her.’’
Sybelle got up and walked to the door.
“Who’d like to be first?” Orient asked as she left the room, closing the door behind her. “You, Maxwell?”
“I suppose I must,” the young man answered. He drummed his fingers on the table. “We need something difficult.” He reached into an inside pocket “Perhaps this will do.”
He took out a pamphlet and put it on the table.
Orient noticed that Maxwell’s shaving lotion was liberally applied as he bent over the paper. It was an ad for a hotel in Montego Bay. Maxwell’s white, well-manicured finger was poised at a paragraph describing car rentals.
Orient inhaled imperceptibly, digging into his concentration. He formed an image and charged his consciousness, letting the sudden burst of energy orbit around his control. When he felt the gravity of Sybelle’s awareness he released, and let the energy be drawn by it. He exhaled as it pulled away. “Professor Hazer,” he asked, looking up, “do you have something?”
The old man looked pleased, then flustered. He fumbled through his pockets, muttering until he found something. A matchbox advertising a restaurant called Nino’s.
Orient again charged his consciousness with an image. As he felt the energy circle, then twist away, he looked at Neilson.
The man was pushed back in his chair, arms folded and chin pressed down against his chest. ‘I’ll pass,” he grunted.
“Count Germaine? Would you like anything conveyed?”
Germaine shook his head, watching him closely from under his thick, angled eyebrows.
Hannah rose, went to the door, and called Sybelle inside.
“Is that it?” Sybelle inquired as she sat down.
“What can you tell us? Maxwell demanded.
Sybelle smiled. “I gave you some money and you gave me the keys to a lovely new car. It was near a beach somewhere.”
Maxwell frowned.
“And Professor Hazer gave me a matchbook then took me to dinner at a place called Nino’s,” Sybelle went on. “Very nice.”
“Absolutely right,” Hazer said jubilantly. “Excellent, doctor.”
“Pretty good Neilson admitted reluctantly, examining the matchbook.
“Your presentation was professionally impeccable, doctor,” Germaine said gravely. “I commend both of you.”
Orient began packing the equipment. “Thank you for your attention,” he said, suddenly anxious to leave the meeting.
He went upstairs to his room and stretched out on the bed. The tension he’d felt in the dining room clung to his thoughts. He took a deep breath. It had gone off without any breakdowns. Sybelle had been perfect. But Maxwell seemed determined to be unimpressed. And Neilson was a question mark. He got up and went to the window.
He could see the immaculate lawns terracing down to the edge of the forest. The almost full moon hovered over the tree-matted hills in the distance, glowing dully like a battered gold coin, shadowed and bruised with age.
Lily would be giving her demonstration, he thought, as he stared at the darkening sky. He wondered if he could teach her the technique. She might be able to use it to protect her sensitivity during the lunar phase. It also occurred to him that she might need the prize money as badly as he did.
As the moon rose in the inky sky, the possibility of helping Lily continued to dominate his thoughts until Sybelle interrupted his brooding.
“Owen!” she cried, snapping on the electric lights. “Whatever are you doing standing around in the dark? Good news, darling. You’ve won!”
“Great,” he said.
“Count Germaine told me that even though Lily is his own candidate, he must agree that your work is highly significant. And Neilson said that as a layman he sees fantastic future possibilities. It was almost unanimous.”
Orient didn’t have to ask about the almost to know who’d cast the negative vote.
“Of course, we mustn’t forget that Lily was marvelous,” Sybelle went on breathlessly. “Her impressions were quite accurate. She said some things
Sybelle got up and walked to the door.
“Who’d like to be first?” Orient asked as she left the room, closing the door behind her. “You, Maxwell?”
“I suppose I must,” the young man answered. He drummed his fingers on the table. “We need something difficult.” He reached into an inside pocket “Perhaps this will do.”
He took out a pamphlet and put it on the table.
Orient noticed that Maxwell’s shaving lotion was liberally applied as he bent over the paper. It was an ad for a hotel in Montego Bay. Maxwell’s white, well-manicured finger was poised at a paragraph describing car rentals.
Orient inhaled imperceptibly, digging into his concentration. He formed an image and charged his consciousness, letting the sudden burst of energy orbit around his control. When he felt the gravity of Sybelle’s awareness he released, and let the energy be drawn by it. He exhaled as it pulled away. “Professor Hazer,” he asked, looking up, “do you have something?”
The old man looked pleased, then flustered. He fumbled through his pockets, muttering until he found something. A matchbox advertising a restaurant called Nino’s.
Orient again charged his consciousness with an image. As he felt the energy circle, then twist away, he looked at Neilson.
The man was pushed back in his chair, arms folded and chin pressed down against his chest. ‘I’ll pass,” he grunted.
“Count Germaine? Would you like anything conveyed?”
Germaine shook his head, watching him closely from under his thick, angled eyebrows.
Hannah rose, went to the door, and called Sybelle inside.
“Is that it?” Sybelle inquired as she sat down.
“What can you tell us? Maxwell demanded.
Sybelle smiled. “I gave you some money and you gave me the keys to a lovely new car. It was near a beach somewhere.”
Maxwell frowned.
“And Professor Hazer gave me a matchbook then took me to dinner at a place called Nino’s,” Sybelle went on. “Very nice.”
“Absolutely right,” Hazer said jubilantly. “Excellent, doctor.”
“Pretty good Neilson admitted reluctantly, examining the matchbook.
“Your presentation was professionally impeccable, doctor,” Germaine said gravely. “I commend both of you.”
Orient began packing the equipment. “Thank you for your attention,” he said, suddenly anxious to leave the meeting.
He went upstairs to his room and stretched out on the bed. The tension he’d felt in the dining room clung to his thoughts. He took a deep breath. It had gone off without any breakdowns. Sybelle had been perfect. But Maxwell seemed determined to be unimpressed. And Neilson was a question mark. He got up and went to the window.
He could see the immaculate lawns terracing down to the edge of the forest. The almost full moon hovered over the tree-matted hills in the distance, glowing dully like a battered gold coin, shadowed and bruised with age.
Lily would be giving her demonstration, he thought, as he stared at the darkening sky. He wondered if he could teach her the technique. She might be able to use it to protect her sensitivity during the lunar phase. It also occurred to him that she might need the prize money as badly as he did.
As the moon rose in the inky sky, the possibility of helping Lily continued to dominate his thoughts until Sybelle interrupted his brooding.
“Owen!” she cried, snapping on the electric lights. “Whatever are you doing standing around in the dark? Good news, darling. You’ve won!”
“Great,” he said.
“Count Germaine told me that even though Lily is his own candidate, he must agree that your work is highly significant. And Neilson said that as a layman he sees fantastic future possibilities. It was almost unanimous.”
Orient didn’t have to ask about the almost to know who’d cast the negative vote.
“Of course, we mustn’t forget that Lily was marvelous,” Sybelle went on breathlessly. “Her impressions were quite accurate. She said some things
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