Finally he closed his
notebook, thrust it back into his pocket and said, "The therapeutic
machines are a sacred trust. To give a customer the wrong machine is a
betrayal of that trust, a violation of the Public Interest, and a
defamation of the Company's good reputation."
The manager nodded in agreement, glaring at his unhappy clerk.
"A Martian model," Rath continued, "should never have been on the floor
in the first place."
"I can explain that," Follansby said hastily. "We needed a demonstrator
model and I wrote to the Company, telling them--"
"This might," Rath broke in inexorably, "be considered a case of gross
criminal negligence."
Both the manager and the clerk exchanged horrified looks. They were
thinking of the General Motors Reformatory outside of Detroit, where
Company offenders passed their days in sullen silence, monotonously
drawing microcircuits for pocket television sets.
"However, that is out of my jurisdiction," Rath said. He turned his
baleful gaze full upon Haskins. "You are certain that the customer
never mentioned his name?"
"No, sir. I mean yes, I'm sure," Haskins replied rattledly.
"Did he mention any names at all?"
Haskins plunged his face into his hands. He looked up and said eagerly,
"Yes! He wanted to kill someone! A friend of his!"
"Who?" Rath asked, with terrible patience.
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