"Wipe your face." Jeff located a handkerchief and wiped, looked at the cloth, wiped again, and stared.
"What is it?"
"A whisker stiffener. It makes each hair brittle enough to break off right at the surface of your skin."
"So I perceive. What is it?"
"Oh, just a mixture of stuff. Cookbook chemistry. Cysteine thiolactone and a fat-soluble magnesium compound."
"I see. Just a mixture of stuff. And do your whiskers grow back the next day?"
"Right on schedule," I said.
McCord unfolded his length and stood staring out into the rain. Presently he said, "Henderson, Hilary and I are heading for my office. We can work there better than here, and if we're going to break the hearts of the razor industry, there's no better time to start than now."
When they had driven off I turned and said, "Let's talk a while. We can always clean mouse cages later. Where's Tommy?"
"Oh, he stopped at the bank to get a loan."