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Read by A. I. Stevens

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THERE was only one way to figure it that morning in Maynard’s Drug Store. I’d flipped my lid. I’d flipped it but good. No other answer seemed to fill the bill.

I was sitting at the counter around ten, having a quick coke and trying to make up my mind how to kill Saturday, when she came in. There were several ways to spend the day. I could have gone out to the country club and done some caddying. I could have gone swimming at the lake, or even done some fishing.

But as I said, before I made up my mind she came in. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen and was very pretty and had an out-of-this-world figure thrown in. Her hair was a kind of reddish brown and her eyes were gray.

There were other things about her, too: the bewildered look on her face as though she’d never seen a drug store before and was all tied up in the wonder of it. All that, and just one more thing.

She didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.

I sat there on the stool and gaped like a fool, thinking that a thing like this just couldn’t happen in a little town like Ridgefield. It just couldn’t. Then I wondered why I’d narrowed it down to just Ridgefield. I doubted that it could happen in any bigger place either. Even in Times Square, New York it would certainly cause something of a stir.

She walked in slowly, with no modesty at all, and got on a stool one down from me. I gulped and looked at Ziggy Frane, the kid who jerks sodas for Mr. Maynard on Saturdays. Ziggy was polishing spoons and paying no attention to the girl at all.

I gaped at him for a minute and then said, "Well, for cripes sake!’’

He smiled vacantly and

went on with his work. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, for—good gosh! Of all the—”

Ziggy put down the spoon he was cleaning. “What’s wrong, Art?”

“For lord’s sake! Don’t you see—it?”

He looked around amiably. “See what?”

“The—the—” I turned and forced myself to look at the girl, who hadn’t moved and was sitting with her elbows braced on the counter and her chin in her hands looking blank and bewildered.

“Her,” I said, pointing with my shoulder.

Ziggy looked at her. In fact, he looked right through her and out the front window. Where?”

“There. She’s—she’s not dressed!”

Ziggy’s eyes brightened. “No fooling!” and he ran to the window and began peering up and down the street. After a minute he turned back with a silly grin on his face and said, “Some joke, Art.”

“There on the stool, you fool!”

The girl wasn’t paying much attention. She’d discovered the root beer tank fastened to the counter and was touching it with her finger and looking at the syrup through the glass. Then she looked over at the Coke in my glass and seemed to be associating the two in her mind. It was creepy in a way. A grownup girl reminding you of a baby getting its first association idea.

Ziggy had looked again and was still grinning. “As I said before, Art—some joke.”

I got a little scared. I took a deep breath and leaned forward very earnestly. I said, “Listen, Ziggy. No fooling now. Seriously. Don’t you see a girl without—well, a girl sitting on that stool?”

Ziggy said, “Art, for cripes sake! Will you finish your drink and go? I got to get some work done or old Maynard’ll fire me and I need this job.”

There was no use going into it any further. If it had been anything else sitting there, I’d have follow-ed up and probably ended by hanging one on Ziggy for clowning with me. But when he looked the last time, I knew he hadn’t seen her. No matter how good an actor he was, Ziggy couldn’t have kept it up with a naked girl sitting there. He’d have bugged his eyes and looked, brother! I mean he would have!

So I got really scared. I was

seeing undressed women sitting on stools beside me. I wondered if it was something I’d eaten. I figured back to the day before and tried to remember. Three hot dogs and two root beers at the luncheonette after school. Roast beef for supper with Boston cream pie and ice cream. Then a hamburger and a dog and three bottles of pop at the bowling alley and another piece of pie after I get back home.

Nothing wrong there. Just normal eating.

I looked again and the girl was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief. Just a momentary optical illusion. Everything was going to be all right, I told myself.

Then everything went haywire again because I caught the chick in the corner of my eye as she moved into range of my vision again. She’d just gone across the store to look at the perfume counter and was now heading for the door.

I almost yelled, Hey! Don’t go out there in the street without your clothes on. But I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth and then the door closed and she was gone.

I jumped up and ran to the window' to watch the excitement she’d be bound to stir up, and to see if Constable Williams was around to arrest her.

Constable Williams was there, but he didn’t arrest her. He was walking up the street swinging his club and looking at the bright summer morning; looking so hard, he was unable to see that beautiful creature walk right by him in the altogether.

No one else was able to see her either. Old Mrs. Spain was crossing the street with her market basket over her arm and she kept right on coming, even though the girl practically brushed her elbow as she passed.

That did it! Beyond all doubt, I’d flipped my lid! I walked back to the counter and groped for my Coke. Ziggy looked at me and said, “What’s wrong, Art. You sick?”

I gave him a weak grin and said, “Yeah. You said it. Shot to hell.”

“What’s wrong? Where’s the trouble?”

“In my head I guess. I wasn’t kidding you about a girl sitting there with no clothes on. I really saw her.”

I guess Ziggy half believed me, because he looked, kind of envious and said, “Gosh! Maybe it’s your carnal subconscious showing through. Either that or you ought to

get your glasses changed. Was she pretty?”

“A pip,” I mumbled. “A real slick chick,” and got off my stool and headed for the door.

The last thing I heard Ziggy say was, “Blast it. Some guys have all the luck.”

I went out to the country club and caddied. I worked for six hours and had a pretty bad time because I couldn’t keep my mind on the game.

Second time around, I got Doc Starns. He’s a crotchety old cuss anyhow, and when I lost his ball the second time, he yelled. “Lad, if you’ve got bad eyes, why don’t you say so and take up some less exacting work?”

Hugo Baylor, who was playing with him, and winning, grinned and said, “Don’t be hard on him, Doc. He’s no doubt got a girl on his mind.”

Hugo didn’t know how right he was.

I went to the movies with Mike Hennessy, my buddy, that night, but I didn’t tell him anything about what had happened at the drug store, and by Monday morning, I’d managed to pretty well forget the incident. I made it my business to forget it. And somehow, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t happen again.

My first class was math, that Monday. I like math, and it took my mind off my troubles except that I had to sit next to Lorrie Carder. Lorrie is a cute chick, all right; stacked to perfection and cute as a button. But she’s a pest and she’s got a crush on me and there seems to be very little I can do about it except dodge her.

Mike’s told me more than once that I’m crazy for brushing her off. But she bores me, and that’s that. When I met her in math, she put that rosebud pout on her lips and said, “Arty—where were you all the time last weekend? I called and—”

“I know you called. I was busy.”

“I wouldn’t think a boy would be too busy to talk on the phone to his girl once in awhile.”

“Maybe a guy with a girl wouldn’t, but I haven’t got a girl, so that makes me different.”

She laughed and took my arm and I had to tolerate her while we walked back to our seats and I could shove her into hers across the aisle. She said, “You’re so funny some times. Of course you’ve got a girl and I’m it—or her—or she—”

“You aren’t any of them.

And now don’t bother me. I’ve got some science to bone up on before next class.”

Lorrie was quiet for a while. I heard her giggling to herself but I didn’t pay any attention. Then, just before the bell rang, she leaned over and whispered, “Arty. Is it true that I’ve got a rival?”

I scowled at her. “ What are you talking about?”

“I heard there’s a very nice looking girl you meet in the drug store.”

“What—what girl?”

“The one who doesn’t wear any clothes.”

If she’d been a boy I’d have slugged her right then and there. But she wasn’t a boy and the bell rang just then and everybody began trooping to their seats. I just gave her a deadly look while she kept on giggling, and planned what I’d do to Ziggy for letting that story out. I’d pulverize that kid but very good!

Math went like a breeze and when the period was over and we headed for Science, there was Lorrie hanging on my arm again. In the hall, we bumped into Sam Taylor, the big red head. He grinned at Lorrie and said, “How about the barn dance with me tomorrow night, chick?”

She stuck her nose in the air and said, “Blow, Joe—no go!”

We walked on past and heard him mutter. “Some jerks have all the luck.”

He meant me of course, but I couldn’t see it his way at all.

For science, we had the new prof—Mr. Dickstein. He was some kind of a very brilliant European who’d come over on leave from a school in the Balkans somewhere—I wasn’t sure which country, and knew his business very well. While he couldn’t play in the same league with Furmi, he could have at least polished the big guy’s shoes. He had a peculiar accent, but once you got onto it, he wasn’t hard to follow, and he made science very interesting.

I’d never spoken to him personally—that is, really talked with him, so I was plenty surprised when he called to me as I was leaving the room after the period was over. I tried to shake Lorrie, but I’d have needed a crowbar, she hung on so tight, so I went to his desk and said, “You wanted to see me, Professor?” wondering what had been wrong with my work.

He looked at me sharply through very bright blue eyes for a moment and asked, “Arthur, could you drop over to my house tonight for a few

minutes? I have something to talk to you about.”

That almost floored me. I knew my work wasn’t that bad and even if it was, you don’t go to the prof’s houses at night to catch up. I said, “Why, sure—I guess. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“No time to go into it now, except you are the boy who had that—“ He stopped and looked at Lorrie and seemed a trifle embarrassed. “—that interesting experience in the drug store Saturday?”

Holy cow! Ziggy had certainly spread it around! Man, how I’d pulverize that jerk when I got my hands on him. I said, “Well—yes, I guess—”

He held out a hand. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to let me have a look at your glasses?”

My face turned red. This was a rib if I’d ever seen one. But what does a guy do? When a prof ribs you there isn’t much you can do but stand and take it. I lifted my glasses off and handed them to him and Lorrie let out a giggle. Professor Dickstein jerked his eyes up and gave her a quick look; a look I couldn’t figure out. He seemed honestly surprised at her for doing such a thing. Then he began studying my glasses, and either he was a hell of a good actor, or he was honestly interested in them. He pursed his lips and blinked his eyes and held the glasses up and squinted through them at the window. He said, “Hmmm, very interesting, but I’m afraid we must pursue this further.” He handed the glasses back. “Can you be at my house at eight-thirty, shall we say?”

“I guess I can.”

He gave me a quick beaming smile and said, “Fine,” and then seemed to forget I existed as he turned back to some notes on his desk.

Out in the hall, Lorrie said, “Well for heaven sakes! What do you think that was all about?”

“How do I know? I guess he just wants me to come to his house tonight.”

“But why?”

“To measure me for new glasses, maybe.”

“He asked about you and the drug store.”

“What about me and the drug store?”

“You know very well. Ziggy told it. The story’s all over the school. They’ll be kidding you about it.”

“They’d better not,” I said.

“Anyhow, I’m going with you tonight.”

“You’re not going to do anything of the kind.”

“You’ll need me.”

“For what?”

“Well—well, to lead you around by the hand while the Prof has your glasses.”

“First, what makes you think the Prof’s going to get my glasses? And second, who says I have to be lead around by the hand just because I haven’t got them on? Do you think I’m blind or something?”

Lorrie looked at me with that little frown that puts a crease between her eyes. “Blind? Brother, that’s no name for it. Not half strong enough.”

After school, I met Mike and we walked home together. I said, “Mike, Professor Dickstein wants—”

He said, “Hold it, Art. Something else, first. What’s this I hear all over school that you’ve gone bats and started seeing stripped chicks?”

“Well, it’s—”

“Oh, so there is something to it, huh? And you don’t say anything to me about it—me, your best friend.”

“Maybe a guy would rather his best friends didn’t hear about a thing like this.”

“No kidding—what did you see?”

I told him, and while he was thinking it over, I went on and gave him the gook about Prof Dickstein stopping me and looking at my glasses and pegging me for eight-thirty at his house.

Mike took it all in and didn’t say anything. That’s what I liked about him. He wasn’t the kind to blow off his trap about something before he’d given it the old gray matter treatment to see how it added up. I waited while he put it through the mental meat-grinder and then asked, “Well, what kind of hamburger do you get?”

“Mostly gristle.”

“That was how I scored it—all blurred.”

“Maybe he thinks you need new glasses.”

“What is he, an oculist?”

“Nobody knows quite what he is. There’s been chatter about him since he came to town and took that seedy old Ricker mansion.”

“I’ve heard it.”

“Hear the one about the tin man?”

“What tin man?”

“Some kid said he was passing the house one night and saw what looked like the Tin Woodman out of the Wizard of Oz walking past the window inside.”

“What kid said that?”

"I don’t know'. Those things

get around. After a while you can’t find out.”

“Probably some kid sounding off.”

“Listen, how about me going with you tonight?”

I thought it over. “Can’t see anything wrong with that, I guess.

“He didn’t ask me, but if I walk in with you he can’t throw me out.”

“And maybe we can get a chance to look around for the Tin Woodman.”

“Could be. What time did you say?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the drug store at a quarter after eight and we’ll go from there.”

“It’s a deal.”

I went on home feeling better. Having old Mike along would help a lot.

The Ricker mansion had been vacant for five years before Professor Dickstein came to town and rented it. It was a weird old pile but plenty solid, the main reason for no one wanting it being the size. You’d have needed a family of twenty-five kids and seven dogs to maintain contact in the place. No one knew how many rooms it had, or how many turrets sticking up from the roof. One time I counted five on one side of the place alone.

Mike and I met at the drug store and had a Pepsi to stiffen our spines and then hit for the Ricker place. There was a big iron fence around it with the gate on Maple Street. It was standing open and we walked in and up a long winding drive toward the house.

Mike said, “I wonder what Dickstein wanted of a joint this size? He’s got no family. Not even a wife.”

‘‘Well, there’s the Tin Woodman.”

Mike laughed but his voice sounded so lonesome in all those trees that he stopped quick. He said, “This layout is strictly from Boris Karloff. Next time, tell the Prof you’ll meet him at the corner of Main and Pine at high noon and then only if the sun’s shining.”

We came to the big front porch and climbed the stairs. There was no button to press and we looked around and finally found a knob in the middle of the front door. I tried to turn it but it wouldn’t give.

“Maybe you pull it out,” Mike said.

You did. I pulled the thing and such an unearthly clatter broke out inside that we both j umped back.

Mike said, “Gosh! He must have had fifty tin pans piled up in there.”

“You aren’t kidding,” I said, and then the porch and the hall inside lighted up like a ball room and the door opened and there was Professor Dickstein squinting at us and smiling with all his back teeth showing.

“Come in, Arthur, come right in. Don’t mind the bell. This is a large house and I have a loud one so I can hear it wherever I am.”

“That’s all right.” I said. “I brought a friend of mine to—to kind of keep me company on the way over.”

“A good idea. Come inside, both of you.”

We went in and he closed the door and then we followed him up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Inside, the place looked a lot more cheerful than its reputation because everywhere, it was brightly lighted. The hall, the stairway, the second floor hall, and the rooms we could see into as we passed them, were all brilliantly lit. It was as though the Professor were giving a ball and expected the place to be filled.

I glanced at Mike and saw that he was scowling. That meant something was on his mind and I wondered what it was. Then Professor Dickstein turned into a room and motioned us to follow.

“I wonder if you would mind waiting here a moment or two. I’m right in the middle of an experiment that I’ve got to finish. Won’t take long.”

He ducked out and left Mike and me staring around the room. There was nothing creepy about it. Light blazed from neons in the ceiling and there were homey chairs and a sofa and several pictures around on the tables. I wandered around and looked at the pictures while Mike scowled at the lights.

Finally I said, “Look, you got something on your mind. Spill it.”

“That’s right. An odd thing about this place. Haven’t you noticed it?”

“I’ve noticed he must have a whale of an electric bill.” Just as I said that, I noticed something else, too; something that made my skin tighten.

But I didn’t have time to say anything about it, because Professor Dickstein came bustling back into the room just then. He evidently heard my remark, because he smiled and said, “Oh, no. I don’t even have an account with the light company.”

“Then you keep your own generator,” Mike said sounding doubtful.

“After a manner of speaking. And cheap, too. Atomic power is very inexpensive after your reactor starts functioning.”

He spoke so casually, that I only had time to think, Good gosh! Atomic power! But no time to say anything because he cut in with, “And now I’ve kept you boys waiting too long already. Come with me, please.”

He walked out of the room and down the hall with us trailing after and turned into what appeared to be a laboratory of some kind, although I couldn’t identify any of the shining equipment that stood around. There were the usual tables and benches of course, and one thing that really puzzled me: a tall glass tube as high as a man and thick enough to hold one, which seemed to be filled with some sort of fluid, although there was a kind of haze around it. Not exactly a haze, maybe, but did you ever wake up suddenly and open your eyes and have them blur on you before you could focus them?

Well, that was how it was with that big glass tube. When you looked at it, your eyes blurred and you couldn’t see it very well.

Dickstein sat down behind a small desk and pondered for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “I'm glad you brought your friend along. It will enable me to make some tests I couldn’t make otherwise.”

Dickstein sat down behind a small desk and pondered for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “I'm glad you brought your friend along. It will enable me to make some tests I couldn't make otherwise."

We kind of tests?” Mike asked ply

"Oh, nothing difficult. I just want you boys to tell me what you see in this room." He pointed a Mike. “You first. Just look around and tell me what is in here."

Mike shrugged. “Well, the desk and chair you’re using—two tables in the middle of the room—work benches running along both walls there—a window with heavy drapes in the far wall—” Mike stopped and frowned at the window, seeming to have momentarily forgotten the Professor.

He was jerked back. “Yes—yes. What else?”

“Well, there’s some scientific equipment on the benches but I don’t know the names—”

“Never mind the names. Now—what else?”

Mike looked around blankly. “Why. that’s all, I guess.”

Dickstein now turned to me. “All right, Arthur. Tell me what you see. If you see

everything Michael mentioned, you don’t have to bother repeating them. Just tell me if you see anything else?”

“Sure. That big glass tube in the middle of the room. I don’t see how Mike overlooked it.”

Mike frowned. “What glass tube? I don’t see any glass tube! What are you talking about?”

“Amazing!” Dickstein cried, and he jumped up and came around the desk and before I could move, he’d snatched off my glasses. “Now! Can you still see the tank?”

Mike had been right. It was amazing. The tank was gone. There was nothing but a blank space where it had been. I shook my head. “It’s a pretty good trick,” I mumbled. “You must do it with lights.”

“After a manner of speaking,” he said. “Tell me—are your eyes very bad?”

“No. I’m just a little nearsighted, and what with studying, my folks decided I ought to wear them.”

“That accounts for the tint,” he said, peering at the lenses. “Calculated to rest your eyes in a very bright light.”

I stood there wondering a lot of things, one of them being what had happened to the glass tank—was so interested in my glasses.

He said, "If you’ll give me a moment. I just want to check these lenses for error.”

He crossed the room and sat down in front of some complicated looking equipment and began giving my glasses the business. He put some fluid on one lens with an eyedropper and then wiped the fluid off with a Kleenex and dropped the Kleenex into a pan of water or something that looked like water.

But I guess it wasn’t, because it turned bright green and he almost jumped off his stool. He sat down again and sort of crooned to himself from excitement—like a puppy when you hold a piece of food just out of reach—and began scribbling some equations on a pad.

Next, he began shooting rays of light through the lenses and studied the result. After about ten minutes, he got off the stool and came over and handed the glasses back to me. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much."

“Is there anything wrong with Art’s specs?” Mike asked.

“Oh, no. Not with that particular pair. All glasses with that particular shading are—well, very interesting in relation to some experiments I’m making. I’m sure there aren’t many pairs in town like them. ”

“These are the only ones, I think. I got them from Doc Brainard and he said they were something new. That was about a month ago. He may have sold some since then. ”

“Well, it doesn’t make any difference, now that I've seen yours. They—”

I’d just put the glasses back on and now I did a double take. And neither the Professor nor Mike could have missed it because I saw the naked girl standing there by the glass tube and I almost fell over the desk.

“What’s the matter?” Dickstein asked sharply.

I pointed. “The same girl—the one I saw—”

He reached over and snatched off my glasses. “Calm yourself, Arthur. You’re overwrought!”

I looked at him and a kind of chill went through me as I realized there were several Dicksteins. There was the crisp, pleasant Prof we knew at school who knew his subject from top to bottom and joked with the kids sometimes. Then there was the completely absorbed scientist we’d seen at the bench examining my glasses—a man of Science with a capital S.

And now I was seeing another one, a cold, hard man with a pair of the crudest, most magnetic eyes I’d ever seen.

He touched my arm. “Come with me a moment, Arthur.” He started leading me toward a door, then paused to look over his shoulder. “You’ll pardon us for a moment, Michael.”

He didn’t ask Mike—he told him—and Mike just stood there.

Dickstein took me in a small room and said, “Sit there.” I sat. He pulled a chair around in front of me and sat down and looked straight into my eyes and I couldn’t have moved if the joint had caught fire.

He said, “How old are you, Arthur?”

“Eighteen.”

“That’s a very dangerous age, my boy.”

“Dangerous ?”

“Volatile, you might say. A boy of eighteen tends to walk a tightrope in this world so full of tensions. Now, the things you thought you saw—the unclothed girl—the glass tank—were illusions, pure and simple.”

“Illusions?”

“Yes. I planted the illusion of the glass tank in your mind myself as a part of an experiment I’m working on.”

“What about the girl?”

“Who knows where she came from—what part of your mind constructed her? It really doesn’t matter. The thing to remember is that both images were illusions. Remember that—believe it—and they will never reappear.”

“But will other ones pop up?”

“No. When you recognize them for what they are, they vanish forever.”

His eyes were; on mine, holding mine like a bug on a pin. He went on talking. Maybe I answered—maybe I didn’t—but after a few more minutes, I knew he was right. Illusions, and I was damned lucky having him around to point it out to me.

After a while, we got up and went back into the laboratory where Mike was waiting, and Dickstein was again the genial, pleasant teacher hobnobbing with a couple of his deadheads. He said, “You boys will have to drop in on me again. I’ll let you know.”

Mike said, “Professor, there’s a rumor around school that you’ve got the Tin Woodman in here.”

“The Tin Woodman? I don’t understand ?”

“Well, an iron man—a robot, maybe—or maybe just someone’s imagination. Just thought I'd mention it for laughs.”

Professor Dickstein was startled, but only for a second. He recovered instantly and laughed. “Of course, but I don’t know how anyone found out about it. A robot I’m working on, but I thought it was my secret.”

“Somebody claimed they saw it through a window, moving about.”

Professor Dickstein glanced up quickly, and I knew there was a meaning behind Mike’s words that I missed, but that the Professor hadn’t missed it. “Impossible,” he said. “I haven’t gotten around to energizing the thing as yet. Would you like to see it?”

Without waiting for an answer he started down the stairs and we followed. He led us back through the main floor hall and opened a door. We looked in. It was a large closet, and inside stood a big metal thing with arms and legs and a funny looking box for a head. But no lights or action of any kind.

“Merely a framework,” Dickstein said. “I work on it in my spare time. And now, I

suppose you boys will have to be getting home.”

He was right, and the sooner we started, the better I was going to like it. . .

As we walked down the street, Mike said, “I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I noticed.”

“What was it?”

“All those lights.”

“I saw them too.”

“Yeah? Well, now look back at the house.”

I looked. It was big, and ugly—and completely black. I said, “Well bust me for a square! How come I overlooked a thing like that?”

“You had other things on your mind. Me—I checked while he had you in that other room and what do you think I found?”

“What?”

“Heavy shutters on every window I could find. Obviously, he’s got them on every window in the place.”

“Why would he go to all that trouble?”

“And he evidently put them on recently.”

That startled me. “How do you know?”

“Because that kid who saw the Tin Woodman through a window. There’s a robot in there, so we’ll have to take it for granted the kid did see it so the windows weren’t shuttered when that happened.”

“Maybe he opens them in the day time.”

“I don’t think so. They looked solid to me.”

“What do you think’s behind it?”

“I’ve got an idea about the guy. I think he’s up to something he wants to keep secret.”

I nodded. “Something criminal?”

“Not necessarily, but he doesn’t want people snooping around.”

“Then why did he ask me to go there?”

“That’s the point. He’s a scientist first and there was something he wanted to find out about you and your glasses and the things you’ve been seeing and he couldn’t resist the temptation to get you out here.”

“Uh—huh. Those things I’ve been seeing—”

“Yeah?”

“They’re just hallucinations. They weren’t there at all.”

“That, I can believe. There certainly wasn’t any undraped chick in Maynard’s drug store.”

“Nor any glass tube in that room.”

“I didn’t see it anyhow,” Mike said, grumpily.

“What do you think we ought to do?”

He thought it over a minute and said, “Nothing, I guess. What is there to do?”

“Just keep our mouths shut?”

“I guess so. He seems to be a decent enough joe.”

I wished I was as sure as Mike that we should keep our mouths shut. There was something else I’d seen too, but I didn’t want to talk about it just then. I wanted to think about it a while. I went to bed when I got home and hardly got any sleep at all from thinking about it.

By morning I’d made up my mind what I wanted to do—what I figured I had to do.

Burgle the school.

It wasn’t exactly legal, in fact it wasn’t at all legal, but I salved my conscience by telling myself I wasn’t going to take anything or wreck any property.

I had to wait until Saturday, of course, and got over there around eight in the morning. There were several kids there already, flipping baskets down in the gym. I watched them a while and then slipped up to the second floor unnoticed and tried the principal’s office.

It was locked, but I’d expected that. I went back down into the basement and eased my way into the girls’ locker room. This was the touchiest part of the whole business. If I’d been caught in there, I might have been labeled as a sex maniac or something, so I was mighty careful.

I went through into a little room beyond where the scrub women changed their clothes and found what I was looking for in one of the lockers.

The keys they used to get into the rooms.

I hid this under my jacket and went back upstairs and was in the principal’s office in nothing flat. Now the hard work came. I had to get into the drawer of his file marked Personnel. The file was locked but I got the blade of my knife under the lock and opened it without scratching it hardly at all.

I shuffled through the drawer until I found the envelope with the name Dickstein on it. Then I did some fast reading. I didn’t bother much with his degrees and how he’d gotten them. I was willing to concede him those. I was interested in his personal life.

According to the report, he’d had a pretty hard time with the Nazis and then with the Commies. He’s been heaved into concentration camps and had done forced labor before he escaped and found his way to the United States.

The report said he was a bachelor, had never married and had no close relatives.

Now I had what I’d wanted and I closed the file and got the keys back into the room behind the girls’ locker room and got out of the school building very quietly.

When I got back to town, I went to Maynard’s drug store. I turned a dollar into small change and went into the phone booth and looked in the Central City directory.

Central City is about fifteen miles from Ridgefield. It’s the only big town for quite a distance around and the only place I could find what I wanted.

I found the number and asked the operator for it and after a couple of rings the receiver at the other end was lifted and a man said, “Carney—Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“My—my name is Arthur Fleming. I live in Ridgefield.”

“Yes?” The voice was pleasant and polite.

“There’s something—somebody out here I think you maybe ought to know about.”

“I see.”

He waited for me to go on.

"It’s something I can hardly talk about over the phone.”

“Perhaps we could send an agent to your home.”

“No—no, I don’t think that would work either. Could I come and see you ? I could ride over on the interurban and be there in less than an hour.”

“Of course. The office is open until four today. If you come later than that, we’ll have to make special arrangements.”

“Oh, I can make it before that, all right. I’ll start now.”

“Very well, I’ll be here.”

He was polite and a little reserved, as though he hadn’t been convinced of anything. But why should he? Probably crackpots are calling the FBI every hour of the day. I hung up and went out and got on the interurban car that was waiting; I got on wondering if I could be classed as a crackpot.

Sam Carney 'was a young, broad shouldered man with very little hair. One of those guys who lose it early, but on him, somehow, it looked good. I guess at the FBI they double in brass because he was sitting at the switchboard when I got there, although it was very quiet with no calls coming in. As I entered the office, he got up from the board and

smiled and held out his hand. “Everybody’s left but me,” he said. “The graveyard shift. Come in and sit down.”

He set the board so it would ring automatically and put away a copy of some digest magazine he was reading and led me into a small office. I sat down and we looked at each other.

Finally, he said, “Let me see now—you said your name is Arthur Fleming and that you live in Ridgefield.”

“That’s right.”

“And you couldn’t talk over the phone.”

“Uh—huh. It’s about—well, it’s—”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning and go straight through it?”

“If I told you all of it, I’m afraid you’d call me nuts.”

“I doubt it, but let’s find out.”

So I started out with what had happened in the drug store. I think he was a little surprised, but he hid everything but the slightest smile and kept on listening. Then I got to the part about Professor Dickstein wanting me to come to his house.

Here he said, “Just a minute please,” and got up and went out. I heard some file drawers opening and closing and then he came back and sat down again. “Pardon the interruption. You can go ahead now.”

I told him all that happened in the Prof’s house, being very careful to try and remember everything and tell it straight.

When I got to the place Mike and I left and went home, I stopped for breath and he evidently thought the story was finished. He said, “Very interesting. And what do you think we ought to do about it?” He spoke as though he didn’t figure the FBI belonged in the picture, but was willing to be convinced.

I said, “That’s not quite all of it. I told you about looking at the pictures in that room while we were waiting for the Professor. Well, one of them was of the Prof himself and a—woman and a girl about seventeen. There are two points that interested me about that, and you’ll have to take my word for the first one.”

“What is it?”

The girl I saw in the drug store and in that laboratory, were the same girl I saw in that picture.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure—yes. Of course, the girl was only a hallucination— Professor Dickstein convinced me of that—but why should my hallucination

be solid enough to have her picture taken with the Professor?”

Sam Carney pondered. He didn’t appear to be studying me closely, but I knew he was. He said, “Of course, the girl had all her clothes on in the picture?”

I nodded. “You probably don’t believe half of this, and I can hardly blame you.”

If I expected him to protest that he did, I was in for a disappointment. He studied me directly for a moment, and said, “We always try to keep an open mind on things. You mentioned a second point.”

“Uh—huh. About the picture. When you look at anything, you usually get a quick feeling of what it is—I do anyhow—and when I saw that group, I just knew what it was—the Professor and his wife and daughter. It was one of those hunches you’re just sure about. ”

“Perhaps in your case—yes. In ours, it’s a little different. We have to keep an eye on facts, also.”

“Sure, and—well, I know for certain Professor Dickstein claims to be a bachelor—never to have married.”

He took his time thinking that over before he asked, “How did you find that out?”

There was no use stopping where I was—I’d said too much for that. “Because I sneaked into the school files and checked his record in the envelope they have there.”

There was a very long silence after that and I began wondering whether he was going to have further comment on illegal entry.

But he didn’t. He said, "You’re right about Professor Dickstein’s dossier indicating him to be a bachelor, so your hunch about the picture is probably wrong.”

“What about the girl in the picture being my hallucination?”

“There isn’t much I can say about that one way or the other. To tell the truth, it’s a little out of my range.”

He got suddenly to his feet and held out his hand, so I did the same. He said, “Thanks very much for coming over, and I wonder if I might make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“Drop this thing where it is. Forget about it, don’t do any more dangerous things like going through files without authorization. Just leave it in our hands.”

“I’ll be glad to,” I said. “From now on, you’ve got the ball and welcome to it.”

His smile was genial now.

“We’ll do our best to carry it. See you around, fellow. . . .”

I rode home feeling sure he had charged the whole thing off to my big fat imagination. I was sure he didn’t believe me about seeing the naked girl and if he didn’t believe that, how could he believe anything else? I decided to take his advice and forget about the whole affair, and I sure hoped the girl didn’t show up again.

Or did I? As the interurban rolled toward Ridgefield, I thought about her. It was pleasant thinking about her. I did it all the way home. . .

Things went smoothly for the next week. I didn’t have any more hallucinations and began to think the whole affair had passed into yesterday. Professor Dickstein was his old pleasant self again; handling the kids, keeping them interested. teaching them a lot no other man would have been able to get across to a class.

He never mentioned the incident at his house again, but I caught him looking at me once in a while in a penetrating, amused way, and I wondered how I could have pegged him for anything but what he was. A smart Prof and a good joe. I remembered what he’d said about electricity being cheap when it came from atomic power and wondered if he’d been kidding or whether he really had a way of doing it in the Ricker mansion.

If he had, it was okay with me. I wasn’t going back to find out.

Or at least, I thought I wasn't.

I’d been deliberately paying more attention to Lorrie, figuring she was a lot healthier to have on my mind than a naked chick who walked into drug stores that way. And Lorrie was the kind of a kid who bloomed under attention.

I hadn’t realized how pretty she really was until now, and when the guys would grunt, “lucky dog” when we passed, or something like that, I realized they were right. A chick like Lorrie didn’t come down the road every day.

So everything was fine until somebody suggested a treasure hunt at this party she gave. A treasure hunt goes this way. Somebody is appointed to think up any number of crazy things, like a hair off the sheriff’s left eyebrow or a spark plug out of a Model-T Ford or an egg from old Mrs. Kennedy’s chicken coop—she’s got a Great Dane hound to guard it—and things like that. The things are written on slips of paper and everybody draws one out of a hat.

The one I got read. A pair of socks worn by a genuine, card-carrying Communist. That really put me over a barrel because I didn’t know any Communists, card-carrying or not. I’d be a cinch to have to pay the forfeit, which would be decided by a committee of winners after the game.

Lorrie drew hers and gave it a kind of funny look when she read it and I walked over and asked her what it was. She said, “The nut off a bolt in the body of the Tin Woodman seen in Professor Dickstein’s house.”

I said, “Holly cats! That’s one you’re not going after!”

Lorrie grinned. “You just watch me.”

“You can’t do it. That place is dangerous.”

“You’re imagining things. Anyhow, I’m going in there and see if there really is a Tin Woodman.”

“There is. I saw it.”

This surprised her. “Arty! You didn’t tell me that.”

"I didn’t tell anybody, but that isn’t the point. You—”

Mike wandered over with his slip. “What did you two gooks draw?” We told him and he showed us his: six jelly beans—all different colors. But he was more interested in Lorrie’s slip. He looked at me and said, “We can’t let her go in there.’’

“I told her she couldn’t.”

Lorrie flared up beautifully. “Listen, you two—this is my assignment, not yours, and I’m going through with it!”

Mike looked at me and shrugged. “What can you do with a woman?”

“Nothing, I guess, but we can’t let her go alone.”

“Okay. We’ll work as a group.”

We started for Professor Dickstein’s house and Mike said, “Do you know any communists?”

“Hell no.”

“Then how you going to get their socks?”

“You’ve got me, chum. Just go around asking people, I guess.”

“All you’ll pick up is a punch in the nose.”

“Uh-huh. Looks pretty rugged. Even if I find a guy who admits he’d a Red, how am I going to get him to part with his socks?”

“You just find one,” Mike said grimly, “then we’ll see about the rest of it.”

We walked up the dark street with Lorrie between U3 and finally came to the old Ricker mansion. Lorrie shivered a little and said, “I guess no one’s home.”

“Because there aren’t any lights?” Mike said. “Don’t let that fool you. You never saw so many lights in your life as he’s got in there.”

“Then why aren’t the windows bright?”

I said. “Let’s ring the bell and tell Professor Dickstein what we want. Then, if he won’t give it to us, we’ll forget the whole thing.”

“Good idea,” Mike said.

But Lorrie thought otherwise. She was a little scared, I think, but she had courage. “Not on your life!”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t fair. You aren’t supposed to get your things that way.”

“But this joint is locked up like a fort. There’s no way we can get in except ring the bell.”

Lorrie was getting excited now. She giggled, “We can try can’t we?”

“I suppose so, I said, glumly. “Let’s get going.”

We went around the place twice before Mike found a small door that seemed loose. It was right near the ground. “Looks like a coal chute,” he said.

“Wait a minute!” I yelped.

“We can’t crawl into a coal hole. We’ll ruin our clothes.”

“We can always wash them,” Lorrie said. “Try the door, Mike.”

Mike tested it with his shoulder, but he couldn’t get any weight into it so close to the ground. He got up and kicked it twice and whatever was holding it on the inside, gave away and it opened.

“Well,” Mike whispered. “Who’s first?”

Nobody spoke up. Mike sighed and got down and pushed himself through the opening, feet first. We watched him until only his head showed. Then he said, “Well, here’s nothing,” and disappeared.

We waited and then heard a sound that seemed to come from a long way down.

I said, “Well, I guess it’s my turn,” and pushed in after him. it was in a coal chute all right, from the feel of it and after I’d eased myself down as far as possible, I let go. I went down like a greased pig, expecting to hit the coal pile at any moment, but before that happened, I flew off into space and seemed to drop free about four miles.

Luckily it was the soft powdery kind of coal and I wasn’t hurt. I wiped the dust out of my eyes and heard Mike say,

“Sorry I couldn’t warn you about that last drop.”

I said, “Thanks,” and began coughing.

Mike said, “You wait and try to catch Lorrie when she comes down. I’ll scout ahead and see what I can find in the way of an escape hatch.”

He padded off into the darkness and I listened for activity up above. I heard what sounded like Lorrie crawling through the window and then heard her shoes scrape in the chute and braced myself to catch her and ease her fall.

I caught her and we went down in a heap in the lousy coal dust. She hit me kind of heavy, right in the chest and I lay there for a minute trying to get my breath. Then I heard her giggling in my ear. She said, “I guess I should have worn slacks for this trip instead of a skirt, Arty.”

I thought so too, but I’d been too polite to say it. I tried to move but I was jammed down in the coal with Lorrie on top of me and just then I felt a bite on my ear. I said, “Hey, cut it out!”

Lorrie giggled again. “It isn’t very often I get you in a spot like this, darling. I think I’ll take my time about getting up.”

“Look,” I said. “This is no time for foolishness!”

She kissed me, hard. “Is this foolishness?”

“It’s—it’s not the time or the place!” Holy cats, I thought, smooching in a coal pile.

I managed to push Lorrie of! and struggled to my feet and hauled her lip. She’s changed, now, and wasn’t at all scared. In fact, she seemed to be having the time of her life. She said, “I’ll need three showers after this,” and followed along as I took her hand and inched along in the direction Mike had gone.

Just then I heard his voice from further on. “If you two are through making love, I’ve found a door.”

We groped our way to him and he pushed the door open. “The furnace room,” I said.

“It follows,” Mike cracked. “You’d hardly expect to find the library right next to the coal pile.”

I could tell the way he talked that his nerves were tight. Mine were too, and I wondered how I’d ever allowed Lorrie to talk us into the mad caper. I said, “As long as we’ve come this far, we might as well go the rest of the way.”

We found a stairway that lead to the main floor and peeked out through the door.

“Where are all the bright lights you were talking about?” Lorrie asked.

“Keep your voice down,” Mike hissed. “I guess he hasn’t got them turned on.”

They weren’t and that was a fact. The whole place was lit by a faint soft glow from the neon tubes in the ceiling. If Professor Dickstein was really lighting the place with atomic power, this must have been the atom’s night off.

Mike said, “The Tin Woodman was in that closet right there, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. The Professor brought us down this hall from the front of the house.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “You want a nut off one of its bolts. Did anybody think to bring a wrench ?”

“I did,” Lorrie whispered.

I gave her a quick look as she took a small adjustable wrench from her pocket. I said, “So that was what banged me on the skull when you came down the chute.”

Lorrie smiled at me dreamily. “That,” she said, “and other things. Now step aside while I go in there and get my nut.”

Several things happened at once, then. Lorrie tiptoed to the closet and opened the door and we could all see that the closet was empty.

She turned and looked at us with disappointment, but her expression quickly turned to one of sudden fright when we heard footsteps approaching up the hall from the rear of the house.

Mike leaped over and got Lorrie by the arm and hauled her back to the door through which we’d entered and we all got out of the hall with the door open a crack and listened to the steps coming closer.

They sounded odd, heavy, very slow and deliberate; not like the steps of a human being at all.

And they weren’t because, just at that moment, the Tin Woodman turned a corner and came into sight down the hall. He was a horrible looking thing now—not a harmless hulk of clumsy metal. There were lights in his head that glowed evilly, and the sound of machinery humming inside of him as he walked along.

“I thought Prof. Dickstein said he hadn’t energized that thing yet," I whispered.

“Be quiet!” Mike whispered back. “Maybe it can hear voices. We don’t want it to spot us.’’

We crouched there, holding our breath while the robot came closer and closer. I think we all said prayers. If we did,

they were answered, because the Tin Woodman lumbered right past us and into his closet. Once inside, he turned around, facing the front, and then his lights went out and the motors, or whatever they were inside him, died and he was quiet—just as we'd seen him on our previous visit.

“He’s dead,” Lorrie whispered.

“About as dead as a stick of dynamite,” Mike grumbled. “Did you see what was on his left hand when he went by?”

I didn’t have time to say, no I hadn’t—what was it? before Lorrie slid between us and out into the hall. “I’m going to get my nut!”

Mike hissed, “Come back here, you fool!” But we could both see it was no use trying to stop her. It would only have caused a scuffle. So we stood there holding our breath again while she slipped into the closet beside the robot and began looking him over.

We could see her fairly well and saw her start to work on a nut under the robot’s left arm. She couldn’t move it for a minute. Then it came and she twisted a couple of times with the wrench and finished the job with her fingers.

She turned and hurried back to the door behind which we were waiting. But she didn’t look as happy as I’d expected. Her face was white, even in the dull glow from the neons.

She said, “On his hands—I—I guess they’re hands—there was—”

“I know,” Mike snapped. “Blood. I saw it when he walked by. Let’s get out of here.”

“That’s for me,” Lorrie said, smiling wanly. “Maybe this whole thing wasn’t such a good idea.”

They started toward the rear. I stayed where I was. Mike looked back and said, “Come on—what are you waiting for?”

I said, “You take Lorrie and find some way out. I’m going to stay and look around.”

Mike stared as though I’d gone crazy. “Have you lost your mind ?”

“No. I’m just going to look around a little.”

“For Lord’s sake, why?”

“Maybe something’s wrong. We haven’t seen the Professor anywhere. And the blood on that thing. I want to see what gives around here.”

Mike looked at Lorrie uncertainly, then back to me. “Do you think you can find your way—”

I said, “You go with her. Getting her out is the most

important thing we’ve got to do.”

“All right,” Mike said, grudgingly. “But watch yourself.”

After they disappeared down the hall, I stood there for a minute, looking at the robot and remembering Professor Dickstein’s laboratory. At the far end from where we had entered that night, I’d seen a doorway at the top of some stairs that ran up along the wall. I wondered if I could find the way to that door from the rear.

I decided to try. I moved along the hall toward the rear of the house and found a stairway. It didn’t go in the direction of the laboratory, but it would at least get me to the second floor. I went up and found another hallway, but it was even darker up there. You could just make your way along if you went very slow. I turned left when I got up there and began walking in the direction of the laboratory.

Then I saw the door I wanted, or thought I did: a door with bright light coming through a small glass pane in the upper half.

I went toward it, walking on tiptoe because there weren’t any carpets on the floor. I was concentrating on the door so hard that I paid no attention to anything else. And as I passed a dark alcove—a niche like the ones you sometimes find in hallways with statues in them—I felt a hand shoot out and snake around my throat.

It wasn’t a statue’s hand, either. It was bone and muscle and it had power. I was hauled into the alcove and I began fighting. I couldn’t yell because there was a hand over my mouth, gagging me and weight and power pulling me down until I lay helpless.

A voice hissed in my ear. “Be quiet! You’re all right! I'm not going to hurt you. Who the hell are you, anyhow?”

The hand slipped away from my mouth. I said, “I’m—I’m Art Fleming. I—”

“What are you doing here?”

That voice sounded familiar. I was trying to think where I’d heard it before. I said, “Maybe I could ask you the same thing.” Then, before he could answer, I remembered and said, “You’re that FBI man.”

“Sam Carney. Now tell me—”

“You’re all bloody. What happened.”

“I tangled with that damned robot Dickstein’s got in here. Listen, do you know your way out of this place?”

"Not exactly. I—”

Carney muttered to himself. It sounded like he was swearing. “Then I want you to stay right here and be quiet. There’s something I’ve got to do. I’ll come back and get you when I’m finished. That’s a promise.”

He got up and went back the way I’d come, lurching a little as though his bout with the robot had been tougher than he’d let on.

After he was gone I sat for a little while in the dark, wondering what a man from the FBI was doing in Professor Dickstein’s house. He could only have been there as a result of my contacting him. Or could he? If so, there must have been something sinister involved in Dickstein’s saying he was a bachelor when the picture I’d seen certainly looked like a man and his family.

I puzzled it over for a while and then got real brave. The FBI man had not returned and I got an itch to see what, if anything, was going on in the laboratory. I was just ready to have a try at it when I heard Sam Carney coming back along the hall. At least, I thought it was him, but when the form came in sight, it was much neater and more attractive than Carney’s.

Lorrie.

She came up the hall on tiptoe, and I could see the fear in her eyes. This turned to panic when I reached out of the alcove and got a hand over her mouth and hauled her in.

She fought like a little tiger and it was a good thing I had a solid hold on her—not one I’d take under any but extraordinary circumstances—and that my hand stayed over her mouth.

I said, “Stop it! Stop fighting. It’s me! Art! Relax and tell me what you’re doing here.”

I felt a big sigh of relief go out of her when she heard my name and then she softened up and clung to me. She said, “Oh, Arty! It’s you! It’s really you! I thought I was done for when you grabbed me!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I—I gave Mike the slip when we got outside and came back because—”

“Because why?”

“I didn’t want to leave you, Arty. I was afraid something would happen to you.”

I felt like slugging her for pulling a stunt like that, but at the same time, it was nice to know she cared that much.

I said, “Well, you’re here. Now there’s nothing we can do about it. I met the guy that the robot got bloody from. He’ll be back in a minute and then we’ll all get out of here.”

Lorrie pointed to the door with light coming through the panel in the top. “What’s going on in there?”

“I was just going to find out. Be real quiet.”

We tiptoed to the door and looked through the panel.

It was the laboratory Mike and I had seen before. The Professor was in there and a moment after we started watching, the door on the far side opened and the robot walked in. I don’t know whether Dickstein had called the thing or not, but it came in and stood beside the door and its lights went down to a faint glimmer and it stopped moving.

There was someone else in the laboratory too. The girl I’d seen in the drug store and again on the first visit to Dickstein’s weird mansion.

The girl in the picture with Dickstein and the woman,

She was very beautiful and had a shape like a million dollars, but I wasn’t interested in either point. I grabbed Lorrie’s hand and whispered. “That girl—can you see her?”

“Of course. I’m not blind.”

“Well, somebody is, because the last two times no one could see her but me.”

Lorrie pushed her nose against the panel and stared. “You mean that’s the mysterious girl you saw in the drug store?”

“That’s right.”

When Lorrie pushed against the door, it opened a couple of inches and we could hear Dickstein’s voice. He said, “I think this will be the last test, my dear. We were fortunate in discovering that the refractions from tinted lenses offset my basic formula. I’ve made some changes.”

The girl said, “Yes, father.” She spoke in a dull lifeless voice as though she’d been hypnotized or something. I’d read a book once about a girl named Trilby who was under the control of some voice teacher, and this girl sounded exactly the way I figured Trilby had sounded when that guy cracked the whip.

Dickstein said, “The tube is filled, my dear.” He glanced at a notebook on the bench. “This is—yes, the fourteenth test. If it is successful, we’ve done the trick in an amazingly short time. If it works, we can leave Ridgefield immediately.”

I heard a gasp from Lorrie

who was pressing close to me. She whispered. “Good heavens! The little huzzy is—is undressing!”

It was true. The girl had bent over and taken the hem of her dress and pulled the dress off over her head. She stood there in a bra and panties, shoes and stockings and a garter belt. While we stared, she took off the garter belt and rolled the stockings down, kicked off her shoes and removed the stockings.

“Is—is she going to—?” Lorrie asked.

“I think she is.”

She took off the bra and then reached for the panties. Lorrie hadn’t believed she’d go so far and I could feel the heat of her blushes. Lorrie said, “Why, it’s unbelievable! Right there in front of her own father!”

“It’s awful,” I said.

Lorrie glanced up quickly. “Well, you don’t have to stare so hard. You could look in the other direction!”

“Shhh—” I warned.

Dickstein was speaking again. “All right. Into the tube, my dear, and we’ll get this over with.”

"Yes, father.” Her long, slim legs carried her to the tank, where she stood quietly until Dickstein brought a ladder. He held it firm while she climbed to the top of the tube and eased her body up and into it with a single, lithe motion.

Lorrie’s nails were digging into my flesh but I hardly felt them. Lorrie gasped, “Why, she’ll drown in there.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think the stuff in there is water. It’s some kind of solution Dickstein’s using to make her invisible.”

“That’s impossible!”

“No it isn’t. Look!”

As we watched, the body of the naked girl began to vanish—to seemingly dissolve before our eyes. In not more than sixty seconds, there was nothing in the tube so far as we could see, but the original solution.

And I noticed another thing. Dickstein had succeeded in what he’d been trying to do, because I could no longer see the girl through my glasses.

“She’s gone!” Lorrie whispered.

“That’s right. Dickstein’s found a method of making people invisible.”

Dickstein wasn’t satisfied yet. Now he began throwing differently colored lights on the tank. Some had no effect at all, but he finally hit on a combination that revealed the girl submerged in the tank.

I don’t know whether he was satisfied or not because, just then, I realized—to my horror—that Lorrie and I had got much too interested in the experiment. We’d gradually pushed the door wider and wider and had moved forward until we were now standing on the platform at the top of the stairs; standing there in plain sight of Professor Dickstein.

He looked up and saw us and his face turned white as milk. And now, I saw another Dickstein. There had been several of him, but this one was the worst; the crazy one. You could see the madness in his eyes and hatred in the twist of his features.

“Don’t move!” he roared.

I wasn’t in the mood to obey any order like that—not at a time like this. I turned and pushed Lorrie toward the door we’d entered through, but Dickstein whirled around and touched a switch under the bench. The door locked automatically before I could reach it.

Dickstein turned and looked at the robot. “Get them,” he said.

Evidently, it was attuned to respond to vibrations in his voice because its head lit up and it started walking toward the stairway.

We were trapped! I stood there regretting everything, including the first time I’d seen Dickstein’s daughter walk into the drug store. Me and my long nose! Even then, if I hadn’t been so curious, everything would have been all right. All I’d have had to do was mind my own business. But no! Long-nosed Arty Fleming had to start prying and here we were.

Lorrie must have realized what I was thinking because she said, “It’s all my fault, Arty. I didn’t have to be so stubborn about that nut. I got us into this.’’

“It doesn’t matter much who’s to blame now, honey—”

'Lorrie clung to me. “You realize it’s the first time you ever called me that?”

Women! You can’t figure them. There we were—ten feet from death—and Lorrie was thrilled at being called honey.

The robot was halfway up the stairs now—and Lorrie began saving our lives. Or at least, what she’d done had started saving us. As the robot took another step upward, I saw the plate under his arm come loose from the bolt that held it; the bolt from which Lorrie had removed the nut.

Another step, and the plate fell off and something inside became misplaced because the lights in the robot’s head flared even brighter, and it stopped and stood there as though pondering some big robot problem.

Dickstein, down below, raised his voice again. “Get them!” he cried. “Get them!” Again and again, he spoke the words, but the robot did not respond. It just stood there, and something inside its head began clicking irregularly and even I could tell it was ail wrong.

Dickstein must have said, “Get them!” fifty times with no result. Then he stopped and stared at the robot for a moment and said, “Kill them!” He waited to see what the result would be on the robot’s receiving mechanism.

The robot seemed to shiver. There was grinding metal as it strained against itself. Then it turned and went back down the stairs.

Dickstein screamed. “No! No! Kill them, you imbecile ! They are dangerous. They must die!”

The mixture of vibrations seemed to drive the robot mad. It got to the foot of the stairs and began walking toward Dickstein. Faster and faster. Fright appeared on the Professor’s face, and he seemed to regard the robot as human, because he screamed, “You stupid, faithless idiot! Do as you’re told. Follow my orders!’’

Something in the words deflected the robot from its path toward Dickstein. Head vibrating, it stopped for a moment and seemed to be smelling the air. Then it seized a huge steel tool standing against the wall, and lumbered toward the tube in the center of the laboratory.

“No! No!” Dickstein was screaming. But this time the robot was not lured from its course. It advanced on the tube, raised the club and swung it ponderously against the glass.

The tube shattered with a kind of roar, as though the solution inside, when agitated by the smashing of the tube, had very high explosive qualities.

But the horrible thing was the sudden appearance of the girl. She came into sight as the solution flowed away, dimly at first, but then there was the blood from the gashes caused by the murderous points and edges of the smashed glass.

As she sprawled across the smashed tube and then fell to the floor, she was slashed in a dozen places, anyone of them fatal.

Lorrie screamed and I went sick at my stomach. At that moment, I heard a pounding and turned to see Sam Carney’s face pressed against the glass panel of the door. He made motions indicating he wanted me to open it and I made motions back telling him I couldn’t.

He scowled and then his face disappeared and I heard the thunder of a gun going off. Instantly, the door swung open and I saw Sam Carney standing there with an automatic in his hand.

He came through and for a minute the three of us stood there watching the robot going berserk. It was terrible to see—that steel monster smashing everything in sight, swinging his club in all directions while Dickstein, squealing like a trapped rat, tried to escape death.

He didn’t. The robot could move a lot faster than anyone would think and it trapped Dickstein behind one of the benches and smashed his skull with one blow.

Sam Carney appeared to have been in a trance, but now he snapped out of it and yelled, “Come on! We’ve got to get out of here or we’re done for. Follow me!”

He kited down the hall with Lorrie and me right behind him. Behind us, we could hear the robot heightening its frenzy as it wrecked the laboratory.

Carney led us into a new section of the house to where he had a window pried open. He picked Lorrie up bodily and almost threw her out of the room into the yard beyond. I went out then, and Carney followed almost falling in his hurry.

But once outside, he gave us no rest. “Hurry up,” he said. “Make for that wall and get over it and crouch down behind it.”

“What’s the rush?” I asked.

“Get going!”

We went over the wall and did as he said and we’d hardly crouched down behind the bricks when there was a tremendous roar. The ground shuddered under us, but the Avail held, and except for a wave of heat, we felt no ill-effects.

I looked at Carney and he said, “That’s what the hurry was. That explosion was overdue. I never thought we’d make it.”

I raised up and peeked over the wall and saw a vast sheet of flame reaching skyward, completely obliterating the

Ricker mansion—and everyone inside. . .

“You did us a big favor. Art,” Carney told me the next day after some of the excitement had died down. “I wouldn’t want it to get around, but we’d lost track of Dickstein. We had him spotted a year ago, but then he vanished. You helped us relocate him just in time.”

“I still can’t figure what he was up to.”

“He was a top Russian scientist who wanted to do some experimenting on atomic fission but the Russians couldn’t come up with the supplies he needed. So, instead of stealing them here and taking them to him in Russia, they brought him over here to the supplies.”

“Of all the damned nerve—”

“They’ve got plenty of that. The big mistake with Dickstein was that he was too brilliant. He indulged in sidelines. He built the robot and got interested in his invisibility idea while he was supposed to be perfecting a new and greater bomb.”

“He didn’t work on the bomb?”

“Yes and no. He worked with the atom, but got interested in peaceful uses of it.

He used it to light his home, to heat the place and do other useful things. There was a gold mine of information blown up when that house went.”

“He was responsible for the death of his own daughter!”

“His wife, too. He performed the earlier invisibility experiments on her. They killed her. I found her body in the basement.”

“He must have been completely ruthless.”

“He was. He left me for dead in the corridor where I grabbed you. He thought the robot had killed me.”

“What did you go after when you left me in the hall?”

“I’d seen a phone in the basement and I went down to call headquarters. But before I got there I saw something was wrong with his atomic furnace. One of the heat exchangers was red hot and it was too late to do anything about it. It was a very small furnace—practically a facsimile of the real thing, but you saw the damage it did.”

“He was a strange man.”

“That’s right. He wasn’t a Russian, really; a Bulgarian, I think. The Russians swung him to their side by brainwashing him. I'm not sure they really succeeded.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have gotten him sooner.”

“That’s right. His madness could no doubt have been traced to their treatment of him.”

We’d been talking in the drug store and now Carney got off his stool and said, “Well, I’ve got to be going.”

“So long.”

He started away, then stopped and turned, grinning. “Don’t hesitate to let us know—if you bump into any more—ah, undraped females.”

“I don’t think I will,” I grinned back.

After he was gone, I left too. There was only one female I was interested in—and she wasn’t undraped. She was at home in bed, getting over the shock of the night before and I wanted all of a sudden to know exactly how she was.

END