"One of the clans. Its members are supported in their duties by all
the others. And there's a permanent open season on murderers. Anyone,
police or civilian may revenge a victim."
"How about the law against carrying firearms?"
"With them, intent is tantamount to commission," Johnson replied.
"Only foreigners are ever foolish enough to be caught armed. However,
all native laws apply to them also. The only concession the Company
has been able to force is that a foreign offender isn't tortured: He's
put in jail for ten years. None ever live to come out."
"I see," Hawkes said. "Interesting. However, the immediate situation
is this. I've been sent here because the Service received reports that
our bearded friend had made another appearance. And we believe it's
safe to assume that he's here to attempt a third robbery. Right now
we'll have to pass over his trick of longevity. Our problem is to
catch him in the act. When do you think he'll make his play?"
"It'll have to be some time before tomorrow noon," Johnson answered.
"Under our setup we accept furs from the natives whenever they're
brought in. But we pay off only once a year. That way I'm not burdened
with guarding money the whole year around. I have well over fifty
thousand credits in the safe now. And tomorrow I begin paying off."
"Then we'll have to be ready for him," Hawkes said, "though I don't
expect him until tonight. Probably just about the time you're ready to
close. He'll need you to open the safe. I can count on your help?"
Johnson nodded.
* * * * *
That night as they waited in his office, Johnson turned to Hawkes.
"I've been giving some thought to what you told me this afternoon
about the robberies. I have a theory that might account for some of
the things we don't understand."
"Yes?" Hawkes looked closely at Johnson.
"You've probably heard of our tourist attraction called Nature's
Moebius Strip? As far as we know, no one has ever gone beyond a
certain point--and returned. Suppose there's a time flaw at that
point--and the bearded man has somehow learned about it. Suppose
anyone completing the Moebius circle, and returning, finds--say,
twenty years have elapsed, while to him only a few minutes have
passed?"
"Go on." Hawkes leaned forward intently.
[Illustration]
"He makes his first holdup," Johnson continued, "and goes around the
Strip. When he comes out twenty years later they're no longer looking
for him. He leaves Marlock, and during the next five years he goes
through the money he stole. He returns and repeats the process. This
time the money lasts only three years. Now he's back to try it again.
Do you see how that would tie everything up in a neat little package?"
[Illustration]
Hawkes smiled, as he relaxed and sat back. "A bit too neat," he said.
"Also, you don't have an ounce of concrete evidence to back up your
theory."
"That's right. I don't," Johnson agreed.
Outside the door a board creaked. Johnson glanced quickly across the
room to where Hawkes sat with a pistol on his lap. Hawkes' eyebrows
raised, but he made no sound.
* * * * *
Suddenly the door was kicked open and the black-bearded stranger stood
framed in the doorway. "Raise 'em!" he barked. The gun in his hand was
aimed at Johnson.
The man took two steps into the room. Hawkes shifted slightly in his
chair and the gunman's head swiveled in his direction. The slug from
Hawkes' pistol made a small blue hole in the upper left corner of his
forehead.
The thug's face tipped up, shocked and unbelieving. He swayed slowly
before he fell backward, his body rigid. His fur cap flew from his
head as he struck the floor.
"I thought we'd better play it safe," Hawkes said as he rose and
walked over to the fallen man. He slipped his gun into his pocket
before he bent and picked up the cap at his feet. He dropped it over
the upturned face.
For a long moment the silence held thin as the two men looked at each
other. Hawkes stood, wiping his right hand on his trouser leg. Johnson
toyed idly with the gun he had picked up from the desk in front of
him.
Finally Hawkes let his body sag into a chair at Johnson's right. "This
is always a dirty business," he said sourly.
Johnson sat down also. "Did you notice the look on his face when he
saw you, and you shot him?" he asked, abstractedly turning the pistol
in his hand. "Funny thing. In that half-second before he fell an
article I read somewhere flashed into my mind. It seems that during
the French Revolution a certain doctor got to wondering just how long
a man's brain remained active after his head had been cut off. He
persuaded some of his friends who were due to be guillotined to
cooperate in a series of tests. Each man was to keep blinking his
eyes as long as possible after his head left his body, as a sign that
he was still conscious. The doctor counted as high as six winks."
"Very interesting, I'm sure," Hawkes said guardedly. "But a bit
morbid, isn't it?"
"I was wondering," Johnson went on as though he had not heard the
other, "whether he was still conscious for that instant after you shot
him. And if that brought the look of surprise to his face."
* * * * *
Hawkes turned in his chair to face Johnson fully. "You're driving at
something," he said sharply. "Get to the point."
"Personally I've wondered at a few things about you myself," Johnson
said. He held the gun steadily in his hand now, no longer pretending
to play with it. "I told you that our second robbery occurred while I
was a clerk with the Company," he went on. "They jerked me in to the
Home Office, and for a while I had a pretty rough time.... You know,
when I joined the Company, I was an amnesiac. I remembered my name,
but that's about all...."
"No, I didn't know," Hawkes muttered, growing slightly paler.
"I learned then from the Home Office that I had been a member of their
Secret Service some twenty years earlier. I'd been sent here to
investigate the first robbery. And I had disappeared. Naturally, they
had suspected me.
"However, they had no evidence, and when I reappeared twenty years
later they played it smart by just waiting, instead of arresting me.
When the second robbery occurred, they closed in.
"The only thing that saved me was the fact that tests proved my memory
was really gone, and that I had told the truth--as I knew it. From the
few scraps of information I retained--about being out on the Moebius
Strip--they and I arrived at the theory I mentioned a short time ago.
I was sent back here to wait. The Company never gives up. Remember?"
"Are you insinuating that I was in cahoots with this fellow here?"
Hawkes asked harshly.
"I'd say it was more than an insinuation," Johnson replied. "You made
several other slips. In the first place, Secret Service men are
usually better informed about a situation they're investigating than
you seemed to be. Also, those identification papers you showed me were
faked."
* * * * *
The skin along the bridge of Hawkes' nose had drawn tight, and now his
lips grew narrower. "In that case, why did I save you from that man
this afternoon?" he asked. "And why would I shoot him now?"
"Your saving me was an act, to get into my confidence. You shot him so
you wouldn't have to split the loot. I figure you were in with him on
the second robbery also. There had to be someone because his memory
would be gone, when he came off the Strip. But you weren't satisfied.
Together you decided to pull off another robbery while you were here
and double the spoils. Then you decided you wanted it all for yourself
and you shot him."
"There's one big flaw in your reasoning," Hawkes pointed out. "How did
I plan to get away? The only ships leaving here for several months
belong to the Company. Do you think I'd be foolish enough to expect
them to let me slip out on one of their ships?"
"No. I think you intended to go out on the Strip yourself."
"All right then," Hawkes countered. "You admitted that this was a
two-man job. How could I protect myself when I returned, if I knew in
advance that I wouldn't know who I was, let alone what I had done?"
"I'll come back to that in a minute," Johnson said. "But now I'd
advise you to drop your gun on the floor and give yourself up. You've
got nothing to gain by carrying on the bluff. You know I'll never let
you get to the Strip. And, once I put you on the ship, the Company
will take over."
* * * * *
Hawkes' shoulders drooped. Finally he smiled raggedly. "There's no use
my arguing any longer," he said. "But you've made the mistake of
underestimating me, my friend. I've lost my gamble. That's all. You
have nothing on me. I'm not as ignorant of native law as I may have
pretended. Granted, I am carrying a lethal weapon. But I'm on private
property. That's legal. I shot a man. But only in defense of my own
life. His gun on the floor will prove he came in armed. So I'm clean
as far as the natives are concerned. Right?"
Johnson nodded.
"And, as for the Company, what will they hold me for? They can't prove
any connection between me and him." Hawkes indicated the man on the
floor. "And this robbery--it never actually came off. Earth laws don't
allow prosecution for intent. Now, where does that leave you?"
Johnson stood up. "You're right--as far as you went," he said. "But,
returning to your earlier question about one man pulling this job, I
asked myself how I would do it, if it had to be done alone. And I
found a way. You'd probably figure the same one. Now I'll take that
paper in your pocket. It will serve very well as a confession."
Suddenly Hawkes' right hand streaked toward a side pocket. Johnson
leaned forward and brought the flat of his gun across the other's
temple.
As Hawkes sagged, Johnson ripped open his coat and took out a sealed
envelope. He removed a sheet of paper and read:
_This has been written for my own information. My name is
Alton Hawkes. I have robbed the Interplanets Company and
gone out on the Strip with the money. When I read this my
memory will be gone and twenty years will have elapsed._
--CHARLES V. DE VET
* * * * *