His hand stretched out for the cards, and then he stopped, abashed, realizing he had forgotten to ask permission. “Go ahead,” Candella said coldly.
Norvell scanned them in astonishment. Why, he thought, this is impossible—and this bit here, we can’t——
“Mind if I play these, Mr. Candella?” he asked and, getting an ironic nod, fed the punch-cards into Candella’s previewer. The circuits scanned the punched holes and built a scene of electronic slaughter for him. He watched the little fire-figures in growing apprehension.
When he looked up, he said, so bemused that he hardly remembered to be fearful, “Why, it’s good.”
“Of course it’s good!”
“No, really good, Mr. Candella.” He shook his head won-deringly. “Stimmens, eh? I never would have believed it. Of course, it’s rough—the emotional values need bringing out. The comedy stuff with the vitriol pistols ought to follow a tense thriller like Man Versus Scorpions instead of another comedy number like the Octogenarians with Flame Throwers. But that’s easy enough to fix. Race Against Man-Made Lightning is out too; Stimmens told me himself we couldn’t get the equipment from Schenectady. I suppose he forgot.”
Candella was looking at him with an indescribable expression, but Norvell raced on, babbling nervously. “Real originality, Mr. Candella. I—I must say I admire him. Piranhas in the aquatic meet! Wonderful. And the octogenarians are a terrific switch. Number after number I’ve never heard of! I have to admit it, Mr. Candella, that boy has talent.”
Candella said dangerously, “What the hell are you talking about?”
Norvell stammered, “Why, the—the originality, Mr. Candella. The freshness.”
Candella hardly heard him; he was mumbling to himself as he riffled through sheets of paper. He pounded them with his fist and glared at Norvell.
“Originality! Bligh, do you think I’m nuts? Do you think I’m crazy enough to run untried novelties in a show like this?
Every one of these features has been a smash success somewhere in the country within the last ninety days.” \
“Oh, not No, Mr. Candella, honest—I know. I’ve been getting all the reports, and none of this stuff—— Honesty Mr. Candella! I was saying to Stimmens just the other day, ‘It’s funny how little new stuff is turning up.’ Gosh, Stimmens was doing the research himself, he ought to know!”
Candella exploded, “Look, you fool!” He tossed a sheaf of reports at Norvell.
They were all there. Names, dates, and places. Norvell looked up in horror. “Mis-ter Can-deMa,” he whispered. “It’s a doublecross!” His voice gained strength. “He wants a Fifteen rating. Just yesterday he tried to get me to recommend remission of his contract. I wouldn’t do it; this is his way of getting even.”
“Bligh! That’s a serious charge!”
“Oh, I’ll prove it, Mr. Candella. I’ve got the copies of his reports in my desk, under lock and key. Please, Mr. Candella —come into my office with me. Let me show you.”
Candella stood up. “Show me,” he ordered.
And ten minutes later he was saying grimly, “Thought I wouldn’t call your bluff, eh?”
\ Norvell stared unbelievingly at the reports, face white as a sheet. They had been in his desk, locked with his key. …
Arid they were not the reports he had seen. They sparkled with novelties; they showed all the magnificent new concepts in Stiminens’s outline, and much, much more.
The papers shook in Norvell’s hands. How? He couldn’t have left the desk unlocked. Nobody had a key but him and Miss Dali—and she had no reason to do such a thing. There had been no chance for sleight of hand, no possibility his eyes had deceived him. Had he gone mad? Was it some chemical prank, the reports he saw in disappearing ink, the substituted ones then coming to light? How?
Over Norvell’s desk set Candella was calling Stimmens in. The boy appeared, looking awed and deferential.
Mr. Candella said briefly, “Congratulations, Stimmens. You’re the head of the department from this moment on. Move into your office whenever you like—this is your office. And throw this bum out.” To Norvell: “Your contract is can-
celed for cause. Don’t ever try to get a job in this line again; you’ll waste your time.” He left without another word.