Read Online The Steam Pig by James McClure - Free Book Online

…”
    â€œJust formalities. But can I take the file along, anyway?”
    â€œOf course, let me show you out.”
    Kramer stopped on the doorstep to warn Dr Matthews that he would probably send a man round in the morning for an official statement. As they were speaking, all the cars across the road started up almost simultaneously and drove off.
    â€œEvery good party comes to an end,” Kramer said.
    â€œWhat party?” Dr Matthews asked.
    But it was already time to get Bob Perkins to work on the tape, so Kramer just walked off down the road.
    Mrs Perkins showed Kramer into the workroom and apologised that Bob had not finished his bath. He always bathed after work because of the ink from the proofs, they were ever such messy things.
    Kramer knew that Mrs Perkins was Bob’s wife but he had never grown used to the idea. She doted on him like the pale but proud mother of a prodigy born under mysterious circumstances. They even looked alike. If they had not both been round about thirty, he could well imagine her having spent years bringing him up in neat navy suits and a flutter of clean handkerchiefs.
    â€œPlease make yourself comfortable, sir,” she said, unaware of the discomfiture her presence caused. “I was just going to pour out his cocoa—would you like some, too?”
    â€œMay I have coffee, please?”
    â€œDo you think that’s very wise? My Bob was telling me only the other day what awful chemicals there were in it. He knows a lot about what happens to the brain, you know.”
    â€œBlack, please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
    â€œOf course not, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
    Mrs Perkins bustled out, a cuddly heap of woollen night garments topped with a curly head of hair the colour of a teddy bear’s fur.
    Kramer walked over to the wall of bookshelves. Bob Perkins should know something about the brain if he had waded through that lot: Let Hypnosis Work For You, Amateur Hypnosis, Hypnosis and Healing Therapy, Hypnosis Through the Ages, Hypnosis. He lost track, they were scattered all over between similarly bound books which promised, among other things, to show you How to Make a Million and how to Be Master of Yourself in Seven Days. Two of the shelves were piled with radio and electronics magazines. This was reassuring.
    Bob entered carrying the tray of hot drinks and only just avoided being tripped up by Mrs Perkins who rushed past to clear a place on the table which was cluttered with wires and circuits.
    â€œAh, Lieutenant,” Bob grinned, “it’s good to see you again, man.”
    â€œBobby, you must talk to him about coffee,” Mrs Perkins said earnestly. “He won’t listen to me.”
    â€œTime enough, I think our friend’s got other things on his mind tonight.”
    â€œToo true,” Kramer agreed.
    â€œWell, I’m not staying, so you boys can get on with it right away,” Mrs Perkins said. “I must give Bobby his welcome but that’s all I can manage at this time of night.”
    Kramer bit hard on his lower lip.
    â€œGood night then, dearest,” said Bob, hugging her with his cheek to her bosom.
    Kramer went on stirring his coffee until she had left the room. Bob failed to notice Kramer never took sugar.
    â€œJust before we begin, Lieutenant,” he said, “I want you to hear something special. No, I won’t touch your tape unless you listen.”
    So Kramer sat back and watched him operate the controls of a large tape deck which stood against the wall. The volume came up and he heard Bob’s voice saying: “What is your attitude to the pop scene, Mr Sinatra?” The reply came unmistakably from the crooner. The recording lasted eight minutes and at the end it was plainly not a parody although the contrast of accents was most striking.
    Bob laughed delightedly. “I see I’ve got you wondering, hey?”
    And then he explained what he had done was