It was Ellen’s voice. I opened my eyes and stared up into her face. My head was on her lap. She massaged the side of my neck. The back of my head throbbed. But I could forget about that, as long as Ellen was with me.
Ellen was with me. But that meant—I tried to sit up and almost made it.
“Take it easy,” she said. “Wait a minute.”
But I didn’t have a minute to wait. I had to sit up, even though the walls spun round and round. I had to sit up, focus my eyes, and stare at my surroundings. I had to find out where I was, where we were.
I managed. Ellen and I were on a couch in a small room. The walls were of unfinished board, nailed loosely in slats over a base of stone. I could see the stone through the boards because some of them were badly warped by dampness. The air smelled damp and musty. A low-watt naked light bulb dangled from the ceiling, its wire connection trailing off to another room beyond a low door.
There was only one other piece of furniture—a chair— and Caldwell slumped forward in it. He looked at me, nodded, but did not smile. Ellen wasn’t smiling, either. Come to think of it, neither was I.
Quite a reunion. Quite a surprise. I’d always been sentimental about reunions, but this wasn’t the time or the place. I could see that at a glance.
“So they got you, eh?” I said.
“That’s right,” Caldwell sighed, heavily. “The way I figure it, Jake or the Professor came to and called Doc Sylvestro out at the Canyon. He took care of Miss Bauer. They didn’t figure you coming back out, so you surprised Rogers.
“They thought you’d come to me. And that’s where they went looking. We had the door locked, but Jake got in through the cellar. Before we suspected anything, he had a gun on us and then he and the Professor took over.”
I shook my head, trying to shake off some of the pain and not succeeding very well at it. Apparently this wasn’t my day for success.
“Might have figured it if I hadn’t been so stupid,” I said. “Then I suppose they were already there when I called you?”
“Yes,” Caldwell told me. “They were there, all right. Jake had his gun in my back all the time I was talking to you. I wanted to warn you, somehow, but—he had his gun in my back, and...”
His voice trailed away in a sigh.
“Not your fault,” I said. “What else could you do? So they knew I was going to the boardwalk and they came after me.”
“Sylvestro did,” Ellen said. “The Professor and Jake brought us here in their car. Sylvestro took you.”
“Just where are we?” I asked. Then, “Don’t tell me. I already know. Well, I always wanted to find out what the Professor’s hideout looked like. I always wanted to get down into the cistern. Looks like my wish is granted.”
“Take it easy, Eddie.”
I stood up. The room whirled, but I waited until it was steady once more. “Where are they?” I asked. “And what are they up to? They didn’t tie us up or anything. Maybe we can—”
“Forget it.”
I recognized the shadow even before the bullet head poked around the side of the door. Good old Jake. Good old Jake and his big fat .45.
“The dame’s right,” he said. “Take it easy. Doc and the Professor are having a little conference. They’ll be ready for you in a minute.”
I grinned at him. He grinned back. Then he slouched into the room. I watched him, watched the gun. Both kept coming closer.
“You know something?” Jake asked. I could smell alcohol on his breath, and I could also smell that acrid, metallic odor common to guns. I didn’t like either one, and both were close.
“What’s that?” I watched him and the gun, but I didn’t move, didn’t dare to move.
“That was a dirty trick you pulled on Rogers. We found him in the bushes. A dirty trick. I don’t like dirty tricks.”
The gun was moving, now. It moved fast. I tried to dodge, but he brought the butt down hard on my shoulder.
Ellen gasped and stood up. He swivelled the gun around. “Sit still, sister,” he said. “This’ll only take a minute.” And he brought the gun-butt up again.
“I kind of liked Sid,” he muttered. “That was a dirty trick.” The butt was coming down and I could only watch it. I couldn’t grab the gun, couldn’t move away. I could only stand there and try to shut out the pain as this drunken ape beat me up in front of Ellen. This time I tried to claw at his arms, but the gun came anyway. I braced myself for the stunning blow, gritted my teeth, and then—
Jake grunted. There was a splintering sound and a crash. His face hung over my shoulder for a moment, frozen in numb surprise. Then he toppled to the floor.
Caldwell stood behind him, panting and holding the splintered back of the chair. He’d moved fast and quietly for a man in his condition. But I wasn’t giving him my attention at the moment. I had my eye on the gun. It lay on the floor, next to Jake’s limp hand, right at my feet.
I stooped to pick it up.
“Hold it!”
They were in the doorway, now—the Professor and Doctor Sylvestro. The man in black and the man in white. Both of them had convincing arguments pointed my way.
I stood up again. Doctor Sylvestro came forward and picked up Jake’s gun. Then he knelt and went into his bedside manner. “Bleeding pretty bad,” he said. “Ought to take care of this right away, Otto.”
“Never mind.” The Professor spoke to Sylvestro, but he looked straight at me. “He deserved what he got. I told him to stand guard. He disobeyed. There’s no room in my plans for disobedience.”
The Professor made a courtly gesture with his gun. “Will you all come this way, please?” he solicited. “I have something to say to you.”
We left the room single file and walked down a short corridor. The Professor was in the lead, walking backwards so that he could watch us with his three eyes—the two in his head and the third, deadly little round eye pointing at us from his hand. Sylvestro brought up the rear, and for the second time today, Caldwell had a gun in his back.
We passed a second room at the end of the corridor. I managed to stare into it. A yellow light bulb disclosed the contents of a photographic darkroom, complete with running water and piles of raw film, chemicals and spools of finished negatives.
I thought of the blackmail photos and wondered how many others might repose in this businesslike little establishment. But there was no time for further speculation. We turned the corner and entered the main chamber.
It was nothing but a low-ceilinged vault, carved out of the rock. The cistern stairs were in the corner, and again a single light bulb gleamed. Its radiance was almost lost in the dark curtains that covered the walls from floor to ceiling. I didn’t quite understand their significance until the notion suddenly came to me: the drapes would muffle all sound here and prevent anything being heard in the fox pen or house above. As a matter of fact, part of this layout—the other two rooms and the corridor—would be directly under the house. The roof there wasn’t stone, but the solid wood flooring of the basement.
This wasn’t the time for architectural speculation. It was a time to file around the big round table in the center of the room and take chairs. Sylvestro and the Professor sat on one wedge; the three of us occupied the remaining chairs as a group.
The Professor stared at us. I don’t know what he saw—fear, hopelessness, resignation.
I stared at the Professor. I saw a little, bald-headed psychopath. I saw a brilliant psychotherapist gone wrong. I saw an immobile basilisk carved out of solid ice. I saw the Devil. And then I saw a small, fat, middle-aged expatriate who had somehow broken under suffering; who had taken a twisted road years ago and could not go back. He drove others because he was driven, he issued commands because he was commanded, he meted out punishment because he was punished. All men were suckers to the Professor, because he’d been a sucker, once. And he was still a sucker now. Even if he killed me, even if he killed all of us, he was a sucker. I almost pitied
