Gone Fishing Page 6
in a brief, intenseburst of relief at the realization he was still alive, apparentlyunhurt. Barney turned sharply over on his side--bed underneath, hediscovered--and stared around.
The room was low, wide. Something undefinably odd--He catalogued itquickly. Redwood walls, Navaho rugs on the floor, bookcases, unlitfireplace, chairs, table, desk with a typewriter and reading lamp.Across the room a tall dark grandfather clock with a bright metal diskinstead of a clock-face stood against the wall. From it came a soft,low thudding as deliberate as the heart-beat of some big animal. Itwas the twin of one of the clocks he had seen in McAllen's livingroom.
The room was McAllen's, of course. Almost luxurious by comparison withhis home, but wholly typical of the man. And now Barney became awareof its unusual feature; there were no windows. There was one door, sofar to his right he had to twist his head around to see it. It stoodhalf open; beyond it a few feet of a narrow passage lay within hisrange of vision, lighted in the same soft manner as the room. No soundcame from there.
Had he been left alone? And what had happened? He wasn't in McAllen'shome or in that fishing shack at the lake. The Tube might have pickedhim up--somehow--in front of McAllen's house, transported him to theMallorca place. Or he might be in a locked hideaway McAllen had builtbeneath the Sweetwater Beach house.
Two things were unpleasantly obvious. His investigations hadn'trevealed all of McAllen's secrets. And the old man hadn't really beenfooled by Barney Chard's smooth approach. Not, at any rate, to theextent of deciding to trust him.
Hot chagrin at the manner in which McAllen had handed the role of dupeback to him flooded Barney for a moment. He swung his legs over theside of the bed and stood up. His coat had been hung neatly over theback of a chair a few feet away; his shoes stood next to the bed.Otherwise he was fully clothed. Nothing in the pockets of the coatappeared to have been touched; billfold, cigarette case, lighter, eventhe gun, were in place; the gun, almost startingly, was still loaded.Barney thrust the revolver thoughtfully into his trousers pocket. Hiswrist watch seemed to be the only item missing.
He glanced about the room again, then at the half-open door and thestretch of narrow hallway beyond. McAllen must have noticed the gun.The fact that he hadn't bothered to take it away, of at least tounload it, might have been reassuring under different circumstances.Here, it could have a very disagreeable meaning. Barney went quietlyto the door, stood listening a few seconds, became convinced there wasno one within hearing range, and moved on down the hall.
In less than two minutes he returned to the room, with the first slowwelling of panic inside him. He had found a bathroom, a small kitchenand pantry, a storage room twice as wide and long as the rest of theplace combined, crammed with packaged and crated articles, and with anattached freezer. If it was mainly stored food, as Barney thought, andif there was adequate ventilation and independent power, as seemed tobe the case, then McAllen had constructed a superbly self-sufficienthideout. A man might live comfortably enough for years withoutemerging from it.
There was only one thing wrong with the setup from Barney's point ofview. The thing he'd been afraid of. Nowhere was there an indicationof a window or of an exit door.
The McAllen Tube, of course, might make such ordinary conveniencesunnecessary. And if the Tube was the only way in or out, then McAllenincidentally had provided himself with an escape-proof jail for anyonehe preferred to keep confined. The place might very well have beenbuilt several hundred feet underground. A rather expensive propositionbut, aside from that, quite feasible.
Barney felt his breath begin to quicken, and told himself to relax.Wherever he was, he shouldn't be here long. McAllen presently would begetting in contact with him. And then--
His glance touched the desk across the room, and now he noticed hismissing wrist watch on it. He went over, picked it up, and discoveredthat the long white envelope on which the watch had been placed wasaddressed to him.
For a moment he stared at the envelope. Then, his fingers shaking alittle, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the typewrittensheets within.
* * * * *
The letterhead, he saw without surprise, was OLIVER B. MCALLEN.
The letter read:
Dear Mr. Chard:
An unfortunate series of circumstances, combined with certain character traits in yourself, make it necessary to inconvenience you in a rather serious manner.
To explain: The information I gave you regarding the McAllen Tube and my own position was not entirely correct. It is not the intractable instrument I presented it as being--it can be "shut off" again quite readily and without any attendant difficulties. Further, the decision to conceal its existence was not reached by myself alone. For years we--that is, Mr. Fredericks, who holds a degree in engineering and was largely responsible for the actual construction of the Tube--and I, have been members of an association of which I cannot tell you too much. But I may say that it acts, among other things, as the present custodian of some of the more dangerous products of human science, and will continue to do so until a more stable period permits their safe release.
To keep developments such as the McAllen Tube out of irresponsible hands is no easy task these days, but a variety of effective devices are employed to that end. In this instance, you happened upon a "rigged" situation, which had been designed to draw action from another man, an intelligent and unscrupulous individual who lately had indicated a disturbing interest in events connected with the semipublic fiasco of my "matter transmitter" some years ago. The chances of another person becoming aware of the temporal incongruities which were being brought to this man's attention were regarded as so remote that they need be given no practical consideration. Nevertheless, the unexpected happened: you became interested. The promptness with which you acted on your chance observations shows a bold and imaginative manner of thinking on which you may be genuinely congratulated.
However, a perhaps less commendable motivation was also indicated. While I appeared to stall on coming to decisions you may have regarded as inevitable, your background was being investigated by the association. The investigation confirmed that you fall within a personality category of which we have the greatest reason to be wary.
Considering the extent of what you had surmised and learned, falsified though the picture was, this presented a serious problem. It was made more acute by the fact that the association is embarking on a "five-year-plan" of some importance. Publicity during this period would be more than ordinarily undesirable. It will therefore be necessary to see to it that you have no opportunity to tell what you know before the plan is concluded. I am sure you can see it would be most unwise to accept your simple word on the matter. Your freedom of movement and of communication must remain drastically restricted until this five-year period is over.
Within the next two weeks, as shown by the clock in your quarters, it will have become impossible for me or for any member of the association to contact you again before the day of your release. I tell you this so that you will not nourish vain hopes of changing the situation in your favor, but will adjust as rapidly as you can to the fact that you must spend the next five years by yourself. What ameliorations of this basic condition appeared possible have been provided.
It is likely that you will already have tried to find a way out of the cabin in which you were left. The manner of doing this will become apparent to you exactly twenty-four hours after I conclude and seal this letter. It seemed best to advise you of some details of your confinement before letting you discover that you have been given as much limited freedom as circumstances allowed.
Sincerely yours,
OLIVER B. MCALLEN
Barney dropped the letter on the desk, stared down at it, his mouthopen. His face
had flushed red. "Why, he's crazy!" he said aloud atlast. "He's crazier than--" He straightened, looked uneasily about theroom again.
Whether a maniac McAllen made a more desirable jailer than a secretassociation engaged in keeping dangerous scientific developments undercover could be considered an open question. The most hopeful thoughtwas that Dr. McAllen was indulging an unsuspected and nasty sense ofhumor.
Unfortunately, there wasn't the slightest reason to believe it.McAllen was wise to him. The situation was no gag--and neither was itnecessarily what McAllen wanted him to think. Unless his watch hadbeen reset, he had been knocked out by whatever hit him for roughlyfive hours--or seventeen, he amended. But he would have been hungry ifit had been the longer period; and he wasn't.
Five hours then. Five hours wouldn't have given them time to preparethe "cabin" as it was prepared: for someone's indefinite stay. At