Formula for Death

And now, a tale well calculated to keep you in... Spence. In a moment, Act 1 of Formula 4 Death, written especially for suspense by Jonathan Bundy. You assured us you'd begin grinding the necessary lenses days ago.

Weeks ago, in fact. I know Colonel Humboldt, I know it. Well then why haven't you? Because Colonel, I haven't yet received my formula from Dr. Hoffman. Dr. Hoffman? Until he brings it here, there's... Well, simply nothing that I can do.

You mean, Frederick Bernard Hoffman? Yes. Oh, then heaven help us. Why or why couldn't someone beside that old crackpot have been assigned to develop the formula for this land system? Don't you know Hoffman his reputation?

Oh, very well. Well, then why pick him of all people? Because he's the only man we can depend on to do it properly. I don't believe it. As a matter of fact, I've been wondering why you haven't just fed the requirements into one of those electronic brains and let it devise the formula for you.

In a matter of seconds. Perhaps... well, days, weeks, months. That was tried, Colonel Unbold. You know it as well as I do. And so, with no success whatsoever. But it has been months now for now, literally months.

Since you promised us this optical system, and what has happened? Absolutely nothing. One of the potentially most important factors in celestial observation from a guided satellite must wait on the winds of a dottering old... old crackpot.

Crackpot? Well, isn't he? You think I haven't heard of his silly hobby, his preoccupation with the supernatural? His ridiculous belief in psychic phenomena, his conviction that he himself is endowed with supernormal powers. Who knows?