`I don’t care,’ said Francis, `whether he’s- a genius or a Mongolian idiot – can he build some sort of a gravity thinnerouter?’
`I believe he can. I really do believe he can.’
`Fine. You hired him?’
`No. That’s the hitch. That’s why I called back. It’s like this: I happened to catch him in a mellow mood, and because we had worked together once before and because I had not aroused his ire quite as frequently as his other assistants he invited me to stay for dinner. We talked about a lot of things (you can’t hurry him) and I broached the proposition. It interested him mildly – the idea, I mean; not the proposition – and he discussed the theory with me, or, rather, at me. But he won’t work on it.’
`Why not? You didn’t offer him enough money. I guess I’d better tackle him.’
`No, Mr Francis, no. You don’t understand. He’s not interested in money. He’s independently wealthy and has more than he needs for his research, or anything else he wants. But just at present he is busy on wave mechanics theory and he just won’t be bothered with anything else.’
`Did you make him realize it was important?’
`Yes and no. Mostly no. I tried to, but there isn’t anything important to him but what he wants. It’s a sort of intellectual snobbishness. Other people simply don’t count.’
`All right,’ said Francis. `You’ve done well so far. Here’s what you do: After I switch off, you call EXECUTIVE and make a transcript of everything you can remember of what he said about gravitational theory. We’ll hire the next best men, feed it to them, and see if it gives them any ideas to work on. In the meantime I’ll put a crew to work on the details of Dr O’Neil’s background. He’ll have a weak point somewhere; it’s just a matter of finding it. Maybe he’s keeping a woman somewhere -,
`He’s long past that.’
– or maybe he has a by-blow stashed away somewhere. We’ll see. I want you to stay there in Portage. Since you can’t hire him, maybe you can persuade him to hire you. You’re our pipeline, I want it kept open. We’ve got to find something he wants, or something he is afraid of.’
`He’s not afraid of anything. I’m positive about that.’
`Then he wants something. If it’s not money, or women, it’s something else. It’s a law of nature.’
`I doubt it,’ Carson replied slowly. `Say! Did I tell you about his hobby?’
`No. What is it?’
`It’s china. In particular, Ming china. He has the best collection in the world, I’d guess. But I know what he wants!’
`Well, spill it, man, spill it. Don’t be dramatic.’
`It’s a little china dish, or bowl, about four inches across and two inches high. It’s got a Chinese name that means “Flower of Forgetfulness”.’
`Hmmm – doesn’t seem significant. You think he wants it pretty bad?’
`I know he does. He has a solid colorgraph of it in his study, where he can look at it. But it hurts him to talk about it.’
`Find out who owns it and where it is.’
`I know. British Museum. That’s why he can’t buy it.’
`So?’ mused Francis. `Well, you can forget it. Carry on.’
Clare came down to Francis’ office and the three talked it over. `I guess we’ll need Beaumont on this,’ was his comment when he had heard the report. `It will take the Government to get anything loose from the British Museum.’ Francis looked morose. `Well – what’s eating you? What’s wrong with that?’
`1 know,’ offered Grace. `You remember the treaty under which Great Britain entered the planetary confederation?’
`I was never much good at history.’
`It comes to this: I doubt if the planetary government can touch anything that belongs to the Museum without asking the British Parliament.’
`Why not? Treaty or no treaty, the planetary government is sovereign. That was established in the Brazilian Incident.’
`Yeah, sure. But it could cause questions to be asked in the House of Commons and that would lead to the one thing Beaumont wants to avoid at all costs – publicity.’