"Then where's the body?" demanded Peter Wright.
"It ... ah—"
"Has it really happened?"
"It will with certainty."
"Thus proving the utter futility of all effort?"
"Ah—"
"See?" laughed Peter.
They left the office and proceeded into the factory. Here, where things should have been humming, all was at a standstill. Men sat on the benches and smoked nervously. They looked into one another's eyes with that "Will it be me?" stare, and they worried visibly. An electrician who tinkered hourly with lethal voltages as his day's work sat and chewed his fingernails. A machinist, sitting on the bedplate of a forming press large enough to stamp out an automobile body around the place where he sat, was biting his lips and looking out through the opened door to the shipping platform. Men outside were working feverishly, however.
"Why?" asked Peter.