“I said it, and I wasn’t just warming up my jets, either. I’d like it.” The big Lensman’s nostrils flared, his lips thinned. “By God, Virge, I will!”
“Thanks, Rod.” With no display whatever of the emotion he felt, Samms skipped deliberately to the matter next in hand. “Now, about Eridan. Let’s see if they know anything yet.,.
The report of Knobos and DalNalten was terse and exact. They had found—and that finding, so baldly put, could have filled and should fill a book—that Spaceways’ uranium vessels were, beyond any reasonable doubt, hauling thionite from Eridan to the planets of Sol. Spy-rays being useless, they had considered the advisability of investigating Eridan in person, but had decided against such action. Eridan was closely held by Uranium, Incorporated. Its population was one hundred percent Tellurian human. Neither DalNalten nor Knobos could disguise himself well enough to work there. Either would be caught promptly, and as promptly shot.
“Thanks, fellows,” Samms said, when it became evident that the brief report was done. Then, to Kinnison, “That puts it up to Conway Costigan. And Jack? Or Mase? Or both?”
“Both,” Kinnison decided, “and anybody else they can use.”
“I’ll get them at it.” Samms sent out thoughts. “And now, I wonder what that daughter of mine is doing? I’m a little worried about her, Rod. She’s too cocky for her own good or strength. Some of these days she’s going to bite off more than she can chew, if she hasn’t already. The more we learn about Morgan, the less I like the idea of her working on Herkimer Herkimer Third. I’ve told her so, a dozen times, and why, but of course it didn’t do any good.”
“It wouldn’t. The only way to develop teeth is to bite with ‘em. You had to. So did
I. Our kids have got to, too. We lived through it. So will they. As for Herky the Third . . .”
He thought for moments, then went on: “Check. But she’s done a job so far that nobody else could do. In spite of that fact, if it wasn’t for our Lenses I’d say to pull her, if you have to heave the insubordinate young jade into the brig. But with the Lenses, and the way you watch her . . . to say nothing of Mase Northrop, and he’s a lot of man . . . I can’t see her getting in either very bad or very deep. Can you?”
“No, I can’t.” Samms admitted, but the thoughtful frown did not leave his face. He Lensed her: finding, as he had supposed, that she was at a party; dancing, as he had feared, with Senator Morgan’s Number One Secretary.
“Hi, Dad!” she greeted him gaily, with no slightest change in the expression of the face turned so engagingly to her partner’s. “I have the honor of reporting that all instruments are still dead-centering the green.”
“And have you, by any chance, been paying any attention to what I have been telling your”
“Oh, lots,” she assured him. “I’ve collected reams of data. He could be almost as much of a menace as he thinks he is, in some cases, but I haven’t begun to slip yet As I have told you all along, this is just a game, and we’re both playing it strictly according to the rules.”
“That’s good. Keep it that way, my dear.” Samms signed off and his daughter returned her full attention—never noticeably absent—to the handsome secretary.
The evening wore on. Miss Samms danced every dance; occasionally with one or another of the notables present, but usually with Herkimer Herkimer Third.
“A drink?” he asked. “A small, cold one?”
“Not so small, and very cold,” she agreed, enthusiastically.
Glass in hand, Herkimer indicated a nearby doorway. “I just heard that our host has acquired a very old and very fine bronze—a Neptune. We should run an eye over it, don’t you think?”
“By all means,” she agreed again.
But as they passed through the shadowed portal the man’s head perked to the right. “There’s something you really ought to see, Jill!” he exclaimed. “Look!”
She looked. A young woman of her own height and build and with her own flamboyant hair, identical as to hair-do and as to every fine detail of dress and of ornamentation, glass in band, was strolling back into the ball-room!
Jill started to protest, but could not. In the brief moment of inaction the beam of a snub-nosed P-gun bad played along her spine from hips to neck. She did not fall—he had given her a very mild jolt—but, rage as she would, she could neither struggle nor scream. And, after the fact, she knew.
But he couldn’t—couldn’t possibly! Nevian paralysis-guns were as outlawed as was Vee Two gas itself! Nevertheless, he had.
And on the instant a woman, dressed in crisp and spotless white and carrying a hooded cloak, appeared—and Herkimer now wore a beard and heavy, horn rimmed spectacles. Thus, very shortly, Virgilia Samms found herself, completely helpless and completely unrecognizable, walking awkwardly out of the house between a businesslike doctor and a solicitous nurse.
“Will you need me any more, Doctor Murray?” The woman carefully and expertly loaded the patient into the rear seat of a car.
“Thank you, no, Miss Childs.” With a sick, cold certainty Jill knew that this conversation was for the benefit of the doorman and the hackers, and that it would stand up under any examination. “Mrs. Harman’s condition is . . . er . . . well, nothing at all serious.”
The car moved out into the street and Jill, really frightened for the first time in her triumphant life, fought down an almost overwhelming wave of panic. The hood had slipped down over her eyes, blinding her. She could not move a single voluntary muscle. Nevertheless, she knew that the car traveled a few blocks—six, she thought—west on Bolton Street before turning left.
Why didn’t somebody Lens her? Her father wouldn’t, she knew, until tomorrow. Neither of the Kinnisons would, nor Spud—they never did except on direct invitation. But Mase would, before he went to bed—or would he? It was past his bed-time now, and she bad been pretty caustic, only last night, because she was doing a particularly delicate bit of reading. But he would . . . he must!
“Mase! Mase! MASE!”
And, eventually, Mase did.
Deep under The Hill, Roderick Kinnison swore fulminantly at the sheer physical impossibility of getting out of that furiously radiating mountain in a hurry. At New York Spaceport, however, Mason Northrop and Jack Kinnison not only could hurry, but did.
“Where are you, Jill?” Northrop demanded presently. “What kind of a car are you in?”
“Quite near Stanhope Circle.” In communication with her friends at last, Jill regained a measure of her usual poise. “Within eight or ten blocks, I’m sure. I’m in a black Wilford sedan, last year’s model. I didn’t get a chance to see its license plates.”
‘”That helps a lot!” Jack grunted, savagely. “A ten-block radius covers a hell of a lot of territory, and half the cars is town are black Wilford sedans.”
“Shut up, Jack! Go ahead, Jill—tell us all you can, and keep on sending us anything that will help at all.”
“I kept the right and left turns and distances straight for quite a while—about twenty blocks—that’s how I know it was Stanhope Circle. I don’t know how many times he went around the circle, though, or which way he went when he left it. After leaving the Circle, the traffic was very light, and here there doesn’t seem to be any traffic at all. That brings us up to date. You’ll know as well as I do what happens next.”
With Jill, the Lensmen knew that Herkimer drove his car up to the curb and stopped—parked without backing up. He got out and hauled the girl’s limp body out of the car, displacing the hood enough to free one eye. Good! Only one other car was visible; a bright yellow convertible parked across the street, about half a block ahead. There was a sign—“NO PARKING ON THIS SIDE 7 TO 10.” The building toward which he was carrying her was more than three stories high, and had a number—one, four—if he would only swing her s little bit more, so that she could see the rest of it—one four-seven-nine!
“Rushton Boulevard, you think, Mase?”
“Could be. Fourteen seventy nine would be on the downtown-traffic side. Blast!”
Into the building, where two masked men locked and barred the door behind them. “And keep it locked!” Herkimer ordered. “You know what to do until I come back down.”
Into an elevator, and up. Through massive double doors into a room, whose most conspicuous item of furniture was a heavy steel chair, bolted to the floor. Two masked men got up and placed themselves behind that chair.
Jill’s strength was coming back fast; but not fast enough. The cloak was removed. Her ankles were tied firmly, one to each front leg of the chair. Herkimer threw four turns of rope around her torso and the chair’s back, took up every inch of slack, and tied a workmanlike knot. Then, still without a word, he stood back and lighted a cigarette. The last trace of paralysis disappeared, but the girl’s mad struggles, futile as they were, were not allowed to continue.