He straightened. Finger on the starting button, he paused and glanced around the quiet, spacious room.
“Three days ago,” he said, “I at last managed to conceal the transmitting unit of a Sonotec in the inner office of my course tutor, Master Elwyn. I delayed this long, I might add, mainly because I had to test unobtrusively the truth of something I heard when I enrolled. That the esper Prime Rule—the Rule of Privacy—extends to students as well as to outsiders; that no one’s thoughts will be invaded by an adept, save by prior voluntary consent.
“Well, then, I planted the Sonotec. The receiver and recorder I had given already to one of your best agents—who, by the way, must, be rewarded—so that if, by chance, the microbeam should be detected, it would not point to one of us directly. And tonight, your agent passed me this—a three-day record of Master Elwyn’s most secret conferences.”
“Does he—the agent, that is—know what’s on that wire?”
“Well, hardly.” Duke Harald looked quizzically at his old friend. “D’you think I’m that new at the game? No, the stuff went out—and was recorded—scrambled. My own code, too. I’ve set it up on your unit, so we’ll hear it in clear. That is,” he added with a grin, “if you feel up to it. It may well be an all-night job, even running it at fast scan.”
“Humph!” The old count, who had been leaning back with half-shut eyes, snorted and sat bolt upright. “It won’t be the first time I’ve missed a night’s sleep. Nor, I hope, the last.” He poured fresh brandy, turned on a waiting coffee maker and, thus prepared, settled back and closed his eyes once more. “Turn on your Master Elwyn; let’s hear what he has to say.”
It was a difficult wire to listen to; and most oddly garbled at times. In addition to the distortion inevitable to the use of pick-up elements measurable in millimeters, and the further loss of information imposed by the scrambling circuits, there were periods of peculiar fade-out, when the recorded voices dropped away to mere whispers despite all that the automatic volume control could do, and the talkers sounded as though their voices were filled with thin mush.
“An added precaution against them tracing the beam, if they do detect it,” said Duke Harald softly in explanation. “The receiver and recorder are portable; built into a brief case. Its location is shifted at least once an hour, following a random pattern.”
Time wore on. Time during which the coffee cups were emptied and refilled and emptied again; time during which only the sharp rustling of papers, or Master Elwyn’s voice discussing matters of pure and unimportant routine, reached the ears of the intently listening Arkadians. Duke Harald began to frown. And then, just as the little spool was beginning to show traces of empty core, it came.
“…Should know, as a senior, that the esper drug is not a subject for idle jests,” Master Elwyn’s voice came through with sudden clarity. “Not, certainly, where an outspacer is concerned.”