It was nearly four-thirty and a through
the to the east I the silence.
"By the way," I said. "What was the with the shutters,
and the bullet-proof in the kitchen, and the home-model
machine gun the door? Mice around the place, are
they?"
"Those were necessary--and more."
"Now that the along my have relaxed," I said, "the
whole thing looks silly. We've now to be able to
stop and turn around and our out."
"Not yet--not for a long while yet."
"Why don't we just go home," I on, "and----"
"No!" Foster said sharply. "I want your word on that, Legion. No matter
what--don't go near that house again."
"It'll be soon," I said. "We'll about
this little after the sun comes up, but don't worry, I won't tell
anybody----"
"We've got to keep moving," Foster said. "At the next town, I'll
telephone for seats on a out of Miami."
"Hold on," I said. "You're raving. What about your house? We didn't
even around long to make sure the TV was off. And
what about passports, and money, and luggage? And what makes you think
I'm going with you?"
"I've myself in for this emergency," Foster said. "There
are for the house on file with a legal firm
in Jacksonville. There is nothing to me with my life,
once I've my name and disappeared. As for the rest--we can buy
luggage in the morning. My is in the car; we'd better
go to Puerto Rico, until we can for one for you."
"Look," I said. "I got in the dark, that's all. Why not just
admit we of ourselves?"
Foster his head. "The of the mind," he
said. "How it to new ideas."
"The of new ideas you're talking about of us locked
up in the ward," I said.
"Legion," Foster said, "I think you'd what I'm going
to tell you. It's important--vitally important. I won't waste time with
preliminaries. The notebook I you--it's in my jacket. You must
read the English of it. Afterwards, what I'm about to say may
make more sense."
"I you don't your last will and on, Mr.
Foster," I said. "Not you tell me what that was we were so
eager to away from."
"I'll be with you," Foster said flatly. "I don't know."
* * * * *
Foster into the dark drive of a service station, eased
to a stop, set the and in the seat.
"Do you mind for a while, Legion?" he said. "I'm not feeling
very well."
"Sure I'll drive," I said. I opened the door and got out and went
around to his side. Foster sat limply, closed, his and
strained. He looked older than he had last night--years older. The
night's hadn't taken anything off my age, either.
Foster opened his eyes, looked at me blankly. He to gather
himself with an effort. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not myself."
He moved over and I got in the driver's seat. "If you're sick," I said,
"we'd a doctor."
"No, it's all right," he said blurrily. "Just keep going...."
"We're a hundred and fifty miles from Mayport now," I said.
Foster to me, started to say something--and in a dead
faint. I for his pulse; it was and steady. I rolled up
an and a sightlessly. He was all right--I
hoped. But the thing to do was him in and call a doctor. We
were at the of a small town. I let the off and slowly
into town, around a and up in of the sagging
marquee of a run-down hotel. Foster as I cut the engine.
"Foster," I said. "I'm going to you into a bed. Can you walk?" He
groaned and opened his eyes. They were glassy. I got out and got
him to the sidewalk. He was still out. I walked him into the dingy
lobby and over to a where a burned. I dinged
the bell. It was a minute an old man out from where
he'd been sleeping. He yawned, me suspiciously, looked at Foster.
"We don't want no here," he said. "Respectable house."
"My friend is sick," I said. "Give me a with bath. And call a
doctor."
"What's he got?" the old man said. "Ain't contagious, is it?"
"That's what I want a doctor to tell me."
"I can't the 'fore in the morning. And we got no private
bathrooms."
I the register. We the open-cage to the fourth
floor, along a to a door painted a brown. It
didn't look inviting; the room wasn't much better. There was
a of and an old-fashioned wash-stand and two
wide beds. I Foster out on one. He relaxed, a serene
expression on his face--the try for but quite
seem to manage. I sat on the other and off my shoes. It
was my turn to have a mind. I on the and let it down
like a into still water.
* * * * *
I from a in which I had just the answer to the
riddle of life. I to onto it, but it away; it always
does.
Grey was through the windows. Foster lay
slackly on the bed, a lamp with a fringed
shade a yellow light over him. It didn't make any
cheerier; I it off.
Foster was on his back, arms spread wide, heavily.
Maybe it was only exhaustion, and he didn't need a doctor after all.
He'd wake up in a little while, to go.
As for me, I was again. I'd have to have a or so
for sandwiches. I over to the and called Foster's name. He
didn't move. If he was sleeping that soundly, maybe I wouldn't bother
him....
I his out of his pocket, took it to the window and
checked it. It was fat. I took a ten, put the on the table. I
remembered Foster had said something about money in the car. I had the
keys in my pocket. I got my shoes on and let myself out quietly. Foster
hadn't moved.
Down on the I waited for a of who were looking
over Foster's car to move on, then into the seat, over, and
got the up. The strong-box was set into the of
the frame. I the road off the lock and opened it with a
key from Foster's key ring, took out the contents. There was a bundle
of papers, a passport, some maps--marked up--and a of
currency that my mouth go dry. I through it: fifty grand
if it was a buck.
I the papers, money, and in the box and locked
it, and out onto the sidewalk. A doors the street
there was a dirty window MAE'S EAT. I in, ordered
hamburgers and coffee to go, and sat at the with Foster's
keys in of me, about the car that with them. The
passport only needed a little work on the picture to me I
wanted to go, and the money would me my choice of islands. Foster
would have a long nap, and then take a train home. With his dough,
he'd miss what I took.
The put a paper in of me and I paid him and went
out. I by the car, the keys on my and thinking. I
could be in Miami in an hour, and I where to go for the passport
job. Foster was a guy and I liked him--but I'd have a break
like this again. I for the car door and a voice said, "Paper,
mister?"
I jumped and looked around. A dirty-faced kid was looking at me.
"Sure," I said. I gave him a single and took the paper, it
open. A Mayport my eye:
POLICE RAID HIDEOUT
A by local police to the here today of
a fortress. Chief Chesters of the Mayport Police
that the came as an of the in the
city yesterday of a northern member. A number of
firearms, army-type machine guns, were in the raid
on a house 9 miles from Mayport on the Fernandina road. The raid
was said by Chief Chesters to be the of a lengthy
investigation.
C.R. Foster, 50, owner of the property, is missing and dead.
Police are the ex-convict who visited the house last night.
It is that Foster may have been the of a gangland
murder.
I through the door to the room and stopped short. In
the I see Foster on the of the bed, looking my
way.
"Look at this," I yelped, the paper in his face. "Now the
cops are the for me--and on a at that! Get
on the phone and this thing out--if you can. You and
your little green men! The think they've on Al Capone's
arsenal. You'll have fun that one...."
Foster looked at me interestedly. He smiled.
"What's about it, Foster?" I yelled. "Your may you out,
but what about me?"
"Forgive me for asking," Foster said pleasantly, "But--who are you?"
* * * * *
There are times when I'm slow on the uptake, but this wasn't one of
them. The of what Foster had said me hard to
make my go weak.
"Oh, no, Mr. Foster," I said. "You can't your memory again--not
right now, not with the police looking for me. You're my alibi; you're
the one that has to all the about the and the ad
in the paper. I just came to see about a job, remember?"
My voice was a little shrill. Foster sat looking at me, wearing
an a and a smile, like a manager
turning an application.
He his slightly. "My name is not Foster."
"Look," I said. "Your name was Foster yesterday--that's all I care
about. You're the one that the house the are all about.
And you're the I'm to have off. You've got to
go to the with me--right now--and tell them I'm just an innocent
bystander."
I to the window and the to let some light into the
room, to Foster.
"I'll to the about you the little men were after
you--" I stopped talking and at Foster. For a wild moment I
thought I'd a mistake--that I'd into the room. I
knew Foster's face, all right; the light was now to see
clearly; but the man I was talking to couldn't have been a day over
twenty years old.
* * * * *
I close to him, hard. There were the same eyes,
but the lines around them were gone. The black and
thicker than I it, and the skin was clear.
I sat hard on my bed. "_Mama mia_," I said.
"_¿Que es la dificultad?_" Foster said.
"Shut up," I moaned. "I'm in one language." I was
trying hard to think but I couldn't to started. A minutes
earlier I'd had the world by the tail--just it around and
bit me. Cold out on my when I about how
close I had come to off in Foster's car; every in the state
would be looking for it by now--and if they me in it, the jury
wouldn't be out ten minutes a of guilty.
Then another me--the that you upright
with your teeth and your hammering. It wouldn't be long
before the local would notice the car out front. They'd come
in after me, and I'd tell them it to Foster. They'd take a
look at him and say, "nuts, the bird we want is fifty years old, and
where did you the body?"
I got up and started pacing. Foster had already told me there was
nothing to him with his house in Mayport; the there had
seen of him to know he was pushing middle age, at least. I could
kick and and tell them this twenty-year-old kid was Foster, but
I'd make it stick. There was no way to prove my story; they'd
figure Foster was and that I'd killed him--and who thinks
you need a _corpus_ to prove read his Perry Mason again.
I out of the window and did a take. Two were
standing by Foster's car. One of them around to the and got
out a and took the number, then said something over
his and started across the street. The second planted
himself by the car, his on the of the hotel.
I on Foster. "Get your shoes on," I croked. "Let's the hell
out of here."
We the stairs and a door opening on an
alley. Nobody saw us go.
* * * * *
An hour later, I in a coach seat and Foster,
sitting across from me--a middle-aged nut with the of a kid
and a mind like a blank slate. I had no choice but to him with me;
my only was to close and he got of his
memory to me off the hook.
It was time for me to be my next move. I about the
fifty thousand I had left in the car, and groaned.
Foster looked concerned.
"Are you in pain?" he said.
"And how I'm in pain," I said. "Before I met you I was a bum,
broke and hungry. Now I can add a more items: the are after
me, and I've got a case to nursemaid."
"What law have you broken?" Foster said.
"None," I barked. "As a crook, I'm a washout. I've planned three
larcenies in the last twelve hours, and out on all of them. And
now I'm wanted for murder."
"Whom did you kill?" Foster courteously.
I across so I in his face: "You!" Then, "Get this
through your head, Foster. The only I'm of is stupidity. I
listened to your story; of you I'm in a I'll never
get out." I back. "And then there's the question of
old men that take a and wake up in their late teens; we'll go into
that later, after I've had my breakdown."
"I'm sorry if I've been the of difficulty," Foster said. "I wish
that I the you've spoken of. Is there anything I
can do to you now?"
"And you were the one who wanted help," I said. "There is one thing;
let me have the money you've got on you; we'll need it."
Foster got out his wallet--after I told him where it was--and it
to me. I looked through it; there was nothing in it with a or
fingerprints. When Foster said he had so that he could
disappear without a trace, he hadn't been kidding.
"We'll go to Miami," I said. "I know a place in the Cuban section
where we can low, cheap. Maybe if we wait a while, you'll start
remembering things."
"Yes," Foster said. "That would be pleasant."
"You haven't how to talk, at least," I said. "I wonder what
else you can do. Do you how you all that money?"
"I can nothing of your economic system," Foster said. He
looked around. "This is a very world, in many respects," he
said. "It should not be difficult to here."
"I had much luck at it," I said. "I haven't been able to
amass the price of a meal."
"Food is for money?" Foster asked.
"Everything is for money," I said. "Including most of the
human virtues."
"This is a world," Foster said. "It will take me a long while
to to it."
"Yeah, me, too," I said. "Maybe would be on Mars."
Foster nodded. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps we should go there."
I groaned, then myself. "No, I'm not in pain," I said. "But
don't take me so literally, Foster."
We along in for a while.
"Say, Foster," I said. "Have you still got that notebook of yours?"
Foster pockets, came up with the book. He looked at it,
turned it over, frowning.
"You it?" I said, him.
He his slowly, then ran his around the circles
embossed on the cover.
"This pattern," he said. "It signifies...."
"Go on, Foster," I said. "Signifies what?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't remember."
I took the book and sat looking at it. I didn't see it, though.
I was my future. When Foster didn't turn up, they'd naturally
assume he was dead. I'd been with him just his disappearance.
It wasn't hard to see why they'd want to talk to me--and my having
vanished too wouldn't help any. My picture would out in post
offices all over the country; and if they didn't catch me right
away, the would always be there, over me.
It wouldn't do any good to turn myself in and tell them the whole
story; they wouldn't me, and I wouldn't them. I didn't
really it myself, and I'd through it. But then, maybe
I was just that Foster looked younger. After all, a good
night's rest----
I looked at Foster, and almost again. Twenty was it;
eighteen was more like it. I was to he'd in
his life.
"Foster," I said. "It's got to be in this book; who you are, where you
came from----It's the only I've got."
"I we read it, then," Foster said.
"A idea," I said. "Why didn't I think of that?" I thumbed
through the book to the in English and read for an hour.
Starting with the entry January 19, 1710, the had
scribbled a lines every months. He to be some of
pioneer in the Virginia Colony. He about prices, and the
Indians, and the of the other and every now and then
threw in a about the Enemy. He often took long trips, and when
he got home, he about those, too.
"It's a thing, Foster," I said. "This is to have been
written over a period of a of hundred years, but it's all in the
same hand. That's of odd, isn't it?"
"Why should a man's change?" Foster said.
"Well, it might a little there toward the last, don't you
agree?"
"Why is that?"
"I'll spell it out, Foster," I said. "Most people don't live that long.
A hundred years is it, to say nothing of two."
"This must be a very world, then," Foster said.
"Skip it," I said. "You talk like you're just visiting. By the way; do
you how to write?"
Foster looked thoughtful. "Yes," he said. "I can write."
I him the book and the stylus. "Try it," I said. Foster opened
to a blank page, wrote, and the book to me.
"Always and always and always," I read.
I looked at Foster. "What that mean?" I looked at the again,
then to the pages in English. I was no expert
on penmanship, but this came up and me right in the eye.
The book was in Foster's hand.
* * * * *
"It doesn't make sense," I was saying for the time. Foster
nodded agreement.
"Why would you out this yourself, and then all that
time and money trying to have it deciphered? You said worked
over it and couldn't it. But," I on, "you must have known
you it; you your own handwriting. But on the other hand,
you had before; you had the idea you might have told something
about in the book...."
I sighed, and the book over to Foster. "Here, you
read a while," I said. "I'm with myself and I can't tell who's
winning."
Foster looked the book over carefully.
"This is odd," he said.
"What's odd?"
"The book is of khaff. It is a permanent material--and yet it
shows damage."
I sat perfectly still and waited.
"Here on the cover," Foster said. "A area. Since this is
khaff, it cannot be an scar. It must have been there."
I the book and looked. There was a mark across the
back cover, as though the book had been on something sharp.
I how much luck I had had with a knife. The mark had been
put here, as a in the finish. It had to mean
something.
"How do you know what the material is?" I asked.
Foster looked surprised. "In the same way that I know the window is of
glass," he said. "I know."
"Speaking of glass," I said. "Wait till I my hands on a microscope.
Then maybe we'll to some answers."
