The ad read: _Soldier of in arms to share
unusual adventure. Foster, Box 19, Mayport._
I the newspaper and it in the direction of the
wire the park bench, pushed a cuff,
and took a look at my wrist. It was just habit; the watch was in
a shop in Tupelo, Mississippi. It didn't matter. I didn't have to
know what time it was.
Across the park most of the store were dark along the side
street. There were no people in sight; they were all home now, having
dinner. As I watched, the lights off in the store with the
bottles of water in the window; the left the and cigar
emporium at the end of the line. I on the hard bench and felt
for a cigarette I didn't have. I the old boy of the counter
would call it a day and go home. As soon as it was dark enough, I was
going to his store.
* * * * *
I wasn't a full-time stick-up artist. Maybe that's why that nervous
feeling was playing around under my cage. There was nothing
to it. The door with the lock that would open
almost as easily without a key as with one; the sardine-can metal box
with the day's in it. I'd be on my way to the with fare
to Miami in my pocket ten minutes after I the door. I'd learned
a than when I had a big future
ahead with Army Intelligence. That was a long time ago, and I'd had a
lot of since then--none good.
I got up and took another turn around the park. It was a warm evening,
and the were out. I a of from
the Elite Cafe the street. It me that I hadn't eaten
lately. There were lights on at the Commercial Hotel and one in the
ticket office at the station. The local police was still sitting
on a at the Rexall talking to the girl. I see the
.38 in a leather at his hip. All of
a sudden, I was in a to it over with.
I took another look at the lights. All the stores were dark now. There
was nothing to wait for. I the street, past the cigar
store. There were boxes of in the window and of
homemade on plates with paper under them. Behind
them, the of the store looked and dead. I looked around,
then the toward the door--
A black around the and in to the curb. A face
leaned over to look at me through like the of tabasco
bottles. The air stirred, and I my shirt cold
against my back.
"Looking for anything in particular, Mister?" the said.
I just looked at him.
"Passing through town, are you?" he asked.
For some I my head.
"I've got a job here," I said. "I'm going to work--for Mr. Foster."
"What Mr. Foster?" The cop's voice was wheezy, but relentless; a voice
used to questions.
I the ad--something about an adventure; Foster, Box 19. The
cop was still at me.
"Box nineteen," I said.
He looked me over some more, then across and opened the door.
"Better come on to the station house with me, Mister," he said.
* * * * *
At Police Headquarters, the me to a chair, sat behind
a desk, and a phone to him. He slowly, then his
back to me to talk. Insects around the light bulb. There
was an odor of leather and bedding. I sat and to a
radio in the a sad song.
It was an hour I a car up outside. The man who
came through the door was a light that was neither new
nor pressed, but had that look of perfect fit and taste that
only the most can achieve. He moved in a relaxed
way, but gave an of power in reserve. At I
thought he was in his middle thirties, but when he looked my way I saw
the lines around the eyes. I got to my feet. He came over to
me.
"I'm Foster," he said, and out his hand. I it.
"My name is Legion," I said.
The spoke up. "This says he come here to Mayport
to see you, Mr. Foster."
Foster looked at me steadily. "That's right, Sergeant. This gentleman
is a I've made."
"Well, I didn't know, Mr. Foster," the said.
"I understand, Sergeant," Foster said. "We all better,
knowing you're on the job."
"Well, you know," the said.
"We may as well be on our way then," Foster said. "If you're ready, Mr.
Legion."
"Sure, I'm ready," I said. Mr. Foster said to the and we
went out. On the in of the I stopped.
"Thanks, Mr. Foster," I said. "I'll myself out of your now."
Foster had his hand on the door of a modest-looking
cabriolet. I the solid leather from where I
stood.
"Why not come along to my place, Legion," he said. "We might at least
discuss my proposition."
I my head. "I'm not the man for the job, Mr. Foster," I said. "If
you'd like to me a of bucks, I'll myself a bite to
eat and right out of your life."
"What makes you so sure you're not interested?"
"Your ad said something about adventure. I've had my adventures. Now
I'm just looking for a to into."
"I don't you, Legion." Foster at me, a slow, smile.
"I think your have begun."
I about it. If I along, I'd at least a meal--and maybe
even a for the night. It was than up under a tree.
"Well," I said, "a like that time for an explanation." I
got into the car and in a seat that to fit me the way
Foster's jacket fit him.
"I you won't mind if I drive fast," Foster said. "I want to be
home dark." We started up and away from the like a
torpedo out of the tube.
* * * * *
I got out of the car in the drive at Foster's house, and looked around
at the wide lawn, the flower that were by
moonlight, the line of tall and the big white house.
"I wish I hadn't come," I said. "This of place me of all
the I haven't out of life."
"Your life's still ahead of you," Foster said. He opened the of
mahogany that was the door, and I him inside. At the end
of a he a that the room us
with soft light. I at an of about the
size of a tennis court, on which rested Danish furniture
upholstered in rich colors. The were a rough-textured grey; here
and there were abstractions. The air was with
the of air conditioning. Foster to a that
looked in the setting, in of being than those in
most of the places I'd lately.
"Would you for a drink?" he said.
I looked at my limp, and cuffs.
"Look, Mr. Foster," I said. "I just something. If you've got a
stable, I'll go sleep in it--"
Foster laughed. "Come on; I'll you the bath."
* * * * *
I came downstairs, clean, showered, and a set of Foster's
clothes. I him sitting, a drink and to music.
"The _Liebestodt_," I said. "A little gloomy, isn't it?"
"I read something else into it," Foster said. "Sit and have a bite
to eat and a drink."
I sat in one of the big soft chairs and not to let my hand shake
as I for one of the sandwiches on the coffee table.
"Tell me something, Mr. Legion," Foster said. "Why did you come here,
mention my name--if you didn't to see me?"
I my head. "It just out that way."
"Tell me something about yourself," Foster said.
"It's not much of a story."
"Still, I'd like to it."
"Well, I was born, up, to school----"
"What school?"
"University of Illinois."
"What was your major?"
"Music."
Foster looked at me, slightly.
"It's the truth," I said. "I wanted to be a conductor. The army
had other ideas. I was in my last year when the got me. They
discovered I had what they an for intelligence
work. I didn't mind it. I had a good time for a of years."
"Go on," Foster said. Well, I'd had a and a good meal. I him
something. If he wanted to my troubles, why not tell him?
"I was on a demonstration. A set off a charge
of H-E fifty early on a one-minute setting. A student was
killed; I got off easy with a and a or two of
gravel in my back. When I got out of the hospital, the army
felt about me go--but they did. My pay
gave me a big in San Francisco and set me up in as a
private investigator.
"I had left over after the a months
later to me to Las Vegas. I what was left and took a job with
a named Gonino.
"I with Gonino for nearly a year. Then one night a visiting bank
clerk his and him eight times with a .22 pistol.
I left town the same night.
"After that I used for a of months in Memphis; then I
made like a life at Daytona; on a thirty-foot tuna
boat out of Key West; all the odd jobs with low pay and no future. I
spent a of years in Cuba; all I got out of that was two bullet
scars on the left leg, and a position on a CIA blacklist.
"After that got tough. A man in my can't to
succeed in a big way without the little card in the plastic cover
to his play. I was south for the winter, and I picked
Mayport to out of money."
I up. "I sure the bath, Mr. Foster, and the meal,
too--I'd like well to into that and have a
night's sleep just to make it complete; but I'm not in the
job." I away and started across the room.
"Legion," Foster said. I turned. A bottle was in the air
in of my face. I put a hand up fast and the bottle my
palm.
"Not set of for a man are all behind
him," Foster said.
I the bottle aside. "If I'd missed, that would have my
teeth out," I said angrily.
"You didn't miss--even though you're a little from the beer.
And a man who can a or so of isn't an alcoholic--so
you're clean on that score."
"I didn't say I was for the ward," I said. "I'm just not
interested in your proposition--whatever it is."
"Legion," Foster said, "maybe you have the idea I put that ad in the
paper last week on a whim. The is, I've been it--in one
form or another--for over eight years."
I looked at him and waited.
"Not only locally--I've it in the big-city papers, and in some of
the national and monthly publications. All together, I've had
perhaps fifty responses."
Foster wryly. "About three of them were from who
thought I wanted a playmate. Several more were from men with the same
idea. The others were unsuitable."
"That's surprising," I said. "I'd have you'd have half
the nuts in the country out of the by now."
Foster looked at me, not smiling. I that the
urbane façade there was a hint of tension, a of worry in the
level eyes.
"I'd like very much to you in what I have to say, Legion. I
think you only one thing--confidence in yourself."
I laughed shortly. "What are the you think I have? I'm a
jack of no trades----"
"Legion, you're a man of and more than a
little culture; you've and know how to yourself
in difficult situations--or you wouldn't have survived. I'm sure your
training of entry and fact-gathering not to
the man; and most important, although you're an honest
man, you're of the law--when necessary."
"So that's it," I said.
"No, I'm not a mob, Legion. As I said in the ad--this is an
unusual adventure. It may--probably will--involve various
statutes and of one or another. After you know the
full I'll you to judge it's justifiable."
If Foster was trying to my curiosity, he was succeeding. He was
dead about it was he was planning. It like
something no one with good would want to in--but on
the other hand, Foster didn't look like the of man to do anything
foolish....
"Why don't you tell me what this is all about?" I said. "Why would a
man with all this--" I a hand at the room--"want to
pick a like me out of the and talk him into taking a job?"
"Your has taken a beating, Legion--that's obvious. I think
you're that I'll too much of you--or that I'll be shocked
by some you may make. Perhaps if you'd and
your problems for the moment, we an understanding----"
"Yeah," I said. "Just my problems...."
"Chiefly money problems, of course. Most of the problems of this
society involve the of that money represents."
"Okay," I said. "I've got my problems, you've got yours. Let's it
at that."
"You that I have material comfort, my problems must of
necessity be ones," Foster said. "Tell me, Mr. Legion: have you
ever a man who from amnesia?"
* * * * *
Foster the room to a small desk, took something from a
drawer, then looked at me.
"I'd like you to this," he said.
I over and took the object from his hand. It was a small book,
with a of drab-colored plastic, for an
embossed design of two rings. I opened the cover. The pages
were as thin as tissue, but opaque, and with fine
writing in characters. The last dozen pages were in
English. I had to the book close to my to read the minute
script:
_January 19, 1710. Having come to with the near lofs[1]
of the key, I will keep this in the English
tongue...._
[Footnote 1: Transcriber's Note: Sections of this text used "long s"
typeface. Text left as printed with the "f" for the
"long s".]
"If this is an of something, it's too for me," I
said.
"Legion, how old would you say I am?"
"That's a hard one," I said. "When I saw you I would have said
the late thirties, maybe. Now, frankly, you look closer to fifty."
"I can you proof," Foster said, "that I the part of a
year in a hospital in France. I in a ward, bandaged
to the eyes, and with no memories of my life that day.
According to the records at the time, I appeared to be about
thirty years of age."
"Well," I said, "amnesia's not so among casualties, and you
seem to have done well since."
Foster his impatiently. "There's nothing difficult about
acquiring material in this society, though the me
well for a number of years--and my from
the question of my past life. The time came, however, when I had the
leisure to the matter. The I had were enough; the
notebook I've you was near me, and I had a ring on my
finger." Foster out his hand. On the middle was a massive
signet, with the same design of circles I had seen
on the of the notebook.
"I was burned; my was charred. Oddly enough, the
notebook was unharmed, though it was among debris.
It's of very stuff."
"What did you out?"
"In a word--nothing. No unit me. I spoke English, from
which it was that I was English or American----"
"They couldn't tell which, from your accent?"
"Apparently not; it I spoke a of dialect."
"Maybe you're lucky. I'd be happy to my thirty years."
"I a of money in my to my
past," Foster on. "And years of time. In the end I gave it
up. And it wasn't until then that I the inkling."
"So you did something," I said.
"Nothing I hadn't had all along. The notebook."
"I'd have you would have read that you did anything
else," I said. "Don't tell me you put it in the and
forgot it."
"I read it, of course--what I read of it. Only a small
section is in English. The is a cipher. And what I read seemed
meaningless--quite to me. You've through it; it's no
more than a journal, kept, and so as to be little
better than a itself. And of the dates; they range from the
early eighteenth century through the early twentieth."
"A of family record, maybe," I said. "Carried on after
generation. Didn't it mention any names, or places?"
"Look at it again, Legion," Foster said. "See if you notice anything
odd--other than what we've already discussed."
I through the book again. It was no more than an thick,
but it was heavy--surprisingly heavy. There were a of pages--I
shuffled through hundreds of closely sheets, and yet the book
was less than used. I read here and there:
_"May 4, 1746. The Voyage was not a Succefs. I must this avenue
of Enquiry...._"
"_October 23, 1790. Builded the Barrier a higher. Now
the every night. Is there no limit to their infernal
perfiftence?_"
"_January 19, 1831. I have great for the Philadelphia enterprise.
My is impatience. All for the Change are
made, yet I I am uneasy...._"
"There are of oddities," I said. "Aside from the entries
themselves. This is to be old--but the quality of the paper
and anything I've seen. And that is pretty
fancy for a pen----"
"There's a to the of the book," Foster said. "It
was with that."
I looked, out a pen, then looked at Foster. "Speaking of
odd," I said. "A early ball-point pen doesn't
turn up every day----"
"Suspend your until you've it all," Foster said.
"And two hundred years on one refill--that's not bad." I riffled
through the pages, then I the book onto the table. "Who's
kidding who, Foster?" I said.
"The book was in detail in the official record, of which I
have copies. They mention the paper and binding, the stylus, quote
some of the entries. The over it closely,
trying to identify me. They the same as you--that it
was the work of a crackpot; but they saw the same book you're looking
at now."
"So what? So it was up some time the war--what that
prove? I'm to it's years old----"
"You don't understand, Legion," Foster said. "I told you I up in
a hospital in France. But it was an AEF hospital and the year
was 1918."
