He kissed away her tears, and held her until the horror of the near disaster wore off. They stood close together and the warmth of her flesh came through her clothes into his hands. “I love you,” she said. She kept her eyes averted, but he read within her how deeply she meant it.
Robert returned to his room elated. The elation did not last long.
Sometime during the night the throbbing clamor of his premonition awoke him and he lay with his eyes wide open, his brain tense and alert. He felt nothing and heard nothing, yet his very tissues cried with alarm. Then his stomach retched, and nausea filled him with sickness. He rose and turned on the light.
Swiftly he looked about him. The window which he had left open was plugged with an old overcoat. A red rubber tube led from the outside into the room. Instantly he knew what was happening. Someone was trying to poison him with gas.
The greater implication hit with a force that threatened to overwhelm him with its awful propensities. The Beast had found him!
His brain seemed divided into two parts. While one segment quivered with a tocsin fear that was worse because it could not see what it feared, the other part accepted the fear as a stimulation that quickened his reflexes. It planned swiftly ahead as it commanded him to dress, and to hold each breath as long as possible. He even took time to make his bed and to straighten the room, to give the appearance that it had not been used that night.
When he left he went down the back stairs. No one saw him. With luck the Beast would not realize that he knew about the attempt at his life. That gave him some small chance. God knows it was little enough. The Beast had spotted him while he in his turn had nothing except vague suspicions.
Outside the hotel he walked rapidly away from the Club—figuratively seeing the glint of the Beast eyes in every shadow. Tonight death breathed in the very air.
The time had come for him to act. But where to direct that action? There were two ways he could move. He could pick his likeliest suspect and strike swiftly, ruthlessly, and pray that he was right. That would mean Johnson.
Or he could start at the top and work down, giving each his best in as short a time as possible.
If the Beast was convinced that he had not returned to his room, that he was still unaware of being discovered, then he had some hope. He decided to take the latter choice of action.
As soon as the first light of day returned he called Hill—from a public booth.
“Did you find anything more on Johnson?” Robert asked.
“Nothing much,” Hill’s voice sounded sleepy. “As far as I could determine, he’s never been to India. Do you want me to continue?”
“No. There won’t be time. Now, listen closely. I want you to go to Mound. Stay in the lobby of the Mound Hotel until I contact you. Very probably I’ll send a man out to you. When he gets there, give him a package. I don’t care what you put into it. Just give it to him. Have you got that?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
“Goodbye.”
Robert went to the Radisson Hotel and registered under the name of George Jones. There was nothing he could do except kill time until his suspects returned from work that evening. He lay back on his bed and rested. His body, not his mind.
* * * *
At six o’clock Robert rented an automobile at a drive yourself agency. He was supposed to take Alberta to a movie that evening. At first he had decided to call and ask for a postponement. On second thought, it would save explanations if he picked her up.
She came out when she saw him stop in front of her apartment.
“I’m going to have to ask you to trust me, and not ask any questions,” he said, without preliminaries, when she sat in the car. “I want you to go to the show without me. I have something that I must do. If I can make it I’ll join you in the movie. Trust me?”
She hesitated barely perceptibly. “Of course,” she said. She asked nothing more.
Wonderful girl, he thought. He rested his hand on her clenched ones for a moment. He parked the car on a side street. He watched her as she walked to the corner of Lake and turned to the right. The theater was a block down.
After a moment he followed to the corner and turned left toward the Club.
Down in the game room he spotted his man. He wasted no time.
“Mr. Schultz,” Robert said. “I’d like to ask you a favor. Are you busy this evening?”
Schultz met his gaze sourly. Small wrinkles deepened at the corners of his eyes. Robert read crafty suspicion.
“It’s worth fifty dollars to me,” Robert said, pulling out his wallet. “I’ll give you twenty-five to drive to Mound and pick up a package for me. When you return I’ll give you the other twenty-five.” He pulled out bills. If Schultz was human he would accept the offer. If he refused…then Robert would know.
“Where is your car?” Schultz asked. The insatiable greed for money that was almost universal guided him now.
“You’ll find it around the corner. A blue convertible.”
He had things in motion now. Next step was to get to the Machine. Mound was ten miles from here. If Schultz went to Mound—Hill would verify that—and the Machine did not move, then he was not the Beast.
Robert returned to his room. The explosion shook the building!
It took him only an instant to realize what had happened. The trap was closing. The Beast was coming in for the kill. It was not fear that froze him now. Rather it was a black frustration and the influx of a plethora of emotions that literally overwhelmed him with their complexities. It was almost five minutes before he could plan his next counteraction.
He took his revolver out of a bureau drawer and slipped it into his inside coat pocket. Then he went downstairs.
“What was that loud noise?” he asked the night clerk, the only person remaining in the lobby.
“There was an explosion around the corner. A bomb blew up an automobile. The driver was a resident—named Schultz.”
“Was he hurt?”
“Schultz is dead.”
Robert bowed his head. Schultz, after all, had been innocent. And he was dead. Other men might die before it was over, but there was no turning back.
Next on the list was Brown. He went down into the game room. Brown was standing at a window looking out. There was a billiard cue in his hand.
“Mr. Brown,” Robert said. “I know this is unusual, but I wonder if I could impose on you to do me a favor?”
“A favor?” The words weren’t registering too clearly. “Poor Schultz,” Brown said.
Robert took a fifty dollar bill out of his pocket. “Would this be worth your while to take a bus to Mound and pick up a package for me?”
Brown reacted instantly. There was nothing slow about his reflexes. He took the bill. “Be glad to do you a favor,” he said. “Where do I pick up this package?”
“You will get it from a man by the name of Hill at the Mound Hotel.”
After he saw Brown on the bus Robert went down to the Mississippi and crouched in the mouth of the cave where he could watch the Machine.
He allowed one hour. The Machine did not move.
Climbing to the top of the river bank he walked back toward the Club. He arrived just in time to see Brown getting off a bus. Robert stepped into a convenient doorway. Brown did not see him.
At a pay-booth he called the Mound Hotel and asked to have Hill paged.
Hill’s modulated voice said, “Yes?”
“Graves. Did a man pick up the package?”
“He did. A short man. Exactly twenty-seven minutes ago.”
“Thank you. I won’t need you again for a while. But I’d like to have you return to your office and wait, just in case I want you in a hurry.”
That eliminated the outstanding suspects. In fact it left him in a position where any one of a hundred would be as likely as another. He needed time. And a place to hide. He knew where to get them both.
* * * *
Back in the Machine Robert
stared at the ceiling, wide awake, but at a dead end. Perhaps Johnson was still in town. He could have left a trail indicating that he’d gone out of town. Or even Brown could have sent someone else to pick up the package. He would act in some such subtle way if he were really the Beast. Robert wished he had thought to ask Hill for a more complete description. Before he left here again he must be certain of his every future move, and—if at all possible—the individual he must move against.
At the end of several hours he still had arrived at no definite course of action. And he had thought so long and so hard that his brain was no longer functioning at its usual peak efficiency. He decided to sleep. He had all the time in the world while he was in here.
Maybe the Russell method would work for him again.
* * * *
It did. When he awoke he knew who the Beast was. There would have to be a minimum of checking, but the pieces fit together so neatly that he had no doubt but that he was right.
The fierceness which he had discovered in himself thrilled to the anticipation of the fight to come, and it was strengthened by a coldblooded determination.
Outside he phoned Hill. He waited for his return call in the drugstore from which he phoned.
He was half-way through a second malted when the telephone rang.
When he walked out of the drugstore the last vestiges of doubt were gone.
But this time he needed help. Hill would not do. He returned to the Club.
Jacobson was in his room and invited him up when Robert rang.
Robert used the stairway. He reviewed exactly the way his account must be given so that Jacobson would believe.
“Jakie,” Robert said, “I’m going to tell you a story. I want you to set your mind to believe it even though it will sound so fantastic to you that it would ordinarily be absurd. But it will be true.”
Jacobson let the smile fade from his cheeks, but his pumpkin-shaped face still gave the impression of smiling. He peered intently at Robert through his thick-sensed glasses. They made his eyes appear large and bulging.
“I’ll start at the beginning,” Robert said. “And tell you the story detail by detail. That is the only way there will be any chance of your believing me. If I tried to make it brief, you’d recommend a psychiatrist.”
“Go ahead,” Jacobson said. “If there’s anything that I can do, I’ll be glad to help you.”
Robert told his story. Surprisingly it did not sound so fantastic as he had imagined it would. Many of its particular items were implausible sounding but taken all together they had the ring of truth. When he was finished he thought Jacobson should be convinced.
After a long moment Jacobson asked, “This isn’t some pipe-dream you’ve cooked up because of a fight you’ve had with Alberta, is it? Of course, it isn’t,” he answered his own question. “I know you are sincere. But Bob,” Jakie’s voice was gentle, “you mentioned a psychiatrist. It could be possible…”
“It isn’t,” Robert interrupted.
“I believe you,” Jacobson said. “What do you intend to do?”
Robert told him.
“Where do I come in on this?”
“I can handle the situation myself—I think,” Robert said. “But just in case I don’t make it, I want you to take over. The Beast must be stopped! It shouldn’t be too hard now that its identity is known. I’d suggest that you not try to handle it alone. The safest thing to do would be to publicize it as widely, and as quickly as possible. That way will be the safest for you also.” They shook hands and Robert left.
* * * *
At Alberta’s house he found her alone.
“I’d like to show you something,” he said. “Would you mind driving me in your car?”
There was a question in her eyes. When he said nothing further she shrugged. “I’ll have to get my coat,” she said.
He started to insist that she remain with him, but decided it would be safer not to arouse her suspicions.
They drove past Fort Snelling, across the bridge, and turned off on the highway to Prior Lake.
A mile down the road they came to a gravel-pit.
“Stop here,” Robert said.
Before she could take her hands from the wheel he pressed the gun in his pocket against her ribs.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
“Please excuse this necessary familiarity,” he said. The tone was grave and there was no humor in it. Briskly he went over her body, searching for weapons. He found a small derringer pistol tucked in the top of the stocking on her right leg. He slipped it into his other coat pocket.
Now they were two strangers face to face; so close that he could see his reflection in her eyes. The golden flesh of her face showed sallow and very naked. He mouth narrowed to a slit and she seemed to settle within herself. He read that she was deadly afraid, but the only outward sign she gave of it was her quickened breathing.
“Get out of the car,” Robert said.
He followed her out.
“Walk slowly toward the gravel-pit,” he directed.
They walked until a bend in the road hid them from the highway.
“This is far enough,” Robert said.
Alberta turned then to speak but when she opened her mouth her throat seemed to tighten and she made only a small wincing sound. He sensed then the awful agony of fear within her as her thoughts leaped ahead to what was to come and he pitied her in this moment.
She raised her head, angry with herself for showing this fear, and angry with him for seeing it. She found her voice and flung it at him. “You’ve beaten me,” she said, “and you’ll kill me now. But look back on this time once in a while and see if you could have done it any better if you were in my place.”
“Lie on your stomach,” Robert said.
Alberta said nothing more. She did not cry or beg for her life, as he had half expected. Quite a girl, he thought. She got down on her knees. She rested her hands on the dried clay and gravel and lowered her body to the ground.
“Turn your head toward the gravel-pit,” Robert told her.
She obeyed.
“Now I want you to lie absolutely still,” he warned. “Don’t move a muscle. Your life will depend on it.”
Robert backed into a niche in the pile of gravel. He crouched and sat on his heels.
As time dragged slowly past with not a sound to break the stillness, excitement gathered in a tight knot in his stomach. Perspiration formed on his face and made a dry stinging on his cheeks.
They waited for five long minutes, neither moving, until Robert began to fear that he had figured wrong, before the sound came.
It was the scuff of a leather boot in the gravel. An instant later Jacobson came into sight. He saw Alberta and walked softly over to her.
Suddenly alarm flared high in his face and he jerked his head up. There was a terrible realization of his fate in his eyes as they sought Robert out. Robert’s bullet caught him squarely in the forehead and his body staggered as though hit by a weight. Shocked unbelief was on his features as he dropped.
“You may get up now, Alberta,” Robert said. “The Beast is dead!”
“He is the Beast?” Alberta asked in bewilderment. “But I thought…”
“That I was the Beast?” Robert interrupted. “I am an operative from Dohmet—the same as you are.”
“Good God,” Alberta exclaimed. “And to think that I tried to kill you. I might have succeeded!”
“I know,” Robert said softly, “but it’s all right now.” He took her in his arms.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“Many things pointed to it, after I began suspecting him,” Robert replied. “Such as the fact that he returned from India shortly before we did. But the main clue was the Bachelor’s Club. And the one in Calcutta.”
“Bachelor’s Club?”
“Yes. Jacobson is the owner.
“How did that point to him?” Alberta still did not understand.
“His designs, of c
ourse, were not too self-evident,” Robert said. “But I think I can explain them to you. He probably started his Clubs in various places throughout the world. He had some method—whether drug, hypnotic, or otherwise, I do not know, but it was evidently very effective—for killing the sex urge in males. You can see what this would mean genetically. He would lessen the number of the race by the simple process of eliminating that breeding desire.
“Moreover,” Robert continued, “his method was double-pronged. The sexes of any species have a natural antagonism toward each other. Here they flippantly label it ‘the battle of the sexes.’ With men unrestrained by their biological urge that antagonism would flare up into a frightful thing.”
“But could one man do so much damage among such a vast number of people?” Alberta asked.
“If he hadn’t been killed there would soon have been many more just like him,” Robert answered.
“Each Club was like a breeding cell. After its members became thoroughly enough indoctrinated he would have taught them his methods and they would have spread like germs, carrying their venom with them. Each member was another potential Beast.”
In stunned wonder, at the monstrous possibilities, they looked at each other.
Then—“We have a long way to go, to get back home,” Alberta said.
“A long way, but a speedy one,” Robert answered. “The Machine is waiting.”
THE UNEXPECTED WEAPON
Originally published in Amazing Stories, September 1950.
When the waiter demanded five dalls for the drinks Larre knew he was being overcharged. They had unerringly spotted him as a newcomer to the big city.
“Do you like me?” the girl with him asked. The blood-purple iridescence of her hair, cascading to the soft white of her smoothly rounded shoulders, stirred strange emotions. Her eyes, either through some secret of artificial pigmentation or some chameleon-like quality, were star shaped pools of liquid, purple fire, that completed the almost other-worldly effect augmenting her natural beauty.
“You’re lovely,” Larre gasped. And he meant it, until he remembered suddenly that she was—
The 19th Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 31