"Charles L. Harness-An Ornament to His Profession" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

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Patrick smiled at Sullivan. "Good morning, Mike. How are those Neol cases coming?"
"We're in good shape. John Fast and I will need a couple of more weeks, though. It's a whole series
of cases. Covers the catalysts, the whole pilot-plant set up, the vapor phase job, everything. John and I
get together every morning and dictate this stuff to Willow. She types her notes in the afternoon. Except
that as of now she's about a week behind in transcription. If she left right now, the Neol patent cases
would be in quite a hole."
Patrick met Sullivan's studied gaze noncommittally. "He knows," he thought. "They all know about
Willow." He said easily, "I guess you're right. How about John? Will he stick with your program?"
Sullivan shrugged his shoulders. "He'd better. We need him. But, like I said, he needs us, too. And he
insisted that you approve the contract. Do you want to see it?"
Patrick shifted uncomfortable. "It's nearly ten o'clock. He'll be here in a minute. You can read it to
both of us, then."
Sullivan smiled. "You're getting off easy."
Patrick said, "I know what you're thinking, Mike. And you're right. We are going to turn him over to
the psychiatrist. But not just yet. Not until you get these last three Neol disclosures written up. Another
couple of weeks won't hurt him."
Sullivan's smile deepened.
Patrick said, "Medically, it certainly can't hurt to humor him."
Sullivan laughed. "Con, you're a sham, a fraud, and a hypocrite. Preserve him long enough for him to
file his cases, then let him drop dead."
Patrick bridled. "That's putting it a little strong. If I thought for a moment..."
"Oh, come off it, Con. We're all on edge with this thing. Anyhow, you can take comfort in the thought
that the Patent Department has simply ground out one more contract, one out of a hundred a year, doing
their daily hacking, what they are paid to do, and therefore what they rejoice in doing. If you look at it
that way, you have served your client to the very best of your ability, and at night you can sleep with
sound conscience."
Patrick growled, "If I didn't need you-- "
Sullivan held up his hand. "Speak of the devil-- "
"Come in," called Patrick.
John Fast entered the room. He was an average looking man, average size, of an average grayness.
His face was almost without expression, perhaps a little sad. There was something unnerving in his eyes.
They were acquainted with--
"Horror?" thought Patrick, wondering. No. That was too simple. John Fast was acquainted with the
sub-elements of horror, with the building stones of terror, and with the unrest of darkness. And this was
the man whom he would need tonight. "Hello, John," he said genially. "I hear your Neol cases are going a
mile a minute."
"Going nicely, Con, thanks." Fast looked at Sullivan, then back at Patrick. "Is my contract ready?"
"Contract? Yes, of course, the contract. Mike and I have been going over it. Before we read it to you,
though, we'd like to make sure we've covered everything. Now Mike here has heard your story, but I
haven't. I'd like to hear it from you, straight, exactly the way it happened."
"It's a long story, Con."
"We've got lots of time."
"All right, then." Fast took a deep breath; his eyes grew distant. "I think it began with the ozonator.
You know what ozone smells like? It's sharp, electric. In certain concentrations it's hard to distinguish
from chlorine or sulfur dioxide. You know how the Bible talks about brimstone? Brimstone is sulfur, but
there wasn't any sulfur in Palestine. The old prophets were just trying to identify an odor that was there
long before they learned about sulfur. This creature moves in an atmosphere of ozone. He moves around