Presteign corrected. `
I am not "Mister". I am Presteign of Presteign.' `Three attempts have been made on Presteign's life,' Sheffield said. `You'll have to be more specific.'
`Three this morning? Presteign must have been busy.' Y'ang-Yeovil sighed. Sheffield was proving himself a resolute opponent. The intelligence man tried another diversion. `I do wish our Mr. Presto had been more specific.'
`Your Mr. Presto!' Presteign exclaimed.
`Oh yes. Didn't you know one of your five hundred Prestos was an agent of ours? That's odd. We took it for granted you'd find out and went ahead with a confusion operation.' Presteign looked appalled.
Y'ang-Yeovil crossed his legs and continued to chat breezily. `That's the basic weakness in routine intelligence procedure; you start finessing before finesse is required.'
`He's bluffing,' Presteign burst out. `None of Our Prestos could possibly have any knowledge of Gulliver Foyle.'
`Thank you,' Y'ang-Yeovil smiled. `That's the Foyle I want. When can you let us have him?'
Sheffield scowled at Presteign and then turned on Y'ang-Yeovil. `Who's "us"?' he demanded.
`Central Intelligence.'
`Why do you want him?'
`Do you make love to a woman before or after you take your clothes off?'
`That's a damned impertinent question to ask.'
`And so was yours. When can you let us have Foyle?'
`When you show cause.'
`To whom?'
`To me.' Sheffield hammered a heavy forefinger against his palm. `This is a civilian matter concerning civilians. Unless war material, war personnel, or the strategy and tactics of a war-in-being are involved, civilian jurisdiction shall always prevail.'
'303 Terran Appeals 191,' murmured Bunny.
`The Nomad was carrying war material.'
`The Nomad was transporting platinum bullion to Mars Bank,' Presteign snapped.
`If money is a-'
`I am leading this discussion,' Sheffield interrupted. He swung around on Y'ang-Yeovil. `Name the war material.' This blunt challenge knocked Y'ang-Yeovil off balance. He knew that the crag of the Nomad situation was the presence on board the ship of 20 pounds of PyrE, the total world supply which was probably irreplaceable now that its discoverer had disappeared. He knew that Sheffield knew that they both knew this. He had assumed that Sheffield would prefer to keep PyrE unnamed. And yet, here was the challenge to name the unnamable.
He attempted to meet bluntness with bluntness. `All right, gentlemen, I'll name it now. The Nomad was transporting twenty pounds of a substance called PyrE.'
Presteign started; Sheffield silenced him. `What's PyrE?'
`According to our reports -'
'From Presteign's Mr. Presto?'
`Oh, that was bluff,' Y'ang-Yeovil laughed, and momentarily regained control.
`According to intelligence, PyrE was developed for Presteign by a man who subsequently disappeared. PyrE is a Misch Metal, a pyrophore. That's all we know for a fact. But we've had vague reports about it . . . Unbelievable reports from reputable agents. If a fraction of our inferences are correct, PyrE could make the difference between a victory and a defeat.'
`Nonsense. No war material has ever made that much difference.'
`No? I cite the fission bomb of 1945. I cite the Null-G anti-gravity installations of 2022. Talley's All-Field Radar Trip-Screen of 2194. Material can often make the difference, especially when there's the chance of the enemy getting it first.'
`There's no such chance now.'
`Thank you for admitting the importance of PyrE.'
`I admit nothing; I deny everything.'
`Central Intelligence is prepared to offer an exchange. A man for a man. The inventor of PyrE for Gully Foyle.'
`You've got him?' Sheffield demanded. `Then why badger us for Foyle?'
`Because we've got a corpse!' Y'ang-Yeovil flared. `The Outer Satellites command had him on Lassell for six months trying to carve information out of him. We
I am not "Mister". I am Presteign of Presteign.' `Three attempts have been made on Presteign's life,' Sheffield said. `You'll have to be more specific.'
`Three this morning? Presteign must have been busy.' Y'ang-Yeovil sighed. Sheffield was proving himself a resolute opponent. The intelligence man tried another diversion. `I do wish our Mr. Presto had been more specific.'
`Your Mr. Presto!' Presteign exclaimed.
`Oh yes. Didn't you know one of your five hundred Prestos was an agent of ours? That's odd. We took it for granted you'd find out and went ahead with a confusion operation.' Presteign looked appalled.
Y'ang-Yeovil crossed his legs and continued to chat breezily. `That's the basic weakness in routine intelligence procedure; you start finessing before finesse is required.'
`He's bluffing,' Presteign burst out. `None of Our Prestos could possibly have any knowledge of Gulliver Foyle.'
`Thank you,' Y'ang-Yeovil smiled. `That's the Foyle I want. When can you let us have him?'
Sheffield scowled at Presteign and then turned on Y'ang-Yeovil. `Who's "us"?' he demanded.
`Central Intelligence.'
`Why do you want him?'
`Do you make love to a woman before or after you take your clothes off?'
`That's a damned impertinent question to ask.'
`And so was yours. When can you let us have Foyle?'
`When you show cause.'
`To whom?'
`To me.' Sheffield hammered a heavy forefinger against his palm. `This is a civilian matter concerning civilians. Unless war material, war personnel, or the strategy and tactics of a war-in-being are involved, civilian jurisdiction shall always prevail.'
'303 Terran Appeals 191,' murmured Bunny.
`The Nomad was carrying war material.'
`The Nomad was transporting platinum bullion to Mars Bank,' Presteign snapped.
`If money is a-'
`I am leading this discussion,' Sheffield interrupted. He swung around on Y'ang-Yeovil. `Name the war material.' This blunt challenge knocked Y'ang-Yeovil off balance. He knew that the crag of the Nomad situation was the presence on board the ship of 20 pounds of PyrE, the total world supply which was probably irreplaceable now that its discoverer had disappeared. He knew that Sheffield knew that they both knew this. He had assumed that Sheffield would prefer to keep PyrE unnamed. And yet, here was the challenge to name the unnamable.
He attempted to meet bluntness with bluntness. `All right, gentlemen, I'll name it now. The Nomad was transporting twenty pounds of a substance called PyrE.'
Presteign started; Sheffield silenced him. `What's PyrE?'
`According to our reports -'
'From Presteign's Mr. Presto?'
`Oh, that was bluff,' Y'ang-Yeovil laughed, and momentarily regained control.
`According to intelligence, PyrE was developed for Presteign by a man who subsequently disappeared. PyrE is a Misch Metal, a pyrophore. That's all we know for a fact. But we've had vague reports about it . . . Unbelievable reports from reputable agents. If a fraction of our inferences are correct, PyrE could make the difference between a victory and a defeat.'
`Nonsense. No war material has ever made that much difference.'
`No? I cite the fission bomb of 1945. I cite the Null-G anti-gravity installations of 2022. Talley's All-Field Radar Trip-Screen of 2194. Material can often make the difference, especially when there's the chance of the enemy getting it first.'
`There's no such chance now.'
`Thank you for admitting the importance of PyrE.'
`I admit nothing; I deny everything.'
`Central Intelligence is prepared to offer an exchange. A man for a man. The inventor of PyrE for Gully Foyle.'
`You've got him?' Sheffield demanded. `Then why badger us for Foyle?'
`Because we've got a corpse!' Y'ang-Yeovil flared. `The Outer Satellites command had him on Lassell for six months trying to carve information out of him. We
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