“I was interested,” said Everard. “I’ve worked abroad, as you can see, and would like to travel again. But frankly, I still don’t have the faintest idea what your outfit does.”

“We do a good many things,” said Mr. Gordon. “Let me see… you’ve been in combat. France and Germany.” Everard blinked; his papers had included a record of medals, but he’d have sworn the man hadn’t had time to read them. “Um… would you mind grasping those knobs on the arms of your chair? Thank you. Now, how do you react to physical danger?”

Everard bristled. “Look here—”

Mr. Gordon’s eyes flicked to an instrument on his desk: it was merely a box with an indicator needle and a couple of dials. “Never mind. What are your views on internationalism?”

“Say, now—”

“Communism? Fascism? Women? Your personal ambitions?… That’s all. You don’t have to answer.”

“What the devil is this, anyway?” snapped Everard.

“A bit of psychological testing. Forget it. I’ve no interest in your opinions except as they reflect basic emotional orientation.” Mr. Gordon leaned back, making a bridge of his fingers. “Very promising so far. Now, here’s the setup. We’re doing work which is, as I’ve told you, highly confidential. We… ah… we’re planning to spring a surprise on our competitors.” He chuckled. “Go ahead and report me to the FBI if you wish. We’ve already been investigated and have a clean bill of health. You’ll find that we really do carry on world-wide financial and engineering operations. But there’s another aspect of the job, and that’s the one we want men for. I’ll pay you one hundred dollars to go in the back room and take a set of tests. It’ll last about three hours. If you don’t pass, that’s the end of it. If you do, we’ll sign you on, tell you the facts, and start you training. Are you game?”