Back Room Girl: By the author of Paul Temple. Francis Durbridge

were looking into a long low room, or cavern, fitted with lathes and other kinds of machinery. Half a dozen men in overalls were working there.

      ‘They’re working on various parts of the rocket,’ explained Miss Silvers. ‘It’s all highly technical, I’m afraid, but these men are the pick of their kind from the whole country and they love the work.’

      ‘Even though they don’t know what it’s for?’

      ‘Well, they know the general idea, but this work is so highly skilled and must be absolutely accurate. That appeals to their sense of craftsmanship, as well as their technical skill.’

      ‘Must be a bit dull working in this place, with no opportunities for recreation.’

      ‘Oh, we have a games and recreation room. There’s billiards and snooker, table tennis, darts, cards, chess, draughts—’

      ‘Whoa!’ said Roy, laughing. ‘That’s enough. No swimming pool?’

      ‘No swimming pool, though a few of the hardier spirits occasionally slip out for a moonlight bathe, when it’s warm enough.’

      They went along seemingly innumerable galleries, seeing more workshops and laboratories, all fitted with the latest apparatus, over which men were busily poring. Finally, after they had walked what seemed miles to Roy, they came to a big, central chamber in which a monstrous-looking machine, rather like a cross between a flying bomb and a super-streamlined ’plane, was taking shape under the hands of overalled workmen.

      ‘Well, this is it,’ said Miss Silvers, and Roy noted the ring of pride in her voice and saw the light of enthusiasm in her eyes.

      ‘Odd,’ he said, and it was almost as if he were talking to himself, ‘that a woman as attractive as you are can get so het up about a thing as inhuman as this. I suppose it must be the joy of creating something which no one has ever created before. But don’t you ever wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat when you think what this thing might do if it got into the wrong hands? What could it do, by the way?’

      She was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t really know,’ she said. ‘No one knows. But one atom bomb of the Hiroshima type equalled, according to U.S. calculations, the full load of 210 Super Fortresses. The Hiroshima bomb, of course, is now quite out of date.’ She paused, as if to let this sink in. When she spoke again it was to ask a question.

      ‘Ever read a book called Man’s Last Choice, by E. M. Friedwald?’

      ‘Can’t say I have.’

      ‘You should. Everybody should. Then maybe they’ll realize what they may be letting themselves in for if they don’t insist on the nations controlling atomic power. Well, Mr Friedwald estimates that an atomic war – the real thing – would be from 500 to 1000 times as big as the last war. The last war cost over 10,000,000 lives. So work out the cost of the next one. You get a figure of probably 10,000,000,000 fatal casualties – that’s only from two and a half to five times as many people as there are on this earth. That should answer another of your questions.

      ‘Yes, I do sometimes wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, especially since I knew about the danger from Delouris and his crowd. Sometimes I almost feel as if I’d like to smash this thing, this dream of mine, to smithereens. I would smash it rather than Delouris should ever get his hands on it. But then I think of what it might do for the peace of the world in our hands. Possession of this weapon, when it becomes known, as it is intended that it shall become known at the right time, ought to deter anyone else from starting another war.’

      ‘A curious way of preventing war,’ observed Roy, ‘to have a bigger stick than the other fellow, but human nature being what it is at present, and nations being what they are, I suppose it’s the best we can do until we learn more sense. I wonder if we ever shall.’

      ‘But of course,’ said Miss Silvers, and her tone admitted of no doubt. ‘We must. I couldn’t go on working if I didn’t believe that. There’d be no point in it. It may not come in our time, of course, but surely we have an obligation to humanity to think beyond our own little lives.’

      ‘Idealist as well as scientist, are you?’ said Roy, and he looked at her with a new interest. She coloured a little. Roy reflected that it was a curious interlude in such a setting.

      Miss Silvers broke the spell. ‘Well, that’s that. And now I must get back to my work, if you don’t mind.’

      ‘Don’t you ever relax?’

      ‘Sometimes.’ There was a note of regret in her voice. ‘But I haven’t had much time for it during the last few years.

      ‘Nor have I. But it’s a good thing to do now and again, no matter how busy one is. I’ve found that all right during the last few months while I’ve been going back to nature, so to speak. The rhythm of my life’s altered completely – at least it had until this morning! It’s been slower, deeper, richer, more natural altogether.’ He paused and sighed. ‘You ought to come and see my chalet and spend a lazy day or two sun-bathing. It would do you good, make you forget all this load of responsibility. It’s too much for one person to carry alone.’

      ‘Oh, I’m not carrying it alone,’ said Miss Silvers. ‘There are lots of scientists all over the world who feel as I do. We all share the burden in some degree or other. That makes it easier.’

      ‘Still, you ought to relax more. What about my sunbathing offer?’

      Miss Silvers laughed. ‘Persistent, aren’t you? I suppose that’s the newspaperman in you. Well, maybe one day, when this is all over, I’ll accept your invitation. And now we must be getting back.

      Going back along the galleries Roy stumbled once and nearly fell. He leaned against the wall for a moment. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I feel a bit faint.’

      Karen Silvers was suddenly all contrition. ‘What an idiot I am!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d forgotten all about your head. And I’ve been dragging you along for what must have seemed miles.’

      ‘They did,’ Roy said, with a rueful grin, ‘but a good night’s rest should put me right.’

      She looked at her watch. ‘Good heavens! We’ve been on the go for nearly two hours. And it won’t be dark yet. You must have some supper before you go.’

      Chief Inspector Leyland was tidying up his papers when they rejoined him. Roy was glad to drop down on the camp bed.

      ‘Miss Silvers exhausted you?’ asked Leyland. ‘She’s a bit of an enthusiast, you know.’

      ‘Yes, I’m afwully sorry,’ said Miss Silvers. ‘I’d forgotten all about the poor man’s injury. It won’t be dark yet, so what about some supper?’

      ‘Well, I’m ready for it,’ said Leyland, ‘and I’m sure Roy is. I’ll clear these things away while you get Tom on the job.’

      He stuffed his papers into a briefcase and Miss Silvers went out to order supper. She brought Angus back with her. He jumped on the camp bed and crawled all over Roy.

      ‘You faithless hound,’ said Roy, pushing him off. ‘Forget all about me when you’re near a kitchen, don’t you? I hope Tom hasn’t given you all the supper.’

      ‘No, sir, I’ve managed to save something for you,’ said Tom, who had come in and was beginning to lay the table. ‘Persuasive little fellow, isn’t he?’ he added, nodding at Angus. ‘Reminds me of a dog we had on the Rawalpindi. Went down with the ship, poor chap.’

      In a few minutes they were sitting down to a supper of steak and chips, followed by cheese, biscuits and celery, and pints of beer to wash it down.

      ‘I must say you do yourselves well here,’ remarked Roy as he drained his glass. ‘I’ll bet that steak wasn’t on the ration. I haven’t tasted one like it since the war – and not many of them then.’

      ‘Well,’ said Leyland