Why?" Watt asked.

"Sit down," Martin urged. "I'll tell you why. St. Cyr's pictures make
money, but you're responsible for their molding into the ideal form,
impressing your character-matrix upon everything and everyone at Summit
Studios...."

* * * * *

Slowly Watt sank into his chair. About his ears the hypnotic bursts of
Disraelian rhodomontade thundered compellingly. For Martin had the man
hooked. With unerring aim he had at the first try discovered Watt's
weakness--the uncomfortable feeling in a professionally arty town that
money-making is a basically contemptible business. Disraeli had handled
tougher problems in his day. He had swayed Parliaments.

Watt swayed, tottered--and fell. It took about ten minutes, all in all.
By the end of that time, dizzy with eloquent praise of his economic
ability, Watt had realized that while St. Cyr might be an artistic
genius, he had no business interfering in the plans of an economic
genius. Nobody told Watt what to do when economics were concerned.

"You have the broad vision that can balance all possibilities and show
the right path with perfect clarity," Martin said glibly. "Very well.
You wish Eden. You feel--do you not?--that I am unsuitable material.
Only geniuses can change their plans with instantaneous speed.... When
will my contract release be ready?"

"What?" said Watt, in a swimming, glorious daze. "Oh. Of course. Hm-m.
Your contract release. Well, now--"

"St. Cyr would stubbornly cling to past errors until Summit goes broke,"
Martin pointed out. "Only a genius like Tolliver Watt strikes when the
iron is hot, when he sees a chance to exchange failure for success, a
Martin for an Eden."

"Hm-m," Watt said. "Yes. Very well, then." His long face grew shrewd.
"Very, well, you get your release--_after_ I've signed Eden."

"There you put your finger on the heart of the matter," Martin approved,
after a very brief moment of somewhat dashed thought. "Miss Eden is
still undecided. If you left the transaction to somebody like St. Cyr,
say, it would be botched. Erika, you have your car here? How quickly
could you drive Tolliver Watt to Laguna? He's the only person with the
skill to handle this situation."

"What situa--oh, yes. Of course, Nick. We could start right away."

"But--" Watt said.

The Disraeli-matrix swept on into oratorical periods that made the walls
ring. The golden tongue played arpeggios with logic.

"I see,"