CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Needless to say, there was a lot of talk about the strange thing that had happened at the Duston Heights athletic field on the night of the big strikeout contest. Everybody in the city had an opinion of some kind, and you couldn't find two people who had the same version of what had happened. Some said that it was a supernatural event, that it couldn't be explained any other way; others claimed that it was a cheap sleight-of-hand trick, an illusion that had been performed with mirrors. Many people raved that they had known all along that the tall blond pitcher was really a robot and that the poor lighting at the stadium had helped to fool people; and a few claimed that the robot really had been human, and that the professor had murdered Mr. Talus for some obscure reason. Cliff Bullard was interviewed the day after the contest, and he was hopping mad. He said the whole thing was a rotten swindle arranged by somebody—he didn't want to say who. He added that he would sue the dirty so-and-so who had embarrassed him as soon as he saw his lawyer back in New York City.
As for the robot, it was carted away to the city dump—after the professor had pulled out its eyes and smashed them into powder with the jack handle that he kept in his car. A hearse was called to the stadium to carry away the body of an elderly man who had died of a heart attack in his seat, and Dr. Amalia Pimlico was taken to the police station for questioning. Kidnaping is a federal offense, so two F.B.I, agents were called in, and they grilled Dr. Pimlico for some time. At first she was stubborn, but finally she broke down and told the police everything they wanted to know. A helicopter was sent to the abandoned switchman's house in the White Mountains, and Johnny was flown immediately to a local hospital. He was dehydrated because he hadn't had any water for a long time, but he recovered quickly. After two days he was allowed to go home.
While Johnny was recovering, the professor did some snooping. He drove up to Emmett Oglesby's gas station in Stark Corners and poked around and pried up floorboards until he found what he wanted: a journal that Sloane had kept. In it—among other things—was a day-by-day account of the life the old man had led since he came back to Stark Corners. Some letters were stuffed into the journal, and these were helpful too—at least, the professor thought they were.
Finally, when Johnny was feeling better, Professor Coote invited everybody up to a party at his cottage on Lake Winnepesaukee. Gramma and Grampa, Fergie, the professor, and Johnny all went, and the party was a lot of fun: there was plenty to eat and drink, and Professor Coote took everyone for a moonlight cruise on the Mount Washington, a large old-fashioned excursion boat. Later, everyone was sitting around stuffed and happy on the porch of the cottage, and the two professors started to talk about Evaristus Sloane and his magic robot.
"So, Roderick," said Professor Coote as he sipped his brandy, "you really didn't know there was writing on the blade of that silly sword! I think that's extremely funny—I mean, you are a scholar and everything!"
"Har de har har!" said the professor grumpily. "It's a big fat joke, isn't it? All right, I'll admit it—I was fooled. I know several languages, but Arabic isn't one of them. I thought all those squirls and squiggles were just a decorative pattern. Humph! And so it seems that the ghost of the man whose eyes were stolen wanted vengeance, and he gave us a weapon to use. But why on earth didn't he just say what he wanted us to do with the sword?"
Professor Coote smiled smugly. "Roderick, I'm ashamed of you!" he said. "You know as much about folklore as I do, and you should be aware that ghosts are very often tongue-tied. They appear and mumble something and frighten the dickens out of us. Then they leave us to try and figure out what it is they want us to do. In the end, of course, you didn't figure out what the sword was for—you just survived by pure dumb luck!"
The professor shrugged. "Well, luck or not, it was a darned good thing I brought the cane with me to the stadium the other night!"
"It certainly is!" put in Professor Coote emphatically. "If you had sprayed that robot with machine gun fire, he would just have brushed the bullets away like flies. If you had tried to jam an ordinary sword's point into that keyhole, you would just have wound up with a broken sword. It takes magic to fight magic! By the way, Roderick, would you care to read the inscription to our friends here? It might interest them."
Professor Childermass reached into the pocket of his suit coat and took out a white card. On it was written Professor Coote's translation of the writing on the blade of the magic sword:
This is the Sword of Righteousness, dipped thrice in the waters of the River Jordan at midnight, during the moon's eclipse. Wield it against the servant of the Evil One and God will prevail.
The professor read these words aloud in a solemn voice, and then he flipped the card out onto the middle of the porch rug. "How about that?" he sighed. "I wonder who owned that sword originally—some Muslim wizard, maybe? Ah, well, it worked for us in our time of need, and that is what counts!"
There was silence for a while. In the distance, a motor-boat's sleepy drone could be heard. Then Johnny spoke up.
"Why did old Sloane want to use my eyes in his robot?" he asked plaintively. "I know he wanted to get even with Grampa, but... well, wouldn't a robot with nearsighted eyes be kind of useless?"
The professor looked pained. The whole business of Sloane and his evil plans really disgusted him, and he didn't like to talk about it. However, he felt that Johnny had a right to an answer. "In the first place," he began as he lit a cigarette, "I think we will all agree that Sloane was as nutty as a fruitcake. According to his journal, he had gotten it into his head that his robot really ought to have nearsighted eyes! And why, you will ask? Well, as far as I can figure out from the letters and newspaper clippings that I found in Sloane's journal, his original robot was not a huge success—it got loose and ran around killing people. Sloane decided that a robot with nearsighted eyes would be easier to control: he would equip it with glasses, but the glasses could be taken away if the robot started acting rambunctious. Or, if worse came to worst, Sloane could knock the glasses off with a pole or shatter them with a BB from an air rifle. Then the silly robot would stagger around and crash into trees until it collapsed, or until Sloane caught up with it and used the magic key to shut it off. But—"
"What happened to the key, anyway?" asked Fergie, interrupting. "Does old Mrs. Uglypuss still have it?"
The professor smiled smugly. "No, she most certainly does not! When she was put into her jail cell, her purse was taken away from her, and I managed to get my fat fist into it when no one was looking. I swiped the key and pitched it into the middle of Round Pond."
After a brief pause, Professor Coote spoke up. "You know, Roderick," he said, "the strangest part of this whole weird business is how that spectacle case with the glass eyes in it came to be left in a bush for you to find. Sloane must have hidden it away somewhere in or near the house, and maybe you're right in thinking that a robber found the case and then threw it away. But still, I keep wondering if some evil power meant for you to find those eyes. Doesn't it seem possible to you?"
The professor puffed on his cigarette and looked thoughtful. "Ye-es," he said slowly, "it does seem possible. And if I ever meet the evil power in a back alley, I will give it a fat lip and a couple of black eyes. Think of all the trouble those wretched glass eyes caused! It's incredible, isn't it?"
Silence again. Rockers creaked, and Grampa Dixon puffed quietly on his pipe. In a corner of the screened porch, a card table stood. On it was a bowl of pinkish punch, some paper cups, and a candle in a fancy china holder. As Johnny watched, the candle's flame flickered in the chilly night breeze. His life had been like that, a flickering flame in the dark, and if it hadn't been for the courage of his friends ...
Suddenly Fergie spoke up. "Hey, prof! What're they gonna do to old Mrs. Pimlico, or whatever her name is?"
The professor sighed and blew out a stream of cigarette smoke. "She's going to stand trial on a kidnaping charge," he said calmly. "Johnny will have to testify, and I'm sure i
t'll be a disagreeable experience, but I will not be happy until that old bat is behind bars permanently—or at least, for twenty years. For the record, her real name is Amalia Sloane. She married Evaristus Sloane way back in the old days, when they were both young, and if those closemouthed people up in Stark Corners had told me about her in the first place, we might have been spared a good deal of trouble. I mean, we might have been on the lookout for her, instead of being taken by surprise the way we were."
"By the way, Roderick," Professor Coote asked, "did Sloane's wife stay with him during the time when he was away from Stark Corners?"
The professor shook his head. "No," he said, "she did not. As you know, he had to flee from the town because of the murderous deeds of his robot. At that time, he went to England, and she went somewhere else. But they stayed in contact by writing letters to each other, and over the long years Sloane dreamed up this idea of making a better robot, one that would loot bank vaults and make them both rich. Old Amalia was skeptical about this, but she was also greedy, so when they both wound up back in the United States again, she decided to throw in with him. As it happened, she had become an optometrist, and she decided to use her profession to find a victim for him. By a coincidence, she happened to set up her office here in Duston Heights. It was a coincidence that almost proved fatal to poor John here."
"She's a bad one, ain't she?" put in Grampa. "How can anybody be that rotten?"
"Oh, it's easy for some people," said the professor with a sour smile. "She has a heart like a brass door knocker. And now, for heaven's sake, let's talk about something else!" With that he pulled himself up out of his chair and went to get a cup of punch. As he was sipping, Professor Coote started to chuckle.
"Well?" snapped the professor, turning round and glaring at him. "What is it that's so incredibly funny? Eh?"
"Oh, not much, Roderick," said his friend, still laughing. "But have you heard what Cliff Bullard thinks about this whole affair? He remembered that you were the one who heckled him down in Fenway Park earlier this year, and so he thinks the whole thing with the robot was an elaborate practical joke that you dreamed up just to make him look foolish. He won't let anyone say in print that he suspects you, but the boys down at the Gazette office say that is what he really thinks."
"Cliff Bullard hasn't had a thought since he was in diapers," snapped the professor. "By the way, Charley, I have two tickets for a Yankees-Red Sox game down at Fenway in May. Would you care to go with me?"
"It depends on where the seats are," his friend shot back. "If we're close enough to the field for Bullard to recognize you, I wouldn't be there for all the money in the world."
Everybody laughed, and the professor's face got red. "I'll wear a fake beard and a stocking cap," he growled sarcastically.
"Will you promise not to shout and scream insults?" asked Professor Coote in a taunting voice.
"I won't promise in writing," the professor said, and the laughter got louder. It was a good sound, and Johnny was glad to join in.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1986 by John Bellairs
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-2527-3
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Eyes of the Killer Robot Page 12