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Updated: June 13, 2025
But no indeed, my good fellow, you don't know Erik Sörensen! Rector Sören Quist of Veilbye came to see me this morning. He has a new coachman, Niels Bruus, brother to the owner of Ingvorstrup. Niels is lazy and impertinent. The rector wanted him arrested, but he had no witnesses to back up his complaint.
Then came June and a series of destructive air raids on London. There was a crisis. Something had to be done, and finally, after passing to and fro among half the factories of England, our men succeeded in getting the tenders lodged with the Ministry. Lord Milner exhibited these tenders to Mr. Sorensen.
As soon as he had seen the test out on Salt Flats, he had realized that Sorensen had developed a battery that was worth every cent he had asked for it. Thorn himself had pushed for the negotiations to get them through without too much friction. A million bucks was a lot of loot, but there was no chance of losing it, really.
Now the time had come to see what was inside that mysterious Little Black Suitcase. Sorensen had obligingly brought the suitcase to the main testing and development laboratory of North American Carbide & Metals. Sorensen put it on the lab table, but he didn't open it right away. "Now I want you to understand, Mr. Thorn," he began, "that I, myself, don't exactly know how this thing works.
We at once cabled our entire willingness to lend the drawings, the benefit of what experience we had to date, and whatever men might be necessary to get production under way, and on the next ship sent Charles E. Sorensen with full drawings. Mr. Sorensen had opened the Manchester plant and was familiar with English conditions. He was in charge of the manufacture of tractors in this country. Mr.
"It's Sorensen an' Peabody," some one cried, "a-throwin' the whip into the dawgs an' headin' down river!" "Now, what the hell !" Shunk Wilson paused, with dropped jaw, and glared at Lucy. "I reckon you can explain, Mrs Peabody." She tossed her head and compressed her lips, and Shunk Wilson's wrathful and suspicious gaze passed on and rested on Breck.
One of the technicians came in, wiping his forehead with a big blue bandana. "Well, there she goes. Mr. Sorensen, if that thing is dangerous, hadn't we better back off a little way from it?" "It isn't dangerous," Sorensen said. "Nothing's going to happen." The technician looked unhappy. "Then I don't see why we couldn't've tested the thing back in the shop. Would've been a lot easier there.
Thorn asked, knowing what the answer would be. "Nope," Sorensen said. "I can handle it." The suitcase wasn't really black. It was a dark cordovan brown, made even darker by long usage, which had added oily stains to the well-used leather. But Thorn thought of it as the Black Suitcase simply because it was the perfect example of the proverbial Little Black Box the box that Did Things.
"I should think you would do well to go to the ferry-woman in Borrehaus," answered the captain. "If you want to be very civil to her, her name is Mother Soren Sorensen Muller. But it may happen that she may fly into a fury if you are too polite to her. The man is in custody for a crime, and that's why she manages the ferry-boat herself she has fists of her own."
But there would be no point in telling Sorensen that his protective efforts had already been anticipated and that the technicians had already been warned against touching the Black Suitcase any more than necessary to connect the leads. Giving Sorensen that information might make him even more touchy.
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