Gallegher said, “I’m beginning to see. But that personal angle — I wonder! What is the definition of danger, anyhow?”
“Danger’s when something’s trying to git you,” Grandpa pointed out.
“The unknown — the strange — is dangerous too, simply because we don’t understand it. That’s why ghost stories have always been popular. A roar in the dark is more frightening than a tiger in the daylight.”
Harding nodded. “I see your point. But there’s another factor. The game mustn’t be made too easy. It’s a cinch to outwit a rabbit. And, naturally, we have to supply our customers with the most modern weapons.”
“Why?”
“Safety precautions. The trouble is, with those weapons and scanners and scent-analyzers, any fool can track down and kill an animal. There’s no thrill involved unless the animal’s a man-eating tiger, and that’s a little too thrilling for our underwriters!”
“So what do you want?”
“I’m not sure,” Harding said slowly. “A new animal, perhaps. One that fulfills the requirements of Adrenals, Incorporated. But I’m not sure what the answer is, or I wouldn’t be asking you.”
Gallegher said, “ You don’t make new animals out of thin air.”
“Where do you get them?”
“I wonder. Other planets? Other time-sectors? Other probability worlds? I got hold of some funny animals once — Lybblas — by tuning in on a future time-era on Mars, but they wouldn’t have filled the bill.”
“Other planets, then?”
Gallegher got up and strolled to his workbench. He began to piece together stray cogs and tubes. “I’m getting a thought. The latent factors inherent in the human brain — My latent factors are rousing to life. Let me see. Perhaps—”
Under his hands a gadget grew. Gallegher remained preoccupied. Presently he cursed, tossed the device aside, and settled back to the liquor organ. Grandpa had already tried it, but choked on his first sip of a gin buck. He threatened to go back home and take Harding with him and show him some real hunting.
Gallegher pushed the old gentleman off the couch. “Now look, Mr. Harding,” he said. “I’ll have this for you tomorrow. I’ve got some thinking to do—”
“Drinking, you mean,” Harding said, taking out a bundle of credits. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Gallegher. You never work except under pressure. You’ve got to have a deadline, or you won’t do a thing. Well — do you see this? Fifty thousand credits.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “I’m giving you one hour. If you don’t solve my problem by then, the deal’s off.”
Gallegher started up from the couch as though he had been bitten. “That’s ridiculous. An hour isn’t time enough—”
Harding said obdurately, “I’m a methodical man. I know enough about you to realize that you’re not. I can find other specialists and technicians, you know. One hour! Or I go out that door and take these fifty thousand credits with me!”
Gallegher eyed the money greedily. He took a quick drink, cursed quietly, and went back to his gadget. This time he kept working on it.
After a while a light shot up from the worktable and hit Gallegher in the eye. He staggered back, yelping.
“Are you all right?” Harding asked, jumping up.
“Sure,” Gallegher growled, cutting a switch. “I think I’m getting it. That light…ouch. I’ve sunburned my eyeballs.” He blinked back tears. Then he went over to the liquor organ.
After a hearty swig, he nodded at Harding. “I’m getting on the trail of what you want. I don’t know how long it’ll take, though.” He winced. “Grandpa. Did you change the setting on this thing?”
“I dunno. I pushed some buttons.”
“I thought so. This isn’t a gin buck. Wheeooo!”
“Got a wallop, has it?” Grandpa said, getting interested and coming over to try the liquor organ again.
“Not at all,” Gallegher said, walking on his knees toward the audio-sonic recorder. “What’s this? A spy, huh? We know how to deal with spies in this house, you dirty traitor.” So saying, he rose to his feet, seized a blanket, and threw it over the projector.
At that point the screen, naturally enough, was blank.
“I cleverly outwit myself every time,” Gallegher remarked, rising to switch off the projector. “I go to the trouble of building that recorder and then blindfold it just when matters get interesting. I know less than I did before because there are more unknown factors now.”
“Men can know the nature of things,” Joe murmured.
“An important concept,” Gallegher admitted. “The Greeks found it out quite a while ago, though. Pretty soon, if you keep on thinking hard, you’ll come up with the bright discovery that two and two are four.”
“Be quiet, you ugly man,” Joe said. “I’m getting into abstractions now. Answer the door and leave me alone.”
“The door? Why? The bell isn’t singing.”
“It will,” Joe pointed out. “There it goes.”
“Visitors at this time of the morning,” Gallegher sighed. “Maybe it’s Grandpa, though.” He pushed a button, studied the doorplate screen, and failed to recognize the lantern-jawed, bushy-browed face. “All right,” he said. “Come in. Follow the guideline.” Then he turned to the liquor organ thirstily before remembering his current Tantalus proclivities.
The lantern-jawed man came into the room. Gallegher said, “Hurry up. I’m being followed by a little brown animal that drinks all my liquor. I’ve several other troubles, too, but the little brown animal’s the worst. If I don’t get a drink, I’ll die. So tell me what you want and leave me alone to work out my problems. I don’t owe you money, do I?”
“That depends,” said the newcomer, with a strong Scots accent. “My name is Murdoch Mackenzie and I assume you’re Mr. Gallegher. You look untrustworthy. Where is my partner and the fifty thousand credits he had with him?”
Gallegher pondered. “Your partner, eh? I wonder if you mean Jonas Harding?”
“That’s the lad. My partner in Adrenals, Incorporated?”
“I haven’t seen him—”
With his usual felicity, Joe remarked, “The ugly man with the big ears. How hideous he was.”
“ Vurra true,” Mackenzie nodded. “I note you’re using the past tense, or rather that great clanking machine of yours is. Have you perhaps murdered my partner and disposed of his body with one of your scientific gadgets?”
“Now look—” Gallegher said. “What’s the idea? Have I got the mark of Cain on my forehead or something? Why should you jump to a conclusion like that? You’re crazy.”
Mackenzie rubbed his long jaw and studied Gallegher from under his bushy gray brows. “It would be no great loss, I know,” he admitted. “Jonas is little help in the business. Too methodical. But he had fifty thousand credits on his person when he came here last night. There is also the question of the body. The insurance is perfectly enormous. Between ourselves, Mr. Gallegher, I would not hold it against you if you had murdered my unfortunate partner and pocketed the fifty thousand. In fact, I would be willing to consider letting you escape with…say…ten thousand, provided you gave me the rest. But not unless you provided me with legal evidence of Jonas’s death, so my underwriters would be satisfied.
“Logic,” Joe said admiringly. “Beautiful logic. It’s amazing that such logic should come from such an opaque horror.”