"No 'buts,'" interrupted Balcom, with deadly coldness. "Keep on, and
you'll have the government down on us for violating the anti-trust law.
What's the matter? Have you lost your nerve?"

As Balcom almost hissed the question, up in the laboratory Locke was now
writing furiously in his note-book, when he was interrupted by a knock
at the door. He whipped the dictagraph receiver off his head and jumped
to his feet, hiding all traces of the dictagraph in the desk drawer.
Then he moved over to the door, unlocked it, and flung it open.

"Oh, I hope I haven't interrupted you in any important experiment,"
apologized Zita, innocently enough.

"Nothing important," camouflaged Locke.

Though Locke did not seem to notice it, another would have seen that
Zita cared a great deal for him.

"May I come in?" she asked, wheedling.

"Certainly. I am charmed, I assure you."

While Zita was gushingly effusive, Locke was correct and formally polite
as he bowed his acquiescence. Zita felt it.

For a moment she stood looking at a half-finished experiment on the
laboratory table, then finally she turned to Locke with a calculated
impulsiveness.