When Ferraro rolled into his study after dinner the room was dark. I heard him murmur something about the servants and fumble for the switch. Before he found it, the robot closed the door and turned on the lights. I sat behind his desk, all his personal papers before me—weighted down with a pistol—and as fierce a scowl as I could raise smeared across my face. Before he got over the shock I snapped an order at him.
“Come over here and sit down, quick!”
The robot hustled him across the room at the same time, so he had no choice except to obey. When he saw the papers on the desk his eyes bulged and he just gurgled a little. Before he could recover I threw a thick folder in front of him.
“I am Admiral Thar, League Grand Fleet. These are my credentials. You had better check them.” Since they were as good as any real admiral’s I didn’t worry in the slightest. Ferraro went through them as carefully as he could in his rattled state, even checking the seals under U.V. It gave him time to regain a bit of control and he used it to bluster.
“What do you mean by entering my private quarters and burglaring—”
“You’re in very bad trouble,” I said in as gloomy a voice as I could muster.
Ferraro’s tanned face went a dirty gray at my words. I pressed the advantage.
“I am arresting you for conspiracy, extortion, theft, and whatever other charges develop after a careful review of these documents. Seize him.” This last order was directed at the robot who was well briefed in its role. It rumbled forward and locked its hand around Ferraro’s wrist, handcuff style. He barely noticed.
“I can explain,” he said desperately. “Everything can be explained. There is no need to make such charges. I don’t know what papers you have there, so I wouldn’t attempt to say they are all forgeries. I have many enemies you know. If the League knew the difficulties faced on a backward planet like this. …”
“That will be entirely enough,” I snapped, cutting him off with a wave of my hand. “All those questions will be answered by a court at the proper time. There is only one question I want an answer to now. Why are you building that battleship?”
The man was a great actor. His eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped, he sank back into the chair as if he had been tapped lightly with a hammer. When he managed to speak the words were completely unnecessary; he had already registered every evidence of injured innocence.
“What battleship?” he gasped.
“The Warlord class battleship that is being built at the Cenerentola Spaceyards. Disguised behind these blueprints.” I threw them across the desk to him, and pointed to the one corner. “Those are your initials there, authorizing construction.”
Ferraro still had the baffled act going as he fumbled with the papers, examined the initials and such. I gave him plenty of time. He finally put them down, shaking his head.
“I know nothing about any battleship. These are the plans for a new cargo liner. Those are my initials, I recall putting them there.”
I phrased my question carefully, as I had him right where I wanted him now. “You deny any knowledge of the Warlord battleship that is being built from these modified plans.”
“These are the plans for an ordinary passenger-freighter, that is all I know.”
His words had the simple innocence of a young child’s. Was he ever caught. I sat back with a relaxed sigh and lit a cigar.
“Wouldn’t you be interested in knowing something about that robot who is holding you,” I said. He looked down, as if aware for the first time that the robot had been holding him by the wrist during the interview. “That is no ordinary robot. It has a number of interesting devices built into its fingertips. Thermocouples, galvanometers, things like that. While you talked it registered your skin temperature, blood pressure, amount of perspiration and such. In other words it is an efficient and fast working lie detector. We will now hear all about your lies.”
Ferraro pulled away from the robot’s hand as if it had been a poisonous snake. I blew a relaxed smoke ring. “Report,” I said to the robot. “Has this man told any lies?”
“Many,” the robot said. “Exactly seventy-four percent of all statements he made were false.”
“Very good,” I nodded, throwing the last lock on my trap. “That means he knows all about this battleship.”
“The subject has no knowledge of the battleship,” the robot said coldly. “All of his statements concerning the construction of this ship were true.”
Now it was my turn for the gaping and eye-popping act while Ferraro pulled himself together. He had no idea I wasn’t interested in his other hanky-panky, but could tell I had had a low blow. It took an effort, but I managed to get my mind back into gear and consider the evidence.
If President Ferraro didn’t know about the battleship, he must have been taken in by the cover-up job. But if he wasn’t responsible—who was? Some militaristic clique that meant to overthrow him and take power? I didn’t know enough about the planet, so I enlisted Ferraro on my side.
This was easy—even without the threat of exposure of the documents I had found in his files. Using their disclosure as a prod I could have made him jump through hoops. It wasn’t necessary. As soon as I showed him the different blueprints and explained the possibilities he understood. If anything, he was more eager than I was to find out who was using his administration as a cat’s-paw. By silent agreement the documents were forgotten.
We agreed that the next logical step would be the Cenerentola Spaceyards. He had some idea of sniffing around quietly first, trying to get a line to his political opponents. I gave him to understand that the League, and the League Navy in particular, wanted to
