They were continuators whose applications had not been renewed. Exactly as he was a continuator whose application would not be renewed.
They had dropped out of sight. Exactly as he would have to drop from sight once he gained another lease on life.
It had tied in so neatly—and it had been all wrong.
“I tried every way I knew,” said Norton. “I canvassed every source that might advance your name for continuation and they laughed at me. It’s been tried before, you see, and there’s not a chance of getting it put through. Once your original sponsor drops you, you’re automatically cancelled out.
“I tried to sound out technicians who might take a chance, but they’re incorruptible. They get paid off in added years for loyalty and they’re not taking any chance of trading years for dollars.”
“I guess that settles it,” the senator said wearily. “I should have known.”
He heaved himself to his feet and faced Norton squarely. “You are telling me the truth,” he pleaded. “You aren’t just trying to jack up the price a bit.”
Norton stared at him, almost unbelieving. “Jack up the price! Senator, if I had put this through, I’d have taken your last penny. Want to know how much you’re worth? I can tell you within a thousand dollars.”
He waved a hand at a row of filing cases ranged along the wall.
“It’s all there, senator. You and all the other big shots. Complete files on every one of you. When a man comes to me with a deal like yours, I look in the files and strip him to the bone.”