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deal there coming up that could be interesting. From Prague, I go to Hong Kong. They are, as usual, short of water. There is some question of building another reservoir in the New Territories. I have an option on the contract, but a reservoir is useless without water. From Hong Kong, I go to Peking. I hope to persuade the Chinese Government to fill the reservoir. I will be back in ten weeks.” He stared at Lindsey, the slate grey eyes cold. “I expect you to have broken the code by then.”
    Lindsey crossed one long leg over the other and regarded his glossy black shoe. His face remained expressionless.
    “There is only one man who can decode the formula,” Radnitz went on after a long pause: “The man who invented it. His name is Paul Forrester. He not only invented the formula, but also the code. Let me tell you about the formula. It is for a new and entirely revolutionary metal. From what I hear, this metal is ten times lighter than steel and three times as durable. It is also completely friction proof. Using this metal, it will be possible to make a Moon shot half as cheaply as before. It is obviously the ideal metal for any kind of space rocket. Nothing like it has ever been thought of before. As you probably know, the inventor, Paul Forrester, is now in the Harrison Wentworth Asylum. It is a private asylum for the very rich. The American Government have put him there in the hope that he will recover and give them the key to the formula. He has been there now for twenty-six months. He is quite uncooperative, spending his days staring into space, suspicious of everyone, not reacting to treatment . . . in fact, a zombie? Radnitz paused, then after another sip at his highball, went on, “You may well ask yourself why this man is in an asylum. Without doubt he is one of the best and most impressive scientists in the world. I have had his background investigated. It seems he has always been an odd man out. His father committed suicide. His mother went off with some man and disappeared. Forrester was brought up by a spinster aunt, a sour, disillusioned woman who did her duty, but no more. Forrester was brilliant at school with a genius for mathematics. But he was unpopular, a loner and an introvert. I won’t bother you with his success at school or at Harvard. At the age of thirty-three, he was appointed Chief Scientist at the Paradise City Rocket Research Station. His assistant did all the routine work. Forrester had his own laboratory and no one knew what he was working on. For those who had the insight, signs of manic-depression were beginning to show: irritability, sleeplessness, suspicion, restlessness and so on.
    “Before taking up his post here, he married an utterly unsuitable woman as so often men of his brilliance will marry. This woman―I don’t need to bother you with details about her―was the ultimate cause of his mental breakdown.
    “Getting back to his work, he had a lab assistant, a young woman whose name is Nona Jacey. She is important. She was the only person allowed in his laboratory. Her duties were simple. She merely kept the place clean, answered the telephone, kept unwelcome visitors away, brought Forrester his lunch. I will come back to her in a moment.
    °The Medical Officer on the Research Station began to get worried about Forrester. He was sure Forrester was heading for a breakdown and he alerted Warren in Washington. Warren had heard that Forrester was working on something important, but had no idea what it was. When he got the doctor’s report, he became alarmed. He sent for Forrester. He arranged for a top psychiatrist to be present at the meeting. He got nothing from Forrester who refused to say what he was working on. Another interview was arranged for the following day. When Forrester had returned to his hotel, the psychiatrist said bluntly that Forrester was on the verge of a mental crackup . . . all the signs were there. Before Warren could make up his mind what to do, Forrester