Free The Transvection Machine by Edward D. Hoch Page B

rain, unwittingly protecting him. Only his back offered an easy target, and this was covered by the raincloak.
    Frost cursed softly and stopped following them. Bad luck. He could do nothing without making it obvious, and if Defoe became suspicious he might seek medical treatment and obtain an antidote for the poison. Frost must wait for another day, when Defoe might be alone, or without the protection of the bulky raincloak.
    He crossed the street and walked quickly away, turning up his collar against the renewed fury of the rain.

7 CARL CRADER
    C RADER WAS UNHAPPY WITH progress on the case. It was not going the way he liked to see them go. For one thing, after a day of careful investigation they were still not even certain that the computer had actually killed Vander Defoe. Staring out the window at the dredging scows in the harbor, he began to make a mental list of the possibilities. Granted the machine could do no wrong without human error or intent, he was left with no less than four likely avenues of investigation:
    First, Secretary Defoe’s death could have been accidental, caused by negligence on the part of Nurse Simmons or others on the staff at Salk Memorial Hospital. He had a strong feeling such might be the case, simply because there was no outward evidence of murder, and yet, Earl’s questioning of the hospital people had failed to turn up anything concrete.
    A second possibility was that a revolutionary group, like the one this man Frost belonged to, had planned and executed the assassination. It was certainly a likely possibility, and one to be investigated.
    Third, the killing of Vander Defoe might be a purely personal crime, in which case suspicion would point to his estranged wife, Gretel, or to his former partner Hubert Ganger. Each could be said to have a strong motive—especially Ganger, if the rumors that Defoe had stolen the transvection machine from him should prove correct.
    He punched up the vision-phone and got Maarten Tromp at the New White House. “Maarten, I’ve just been thinking about Defoe’s death.”
    “Yes?” Tromp replied, speaking from his cluttered desk. On the wall behind him Crader could see a chart of world population increases since 2025. He had a sudden thought that perhaps enemy agents could be calling high government officials simply to see and photograph their offices on the vision-phone. But certainly the security people had thought of that one too.
    “Well, I understand he was the only one in government familiar in full detail with the operation of the transvection machine.”
    “That’s correct. The machine is still experimental, as you know. We’re having the damndest time trying to make sense out of his notes.”
    “And if you can’t make sense of them?”
    “What?” Tromp was frowning into the vision-phone.
    “If you can’t make sense, does that mean the revolutionary groups are successful? That the transvection machine can’t be used?”
    “Not at all,” Tromp replied. “If they killed Defoe for that, they’re out of luck. The president has already contacted Defoe’s former partner, Hubert Ganger, to stand by. He may be brought in to work with us on the machine. Why do you ask?”
    “I’m trying to establish just who is profiting by Defoe’s death. The revolutionaries are, in a sense, but it’s likely right now that Hubert Ganger might well profit the most.”
    “You could look at it that way,” Tromp agreed. “And I’ve already told you about his relationship with Mrs. Defoe.”
    “Yes.” Crader was playing with a piece of flexible circuitry which had somehow found its way onto his desk. “Well,” he said, “could you let me know if the president decides to appoint Ganger to a government position? It might affect the course of our investigation.”
    “Of course. I’ll keep you informed.”
    “Thanks, Maarten.”
    Crader broke the connection and sat staring at the flexible circuit. It was a type found in most computers these days,