“And so?”
“And so I want to ask you one question: Why did you come to Berkeley?”
“For publicity on Fangs, of course. It was your sister’s idea.”
“You’ve gone temperamental and turned down better ones. Why leap at this?”
“You don’t haunt publicity stunts yourself, Fergus. Why are you here?”
Fergus was pacing again. “And why was your first act in Berkeley a visit to the office of the German department?”
“Isn’t that natural enough? I used to be a student here.”
“Majoring in dramatics, and you didn’t go near the Little Theater. Why the German department?” He paused and stood straight in front of her, fixing her with his green gaze.
Gloria assumed the attitude of a captured queen defying the barbarian conqueror. “Very well. If you must know— I went to the German department to see the man I love.”
Wolf held his breath, and tried to keep his tail from thrashing.
“Yes,” she went on impassionedly, “you strip the last veil from me, and force me to confess to you what he alone should have heard first. This man proposed to me by mail. I foolishly rejected his proposal. But I thought and thought—and at last I knew. When I came to Berkeley I had to see him—”
“And did you?”
“The little mouse of a secretary told me he wasn’t there. But I shall see him yet. And when I do—”
Fergus bowed stiffly. “My congratulations to you both, my sweeting. And the name of this more than fortunate gentleman?”
“Professor Wolfe Wolf.”
“Who is doubtless the individual referred to in this?” He whipped a piece of paper from his sport coat and thrust it at Gloria. She paled and was silent. But Wolfe Wolf did not wait for her reply. He did not care. He knew the solution to his problem now, and he was streaking unobserved for her boudoir.
Gloria Garton entered the boudoir a minute later, a shaken and wretched woman. She unstoppered one of the delicate perfume bottles on her dresser and poured herself a stiff tot of whiskey. Then her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she stared at her mirror. Scrawlingly lettered across the glass in her own deep-crimson lipstick was the mysterious word
ABSARKA
Frowning, she said it aloud. “Absarka—”
From behind a screen stepped Professor Wolfe Wolf, incongruously wrapped in one of Gloria’s lushest dressing robes. “Gloria dearest—” he cried.
“Wolfe!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here in my room?”
“I love you. I’ve always loved you since you couldn’t tell a strong from a weak verb. And now that I know that you love me—”
“This is terrible. Please get out of here!”
“Gloria—”
“Get out of here, or I’ll sick my dog on you. Wolfie— Here, nice Wolfie!”
“I’m sorry, Gloria. But Wolfie won’t answer you.”
“Oh, you beast! Have you hurt Wolfie? Have you—”
“I wouldn’t touch a hair on his pelt. Because, you see, Gloria darling, I am Wolfie.”
“What on earth do you—” Gloria stared around the room. It was undeniable that there was no trace of the presence of a wolf dog. And here was a man dressed only in one of her robes and no sign of his own clothes. And after that funny little man and the rope . . .
“You thought I was drab and dull,” Wolf went on. “You thought I’d sunk into an academic rut. You’d sooner have an actor or a G-man. But I, Gloria, am something more exciting than you’ve ever dreamed of. There’s not another soul on earth I’d tell this to, but I, Gloria, am a werewolf.”
Gloria gasped. “That isn’t possible! But it does all fit in. When I heard about you on campus, and your friend with the funny beard and how he vanished, and, of course, it explains how you did tricks that any real dog couldn’t possibly do—”
“Don’t you believe me, darling?”
Gloria rose from the dresser chair and went into his arms. “I believe you, dear. And it’s wonderful! I’ll bet there’s not another woman in all Hollywood that was ever married to a werewolf!”
“Then you will—”
“But of course, dear. We can work it out beautifully. We’ll hire a stooge to be your trainer on the lot. You can work daytimes, and come home at night and I’ll say that word for you. It’ll be perfect.”
“Gloria . . .” Wolf murmured with tender reverence.
“One thing, dear. Just a little thing. Would you do Gloria a favor?”
“Anything!”
“Show me how you change. Change for me now. Then I’ll change you back right away.”
Wolf said The Word. He was in such ecstatic bliss that he hardly felt the pang this time. He capered about the room with all the litheness of his fine wolfish legs, and ended up before Gloria, wagging his tail and looking for approval.
Gloria patted his head. “Good boy, Wolfie. And now, darling, you can just damned well stay that way.”
Wolf let out a yelp of amazement.
“You heard me, Wolfie. You’re staying that way. You didn’t happen to believe any of that guff I was feeding the detective, did you? Love you? I should waste my time! But this way you can be very useful to me. With your trainer gone, I can take charge of you and pick up an extra thousand a week or so. I won’t mind that. And Professor Wolfe Wolf will have vanished forever, which fits right in with my plans.”
Wolf snarled.
“Now, don’t try to get nasty, Wolfie darling. Um wouldn’t threaten urns darling Gloria, would urns? Remember what I can do for you. I’m the only person that can turn you into a man again. You wouldn’t dare teach anyone else that. You wouldn’t dare let people know what you really are. An ignorant person would kill you. A smart one would have you locked up as a lunatic.”
Wolf still advanced threateningly.
“Oh, no. You can’t hurt me. Because all I’d have to do would be to say the word on the mirror. Then you wouldn’t be a dangerous wolf any more. You’d just be a man here in my room, and I’d scream. And after what happened on the campus yesterday, how long do you think you’d stay out of the madhouse?”
Wolf backed away and let his tail droop.
“You see, Wolfie darling? Gloria has urns just where she wants urns. And urns is damned well going to be a good boy.”
There was a rap on the boudoir door, and Gloria called, “Come in.”
“A gentleman to see you, madam,” the maid announced. “A Professor Fearing.” Gloria smiled her best cruel and queenly smile. “Come along, Wolfie. This may interest you.”
Professor Oscar Fearing, overflowing one of the graceful chairs of the sitting room, beamed benevolently as Gloria and the wolf entered. “Ah, my dear! A new pet. Touching.”
“And what a pet, Oscar. Wait till you hear. ”
Professor Fearing buffed his pince-nez against his sleeve. “And wait, my dear, until you hear all that I have learned. Chiswick has perfected his protective screen against magnetic bombs, and the official trial is set for next week. And Farnsworth has all but completed his researches on a new process for obtaining osmium. Gas warfare may start any day, and the power that can command a plentiful supply of—”
“Fine, Oscar,” Gloria broke in. “But we can go over all this later. We’ve got other worries right now.”
“What do you mean, my dear?”
“Have you run into a red-headed young Irishman in a yellow shirt?”
“No, I— Why, yes. I did see such an individual leaving the office yesterday. I believe he had been to see Wolfe.”
“He on to us. He’s a detective from Los Angeles, and he’s tracking us down. Someplace he got hold of a scrap of record that should have been destroyed. He knows I’m in it, and he knows I’m tied up with somebody here in the German department.”
Professor Fearing scrutinized his pince-nez, approved of their cleanness, and set them on his nose. “Not so much excitement, my dear. No hysteria. Let us approach this calmly. Does he know about
the Temple of the Dark Truth?”
“Not yet. Nor about you. He just knows it’s somebody in the department.”
“Then what could be simpler? You have heard of the strange conduct of Wolfe Wolf?”
“Have I!” Gloria laughed harshly.
“Everyone knows of Wolfe’s infatuation with you. Throw the blame onto him. It should be easy to clear yourself and make you appear an innocent tool. Direct all attention to him and the organization will be safe. The Temple of the Dark Truth can go its mystic way and extract even more invaluable information from weary scientists who need the emotional release of a false religion.”
“That’s what I’ve tried to do. I gave O’Breen a long song and dance about my devotion to Wolfe, so obviously phony he’d be bound to think it was a cover-up for something else. And I think he bit. But the situation’s a damned sight trickier than you guess. Do you know where Wolfe Wolf is?”
“No one knows. After the president . . . ah . . . rebuked him, he seems to have vanished.”
Gloria laughed again. “He’s right here. In this room.”
“My dear! Secret panels and such? You take your espionage too seriously. Where?”
“There!”
Professor Fearing gaped. “Are you serious?”
“As serious as you are about the future of Fascism. That is Wolfe Wolf.”
Fearing approached the wolf incredulously and extended his hand.
“He might bite,” Gloria warned him a second too late.
Fearing stared at his bleeding hand. “That, at least,” he observed, “is undeniably true.” And he raised his foot to deliver a sharp kick.
“No, Oscar! Don’t! Leave him alone. And you’ll have to take my word for it—it’s way too complicated. But the wolf is Wolfe Wolf, and I’ve got him absolutely under control. He’s perfectly in our hands. We’ll switch suspicion to him, and I’ll keep him this way while Fergus and his friends the G-men go off hotfoot on his trail.”
“My dear!” Fearing ejaculated. “You’re mad. You’re more hopelessly mad than the devout members of the Temple.” He took off his pince-nez and stared again at the wolf. “And yet Tuesday night— Tell me one thing: From whom did you get this . . . this wolf dog?”
“From a funny plump little man with a fringy beard.”
Fearing gasped. Obviously he remembered the furor in the Temple, and the wolf and the fringe-beard. “Very well, my dear. I believe you. Don’t ask me why, but I believe you. And now—”
“Now, it’s all set, isn’t it? We keep him here helpless, and we use him to—”
“The wolf as scapegoat. Yes. Very pretty.”
“Oh! One thing—” She was suddenly frightened.
Wolfe Wolf was considering the possibilities of a sudden attack on Fearing. He could probably get out of the room before Gloria could say Absarka! But after that? Whom could he trust to restore him? Especially if G-men were to be set on his trail . . .
“What is it?”, Fearing asked.
“That secretary. That little mouse in the department office. She knows it was you I asked for, not Wolf. Fergus can’t have talked to her yet, because he swallowed my story; but he will. He’s thorough.”
“Hm-m-m. Then, in that case—”
“Yes, Oscar?”
“She must be attended to.” Professor Oscar Fearing beamed genially and reached for the phone.
Wolf acted instantly, on inspiration and impulse. His teeth were strong, quite strong enough to jerk the phone cord from the wall. That took only a second, and in the next second he was out of the room and into the hall before Gloria could open her mouth to speak that word that would convert him from a powerful and dangerous wolf to a futile man.
There were shrill screams and a shout or two of “Mad dog!” as he dashed through the hotel lobby, but he paid no heed to them. The main thing was to reach Emily’s house before she could be “attended to.” Her evidence was essential. That could swing the balance, show Fergus and his G-men where the true guilt lay. And, besides, he admitted to himself, Emily was a damned nice kid . . .
His rate of collision was about one point six six per block, and the curses heaped upon him, if theologically valid, would have been more than enough to damn him forever. But he was making time, and that was all that counted. He dashed through traffic signals, cut into the path of trucks, swerved from under streetcars, and once even leaped over a stalled car that was obstructing him. Everything was going fine, he was halfway there, when two hundred pounds of human flesh landed on him in a flying tackle.
He looked up through the brilliant lighting effects of smashing his head on the sidewalk and saw his old nemesis, the policeman who had been cheated of his beer.
“So, Rover!” said the officer. “Got you at last, did I? Now we’ll see if you’ll wear a proper license tag. Didn’t know I used to play football, did you?”
The officer’s grip on his hair was painfully tight. A gleeful crowd was gathering and heckling the policeman with fantastic advice.
“Get along, boys,” he admonished. “This is a private matter between me and Rover here. Come on,” and he tugged even harder.
Wolf left a large tuft of fur and skin in the officer’s grasp and felt the blood ooze out of the bare patch on his neck. He heard a ripe oath and a pistol shot simultaneously, and felt the needlelike sting through his shoulder. The awestruck crowd thawed before him. Two more bullets hied after him, but he was gone, leaving the most dazed policeman in Berkeley.
“I hit him,” the officer kept muttering blankly. “I hit the—”
Wolfe Wolf coursed along Dwight Way. Two more blocks and he’d be at the little bungalow that Emily shared with a teaching assistant in something or other. Ripping out that telephone had stopped Fearing only momentarily; the orders would have been given by now, the henchmen would be on their way. But he was almost there . . .
“He’o!” a child’s light voice called to him. “Nice woof-woof come back!”
Across the street was the modest frame dwelling of Robby and his shrewish mother. The child had been playing on the sidewalk. Now he saw his idol and deliverer and started across the street at a lurching toddle. “Nice woof-woof!” he kept calling. “Wait for Robby!”
Wolf kept on. This was no time for playing games with even the most delightful of cubs. And then he saw the car. It was an ancient jalopy, plastered with wisecracks even older than itself; and the high school youth driving was obviously showing his girl friend how it could make time on this deserted residential street. The girl was a cute dish, and who could be bothered watching out for children?
Robby was directly in front of the car. Wolf leaped straight as a bullet. His trajectory carried him so close to the car that he could feel the heat of the radiator on his flank. His forepaws struck Robby and thrust him out of danger. They fell to the ground together, just as the car ground over the last of Wolf’s caudal vertebrae.
The cute dish screamed. “Homer! Did we hit them?”
Homer said nothing, and the jalopy zoomed on.
Robby’s screams were louder. “You hurt me!! You hurt me! Baaaaad woofwoof!”
His mother appeared on the porch and joined in with her own howls of rage. The cacophony was terrific. Wolf let out one wailing yelp of his own, to make it perfect and to lament his crushed tail, and dashed on. This was no time to clear up misunderstandings.
But the two delays had been enough. Robby and the policeman had proved the perfect unwitting tools of Oscar Fearing. As Wolf approached Emily’s little bungalow, he saw a gray sedan drive off. In the rear was a small, slim girl, and she was struggling.
Even a werewolf’s lithe speed cannot equal that of a motor car. After a block of pursuit, Wolf gave up and sat back on his haunches panting. It felt funny, he thought even in that tense moment, not to be able to sweat, to have to open your mouth and stick out your tongue and . . .
“Trouble?” inquired a solicitous voice.
This time Wolf recognized the cat. “Heavens, yes,
” he assented wholeheartedly. “More than you ever dreamed of.”
“Food shortage?” the cat asked. “But that toddler back there is nice and plump.”
“Shut up,” Wolf snarled.
“Sorry; I was just judging from what Confucius told me about werewolves. You don’t mean to tell me that you’re an altruistic were?”
“I guess I am. I know werewolves are supposed to go around slaughtering, but right now I’ve got to save a life.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Ah,” the cat reflected philosophically. “Truth is a dark and deceitful thing.”
Wolfe Wolf was on his feet. “Thanks,” he barked. “You’ve done it.”
“Done what?”
“See you later.” And Wolf was off at top speed for the Temple of the Dark Truth.
That was the best chance. That was Fearing’s headquarters. The odds were at least even that when it wasn’t being used for services it was the hangout of his ring, especially since the consulate had been closed in San Francisco. Again the wild running and leaping, the narrow escapes; and where Wolf had not taken these too seriously before, he knew now that he might be immune to bullets, but certainly not to being run over. His tail still stung and ached tormentingly. But he had to get there. He had to clear his own reputation, he kept reminding himself; but what he really thought was, I have to save Emily.
A block from the Temple he heard the crackle of gunfire. Pistol shots and, he’d swear, machine guns, too. He couldn’t figure what it meant, but he pressed on. Then a bright-yellow roadster passed him and a vivid flash came from its window. Instinctively he ducked. You might be immune to bullets, but you still didn’t just stand still for them.
The roadster was gone and he was about to follow when a glint of bright metal caught his eye. The bullet that had missed him had hit a brick wall and ricocheted back onto the sidewalk. It glittered there in front of him—pure silver!
This, he realized abruptly, meant the end of his immunity. Fearing had believed Gloria’s story, and with his smattering of occult lore he had known the successful counterweapon. A bullet, from now on, might mean no more needle sting, but instant death.
The Compleat Boucher Page 8