“Krolmus.”

“Yes, Krolmus has simplified my atomic motor amazingly—the transformation of electronic energy into motor power, you know. He’s an able fellow, my boy, is Krolmus. And what other news is there?”

G. H. Bondy went on writing assiduously.

“We’re building,” he said after a while. “Seven thousand bricklayers on the job. A factory for Karburators.”

“At Vysočany. And we’ve increased our share capital. A billion and a half. Our new invention’s getting into the papers. See for yourself,” he added, tipping half a hundredweight of Czech and foreign papers into Marek’s lap, then buried himself in the documents on his desk.

“I haven’t been for a fortnight,” said Marek gloomily.

“Haven’t been where?”

“I haven’t been to my little factory out at Břevnov for a fortnight. I—I daren’t go there. Is anything being done there?”

“Mphm.”

“And what about my Karburator?” asked Marek, controlling his anxiety.

“It’s still running.”

“And what about . . . the other thing?”

The Chief sighed and laid down his pen. “Do you know that we had to have Mixa Street closed?”

“Why?”

“People kept going there to pray. Whole processions of them. The police tried to disperse them, and seven people lost their lives. They let themselves be knocked over like sheep.”

“I feared as much, I feared as much,” muttered Marek in despair.

“We’ve blocked the street with barbed wire,” Bondy went on. “We had to clear the people out of the neighbouring houses—religious manifestations all over them, you know. A commission of the Ministries of Health and Education is occupying them now.”

“I expect,” said Marek with a breath of relief, “that the authorities will prohibit my Karburator.”

“Oh, no they won’t,” said G. H. Bondy. “The Clerical party are making a fearful row about your Karburator, and for that very reason the progressive parties have taken it under their wing. In reality no one knows what it’s all about. It’s evident that you don’t read the papers, man. It’s developed into a quite needless attack upon clericalism, and the Church happens to have a little right on its side in this case. That confounded Bishop informed the Cardinal Archbishop——”

“What Bishop?”

“Oh, some Bishop by the name of Linda, quite a sensible man in other respects. You see, I took him up there as an expert, to inspect the wonderworking Absolute. His inspection lasted a full three hours, and he spent the whole time in the cellar, and . . .”

“He got religion?” burst out Marek.