She met his gaze candidly. “Nothing. Anyone at all might have had access to the hall.” “Then we’ll have to work at it from the other end,” he said. She laid a sheaf of papers on his desk. He knew they were documents of no great importance. “Shall I tell Frescura you won’t be out?” she asked. “I’ll see him,” he said. She looked at him oddly, and turned to go. “Randy.” “Yes?” He didn’t know exactly what to say, so he tried it out for sound. “I still want to find out why we’re not getting the motor. But it’s more than simple sabotage now. A man was killed--a man I regarded as a friend, even though I didn’t know him well. We’ve got to find out who is responsible. That comes first. Do you understand?” Her wonderful brown eyes regarded him steadily. She turned away. “I understand,” she said. “Keep it in mind,” he said. He got up and went to see Frescura. Fred Frescura was a big man with more hair on his face than on his head. He was nearly bald but his eyebrows and mustache were thick and black. He had an air of concentration and childlike enjoyment of his work. Neither impression, decided Talbot, was strictly accurate. He crumpled a sheet of calculations as Talbot came in, and moved out from behind the desk. “I’m glad to see you,” he said gruffly. “For a while we weren’t sure whether you’d been cremated in the holocaust.” “It was more like an inferno,” said Talbot. “I survived.” “So I see,” said Frescura. “I tried to get to the hospital but Randy wouldn’t let me in. For three days she camped in the corridor.” “She takes excellent care of me,” acknowledged Talbot. He glanced at the desk and suddenly turned pale. Frescura laughed reassuringly. “Don’t worry. These capsules are harmless or _I_ wouldn’t be here.” He picked up a few of the tiny black cylinders and juggled them casually. “I was just attempting a reconstruction. What size was the thermal capsule which you saw?” Talbot touched the spheres gingerly. They were jet-black and fathomlessly unreflective. “This, I think,” he said. “Or possibly this.” Frescura laid five of the capsules down, rolling the other two in his hand. “I’m afraid that doesn’t help much,” he said at last. “It depends, you see, on how thick the covering was, and we can only guess at that. Let’s say the temperature was over a hundred thousand degrees.” The temperature didn’t interest Talbot. He didn’t care by how much he’d nearly been vaporized. “Why don’t we use capsule material like this?” he said. “It ought to make a good tube liner.” Frescura’s brows seemed to thicken and grow larger. “Are you seriously suggesting that I start my experiments from the beginning? Four years ago I told you we couldn’t use it. Now you act as if it’s something new.” Talbot got out of the dilemma hastily. He regretted that he had not spent more time on the technical aspects. He’d tried to be thorough, but failures were never recorded as thoroughly as triumphs.