The door of the observation room swung open and a wild-eyed mechanic burst in.
"Mr. Rawlins, the control-room is still locked. Stevens is sitting in front of the table and he won't answer us."
Dan tore down the stairs and across the catwalk two steps ahead of Rawlins. He hammered on the door. Through the thick glass he could see Stevens hunched over the lighted control table.
"Stevens! Stevens!" He turned to Rawlins. "We'll have to cut the lock. Get a torch—and get a doctor!"
It took a minute with a high torch before they crashed into the room.
"He's been dead several minutes," the doctor said as he took his hand from Steven's forehead.
"I'm sorry, Kearns," Rawlins said. He looked at the doctor. "Well, I guess that explains everything. He must have lost control just as she was coming in. What was it? Heart attack?"
The doctor shook his head. "Some sort of convulsion. Muscles violently contracted. Funny he didn't fall to the floor. Must have affected the whole nervous system. Even the eye pupils are down to pin points." He looked around at Rawlins. "I may be sticking my neck out, sir, but off hand I'd say Stevens was killed."
"Killed?" Rawlins blinked at the form in the chair. "But that's impossible. The door was locked. The room hasn't been disturbed and there aren't any holes in the glass. Nothing could get in here except light."