I at Foster. He didn't look like a nut....
"All I've got to say is," I said, "you're a of a spry-looking
ninety."
"You my youthful. What would be your reaction
if I told you that I've in the past months? That
a year ago I have passed as no older than thirty without the
slightest difficulty----"
"I don't think I'd you," I said. "And I'm sorry, Mr. Foster;
but I don't the about the 1918 hospital either. How can I?
It's----"
"I know. Fantastic. But let's go a moment to the book itself. Look
closely at the paper; it's been by experts. They're by
it. Attempts to it failed--they were unable to take
a sample. It's to solvents----"
"They couldn't a sample?" I said. "Why not just tear off the corner
of one of the sheets?"
"Try it," Foster said.
I up the book and at the of one of the blank
sheets, then and pulled. The paper held. I got a better
grip and again. It was like fine, leather, that it
didn't stretch.
"It's tough, all right," I said. I took out my pocket knife and opened
it and on the of the paper. Nothing. I over to the
bureau and put the paper against the top and at it, putting
my weight on the knife. I the knife and it hard. I
didn't so much as mark the sheet. I put the knife away.
"That's some paper, Mr. Foster," I said.
"Try to tear the binding," Foster said. "Put a match to it. Shoot at
it if you like. Nothing will make an on that material. Now,
you're a logical man, Legion. Is there something here ordinary
experience or is there not?"
I sat down, for a cigarette. I still didn't have.
"What it prove?" I said.
"Only that the book is not a fraud. You're something
which can't be as fancy. The book exists. That is our basic
point of departure."
"Where do we go from there?"
"There is a second to be considered," Foster on. "At some
time in the past I to have an enemy. Someone, or something,
is me."
I a laugh, but it out of place. "Why not still and let
it catch up with you? Maybe it tell you what the whole thing is
about."
Foster his head. "It started almost thirty years ago," he said.
"I was south from Albany, New York, at night. It was a long
straight of road, no houses. I noticed lights me. Not
headlights--something that along, off in the along the
road. But they pace, moving alongside. Then they closed
in ahead, out of range of my headlights. I stopped the car. I
wasn't alarmed, just curious. I wanted a look, so I
switched on my and played it on the lights. They disappeared
as the light touched them. After a dozen were gone, the began
closing in. I them off. There was a sound, too, a of
high-pitched humming. I a of then, and suddenly
I was afraid--deathly afraid. I the last one in the no
more than ten from the car. I can't the of the
moment----"
"It weird," I said. "But what was there to be of?
It must have been some of lightning."
"There is always the explanation," Foster said. "But no explanation
can the I felt. I started up the car
and on--right through the night and the next day. I that
I must put myself and it was I had met. I
bought a home in California and to put the out of my
mind--with limited success. Then it again."
"The same thing? Lights?"
"It was more the next time. It started with
interference--static--on my radio. Then it the in the
house. All the lights to weakly, though they were
switched off. I it--feel it in my bones--moving closer,
hemming me in. I the car; it wouldn't start. Fortunately, I kept
a at that time. I and into town--and at a fair
gallop, you may be sure. I saw the lights, but them. I
caught a train and going."
"I don't see----"
"It again; four times in all. I I had
succeeded in it at last. I was mistaken. I have had definite
indications that my time here is to a close. I would have been
gone now, but there were to be made."
"Look," I said. "This is all wrong. You need a psychiatrist, not an
ex-tough guy. Delusions of persecution----"
"It that the was to be in my
past life," Foster on. "I to the notebook, my only link.
I it out, the portion. I had photostatic
enlargements of the section--the part in
unfamiliar characters. None of the who have the script
have been able to identify it.
"I necessarily, therefore, my attention on the last
section--the only part in English. I was by
a I had before. The to an
Enemy, a 'they', against which had to be
taken."
"Maybe that's where you got the idea," I said. "When you read the
book----"
"The of the log," Foster said, "was by the same nemesis
that now me."
"It doesn't make any sense," I said.
"For the moment," Foster said, "stop looking for logic in the
situation. Look for a pattern instead."
"There's a pattern, all right," I said.
"The next thing that me," Foster on, "was a to a
loss of memory--a second point of some to me. The writer
expresses at the to which
would have been useful to him in his pursuit."
"What of pursuit?"
"Some of scientific project, as nearly as I can gather. The
journal with to that are never
explained."
"And you think the man that it had amnesia?"
"Not amnesia, perhaps," Foster said. "But there were he
was unable to remember."
"If that's amnesia, we've all got it," I said. "Nobody's got a perfect
memory."
"But these were of importance; not the of thing that
simply one's mind."
"I can see how you'd want to the book had something to do with
your past, Mr. Foster," I said. "It must be a hard thing, not knowing
your own life story. But you're on the track. Maybe the book is a
story you started to write--in code, so nobody would read
the and kid you about it."
"Legion, what was it you planned to do when you got to Miami?"
The question me a little off-guard. "Well, I don't know," I
hedged. "I wanted to south, where it's warm. I used to know a few
people----"
"In other words, nothing," Foster said. "Legion, I'll pay you well to
stay with me and see this thing through."
I my head. "Not me, Mr. Foster. The whole thing sounds--well,
the word I can think of is 'nutty.'"
"Legion," Foster said, "do you I'm insane?"
"Let's just say this all a little to me, Mr. Foster."
"I'm not you just to work for me," Foster said. "I'm for
your help."
"You might as well look for your in tea leaves," I said,
irritated. "There's nothing in what you've told me."
"There's more, Legion. Much more. I've an important
discovery. When I know you're with me, I'll tell you. You know enough
now to accept the that this isn't a of my
imagination."
"I don't know anything," I said. "So it's all talk."
"If you're about payment----"
"No, it," I barked. "Where are the papers you keep talking about?
I ought to have my for here you. I've
got enough----" I stopped talking and my hands over my
scalp. "I'm sorry, Mr. Foster," I said. "I what's griping
me is that you've got I think I want--and you're not content
with it. It me to see you off fairies. If a man with
his health and of money can't life, what the is there
for anybody?"
Foster looked at me thoughtfully. "Legion, if you have anything
in life you wanted, what would you ask for?"
"Anything? I've wanted a of different things. Once I wanted to be
a hero. Later, I wanted to be smart, know all the answers. Then I had
the idea that a to do an job, one that needed doing, was
the big thing. I that job. I got either, or
figured out how to tell a hero from a coward, without a program."
"In other words," Foster said, "you were looking for an abstraction
to in--in this case, Justice. But you won't in
nature. It's a thing that only man or acknowledges."
"There are some good in life; I'd like to a piece of them."
"Don't your for dreaming, in the process."
"Dreams?" I said. "Oh, I've got those. I want an in
the sun, where I can my time and the sea."
"You're speaking cynically--but you're still attempting to concretize
an abstraction," Foster said. "But no matter--materialism is simply
another of idealism."
I looked at Foster. "But I know I'll have those things--or that
Justice you were talking about, either. Once you know you'll
never make it...."
"Perhaps is an of any dream," Foster
said. "But onto your dream, it is--don't give it up."
"So much for philosophy," I said. "Where is it us?"
"You'd like to see the papers," Foster said. He a key ring from
an pocket. "If you don't mind going out to the car," he said,
"and your hands dirty, there's a strong-box welded
to the frame. I keep photostats of there, along with my
passport, and so on. I've learned to be to
travel on very notice. Lift the floorboards; you'll see the box."
"It's not all that urgent," I said. "I'll take a look in the
morning--after I've up on some sleep. But don't the wrong
idea--it's just my knot-headed curiosity."
"Very well," Foster said. He back, sighed. "I'm tired, Legion," he
said. "My mind is tired."
"Yeah," I said, "so is mine--not to mention other of my
anatomy."
"Get some sleep," Foster said. "We'll talk again in the morning."
* * * * *
I pushed the light and out of bed. Underfoot, the rug
was as thick and soft as a girl's mink. I across to the
closet and pushed the that the door aside. My old
clothes were still on the where I had left them, but I had
the clean ones Foster had me. He wouldn't mind if I them
for a while longer--it would be for him in the long run. Foster
was as as a six-day racer, but there was no point in my
waiting around to tell him so.
The didn't a coat. I of my
old jacket on but it was warm and a pin-stripe with
grease wouldn't help the picture any. I transferred my personal
belongings from the on the floor, and the door open.
Downstairs, the were in the room. I vaguely
make out the of the bar. It wouldn't to take along a bite
to eat. I my way the bar, along the shelves, found
a of small that softly. Nuts, probably. I to
put a can on the and it against something I couldn't see.
I silently, over the obstruction. It was bulky, with the
cold of metal, and there were small with sharp
corners. It for all the world like----
I over it and squinted. With the of moonlight from
a in the just so, I almost make
out the shape; I a little lower, and the of
light along the jacket of a .30 machine gun. My eye
followed the barrel, out the square of the entrance hall,
and the of light off the at the
far end.
I back, against the wall, with a feeling
inside. If I had to walk through that door....
Foster was for two ordinary nuts. My around
the room. I had to out he jumped out and said _Boo!_
and I died of failure. The windows, maybe. I came around the end
of the bar, got and under the of the gun and over
to the drapes, pushing them aside. Pale light the
glass. Not the soft light of the moon, but a milky, that
reminded me of the phosphorescence of sea water....
I the curtain, under the gun into the hall, and
pushed through a door into the kitchen. There was a faint
glow from the of the refrigerator. I it open,
spilling light on the floor, and looked around. Plenty of gleaming
white fixtures--but no door out. There was a window, almost obscured
by leaves. I it open and almost my on a wrought-iron
trellis.
Back in the hall, I two more doors, locked. A third opened,
and I myself looking the stairs. They were and
dark as stairs always to be, but they might be the way out.
I for a light switch, it on. A weak me
a of damp-looking at the of the steps. It still wasn't
inviting, but I down.
There was an oil in the center of the room, with dusty
duct-work out across the ceiling; some packing cases
of were along one wall, and at the of the
room, there was a boarded-up bin--but no door.
I to go up. Then I a and froze. Somewhere a
cockroach briefly. Then I the again, a faint
grinding of against stone. I through the cob-webbed
shadows, my mouth dry. There was nothing.
The thing for me to do was to up the stairs fast, the iron
trellis out of the window, and like hell. The trouble was,
I had to move to do it, and the of my own steps was so loud it
was paralyzing. Compared to this, the of over the gun
was just a mild kick, like a in your Cracker-jacks.
Ordinarily I didn't in that in the night,
but this time I was the myself, and all I think
about was Edgar Allen Poe and his about people who got
themselves they were dead.
There was another sound, then a snap, and I saw light up
from a that opened across the in the corner. That
was for me. I jumped for the stairs, took them three at a time,
and through the door. I up a chair, it
around and it against the trellis. It and cracked
me across the mouth. I it, blood. Maybe that was what
I needed. The panic a emotion--anger. I turned
and along the dark to the room--and lights suddenly
went on. I and saw Foster in the doorway, fully
dressed.
"OK, Foster!" I yelled. "Just me the way out of here."
Foster my eyes, his tense. "Calm yourself, Mr. Legion," he
said softly. "What's here?"
"Get over there to that gun," I snapped, toward the .30 calibre
on the bar. "Disarm it, and then the door open. I'm leaving."
Foster's over the I was wearing.
"So I see," he said. He looked me in the again. "What is it that's
frightened you, Legion?"
"Don't act so innocent," I said. "Or am I to the idea the
brownies set up that while you were asleep?"
His to the gun and his tightened. "It's mine," he
said. "It's an arrangement. Something's it--and
without my alarm. You haven't been outside, have you?"
"How I----"
"This is important, Legion," Foster rapped. "It would take more than
the of a machine gun to panic you. What have you seen?"
"I was looking for a door," I said. "I to the cellar. I
didn't like it there so I came up."
"What did you see in the cellar?" Foster's looked strained,
colorless.
"It looked like ..." I hesitated. "There was a in the floor,
noises, lights...."
"The floor," Foster said. "Certainly. That's the weak point." He seemed
to be talking to himself.
I a thumb over my shoulder. "Something going on outside
your windows, too."
Foster looked toward the hangings. "Listen carefully, Legion,"
he said. "We are in danger--both of us. It's you arose
when you did. This house, as you must have by now, is something
of a fortress. At this moment, it is under attack. The are
protected by some defenses. I can't say as much for
the floor; it's three of ferro-concrete. We'll have
to go now--very swiftly, and very quietly."
"OK--show me," I said. Foster and along the to
one of the locked doors where he pressed something. The door opened and
I him a small room. He to a blank wall, pressed
against it. A aside--and Foster jumped back.
"God's wounds!" he gasped. He himself at the and the panel
closed. I stock still; from there was a like
sulphur.
"What the goes on?" I said. My voice cracked, as it always does
when I'm scared.
"That odor," Foster said. "Quickly--the other way!"
I and Foster pushed past me and ran along the hall, with
me at his heels. I didn't look to see what was at my own heels.
Foster took the stairs three at a time, up on the landing.
He to his knees, an Isfahan as as sable,
and a ring set in the floor. He looked at me, his face
white.
"Invoke gods," he said hoarsely, and at the ring. A section
of up, the step of a leading into
a black hole. Foster didn't hesitate; he his in, scrambled
down. I followed. The stairs about ten feet, on a
stone floor. There was the of a turning, and we out
into a larger room. I saw moonlight through a of high windows, and
smelled the of fresh night air.
"We're in the garage," Foster whispered. "Go around to the other side
of the car and in--quietly." I touched the of the
rakish cabriolet, my way around it, and the door open. I
slipped into the seat and closed the door gently. Beside me, Foster
touched a and a green light on the dash.
"Ready?" he said.
"Sure."
The a turn and the engine caught. Without waiting,
Foster it, let in the clutch. The car for the closed
doors, and I ducked, and then saw the doors as the low-slung
car out into the night. We took the turn in the drive at
forty, and onto the at sixty, screaming. I took a
look and a of the house, its façade white
in the moonlight--and then we were out of over a rise.
"What's it all about?" I called over the of air. The needle
touched ninety, going.
"Later," Foster barked. I didn't like arguing. I in the
mirror for a minutes, where all the were tonight.
Then I settled in the seat and the eat
up the miles.
