In that moment Lowndes' face turned livid with anger. Seizing the heavy wheel wrench, he lunged for the blue-clad robot. He brought the wrench down squarely in the center of the black bowler.
SSSSSSSSSSS ... SSSSSSTTTTT ... CRACKLE ... SSSSSSTTTT....
The heavy pronged ironite wrench crashed into Nestor's cranial tubes, drove through the blue-gray worn pate, sliced into the fragile old-style gretile metal, battered and shredded the robot's upper works into a twisted mass.
Again and again, in maniacal fury Lowndes slammed the ironite prongs down. Nestor crashed to the floor in a final hiss and crackle.
Lowndes stared at the robot's smashed remains, stared at blue-gray old-fashioned gretile metal scattered in a twisted heap of powdered tubes, shredded relays and curling tensit wires. Off to one side the ledgers lay where they had fallen. He reached out and picked up one of them. He thumbed through the pages, ran his eyes over the lists of holdings set down in Nestor's precise hand. What was this? The page titled Central National showed withdrawals. Where was the balance? His eye riveted on the final figure.... Zero! He threw the ledger down, reached hurriedly for the other. Hah! here were further listings. He flipped rapidly through page after page, intent on the balance. Page after page--One-World Banking--Coxcomb Trust--Martian Financial Institute--Venusian Investors--Cornusian Tex Fund--But--But what was this? All showed withdrawals. All showed balance Zero!
He sagged against the corner of the desk, his face pale. His hands shook. Where were the kredits? What had Nestor done with them? Sweat broke out on his forehead. Steady, Steady--he dragged himself back from panic. His mind worked. Let's see. Central National is the biggest of the repositories; Nestor held the working capital down there. If he converted the kredits, they'd know. He'd tell them; he's dealt with them for over eighty years. I'd better go down and find out. I'll tell them.... He was busy, his mind churning and twisting, concocting a story....
He felt much better as he walked toward the study door. Thoughts intent on Judy, green-eyed, red-lipped, curvaceous Judy, and on the kredits certain to be invested somewhere in the maze of holdings, he stepped over the pile of smashed tubes, twisted relays and scorched tensit wires that had been Nestor. He eyed the pile. Nestor, he reflected, has met with an unavoidable accident. An accident, coincident with a tube failure on Nestor's part, whereby the ground scooter broke its electronic control and ran over the robot. And in the same line of thought ... I shall have to drag him over and stack him in front of the garage and use the wheel wrench on the fenders and head lamps of the scooter. They shall have to be battered to show that....