"Mind if we just wander around and talk to your people?" said Devon.
By noon they had spoken with every member of the shop crew. Every one denied any part of the work on the two models.
Even Kennely's calm began to waver. "Whoever the genius is around here, he's certainly of a retiring nature. Let's go back and dismantle mine. We ought to leave yours as is until we find out just how well the prognosticator circuits are working."
"Suits me," said Devon. "But those circuits can't work!"
Carefully, they dismantled the model of the remote indicator. As they proceeded, they were filled with admiration for the ingenuity of the circuits disclosed. They were so completely unorthodox that it was as if a mind totally unfamiliar with conventional engineering had designed them. They were foreign.
By quitting time they had the color video circuits analyzed and they had encountered a completely new method of achieving color television, one they knew was worth untold amounts commercially.
"There it is," said Kennely as they finished. "Shall we continue our search for the unknown gremlin in our midst or shall we tell Webber we did it and see if the Board of Directors vote us a raise?"
"Why would anybody cook up a thing like this and not come forward to get the medals pinned to his chest?"
"Honestly, I don't know, Chris. This is the biggest, most senseless, and most potent puzzle I've ever seen. But let's call it quits for tonight. We'll see how the meterological forecast for tomorrow makes out."
Devon took the sketches of the circuits home. After dinner that night he spread them out in his study while Kip and Pat, the twin nine-year-olds, hollered from downstairs for him to come and play. It was like standing stupidly by while someone pointed out the obvious, he thought. He would never in the world have conceived those circuit applications, but once he had seen them in use he knew that they were the simplest means of accomplishing their purposes.