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inside.
    "Metal expands when heated," Parrott explained. "That band is larger in circumference now than it was before heating. As you can see the water is cooling the breech and the band in turn. As the band cools it contracts evenly and grips the barrel tightly around its entire circumference. Previous to this the usual practice of banding reinforced cannon was not as efficient or as strong. The barrel would be gripped unevenly and in just a few spots. Barrels made in that fashion would be forced to use much smaller charges or they would have exploded."
    "I am impressed. And how many of these new guns are you producing at this time?"
    "At present we complete ten heavy guns every week. Along with two thousand shells for them."
    "In your letter you said that you could increase that?"
    "I can—and I will. With new furnaces and lathes I can expand within three months so that I will be able to produce at least twenty-five guns and seven thousand shells every week." Parrott hesitated a moment and looked disturbed. "The details have been worked out and are ready for your inspection. However, would it be possible... to talk to you in private?"
    "Mr. Cameron and my secretaries share my every confidence."
    Parrott was sweating now—and not from the foundry's heat. "I am sure that they do. But this is a matter of great secrecy, individuals..."
    His voice died away and he glanced at the floor, struggling to compose himself. Lincoln stroked his beard in thought, then turned to Cameron and his secretaries. "Would you gentleman excuse us for a few moments."
    With great relief Parrott led the President to his office and sealed the door behind them. As they crossed the room Lincoln stopped before a framed drawing on the wall. "Mr. Parrott, a moment if you please. What in tarnation is this incredible machine?"
    "That is a copy of the drawing that accompanied a certain patent application. I make it a point of checking all patent applications that might be relevant to my work. I found this on a visit to London some years ago. In 1855 two gentlemen, named Cowen and Sweetlong, if memory serves me right, attempted to patent this armored fighting wagon."
    "It appears to be formidable enough, bristling with cannon and spikes."
    "But highly impractical, Mr. President. With all those guns and the weight of armorplate it would take a steam engine bigger than the wagon itself to make it move. I attempted to revise the design, with a single gun and lighter plating, but it still was not practical."
    "Thank the Lord for that. War is hellish enough now without devilish designs like this to make it even worse. Though it might mean the end of all warfare if something like this appeared on the battlefield. But you said they would be impossible to build?"
    "At the present time, yes. But steam engines are getting smaller and more powerful at the same time—and I have read of successful oil-fired engines. So I would not rule out the possibility that some day an armored battle wagon like this might be built."
    "May that black and evil day never come. But you did not ask me here to discuss this strange device?"
    Parrott looked worried again. When they were seated he spoke.
    "Might I ask you, Mr. Lincoln, if you are acquainted with an officer of the Russian Imperial Navy by the name of Captain Schultz?"
    "That is a strange question to ask. Almost as strange, I am forced to add, as the captain's not very Russian Russian name."
    Parrott struggled with his words. Took off his metal-rimmed spectacles, wiped them and put them back on. "I am a man of honor, Mr. President, and while I enjoy my successes I do not wish to take credit for another's work."
    "You will explain?"
    "Indeed I will. Last year this gentleman visited the foundry and asked if I would make a cannon for the Russian government. I agreed and asked him what his requirements were. He was most precise. He wanted me to make a copy of the British Armstrong rifled cannon. I thought this most unusual and told