The Insulators Read Online Free PDF Page A

he made it seem much less a concession than a command, there was no doubt which man was in control. “We don’t want to lose Carr or Wylie since they are both exceptionally good at their specific jobs.”
    Parsons nodded, but seemed to have some doubt; and after a few moments Ashley asked sharply: “Why are you objecting?”
    “I’m wondering if there is a way to persuade them all to do what they’re told without asking questions,” said Parsons, musingly. “At the moment they are both obviously tense and edgy, and could be easily frightened. Which is better: to go on as if we have noticed nothing, and hope that the fact that they don’t run into trouble eases their fears: or to give them a sharp lesson, disciplining them by fear?”
    Ashley’s face looked almost razor sharp as he considered the other man, and it was some time before he asked: “What have you in mind as a sharp lesson?”
    “Letting them know that Taylor is dead.”
    “How?”
    “By allowing them to come upon his body, or—”
    “Oh, nonsense!”
    “Very well, then,” said Parsons, quite amiably. “By taking a photograph of the body and enabling them to see it as if by chance. This particular laboratory is the most important we have: workers have been allowed to leave other departments but here, where the insulation by crystals is in such an advanced stage of research, we can take no risks. If it comes to a point they will have to be forced to work as we wish them to. Is this the time to begin the forcing?”
    Ashley’s subsequent pause lasted much longer, and when he moved and spoke, it was with some approval. “I will make the suggestion to Birch,” he stated. “And of course I will tell them whence it originated.”
    “Why, thank you,” said Parsons, and his voice sounded smooth yet his tone laconic. “I’ll be very interested to know what they say.”
     
    Janey had a restless evening and as restless a night.
    She went to a film, a Swedish one with subtitles in English, although the contortions of the passionate hero and heroine needed no language; there never was a clearer case of actions speaking louder than words. Coming out, she saw Philip approaching from the common room and wondered if he had been waiting for her. Here, in the open, there was less chance of being overheard. Yet Philip asked if she had enjoyed the film, tried to behave as if there were nothing on his mind, until they were out of earshot of anyone else in the grounds. Then he said abruptly: “I think we were watched tonight.”
    “I sensed it, too,” Janey said.
    “Janey—how is your nerve?”
    “Bad,” she replied. “I feel—somehow I feel like a prisoner here, as if something’s going on that I don’t understand. Do you know what I mean?”
    “Yes,” he answered. “And it’s a great pity your nerve is so bad.”
    “Why?” she demanded.
    “I thought you might be prepared to take the risk of escaping,” Philip told her. “I like it here at The Project less and less.” When Janey didn’t answer immediately he asked softly: “Well? Do you feel like finding out what would happen if we just walked out?”
    “No,” she answered, almost piteously. “No.”
    He did not try to persuade her, just shrugged and gripped her arm for a moment; and then, to her surprise, slipped his arm round her waist. Philip had always been aloof; she had sometimes wondered whether sex interested him at all. She felt his hand firm and yet gentle on her breast as he guided her away from the main building towards the river. A few other couples were about, as well as three or four small parties. It was the mildest night of the year so far and bright, too, with a waning moon on its back with a faint haze of cloud passing beneath it. She didn’t speak; did not attempt to move his hand. When they were close to the riverbank at a spot where the moon as well as stars were reflected in the gurgling water he went on: “Will you help me to?”
    “What?”
    “Don’t be