narrowed significantly.With a rasp in his voice he said deliberately, "That's too bad, Mr.Miller--for you."
The rasping tongue put a faint quaver in Philon's voice but he wenton. "However, I've brought you an idea that's worth more than fiftygrand. It's worth millions."
Rakoff's eyes hardly blinked. "I'm listening--you're talking."
And Philon talked, talked rapidly and convincingly. When he finishedRakoff slapped his fat thigh in excitement.
That evening Philon dropped in on Bill MacDonald, who was sitting inhis slippers smoking an old fashioned wood pipe.
"Come in, come in." MacDonald greeted him with a friendly smile. "Iwas just doing a little reading."
Philon held out the book. "I'm returning your masterpiece," he saidwith a sardonic smile.
MacDonald received it, glancing at the title. "Oh, Smyth's _AtomicEnergy_. Good book--did you find it interesting?"
* * * * *
Philon began to laugh. "Well, I'll tell you, Bill, your little racketof having spurious first editions printed some place and then peddlingthem sure caught up with me."
The good-natured smile on MacDonald's face faded in a look ofincredulity. He took the pipe from his mouth. "Spurious firsteditions?"
"Yeah, I sure took a beating today but I couldn't help laughing overit afterwards. Here I've been thinking of you folks as simon-purenumbers. But I got to hand it to you. You sure took me in with Smyth's_Atomic Energy_ as being a genuine first edition." Philon went on toexplain the radiocarbon dating of the book.
MacDonald finally broke in to protest, "But that book really _is_ overa hundred years old." Then he looked up at his wife. "Of course,Carol, that's the explanation. The radiocarbon wouldn't decay a fullhundred years any more than we...." Suddenly, he seemed to catchhimself, as his wife raised a hand in apparent agitation.
"But why did you want to sell my book to a dealer?" MacDonaldcontinued.
Philon went on to explain the system of the poll quota. He told him alot of other things too about the election of a President and theorganized political machines that levied upon all registered voterswhat amounted to a checkoff of their incomes.
Carol MacDonald said, "You mean that not everyone can vote?"
Philon looked at her in surprise. "Well, of course not. Only people ofmeans vote--and why shouldn't they? They take the most interest in theelections and all the candidates come from the higher-middle-class ofincome. Anyway why should the people squawk? They took less and lessinterest in the elections.
"When the proportion of voters turning out for elections got down tothirty percent those that did turn out passed laws disenfranchisingthose who hadn't voted for two Presidential elections. So if thingsaren't being run to suit those who lost their rights to vote they'vegot no one to thank but themselves."
Bill MacDonald looked at his wife and said in a voice filled withincredulity, "My lord, Carol, if the people back there only knew whattheir careless and negligent disinterest would one day do to theircountry!"
Philon looked from one to the other, saying, "You sound as if you weretalking about the past."
MacDonald said hurriedly, "I--er--was referring to the history books."
That night Philon did not sleep well for the morrow would be a dayhe'd never forget. Even to his calloused mind the dangers involved inthe exploit were considerable.
In the morning he went into John's room and stood looking down at theboy, who sleepily opened his eyes.
Philon said, "I'm going to be gone from my office all day. And ifanyone calls or comes to see me here at the house tell him I'm sick.If necessary I'm ordering you to swear in court that I was here allday and night. Ursula's gone for the weekend to the seashore, so I'mdepending on you. Do you understand?"
John frowned in confusion. "You say you're sick and staying home allday?"
Impatience edging his words Philon went over the explanation again.
"What d'you mean 'swear in court?' What are you planning to do, Phil?"John's eyes were wide open now and full of apprehension.
"Never mind what I'm doing. Just tell anybody inquiring that I'm sickat home."
"You mean _lie_, eh?"
Phil lifted his hand, then swung, leaving the imprint of his fourfingers on the boy's left cheek. "Now do you understand?"
The boy blinked back a tear and nodded wordlessly.
* * * * *
In the late afternoon Philon landed at Washington and under an assumedname made his way to the government building housing the big ElectionTabulator. At the technical maintenance offices Philon asked, "Is AlBrant around?"
"Nope. He doesn't come on duty until tomorrow."
At Brant's address Philon knocked on an apartment door. Footstepsapproached inside and the door was opened by a medium-sized man withblack tousled hair. He appeared less than happy to see Philon.
"Hello, Phil. What's on your mind?"
Philon stuck out his hand. "Al, glad to see you again. I know you'renot pleased to see me but let's let bygones be bygones. Can we talk?"
Al Brant stepped back reluctantly. "Well, I guess so. I thought we'dsaid everything we had to say the last time."
Philon walked in and settled himself on the davenport. "Yeah, I know,Al, we had some pretty harsh words. But at least I got you out of themess."
Brant said bitterly, "Yeah, got me out of a mess I got into helpingyou on one of your shady deals when I worked for you. Well, as I saidbefore, what's on your mind?"
Philon patted his right chest saying, "Got a hundred thousand here foryou, Al."
Brant's brows lifted in amazement. "A hundred thousand! What's thecatch, Phil?"
Philon's voice dropped to a confidential tone. "You always were aclever man with electronics, Al, and I've got something here that'sjust your meat. I've been studying the design of the ElectionTabulator, and I've discovered a wonderful opportunity for you and me.
"Now listen--it's possible to replace two transmitters on the mainteletype trunk so that a winning percentage of the incoming votes willbe totaled up for my party. Simple little job, isn't it? Worth ahundred thousand!"
For a long moment Al Brant sat and stared at Philon in cold silence.Finally, he said, "Do you know what the penalty is for jimmying theTabulator to influence voting?"
"No."
"It's life imprisonment!" Brant got up slowly and started across theroom to Philon. "I fell for your line once and got burned--and hereyou come again. You must think I'm a born sucker. This time I'm doingthe talking. Give me the hundred grand or I'll kill you with my barehands!"
Philon watched him coming as if he were witness to a nightmare. He wastrapped. And in this moment of snowballing fear he ceased to think.The gun in his pocket went off without conscious effort. Brantstopped, then collapsed to the floor. Panic took over Philon's mindand he fled the apartment building as rapidly as was safe.
He was almost back in the city when he tuned in a news broadcast As helistened, he sat in stunned silence. Brant had roused himself enoughbefore he died to talk to the man who found him in his apartment.Brant had named his killer as Philon Miller. Miller felt as if he hadturned to ice.
Then his mind thawed out with a rush of reassuring words. After all,why should he be worrying? He had John's word in court as a perfectalibi. Yes, everything would be all right. Everything _had_ to be allright.
In the late evening Philon arrived at his house with a consuming senseof great relief, as if the very act of entering his home would protecthim from anything. There was a sense of safety in the mere familiarityof the environment.
On the mail table he found a note from Ursula saying she had gone forthe weekend. Philon shrugged indifferently. He was glad to have herout of the way anyhow. But John--there was the best ten thousanddollars he had ever spent. A sound investment, about to pay its firstreal dividend.
"_John!_" His voice echoed in the house with a disturbing hollowsound. He wet his dry lips and shouted again, "_John_--where _are_you?
"
Only his echoing voice answered him. In growing fright he pounded upthe escalator and rushed into John's room. It was empty. On a desk hefound a message in John's neat hand--
_Phil and Ursula,_
_For a long time I have been very unhappy living with you. I'm grateful for the food and shelter and education you've provided. But you have never given me the love and warmth that I seem to crave. The funny part of it is that I never understood my craving and what it meant until I saw how love and affection bound the