In Marvin’s room there was a telephone, and one August morning it rang with the sudden pressure of Grein’s voice against its carbon granules.
“Come over here, prepared for a shock.”
Marvin ran to the laboratory, and Grein handed him a cable message:
Lieutenant Moseley shot through head instantly killed tenth Suvla Bay while telephoning as signal officer.
The look on Marvin’s face was ghastly. At last he managed to ejaculate, “Only twenty-seven!”
“Yes,” muttered Grein, “and any one of his frequencies was worth more to England than the whole damned British army!”
Marvin’s unconscious fingers closed like clenching tools as he dully uttered one word:
“Lead!”
“Exactly. Lead driven through the one brain that really understood lead. Better drop your fuels and study lead.”
“No. I’m not in that class.”