The 38th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK

by Chester S. Geier

  Gail knew that her father had been present at Weller’s demonstration, and she saw from my face that it had not come off quite as it should. She demanded to know what had happened. I explained reluctantly, going easy over the places where her father was concerned. But she was intuitive, and I knew my attempts at concealment hadn’t been successful.

  Gail was worried about her father, and what I had told her—or rather tried not to tell her—only served to make her more so. It had a dampening effect upon our evening.

  We took in a movie at the largest of Groverton’s two theatres, and then I saw Gail home. I lived with Professor Weller. It was about eleven-thirty when I got back.

  I opened the door with my key. The light was on in the hall. The first thing I saw was Professor Weller. I almost stepped on him, in fact. He was lying there in the hall, just a few feet from the door, and he was very dead. The back of his skull was a mess of dried blood. A vicious blow on the head had killed him.

  The horror of his silent figure held me motionless for a long moment. Then a sudden thought put me into motion, sent me running for the laboratory.

  There could be only one reason for the murder of Professor Weller. The vibrator!

  When I reached the laboratory, my eyes darted to the workbench, upon which I had last seen the invention. It was gone!

  * * * *

  Sheriff Joshua Stroud had his office in the Groverton courthouse. It was there that I found him, after having futilely telephoned his home and usual evening haunts. He explained he had been working late upon a case. I told him of Professor Weller’s murder and the theft of the vibrator. He groaned and promised to come right up.

  Sheriff Stroud arrived about twenty minutes later. With him were Bixby, his deputy, and Salter, the coroner. Groverton isn’t a big town, in spite of the fact that it possesses a university. I guessed that Stroud’s lateness was due to the necessity of routing his two assistants out of bed.

  “Another murder!” Stroud grumbled, gazing irascibly at the body of Professor Weller.

  I stared at him in sudden apprehension. “Another murder?” I echoed. “What do you mean, Sheriff?” I was thinking of Hollis and Arndt.

  “Found a dead man about three miles out of town this morning,” Stroud explained. “Somebody shot him through the head. I haven’t identified him yet. The person who killed him took all his papers, even ripped the labels out of his clothes.”

  Stroud shrugged and turned away. I wasn’t fooled by his impatient, grumbling attitude. He had a reputation for being a relentless lawhound who always got his man. There were quite a few sinister stories about his law enforcing methods, but there was no denying the fact that he always got results.

  Salter stood up. “Killed by a blow on the head. Some kind of blunt instrument. Dead about two hours.”

  “Two hours, eh?” Stroud said. He swung back to me. “Where were you, Rowan?”

  “I was seeing a movie at the Ridge with Gail Hollis,” I told him.

  “What time was it that you last saw Weller alive?”

  “About ten to eight.”

  “He was alone when you left him?”

  “Yes.” I added that the cooking and house-cleaning was done by Mrs. Guthrie, a neighbor. She lived a few doors down the block, communicating between her home and Weller’s, as her duties required. She was seldom around in the evenings.

  Stroud rubbed his studded jaw, his thin, dark face grim. “The way I see it, someone came to see Weller about an hour after you left. Weller let him in, then this person hit Weller over the head, killing him. You mentioned his invention being stolen over the telephone. That seems to have been the motive for the murder. Got any ideas about who may have done it, Rowan?”

  I shrugged. I told Stroud of the demonstration which Professor Weller had given earlier in the evening, and of the three men who had been present, Major Calhern, Norman Hollis, and John Arndt. To my knowledge, only these three had known sufficient about the invention to consider it worth murder and theft.

  Stroud’s black eyes lighted. “Hollis and Arndt… I happen to know these two were no particular friends of Weller’s—especially Hollis. I’m pretty sure one of the two murdered him.”

  Stroud made an examination of the house and laboratory. He found nothing, however, and presently led his two yawning assistants away. Later, the men from the undertaker’s arrived, and Professor Weller’s remains were carried out.

  There was no sleep for me. I spent the greater part of the night chain-smoking and pacing the floor.

  A little after eleven the next morning, Sheriff Stroud was back at the house. His presence came as a relief to me. Mrs. Guthrie was afraid of him, as were many in Groverton, and she left when he came. She had been plaguing me with questions all morning, doubtless to arm herself with gossip to regale her curious friends. I could very easily imagine how news of Professor Weller’s murder must have fired Groverton.

  “Learn anything?” I asked Stroud.

  He shrugged. “I questioned Hollis and Arndt, and they let me search their places. If either of them has the invention, it isn’t where you can find it very easily. Arndt claims to have been home all last night, and his housekeeper, that Harrick woman, vouches for him. I think you’ve heard some of the rumors about Arndt and Susan Harrick. They live like man and wife, if you’re willing to believe gossip. They might be lying—but how can I prove it?

  “As for Hollis, he was home alone, what with Gail gone to the movies with you. Hollis says he didn’t set foot out of the house all evening. He might have come here and murdered Weller, but there’s no slightest bit of evidence.

  “I checked on that Major Calhern, too. Washington sent him here to Groverton, all right. And the night clerk at the hotel says Calhern came in about seven-thirty and stayed in all evening. That leaves Hollis and Arndt. Rowan, I’m convinced that one of the two murdered Weller and stole his invention. Somehow, I’ve got to find out which one it was.” His voice grew grim. “There must be some way!”

  There was a long period of silence, during which Stroud stared into space, his dark brows knitted fiercely. More to break the silence than anything else, I told him that I had discovered something else. In going through the laboratory that morning, I had found that Professor Weller’s records had undergone a hasty search. Every piece of paper relating to the vibrator had been taken.

  “The laboratory…” Stroud said musingly. “Let’s go down there, Rowan.”

  The laboratory looked ghostly in such of the morning sunlight as managed to filter in through the few grimy windows. I switched on the lights, and Stroud looked around. He asked:

  “Where was the invention when you saw it last, Rowan?”

  I pointed mutely at the workbench.

  “An easy matter to find it, then,” Stroud muttered. “Look,” he said abruptly, “how did Weller’s invention work? What did it do?”

  Explanation of the operating principle of the vibrator would have gone over Stroud’s head. I merely told him that the device emitted ultra high-frequency vibrations capable of disintegrating glass and stone, and also of destroying the delicate tissues of the brain in human beings. Because of its deadliness, the vibrator could never be operated, except within the thick, specially-constructed confines of the test chamber. Turning it on and off was accomplished by remote control.

  Stroud gazed keenly at me as I finished. “Remote control? How do you mean, Rowan? Wires, or something like that?”

  “Radio,” I explained. I indicated the control board. “That’s basically a radio transmitter. It’s quite powerful.”

  Stroud was suddenly tense. “How powerful, Rowan? Powerful enough to reach across Groverton?”

  I gasped, “Good Lord—yes!” And then I stared at him. And as I stared, I recalled all the unsavory stories I had heard about the ruthless means whereby he had served the ends of justice. I realized now what he
meant to do. Whoever had killed Professor Weller still had the vibrator. And the device, wherever it was now, could be put into action by the radio transmitter!

  It would reveal one of two things—or both. It would destroy its hiding place, thus indicating the location of the murderer of Professor Weller. Or, if the murderer were near enough, it would destroy him, too!

  Thus, after the vibrator had been put into action, a simple check would solve the case. I said as much to Stroud.

  “Exactly,” he said softly. His black eyes were intense upon mine.

  “But that’s hardly legal!” I protested: “What you mean to do would be equivalent to an unofficial death sentence.”

  Stroud made a curt gesture of impatience. “Don’t be a hidebound fool, Rowan. We’re dealing with a murderer—someone who must pay the penalty for his crime. This is the only way we have of finding him and getting evidence against him. Using ordinary legal methods, I’d be helpless. I haven’t a shred of proof against anyone.”

  “I won’t do it!” I snapped. And I knew why I wouldn’t do it. I was very much afraid that the person who had killed Professor Weller and stolen his invention was Norman Hollis. Everything pointed to the man. He had hated Weller, feeling as he did that the vibrator was the result of one of his own ideas, a debt for which Weller hadn’t given him the slightest bit of credit. And he had been envious of Weller’s accomplishment, jealous of the fame it would bring the other. Hollis had been alone all evening. He might very well have come to the house, killed Weller, and stolen the invention…

  But he was Gail’s father—and I loved Gail. Suppose he were really the murderer…suppose he were near the vibrator when I caused it to operate by means of the transmitter—his death would be on my hands. And murderer or not, Gail would blame me for the death of her father. She wouldn’t marry a man with her father’s blood on his hands…

  It was a nasty situation. The more I thought about it, the less I liked it. Operating that transmitter might very well solve the case for Stroud—but it would sure as hell complicate my own case. It would spoil all my hopes and plans where Gail was concerned.

  Stroud shifted impatiently. His black eyes were cold. “Rowan, this is my only chance to solve the case. I tell you, I won’t be balked!”

  “I won’t do it,” I muttered. “I just can’t do it!”

  “And why, Rowan? What’re you afraid of? Do you know who the murderer is? You wouldn’t like to have him die?”

  I shook my head dumbly.

  Stroud exploded, “By God, Rowan, if you won’t operate that radio, I’ll do it myself!”

  “You don’t know how,” I said.

  “You could show me how.”

  “You’ll have to force me.”

  Stroud brought his thin, dark face close to mine. His black eyes blazed at me. “I’ll do just that. Rowan, remember I’m the Law. I’ve got the power to command.”

  “Not in this case!” I snapped. “It isn’t legal. You may be the Law—but your authority doesn’t possess the powers of judge, jury, and executioner. You’re sentencing a man to death without first bringing him to trial.”

  “You’re a fool!” Stroud flamed. “How can you be sure the murderer will be anywhere near the invention when you operate the radio? And as for bringing him to trial—haven’t I explained that’s impossible? I haven’t the slightest bit of proof against anyone.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice became deadly soft. “Rowan, you’re obstructing justice. I could have you up for that… Or, Rowan, I could fix it so that you’d get the blame for Weller’s murder. Don’t doubt it an instant. I’ve got to get a murderer, and if I can’t get the real one, you’ll do.”

  And Stroud meant it, I knew. Every word of it.

  I was trapped—and there was no way out. There was nothing I could do but what Stroud wanted me to do.

  I shrugged my shoulders wearily and nodded. “I give in,” I said.

  Stroud’s smile was thin and hard. “Good! Let’s get to work at once.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I want to call up Gail Hollis, to get her out of the house.”

  “So that’s the answer, eh?” Stroud exclaimed. “You’re sure Norman Hollis is the murderer. You’re afraid the girl will get hurt if the invention happens to be hidden in the house…All right, you can call her—but no tricks, Rowan. Don’t try to warn Hollis.”

  Stroud accompanied me to the telephone, and his glittering black eyes watched me every second I spoke. My ruse was a simple one. I merely told Gail to meet me at our usual corner, that it was important. I didn’t explain. I told her that, and then I hung up.

  I got to work upon the radio transmitter, making the adjustments necessary to reach the vibrator. Then I was ready. I breathed a silent prayer for Gail, and I breathed a silent prayer for myself. And I hoped against hope that Norman Hollis, if he had the vibrator, wouldn’t be within its deadly range.

  I threw in the switch.

  Stroud demanded, “It’s done?”

  I nodded like a puppet. I couldn’t speak. I felt as though I’d never be able to speak again.

  Lips pressed against his teeth in a wolfish grin, eyes glittering like bits of polished jet, Stroud ran from the laboratory. I sat down and stared into empty space. I was afraid to think.

  How much later it was when I heard the doorbell ring, I don’t know. It roused me from my apathy. I went up to open the door.

  Gail stumbled into my arms. “Kirk! What’s wrong? You sounded so queer over the telephone…And I waited at the corner, and you didn’t come. I got worried and rushed over here.” She searched my face anxiously. “Kirk, what is it? What has happened?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to explain: I was afraid to tell her what I had done—afraid to tell her that her father might be dead even now, and that I was the one responsible.

  Gail clutched at my arms. “Kirk—what is it? Why don’t you tell me?”

  I gulped my voice into action. “I can’t tell you, honey,” I said. “Stroud and I are working on something which may solve the mystery of Professor Weller’s death. We’ve got to wait until Stroud comes back. Then you’ll know.”

  Gail looked doubtful, but she desisted from questioning me. She went into the kitchen and made coffee. It was good coffee—but I didn’t notice that then. I was thinking furiously.

  Hollis. Was the murderer Hollis? Was he dead now—or still alive? I hoped desperately that he was still alive.

  Or Arndt. Arndt might very well be the murderer. I prayed that it would be Arndt.

  The afternoon wore away with infinite slowness. The suspense of waiting, not knowing, almost drove me mad.

  And then—at long last—there was the sound of a car stopping before the house. Gail and I rushed to the door as Sheriff Stroud burst in.

  “Well, the case is solved!” Stroud announced triumphantly. “I’ve caught the murderer of Professor Weller. It worked beautifully, Rowan.”

  “Who—who was it?” I husked.

  “Calhern,” Stroud replied.

  I went weak with relief. My legs became so rubbery, I had to sit down in a chair. The next instant implications of the name hit me, and I bounced up with a cry of protest.

  “But that’s impossible!” I yelped. “Calhern couldn’t have been the murderer. Why—why, he had been sent from Washington by the war department. He wouldn’t do a thing like that!”

  “But he did, Rowan.” Stroud’s grin broadened. “You see, Calhern wasn’t Calhern at all, but an immensely clever international spy masquerading as Calhern. The real Calhern was the unidentified dead man I found outside of town yesterday morning!”

  I sat down in the chair again.

  Stroud went on, “What obviously happened is this. Somehow the spy learned about the real Major Calhern’s mission. He intercepted Calhern on the outskirts of Groverton. Probably, he forced Calhern’s car into the ditch, t
hen shot Calhern, and exchanged his clothes for Calhern’s uniform, ripping out the labels as he did so. Then he drove on into town, a confederate driving away Calhern’s own car.

  “The spy wanted Professor Weller’s invention. Our enemies would gladly have given him a fortune for a thing like that at this time. He attended Professor Weller’s demonstration, learning all that he wanted to know. Then, later in the evening, he slipped out of the hotel, went to Weller’s house, and killed him, taking the invention and all the notes relating to it.

  “The spy’s room was on the second floor. It would have been an easy matter to run a rope out of the window, thus getting in and out without the night clerk seeing him. The vibrator itself he had left in his car.”

  “But how did you catch him?” I demanded. “How did you find out?”

  “I didn’t catch him,” Stroud said. “The vibrator did. We used the radio just in time. The spy was leaving town. He was about a mile out when the invention went into action. His car crashed into a tree. There wasn’t much left of him, but from the papers in the uniform he wore, I found out all I needed to know.”

  Stroud grinned and started for the door. “Well, that’s that. I’ve still got some work to do, though.” He grinned again, waved at us, and left.

  I bounced out of the chair. Gail never knew why I yelled with joy. She still doesn’t know why I hugged her so hard…

  WATER LODE

  Originally published in Mammoth Western, December 1946.

  As usual, Pete Tatum was having an argument. Grimly, determinedly, and with all the energy he could muster under the withering glare of the desert sun.

  The fact that he was arguing with himself in no way lessened the intensity of the quarrel.

  “Dang you! I tol’ you there was nothin’ in that valley back in the hills, but you wanted to nosey around, an’ now we gotta hurry, ’cause if’n we don’t there ain’t goin’ to be enough grub an’ water to reach Red Gulch!”