Part 3

They switched the secondary control over to the experimental room. Half of the inquiry board went there to watch the process first-hand, while the other half watched it from the screens in the control room. They had cameras watching it from every angle this time; they didn't miss a thing.

Greene started the tape and watched closely, his eyes darting from screen to screen as the generator dummy took shape.

Greene's eyes missed nothing. There was actually no necessity for the dummy to be there, as far as he was concerned; he could read the motions of a set of secondaries as accurately as an average man could read a page of print. What appeared to be meaningless wavings in empty air were deft, purposeful action to Fenwick Greene. Mentally, he could see every component as the fingers grasped it. But the inquiry board could work better with a model actually on the board.

Finally it was over. The secondaries fell to the ready position. Crayley had five minutes to get to that erase button.

Fenwick Greene didn't move from the control panel.

"Gentlemen," he said, "that was a beautiful job. I don't think that even I could improve on it much. In my opinion, there is no reason why that unit should have blown." He paused, looking at one of the designers. "Unless, of course, there is something amiss in the theory or design. That, naturally, is out of my province."

There was discussion back and forth among the men.

Crayley's nerves tightened as the minutes slipped away. Would that fool Greene never step away from the control board, even for a minute? Why didn't he shut the damned thing off?

He finally gave up and forced himself to relax. It was too late now. He'd have to talk fast.

"Look!" one of the men snapped. He was pointing at one of the screens. Right on schedule, the waldo's arm reached up, grabbed the regulator coil housing, and ripped it off.

There was an excited babble of voices, and Crayley forced himself to look as flabbergasted as the rest.

The hand dropped down again to the ready position.

Crayley turned to Greene and started to say something that would keep the board's mind on the sabotage track, but he noticed that everyone was looking at the screen again. He swiveled his head around.

The secondary hand had lifted into the air. It extended its forefinger and made meaningless motions.

Crayley's jaw muscles tightened. What the devil did it mean? How had _that_ got on the tape?

The hand dropped. There came a faint chime which signaled the end of the tape.

"Let's run through that again," said Fenwick Greene, an odd note in his voice.

Crayley didn't understand. Had the shrewd, calculating eyes of Fenwick Greene read meaning into that meaningless movement?

Again the hand lifted into the air, extended a finger, and moved it. Then it dropped.

Crayley started to move his own hand, and stopped it in mid-air. He knew in that instant what the gesture was.

The rest were talking, buzzing among themselves; no one was looking at him yet. Only Fenwick Greene gave him a short, sharp glance.

Greene ran the tape back through for a third replay, and watched the hand lift again.

Crayley stared at it as if hypnotized. His mind was a mass of self-hatred. Fool! Fool! _Clumsy fool!_ This was it; this was the end of everything. It wouldn't take them long now--they'd at least have enough evidence to use a lie probe on him. Someone would see it. Someone would see how Lewis Crayley's subconscious mind had betrayed him when he'd made the recording.

Fenwick Greene saw it. His eyes moved from the screen to Crayley's face.

"You," he said very softly. "You're the only one who has one."

And Crayley knew he was right. If there had been a head on the waldo, they'd have understood instantly.

The finger was stroking an invisible mustache.