eady. Slowly, Ronar began to go down the line.

They might just as well have signed each cake with its maker's name. As
he lifted a portion of each to his mouth, he could hear the quick intake
of breath from the woman who had baked it, could catch the whispered
warning from her companion. There were few secrets they could keep from
him.

At first they all watched intently. When he had reached the fifth cake,
however, a hand went up in the audience. "Madam Chairman!"

"Please, ladies, let us not interrupt the judging."

"But I don't think the judging is right. Mr. Ronar tastes hardly more
than a crumb of each!"

"A minimum of three crumbs," Ronar corrected her. "One from the body of
the cake, one from the icing, and an additional crumb from each filling
between layers."

"But you can't judge a cake that way! You have to eat it, take a whole
mouthful--"

"Please, madam, permit me to explain. A crumb is all I need. I can
analyze the contents of the cake sufficiently well from that. Let me
take for instance Cake Number 4, made from an excellent recipe, well
baked. Martian granis flour, goover eggs, tingan-flavored salt, a trace
of Venusian orange spice, synthetic shortening of the best quality. The
icing is excellent, made with rare dipentose sugars which give it a
delightful flavor. Unfortunately, however, the cake will not win first
prize."

An anguished cry rose from the audience. "Why?"

"Through no fault of your own, dear lady. The purberries used in making
the filling were not freshly picked. They have the characteristic flavor
of refrigeration."

"The manager of the store swore to me that they were fresh! Oh, I'll
kill him, I'll murder him--"

She broke down in a flood of tears.

* * * * *

Ronar said to the lady who had protested, "I trust, madam, that you will
now have slightly greater confidence in my judgment."

She blushed and subsided.

Ronar went on with the testing. Ninety per cent of the cakes he was able
to discard at once, from some fault in the raw materials used or in the
method of baking. Eleven cakes survived the first elimination contest.

He went over them again, more slowly this time. When he had completed
the second round of tests, only three were left. Number 17 belonged to
Mrs. Cabanis. Number 43 had been made by the man who argued with his
wife. Number 64 was the product of the young bride, whom he had still
not seen.

Ronar paused. "My sense