In this case, it seemed necessary. Why waste two years? More than forty of them had been wasted already in hard work. Tinney wanted to take his inexhaustible fortune and raise hell. He wanted to go to South America—Rio, Buenos Aires, and other locations publicized by Don Ameche. He wanted—lots of things.
He wanted them now!
“But,” his more sensible self argued, “why take a chance? Two years isn’t so long. And when the time’s up, you’ll be completely free. Mr. Silver said so.”
“Damn Mr. Silver,” was the inaudible response. “Why should I play nursemaid to him for the next two years?”
“A bargain’s a bargain.”
“It didn’t cost Silver anything, did it? If I were a god, I’d have something better to do than travel around the country on the vaudeville circuit.”
“But you can have plenty of fun while you do.”
“I wouldn’t feel safe,” Tinney argued passionately. “You know how gods are. Capricious. He might take it into his head to do—anything!”
“So you’re going to get the jump on him, eh? Louse.”
“Shut up!” Tinney commanded, and was obeyed. He turned his thoughts to the immediate problem. Getting rid of Mr. Silver.
It didn’t sound easy, and was harder than it sounded. You couldn’t sprinkle holy water on the man. You couldn’t shoot him with a silver bullet. Well, he wasn’t a man—or a demon. He was a god.
Tinney brooded.
He had found no answer several days later, when Mr. Silver informed him that a huge New York theater had been rented for the initial performance.
“Rented?”
“I used argument,” Silver smiled. “After all, you’re a big name in New York now. I’ve been giving you a great deal of publicity.”
“I know,” Tinney grunted. “I saw the papers. An elephant on top of the Empire State, for heaven’s sake! What a thing to do!”
“Oh, it wasn’t a real elephant. And it was marvelous publicity.”
They were in the uptown apartment Silver had rented for the two of them. Gray light slanted in through the tall windows. A storm was approaching.
Silver cast a vaguely apprehensive glance around. “You remember your lines? And the action?”
“Sure. But—”
“Then you’ll be at the theater tonight. Don’t forget the time. I’ll meet you there.”
“What’s the rush?” Tinney asked, but got no answer. Mr. Silver had vanished. He evinced a curious fear of thunderstorms, Tinney decided. He began to wonder why, but was distracted by the buzzing of the house phone.
IT WAS Luciferno the Great. He said, “Hi, Tinney. I’m coming up—” and the phone went dead. Soon afterward, the gaunt, diabolic-looking man appeared at the door, grinned at Tinney, and collapsed in the nearest chair.
“Had a hard night. I was trying to keep Zeno sober. Got a drink?”
Tinney went to the sideboard and mixed highballs. “Zeno? Is he on a tear?”
“Yeah,” said Luciferno slowly. “Funny. He hardly ever touched the stuff . . . If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was crazy. He kept telling me that you’d—um—sold your soul to the devil.”
Tinney laughed falsely. “Imagine that!”
“I’d rather not,” Luciferno said, tugging at his goatee. “I just dropped over to wish you luck in your debut tonight. You joined the Union, didn’t you?”
“Sure.” Mr. Silver had attended to that detail.
“You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, Tinney. The publicity you’ve been knocking out lately—it’s good. I wish you’d sold me some of those illusions before you gave up your shop.”
“Oh, well,” Tinney said vaguely. “I had to save a few for myself.”
“Um.” Luciferno had something on his mind. That was obvious. Finally he put down his drink and leaned forward.
“I’m a magician,” he said quietly. “I work with illusions. Tricks, if you like. Real magic doesn’t exist. All my life I’ve known that.”
Tinney glanced away. “True.”
“But I have wondered, sometimes, if—hell!” Luciferno said sharply. “You know, Zeno got me going last night. We were both pretty tight. And—who is this man Silver, anyway?”
Before Tinney could answer, the buzzer warned him of someone at the door. He rose with relieved alacrity and admitted the newcomer. It was Professor Zeno.
The little man was still drunk. He bounced into the room like a rubber ball, glared at Tinney, and swung toward Luciferno. “Well?” he snapped. “I’m glad to see you’re safe. I got worried about what he might do to you, alone up here.”
“Good Lord, man,” Luciferno pacified, and grinned at Tinney. “Zeno got me to come up here and see you. He was waiting in the lobby . . . For my money, somebody’s acting a little crazy. But I don’t know who.”
Zeno went uninvited to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff hooker. “Okay,” he said, turning. “Ask Tinney. Just ask him. Ask him who that—that horror Silver is!
“Who’s that horror Silver?” Luciferno asked obediently.
Tinney sat down and recovered his highball. “He’s not the devil, anyhow.”
Zeno gulped brandy and shuddered. “You’re a liar. He—he worked magic for me in the back room of your shop. Pretty nasty magic. He wasn’t faking.”
Luciferno sighed. “An old-timer like you being taken in by smart patter,” he remonstrated. “I’m surprised.”
Tinney said suddenly, “He isn’t human—Silver, I mean. Zeno’s right.”
THERE was a dead silence. Tinney went on, watching his glass: “He’s not the devil. He’s a—a god.”
Luciferno was having trouble with his highball. Zeno watched Tinney with round, slightly glazed eyes.
“Spill it,” Luciferno said. “I’m going around in circles. You and Zeno—let’s have it!”
Tinney obeyed. He told them what had happened. Not everything, though. He omitted a few significant items—such as the inexhaustible wallet.
When he had finished, the long silence grew longer. Zeno was the first to break it.
“Devil or god, he’s not anything that belongs in this world. You’ve got to—to exorcise him!”
Tinney’s smile was lop-sided. “Just like that, eh? D’you think I want to have him around?”
LUCIFERNO said carefully, “I don’t admit that I’m convinced, of course. But working on the assumption—the perfectly insane assumption—that Silver is a god, it’s obvious that something has got to be done. I spent years learning my trade.
I can make an elephant disappear from the stage—and I get paid plenty for things like that. Now suppose this guy Silver can wave his hand and make—hell, make a whole theater disappear! It’s unfair competition.”
“Eh?” Tinney didn’t quite comprehend. “Suppose you were a miner,” Luciferno explained. “You made a living digging gold out of the ground. Somebody comes along with the Philosopher’s Stone and says he can transform anything into gold. Unfair competition. Nobody’d pay you to work in a mine if gold could be got out of empty air. Magic can create far more spectacular effects than stage-craft. I can’t compete with a god. Neither can Zeno. It—why, audiences simply won’t pay to see us. We’ll be penny-ante stuff to them. They’ll want the real thing—your friend Silver.”
Tinney hadn’t considered that aspect of the situation. Personally, he didn’t give a damn. But the problem seemed sufficiently important to Luciferno and Zeno.
“It isn’t my fault,” he said at last. “I’m just as anxious to get rid of Silver as you are. I didn’t want to become a magician.”
“Can’t we pay him off?”
“He’s a god,” Tinney reminded the other.
“True. He wouldn’t need money . . . What about threats?”
“He’s a god,” Tinney repeated. “Dangerous—you know!”
Zeno shivered. “It’s against nature. He’s a menace to civilization.”
Luciferno finished his highball. “I don’t
know why I’m discussing this crazy business seriously. But I’ve got to protect my business.”
Tinney veiled his eyes as he considered a new thought. “What you said about threats—”
“Eh?”
“Silver told me that he’s handicaped by his human form. He’s more or less subject to natural laws.”
Zeno’s round face was flushed. “He wouldn’t listen to threats.”
“That’s just it. The—the creature’s a menace. We’ll be justified in acting to protect ourselves. Lu, your floating basket illusion—”
“I know. What about it?”
“You use a stooge inside the basket—and then stick swords through the wicker. Suppose you didn’t use a stooge. Suppose—Silver—”
“That’s murder!” Curiously enough, it was Zeno who spoke.
“Murder?” Tinney glared at him. “You’re the guy who’s been yelling about devils. Is it murder to liquidate a devil?”
Luciferno stood up. “Zeno, we don’t want Silver coming in while we’re talking. Go down to the lobby and stand guard. If you see him, phone up here. Quick!”
THE note of command in his voice was conclusive. Zeno, after a worried glance around, departed. Luciferno mixed a strong highball and smiled at Tinney. “Now we can talk.”
“Silver can appear out of the air, Lu. It’s no use having Zeno stand guard downstairs.”
“I know. I just wanted to get him out of the way. Why are you so willing to give up a theater tour that’ll mean big dough? You’re not in the chips.”
“I’m afraid of Silver.”
Luciferno gulped whiskey-and-soda and leaned back. “I’ll wait till you’re ready to tell me. Here’s the angle, Tinney. I’ll help you get rid of Silver. But—what’s in it for me?”
Tinney thought quickly. “Five thousand bucks.”
Ten.
Ten.
“You agreed too quickly,” Luciferno chuckled. “You’ve got dough—big dough. You got it from Silver, eh? I thought so! Now spill the dirt!”
But Tinney stubbornly refused to tell Luciferno about the wallet. They compromised, finally, with an exchange of fifty thousand dollars. Tinney simply retired to his bathroom and pulled currency out of his wallet till he had the required sum.
The plans were made at last, and Zeno called back upstairs. But the little man refused to have any part in the business. He advocated calling a priest. He was afraid of Mr. Silver. He didn’t mind admitting it. He boasted of the fact. It proved that he was a damn sight more sensible than his colleagues, he said . . .
Luciferno and Tinney let him go, toasted each other with a final highball, and parted. Both were well satisfied.
There would be no question of murder. Not without a corpus delicti. Luciferno, being a master of stage magic, could easily arrange for the hiding and ultimate disposal of Silver’s corpse. And Tinney . . .
He would not have embarked on the plan had he not considered it completely safe. Suppose Luciferno failed? Tinney would blandly disavow any knowledge of the other magician’s murderous intentions. Luciferno had acted on his own initiative, and surely Tinney wasn’t to blame for that! Besides, Luciferno could always contend—if he failed—that he hadn’t planned to injure Silver. The sword had slipped, that was all.
There were plenty of outs.
Tinney drank another highball and got ready for the show.
Before he left, Luciferno telephoned.
“Been thinking. Swords, you know . . . We can’t afford to take any chances. I’ve got a better gag.”
Tinney himself had been a little worried about whether or not cold steel could injure Silver. “Yeah? What?”
“A metal cabinet—the X-13 model. I’ll challenge Silver to get himself out of it. He’ll get inside, and the moment the door’s shut, everything will be over. He’ll be incinerated.”
“Thermite?”
“Something like it. There’ll be no trace. We’ll open the cabinet, admit that Silver managed to escape—and there’ll be no kickback. All right?”
“Perfect,” Tinney agreed . . .
IT WAS a sell-out at the theater, S.R.O. signs gladdened the manager’s heart. Park Avenue had turned out en masse. Broadway Rose circulated in the lobby. Everybody from Walter Winchell to Alex Woolcott was in evidence. The Little Flower showed up, hoping, perhaps, for a fire. A big night.
It was to be far bigger than anyone realized.
Joseph Tinney, resplendent in white tie and tails, sat in his dressing-room and from time to time discussed a bottle of Scotch he had thoughtfully brought with him. For the twenty-second time the manager popped in, scrabbling at his hair.
“Mr. Tinney! The props haven’t come yet.”
“Forget it.”
“But you need props! And where’s your troupe? I—”
“It’s my show, isn’t it?” Tinney snapped.
“It’s my theater! If anything goes wrong—”
“Nothing will go wrong,” said Mr. Silver blandly as he pushed open the door. “Everything’s under control, Mr. Tinney.”
The god was looking like a sleek, well-fed cat tonight, slim and handsome in a dinner jacket, the tail-end of an amused smile lingering on his lips. He dismissed the manager with a nod.
“Almost curtain time,” he said. “How do you feel? Nervous?”
“Not a bit,” Tinney lied. He was struck with a sudden qualm of fear. Silver’s smile was definitely nasty. But then it always was, more or less. Still, if anything went amiss—
Tinney remembered his inexhaustible wallet and steeled himself. Two years of trouping . . . no! He wanted to enjoy life now. And he was going to!
“Two minutes to curtain,” said a pageboy, popping into the room.
“Okay . . . Let’s go, Tinney.”
They went out and stood in the wings. Mr. Silver applied his eye to a peep-hole.
“Good audience. The orchestra’s playing Grieg. That’s the cue.”
Obediently Tinney walked to front center. With a resounding crash the excerpt from Peer Gynt ended. The curtain rose, revealing a rather ill-at-ease Joseph Tinney standing gaping at the audience.
Remembering his action, he raised his arms high and permitted a diabolic grin to grow on his countenance. It was not an unqualified success. Tinney was not by nature intended to be an actor. He seemed on the verge of going mad, in a pretty unpleasant fashion. In a moment, perhaps, he would drop on all fours and hurl himself across the footlights, teeth bared.
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Silver, and made a quick, unobtrusive gesture with one hand. The stage was instantly filled with a dense fog that blotted out Tinney’s figure. Tinney found himself standing beside Silver, gasping a little.
As the smoke cleared, a group of green girls was revealed. Their hair was emerald, and behind each one stood a tree.
“Dryads,” Mr. Silver remarked.
The dryads broke into a dance. The fog cleared still farther, permitting the audience a glimpse of an odd figure who sat on a stump, blowing vigorously into a set of pipes. Tire person’s lower extremities were unusual.
“Pan?” Tinney whispered.
“Just a satyr pinch-hitting for him. All the stayrs arc musicians . . .”
A group of centaurs burst onto the stage, and the dryads leaped astride them. The centaurs formed echelons and trotted obediently about the stage. They were apparently well trained.
The manager of the theatre was watching Tinney out of thoughtful, rather wondering eyes.
THERE was a deafening roar. Something lumbered on to the stage. It was a dragon—indubitably a dragon. The immense jaws gaped, fire shot from them, and the centaurs and dryads disappeared. The satyr blew a despairing toot and fell off the stump, to vanish from the audience’s ken.
“Now,” said Mr. Silver, giving Tinney a little push.
Tinney unwillingly advanced on stage. The dragon stared at him broodingly.
Tinney raised his arms. The dragon began to shrink.
The audience yelled.
This was good. A swell illusion. The only dissenter was a youth from Brooklyn, seated in the balcony, who remarked scornfully to his companion, “It’s all a fake. I don’t take it serious.”
“Gee,” said his companion, and giggled.
Meanwhile the dragon had been reduced to the size of a Gila monster. Tinney picked it up by the tail and flung it into the air. It turned into a hovering horror with wings, a vulture’s body, and the face of an ill-tempered woman. Squalling, the harpy swept out over the audience.
“Wires,” said the Brooklynite, nodding wisely. “It’s on wires.” He ducked as the monster swooped toward his head.
Mr. Silver yawned in a bored fashion and twitched his fingers. The harpy returned to the stage, perched on Tinney’s shoulder, and began to sing a popular ballad of the day.
Things went on . . .
There was an interruption. A tall, saturnine man strode up the aisle, followed by six porters carrying a huge metal cabinet. It was Luciferno.
Tinney’s heart flipped over.
By this time the show was well under way. Silver’s magic had created illusion after illusion. Tire manager had retired to his office for an ice-bag and a pint of gin. The stage-hands were talking among themselves. The audience, however, was applauding fiercely.
Luciferno stopped by the runway and yelled something. Tinney hesitated. On stage at the moment were sixteen mermaids, lying on their backs and flipping their tails in unison, with an accuracy that rivaled the Rockettes.
With a questioning glance at Silver, Tinney stepped out on the stage. As he did so, the mermaids vanished.
There was silence.
Luciferno said, “Are you Tinney the Great?”
“That’s right.”
“I am Luciferno!” the rival magician cried, and vanished in a cloud of crimson smoke. When it cleared, he was standing on the stage beside Silver. The audience applauded.
Luciferno held up his hand for silence. “Wait! I’m here to challenge Tinney the Great. I claim that I’m a greater magician than he. To prove it—”
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