"E.Voiskunsky, I.Lukodyanov. The Crew Of The Mekong (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

"Look here," said Opratin softly. "Did you try to magnetize that
knife?"
Benedictov stopped short. Opratin's pale blue eyes stared steadily at
him without blinking. Benedictov felt acutely uncomfortable.
"What's it to you?" he muttered.
The ensuing silence lasted several seconds. Benedictov was the first to
lower his eyes.
"Sit down," Opratin said. "I'm not asking out of idle curiosity. I've
been thinking a lot about your knife and it seems to me I've guessed a few
things. Can it be magnetized?"
"Suppose it can? So what?"
"This is extremely important. Don't look at me as if you wanted to tear
me to pieces. I've come here to help you."
"I don't need any help."
Opratin let this remark pass. "Did you measure the knife's electric
resistance?" he asked. "Did you test it for use as the core of an
electromagnet?"
Benedictov had not done that either.
"Did you try it on a voltaic arc?"
Benedictov shook his head thoughtfully.
"How does the knife react to chemical substances?"
He flung question after question at Benedictov. Benedictov gave
reluctant replies. He had not performed half of the tests about which this
uninvited inspector was asking him.
"Well, well," said Opratin. He smoothed his thinning hair. "To all
appearances, my dear man, you have followed the wrong path."
"What path I follow is my own business," Benedictov growled.
"Yes, to be sure." Opratin drummed his fingers on the table. "You're a
biologist and I'm a physicist. Don't you think that if we combined forces
we'd reach the goal faster?"
Benedictov said nothing.
"I won't lay claim to any of your laurels. I just want to help you. All
I'm interested in are the scientific results." Opratin looked searchingly at
Benedictov. "What do you say?"
The biophysicist glanced out of the window. "Damn it!" he said flatly.


CHAPTER SEVEN


IN WHICH A REGATTA BRINGS THREE OF THE CHARACTERS STRAIGHT TO THE PLACE

WHERE THE AUTHORS WANTED THEM TO BE

Early Sunday morning Nikolai Potapkin ran down the steps and out into
the courtyard, swinging his little suitcase. The sleeves of his white shirt
were rolled up above the elbows, his open collar exposed a tanned chest.
Glancing up at the cloudless sky, he shook his head. Not a breath of wind!
Yet this was the day of the big regatta. He arrived at the marina to find
preparations in progress only on the centreboard and Star class boats, for