haven't had time to find out."

"O.K. So tell us how to make this thing run."

"I'll be psyched if I do."

"You'll be dead if you do not," warned Benj.

"Some day, you stinker, I'll take the satisfaction of killing you."

"I'll never give you cause," sneered Benj.

"Stealing my identity is plenty of cause."

"You won't take satisfaction on that," taunted Benj. "Because you'd have to call me and I'll accept battle with beams."

Cal considered. Normally, he would have been glad to demonstrate to anyone the secret of the Key. But he would have died before he told Benj the time of day. But another consideration came. The Key was worthless—and less valuable would be the vast treasures of Murdoch's Hoard. Why not give him the Key and let him go hunting for the useless stuff?

Wally waved an instant-welder in front of Cal's nose. The tip glowed like a white-hot stylus. "Might singe him a bit," offered Wally.

"Put the iron down," snapped Benj. Wally laid the three-foot shaft on its stand, where it cooled slowly. "Cal wouldn't talk. I know. That thing would only make him madder than a hornet."

"So what do we do with the loke?" asked Wally.

"Take him home and work on him there," said Benj. "Trap his hands."

No more was said until they dropped onto Cal's rooftop. He was ushered down the same way that he had gone up—with beams looking at his backbone. They carried his equipment down, and set it carefully on the table.

"Now," said Benj. "Make with the talk."

"O.K.," said Cal. "This is a cavity resonator—"

"This is too easy," objected Wally. "Something's fishy."

Cal looked at the speaker with scorn. "You imbecile. You've been reading about Murdoch's Hoard. Vast treasure. Money, jewels, and securities. Valuable as hell three hundred and fifty years ago, but not worth a mouthful of 

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