it? Instead of going to the
cafeteria for lunch, he drove downtown and consulted the family
doctor, who laughed at him. Reassured, he returned to the plant and
got a sandwich and milk before going to his office. Old Doc
Heffelbauer might be wrong, but he usually wasn't. Norm liked several
men, but he didn't dream about any of them; if he was off his rocker,
it was in some other manner. Visual delusions, for instance.

The thing to do was to see Vic face to face. He called the office
manager. "Henry? Send Vic Hermosa up there, will you? I want to talk
to him."

"Vic Hermosa? He's in the Army. Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't. Who is the guy that answers the phone in that fruity
voice?"

Henry lowered his voice. "Guy? That's Vic's sister Virginia. She took
Vic's place when he left. Simplified the security investigation, and
she's good, too. About as good as Vic, I'd say."

"You mean to tell me a little girl like her could have a voice that
deep?"

"Startling, isn't it? Of course, it's actually a low contralto or
tenor, but you expect her to be a lyric soprano. Shall I send her up
to see you?"

"No, no. I want to think a bit first. Say, who interviewed her?"

"Charley, I suppose. Just a formality, anyhow; the Hermosas and the
Oglethorpes are neighbors, you know."

* * * * *

Wonderful stuff! Esoteric phenomena in a sealed office! His very own
calculating machine made calculated love to him; his best friend was
evasive, and the junior mathematician he thought he had been talking
to every day for a couple of weeks was in the army. He might hammer
away at all concerned until all the cards were accounted for, but that
would disrupt office routine. Strategy, that was the thing! Be mighty
peculiar if he couldn't break up this business, now that he had an
idea what was going on.

But did he? Whoever punched the cards needed the proper equations
derived first, and that called for a digital or an analogue computer.
Preferably his own ICWEA, because she was especially good at curves.
Deriving them by the old methods was just too much horse-work for any
joke. And it didn't have to be a joke, either. The joke might be just
the cover for a more sinister activity--_bosh!_ If that were the
case, why call attention to it with funny-business?

But what hurt was the girl's being mixed up in it. He could take a rib
from Charley, for instance, but the girl was practically a
stranger--unfortunate