"Good idea. I haven't seen any sign of life in that place yet. Buzz along near the windows, and see if you can see or hear anything."
Several minutes passed, with Terry slowly cutting the strands of the screen, and Mike bringing fresh receptors from the car to the oak by varied routes. Aldo said, "I've got something, Mart. I'm back of the kitchen. I think this is the servant's quarters. There's some kind of argument going on here. I don't know what because they're talking too low. Seems to be a man and a woman."
"What are you using?"
"A cutter."
"See if you can get through the screen, and up against the crack where the upper and lower halves of the window join."
"I'm in view through the trees from the next house. Is that all right?"
"It's about eighty feet away, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"It's worth the risk. We've got to find out what's going on in there."
Gradually, the afternoon wore on. Mike brought up more receptors, and Terry began flying them in.
"Unoccupied room, all right," said Terry. "Empty closet, no shoes under the bed, nothing on the dresser but a white cloth, a comb, and a hairbrush."
"Good start," said Martin, then asked, "You getting through, Aldo?"
"Gradually. It's slow work."
"They still talking?"
"Yeah. The man sounds as if he's trying to convince the woman of something. Better hook into the recorder."
"It's in. There's nothing much coming through with that cutter on."
"Can't get through without the cutter. Can't do too well with it, for that matter. We're going to have to step up the power of these things."
Martin growled, "What do you think we can fit in a bee-size receptor? If you guys had your way, they'd be giant condors and we'd be out of business."
"Then we need something small enough to slip through."
"We've got prototypes, but for now, you're just going to have to sweat it out with what you've got."
"You can believe it or not," said Aldo, "but I feel like I am sweating it out. How do you get tired using a receptor's energy?"
"Nerve strain. And you unconsciously tense your muscles."
Terry's voice cut in. "Something funny here. There's a corridor with—to the right—an empty room, a bath, another empty room and a staircase to the floor below. But to the left, there's a room with the door shut, and a key turned in the lock."
"That's to the left of the room you went into first?"
"Correct."
"On the composite, it looks like that's a corner room with three windows. All the windows are shut, and all the shades are drawn. Mike?"
"Right here."
"Better go in with a grab, and see if you can wrestle that key out of the lock."
Mike dropped in through the cut screen, went through the first room, and approached the door. As he came close, it loomed before him like the side of a thirty-story building. The key looked like an iron bar a third of a foot thick. Mike hovered to one side of the key, and maneuvered up and down to see how it was turned in the lock. He flew up to slide a light-alloy rod, actually thinner than a knitting needle, but that seemed to him the size of an overgrown crowbar, through the metal ring at the end of the key. Then he pulled with all the strength of the receptor's powerful wings. The key resisted, then turned with a scrape in the lock. Mike dropped to the floor, let go the bar, flew up, took hold of the key, drew it carefully out of the lock, and lowered it heavily to the floor.
There was a whir above him. "There's a guy on the bed here, Mart. I can see his chest, and his head. He's gagged, wrapped up in a strait jacket, and strapped by the neck to the bedpost. He's got his eyes open, but he's not moving."
"How old is he?"
"Early or middle twenties, I'd say."
"Mike, maybe you could take a look."
Mike hovered, and looked in. He studied the brow and eyes of the man on the bed. "I'd guess that was Johnston's son. There's a strong family resemblance."
"That knocks the old man's theory to pieces. Aldo, are you through yet?"
"Just. If I can bend this back. There."
"Get next to the crack. If we're lucky, we can get a line on this thing. Terry and Mike, get that key back, then start moving in. Sleepers first. This is getting tough faster than we expected."
Mike said, "You want finalists?"
"After you've got everything else in first. Right now we want power on tap. We want a receptor behind every drape and picture frame, and crouched on every molding in the house."
The next twenty minutes went by as they brought in one receptor after another. The only spoken comments from the three operators came from Aldo. "You getting all this?"
"Yeah," said Martin. "But it's a little sketchy. They seem to have settled everything that counts before we got there."
Another quarter hour went past. Mike said, "We've got enough stuff in here to knock out a platoon. Except for the cellar. You've got all this on the composites. Do you see any way down there?"
"There's a dumb-waiter shaft, but all the upstairs dumb-waiter doors are shut. You'll have to get in at the top from the attic."
"Is it worth it?"
"The way this is breaking, I don't think we can overlook it. It'll take a trip up and down through half the house, and the door of the shaft may be shut at the bottom. But we'll have to try it."
"O.K."
They found the door open, and moved into the cellar.
Finally, Terry said, "Now what? We're loaded for bear on all floors of the house."
Martin said, "Aldo's left his receptor clamped to the window, and he's getting the finalists in place. Let me just play back a strip of recording so you'll get the full picture. Listen:"
There was a faint hiss, then a woman's voice said tensely, "I don't like it, that's all. We didn't plan it this way."
A man's low voice said angrily, "It doesn't matter. Nobody will believe him. We set it up last night, and the old man fell for it. He's gone out to a private detective outfit outside the city. We know, because I followed him. He'll have told them everything. That will back us up when we hang it on the kid. But we've got to do it tonight, before they move in."
"One thing's already gone wrong. If Roger should find out—"
"He can't. The kid's laid out and can't tell him. The rest doesn't matter. When the neighbors hear the fight, rush in, see the old man lying there, and the kid, still on his feet, it will be open and shut. He won't have a chance."
The woman murmured, "Everybody does know how they fight."
The man said in a low voice, "It's now or never. All or nothing."
Martin said, as he cut off the recording. "That's the way it's been going. There are all variations on that."
Terry said, "Do we know who the guy tied up upstairs is? Is that Johnston's son?"
"Yes," said Martin. "That's the 'kid' they're talking about."
Aldo said, "How did he wind up strapped to the bed? I don't get that."
Mart said, "I've only heard it half a dozen times. Listen:"
The woman's low voice said venomously, "Yes, you've got it all figured out! How come it's gone sour already?"
The man's voice said tightly, "The kid came home early. So what? Is that going to do him any good?"
"He knows."
"He knows what we're going to do. But not how. That's all that counts."
Martin said, "The son apparently walked in unexpectedly, overheard them, and got laid out for his pains."
Aldo said, "Could you figure out for me who this man and woman are?"
"That's easy enough," said Martin. "She's Johnston's charming new wife. She speaks of him as 'Roger'. And you notice the man has to get her to go along with him or it's all off. Here and there, there are some sloppy scenes where he tells her how crazy he is about her. Naturally, when she's going to inherit all of Johnston's money."
"What about his son?"
"How's he going to get it? That's why they're hanging the
murder on him. The law won't let a criminal profit by his crime. Johnston's wife will inherit the money, and his son will go to the deathhouse. That ties it all up neatly."
Mike said impatiently, "But how, Mart? How do they plan to do it?"
"I can't say. They're going to do it tonight. But how I don't know. They've apparently got the mechanics of the thing rehearsed so well they just take that for granted."
"Well, we better figure it out, or they're likely to get away with it right under our noses."
Aldo said, "Mart, what about this in the basement under the cellar window at the side of the house?"
"I see it," said Martin, "but it just looks like a cot with a portable phonograph on it to me."
"What's it doing there?"
Martin hesitated. "Well, why not? You know how people dump stuff in the cellar and the attic."
Mike switched his viewpoint to a receptor in the basement. The cot was like that he'd seen in army camps, with a steel head and foot, flat springs, and a bare mattress. What looked roughly like a portable phonograph sat at the center of the mattress, directly under the cellar window, with a coiled extension cord beside it. Several pillows were piled at the head of the cot, and at the foot. On the ceiling of the cellar, about ten feet from the windows, Mike noticed a bare electric bulb in a socket.
Mike swung the receptor over to look out the cellar window. Directly outside was a large evergreen with low spreading branches, and just beyond that was the graveled driveway, curving to the garage past more trees and shrubs. About thirty feet back from this window, and around a corner, was the rear door of the house, with a flight of steps leading down to the cellar.
Terry said, "This looks like some kind of a setup, to me."
"Yeah," said Aldo. "But what?"
Martin said, "We'll find out before long. The woman's let herself be persuaded. You guys better practice switching back and forth from one receptor to another. Get the finalist in the trees along the drive, and a get a couple in the garage. Something tells me we're only going to have one chance to do this right."
By eight o'clock, Mike, Aldo, and Terry, had rehearsed so many possible maneuvers that all three were worn out. Martin had relief operators on tap, but was afraid to bring them in for fear they wouldn't have time to understand the situation and would just get in the way. The evening began to reach that stage of dimness where nothing is distinct, and Mike was hoping that Johnston would delay a little longer so that they could use the receptors with more freedom in the gloom. But at that moment, his long shiny car swung into the drive, and rolled back toward the garage.
Terry, watching Johnston's wife, said, "Here she goes, like clockwork, out the front door and across the grass toward the neighbor's house."
Aldo, watching the man, said, "He's at the upstairs window. There, he clipped Johnston's son over the head—not too hard—and now he's getting him off the bed. He's rolled him onto the floor. The belt, strait jacket and gag go into a laundry bag. He straightens the bed up, and tears out into the hall and down the stairs to the first floor carrying the laundry bag. Now he's in the kitchen. He's rushing down the cellar steps. He opens the door of the dumb-waiter shaft, pulls the dumb-waiter up about six feet, leans into the shaft, and stuffs the sack under something at the bottom of the shaft. He looks in with a pocket flash to check it. Now he lowers the dumb-waiter to the bottom."
Mike, watching Johnston, said, "Johnston's car is approaching the garage. Two doors are up, with cars in them, and two down. Johnston apparently wants the left-hand garage door, which is down. He thumbs a button on the dash. The garage door starts up—evidently a radio-controlled electric door. Wait a minute, the door's going shut again. Johnston stops the car and thumbs the button. The door goes up, and comes down again. Johnston's getting out to look at it."
Terry said, "The wife's ringing the bell of the house next door. She glances at her watch, tries to look through the shrubs and trees that separate the two lawns. Now she's ringing the bell again."
Aldo said, "He's through at the elevator shaft now. He shuts the door, runs down to the cot, opens the cellar window, picks up the record player, takes off the cover, and shoves it out the window under the evergreen. Wait a minute, that's no record player. It's a tape recorder."
"What the hell," growled Martin.
Mike said, "Johnston's wrestling with the garage door. He isn't having much luck."
Terry said, "The wife's telling the neighbors how Johnston's son is in a rage at his father, and she's afraid there's going to be a terrible argument. Won't they come over? These arguments the father and son have are just awful and she doesn't know how this one will end. But she thinks if someone else is there, they'll stop, so please, please, they've got to help her."
Aldo said, "The man is putting some kind of thin rubber gloves in his pocket. He spreads the pillows on the cot under the window and puts a couple on the floor nearby. He unwinds the extension cord to the recorder, and plugs it in the light socket. Now he's going out the back door."
The man had now come into Mike's range of vision. "Johnston," said Mike, "is still wrestling with the door. The man comes out onto the drive. 'Let me help you with that, sir.' Johnston turns around. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd put the car away. And see about that door-opener. Nothing at all would be better than this.' 'Certainly, sir.' Johnston takes a brief case from the car, and starts up the drive. The man gets in and starts the motor."
Terry said, "The woman's leading half a dozen people from the next house. One of them starts to run ahead. She grabs him. 'Don't,' she says. 'I'm afraid he's dangerous. We must all get there together. He won't do anything with so many people around.'"
Martin said, "The son is just getting to his feet upstairs. He looks around wildly, yanks the door open and stumbles out into the corridor. He goes back into the room, pulls open the bottom drawer of his dresser, and yanks out a Marine belt. He staggers out into the corridor, puts one hand on the wall, and runs for the staircase."
Aldo said, "The man's started the car engine. Now he's backing the car. He stops and glances back at Johnston."
Mike said, "Johnston has his back to him, walking up the driveway."
Terry said, "The wife is leading the crowd of neighbors through the trees toward the drive near the front of the house—What's that?"
Mike heard it, too. A loud voice burst out from the direction of the evergreen beside the drive. "You can't treat me this way, Father!"
"You good-for-nothing!" shouted Johnston's voice. "If you can't do decent work, you don't deserve a decent wage!"
"You know that's not what I'm talking about!"
Johnston had stopped dead-still, looking around. For an instant, there was the faint whispering sound of a recorder's tape unwinding, then the son's voice came, very loud. "You can't treat me this way, Father!" There was a pause, and then an incoherent shout: "Take that!"
Aldo said, "He's out of the car! He's got a knife!"
There was the sound of scattering gravel, and Johnston whirled, off-balance.
Martin snapped: "Final it!"
Instantly Mike switched his attention. He rose, then dropped, feeling the spasmodic guiding pulsations of powerful wings as he dove for the figure springing forward in the shadows.
"Got him!" said Aldo. There was a faint glimpse of something small and solid that rebounded like a rubber ball to pass Mike with a whir.
From well up the driveway came a woman's scream. The voice of Johnston's wife carried down the drive, "Oh, I hope we're not too late!"
Johnston's assailant landed on his face in the drive as Mike swerved away. Johnston bent to look at him closely, glanced around, and stepped to one side of the drive, behind a tall shrub.
Terry said, "Don't hit her with the sleeper till she's committed herself, Al."
"Don't worry," said Aldo. "Mike, is he out?"
"Out good," said Mike. He'd landed his sleeper again, switched viewpoint to another receptor, a "finalist" this time, and now hovered behind a
certain spot on Johnston's head. He triggered a weak signal on a particular frequency, and an instant later the response came, to be stored in the complex microminiaturized circuits of the receptor.
"Final it," growled Martin tensely. "Johnston's son is running for the side door of the house. There's no telling what will happen when he gets out."
Mike dropped the receptor, to hover over the fallen assailant. He again sent out the signal, but this time when the response came, he didn't store it, but instead transmitted the signal received from Johnston.
From up the driveway, there was a crunch of gravel, and Johnston's wife screamed, "Oh, we're too late."
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