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Updated: June 13, 2025
Thorn only hoped that the bomb, or whatever it was that Sorensen had put in the suitcase, was well built, properly fused, and provided with adequate safeties. When everything was set up, Sorensen walked over to his device and turned it on by shoving the blade of a heavy-duty switch into place. "O.K.," he said.
And I don't want 'em getting funny with me, either." He had his hand in his trouser pocket, and Thorn was suddenly quite certain that the man was holding a revolver. He could see the outlines against the cloth. Thorn sighed. "Don't worry, Mr. Sorensen. We don't have any ulterior designs on your invention."
Farewell, my own beloved bride. . . . What will she do? she is so strangely calm the calm of wordless despair. Her brother has not yet come, and to-morrow on the Ravenshill ! Here the diary of Erik Sorensen stopped suddenly. What followed can be learned from the written and witnessed statements of the pastor of Aalso, the neighboring parish to Veilbye.
The cavalcade of vehicles arrived at the appointed spot umpteen miles from nowhere and pulled up in a circle. Thorn climbed out wearily and saw the man who called himself Sorensen climb out of the second jeep. From the first time he had seen him, Thorn had tagged Sorensen as an Angry Old Man. Not that he was really getting old; he was still somewhere on the brisk side of fifty.
Sorensen didn't mind discussing his battery in the abstract, but he was awfully close-mouthed when it came to talking about it in concrete terms. He would talk about batteries-in-general, but not about this-battery-in-particular. Not that Thorn blamed him in the least. Sorensen was absolutely correct in his statements about the state of the art of making voltaic cells.
Sorensen's Black Suitcase was still a problem to Thorn. He couldn't quite figure out what was in it. "Hotter'n Billy Blue Blazes!" Sorensen said as he put the Black Suitcase down on the gleaming white ground. He grinned a little, which dispelled for a moment his Angry Old Man expression, and said: "You ready to go, Mr. Thorn?" "I'm ready any time you are," Thorn said grumpily.
One of the other men in the lab said: "What kind of a joke is this?" "Do you mean, Mr. Sorensen," Thorn asked with controlled precision, "that your million-dollar process is merely some kind of gimmickry with our own batteries?" "No," said Sorensen. "It's " "Wait a minute," said one of the others, "is it some kind of hydrogen fuel cell?" "In a way," Sorensen said. "Yes, in a way.
"Then why all the folderol?" "Colonel," Thorn said, "Sorensen patented that device nine years ago. It only has eight years to run. But he couldn't get anyone at all to believe that it would do what he said it would do. After years of beating his head against a stone wall, years of trying to convince people who wouldn't even look twice at his gadget, he decided to get smart.
But Richard Thorn wanted to make certain that all his data was both correct and recorded. Sorensen had nothing to do but watch. He had no hand in setting up the equipment. He had brought the Black Suitcase, and that was all he was going to be allowed to do. From the top of the Black Suitcase projected two one-inch copper electrodes, fourteen inches apart.
Say, Sorensen, you go an' bring Bill Peabody back. We'll be votin' a verdict pretty short. Now, Stranger, you can get up an' say your say concernin' what happened. In the meantime we'll just be savin' delay by passin' around the two rifles, the ammunition, an' the bullets that done the killin'."
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