Narina opened her mouth to speak and then stopped. Torture would never open her mouth, but here she was, almost ready to talk because of a slight show of friendliness. "No," she said.
"Why?"
"I'm not one to be taken in by kindness," she said, coldly; "that was a nice act you put on, American."
He shrugged. "I might make the same accusation," he told her, "but I happen to be sensitive enough to know that your attempt at suicide was no fake. And my name is Harry Vinson."
"Vinson?" she said, sitting up straight. "Vinson, the celebrated American scientist?"
"Vinson," he said bitterly, "the genius—kidnapped by someone he doesn't know."
"Harry Vinson," she persisted, "who is master technician in charge of the logic computer?"
"According to my possible accusation," he told her grimly, "you should know. You stole the machine and its technician on the same day."
"That's a lie," she blazed at him.
"There are a hell of a lot of us that think so," he snapped at her.