a safe distance. Eventually Argus, since he was untiring, won the race. Panting, Ballard unlocked the door and rang for help. The alarm siren died.
When servants came, Ballard ordered them to surround the robot. The circle of humanity closed in gradually, until Argus, unable to retreat within himself, chose the most logical solution and walked through the living wall, brushing the servants aside casually. He continued toward the door and through it, in a crackling of splintered mahogany panels. Ballard looked after the retreating figure without saying anything.
The envelope had been brushed free by the encounter with the door, and Ballard picked it up. The brief note inside read:
Dear Bruce:
I’m taking no chances. Unless I make a certain adjustment on Argus daily, he reverts to a different code phrase from the one you give him. Since I’m the only guy who knows that code, you’ll have a sweet time catching Argus in case you cut my throat. Honesty is the best policy.
Love,
Joe Gunther.
Ballard tore the note into tiny fragments. He dismissed the servants and followed the robot, who had become immobile in the next room.
He went out, after a while, and televised his divorced wife in Chicago.
“Jessie?”
“Hello,” Jessie said. “What’s up?”
“You heard about my golden robot?”
“Sure. Build as many as you want, as long as you keep on paying my alimony. What’s this I hear about your hitting the skids?”
“Ffoulkes is behind that,” Ballard said grimly. “If you want your alimony to continue, do me a favor, I want to register my robot in your name. Sign it over to you for a dollar. That way, I won’t lose the robot even if there’s a foreclosure.”
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s plenty bad. But as long as I’ve got the robot, I’m safe. It’s worth several fortunes. I want you to sell the robot back to me for a dollar, of course, but we’ll keep that document quiet.”
“You mean you don’t trust me, Bruce?”
“Not with a diamond-studded robot,” Ballard said.
“Then I want two dollars. I’ve got to make a profit on the transaction. O.K. I’ll attend to it. Send me the papers and I’ll sign ‘em.”
Ballard broke the beam. That was done, anyhow. The robot was unequivocally his, and not even Ffoulkes could take it away from him.
Even if he went broke before the month was up and the new diamonds ready, the robot would put him on his feet again in no time. However, it was first necessary to catch Argus-