"Holy cow!" Joe exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
"Uh huh!" Bowen grunted, satisfied. He handed back the robot. "Now, if you please, Mr. Linger—give us back our couch! Can you?"
"Why—why, yes—" Joe stammered. He took the robot and changed Bowen's cannon back into the couch it had been.
"Uh huh!" Bowen grunted again. He settled into his chair and resumed smoking his pipe, calmly.
Joe returned to his seat, frowning perplexedly. Barbara moved back toward the couch—then hesitated, staring at it uncertainly, and moved over toward Joe's chair. Almost without thinking, she perched herself on the arm of his chair. Joe slipped his arm around her hips to steady her, and neither of them seemed to notice their nearness. They sat staring at her father.
Bowen stared into space, nodded, and grunted a few times. Finally, he cleared his throat and began speaking.
"Mr. Linger, the bills that robot made are perfect. You couldn't spot one of 'em for a counterfeit in a million years! And we've just discovered that not only will the robot make weapons, but anyone can work it—not just you! That puts a pretty serious light on the business. I'm thoroughly convinced, young man, that with that robot of yours, any man could become the ruler of the world!"
Joe gasped faintly. "That—that hadn't occurred to me!" he stammered weakly.
Bowen smiled at him with warm friendliness. "I didn't think it had," he said quietly. "But I'm afraid we're going to have to face facts. Joe, your life isn't going to be worth a plugged nickel if this ever gets out. Why, the moment you handed me that robot, I could've committed the perfect murder—by changing you into a statue!"
Joe shook his head. "The robot can't influence animate objects," he protested.