Meanwhile, Julie Pillsworth had not only lost her poise, but a shocking
amount of bodily moisture; a good full-lunged cry in the private
confines of her bed had done nothing to erase the memory of her husband
disporting himself loosely about the landscape with a strange redhead
under the very noses of their neighbors.
Julie dared not draw any conclusions concerning the affair of the
trellis; there were too many emotions involved, and she, having
formed her marriage on what she firmly believed to be a solid
foundation of logic and sound theory, was not practiced in the ways of
emotion. Suddenly, emotionally, Julie was in a strange land without a
guide, at a ball game without a program, up a creek without a paddle.
Briefly, she was no end confused and upset.
Perhaps Julie might have eventually reached the right conclusion and
even done the right thing, for in the back of her mind was the vague
feeling that Marc's sudden burst of misbehavior was the result of some
obscure failing in herself. She might have, that is, if May Springer
and Jewel Drummer hadn't appeared on the scene just as her thoughts
were turning in that direction.
May was a small, bird-boned, heron-faced woman with a voice as slight
and chirping as the mentality which it served. Jewel was the other
side of the picture: dog-jawed, thunder voiced and overwhelmingly
double-breasted. These two had long since elected themselves to be
Julie's "best friends," and now that Julie was in trouble they had come
to help. In short, this was just the chance they had been waiting for.
The three women watched tensely as the maid left the tea things on
the table and departed from the living room through the hall. Julie
instantly returned her tear-stained face to her handkerchief. May and
Jewel exchanged a look and hitched themselves forward in their chairs
in the manner of a pair of ditch diggers rolling up their sleeves to go
to work.
"I wouldn't hesitate a second," May piped. "I'd start divorcing the bum
right now. The time to let him have it is the first minute you hear
about the other woman. And, honey, you _saw_ her! I did too for
that matter. When that awful clatter started, and I looked out of my
window and saw your husband with that woman...! Well! I'll testify,
honey! They'll never shut me up."
"Me too, dear," Jewel put in heavily from beyond the rolling hills of
her bosom. "Of course I didn't actually see anything, but I heard it
all. The only thing for you to do is just close up the house and go
to Reno while it's all fresh in your mind. And let your lawyer do the
talking. Remember that."
"I know you feel better, now that you've decided," May said. "Jewel and
I will help you get your affairs with the house straightened up." She
leaned forward and tapped Jewel lightly on the knee. "Won't we, Jewel?"
Julie looked up moistly from her handkerchief. "But I _haven't_
decided," she wailed. "That's just it; I can't seem to decide anything.
Marc has never done anything like this before. All of a sudden he just
blew up the basement and started acting strange. I just can't get over
the feeling that maybe it's partly my fault somehow...."
"Ridiculous!" Jewel snorted.
"Of course!" May chimed.
"Oh, I don't know," Julie said hopelessly. "I just have a feeling that
Marc isn't to blame, that something strange is happening to him, and he
can't help himself. Maybe he needs me very badly right now."
"What's happened to him isn't so strange," Jewel pronounced. "It's just
that lousy male chemistry at work. The devils all get that way sooner
or later. Men are just a bunch of brutes, all of them. If there's
anything mysterious about all this it's only how you manage to feel so
damned charitable about it."
Albeit unwittingly on this occasion, Jewel, in all her history of
premeditated lies, had never spoken a greater untruth. There was
something far more mysterious going on than just Julie's feeling of
charity. It wanted only a trip to the basement to be discovered.
The thing that was taking place in the subterranean regions of the
house was stranger than either truth or fiction and twice as paralyzing.
* * * * *
The fact of the matter was that George had finally arrived on earth.
Starting logically at the beginning, with the first principle of
haunting as set down in the Guide, George had descended to the place of
his earthly part's untimely demise. Here, according to the rules, there
were certain procedures of investigation to be followed; but George was
far too excited with his sudden condition of release to be bothered
with those. Like a giddy school girl with her first party dress, he
could hardly wait to try on his ectoplasm. Even in this, however, there
were difficulties involved.
Unfortunately, as George saw it, the process of ectoplasmic
materialization depended largely upon the concentration of the entity
involved; first he had to thoroughly picture in his mind the earthly
form that he was to assume, and then, from that mental image, shape
his earthly manifestation. The trouble was that George's powers of
concentration had never been anything to brag about.
George's observance of the human form had always been extremely sketchy
at best. Faced with the problem of shaping such a form for himself,
he was somewhat at a loss. Pressing his memory to the limit he could
only recall that there were such things as arms, legs, head and torsos,
but the exact number and arrangement of these appointments completely
escaped him. Try as he would to think, nothing very clear came to
mind. Finally, in desperation, he decided just to give it the old
trial-and-error and make it up as he went along. He might have done
better to find himself an anatomy chart.
George decided on an arm and a hand to begin with; they seemed a rather
utilitarian item to have in the event that you wanted to go around
picking things up. He gave his thoughts over to that appendage.
The process worked with surprising facility. In the very next moment an
arm, neatly tapering off to a hand, promptly appeared, balanced on the
elbow, on the basement floor. George looked at it and felt a thrill of
pride at the accomplishment; it didn't matter that the thing was rather
starkly at loose ends with itself.
Glowing with the success of his first venture, George decided on a head
as the subject of his next efforts. Without a moment's hesitation,
but several feet above the arm, a head appeared in thin air, bearing
a duplicate face to the one of Marc Pillsworth. It was wonderfully
lifelike. It turned, looked down at the arm, and frowned.
Now George wasn't so sure; somehow things didn't seem to be shaping up
quite as he'd expected. He shrugged. Probably matters would be improved
when everything was more connected together. He thought for a moment
and remembered the matter of legs.
A moment later a leg and accompanying foot popped into being, but oddly
it appeared in a position near the head, a bit to one side with the
foot leading off rakishly toward the ceiling.
The head turned and regarded this phenomenon with worried interest.
Definitely, things weren't balancing out at all well. But what was
there to do but to go on with it now that it had gotten this far? And
then the head smiled; George had remembered. There should be two arms
and two legs in place of just one. In the grisly moment that followed,
the arm on the floor was joined by a mate, as was the leg hovering in
the air by the head.
The head peered with unwarranted pride from between the floating legs
and smiled on its accomplishments. Now George felt he was really
getting somewhere. There remained only the torso to be materialized.
George thought about this and wished it into being.
* * * * *
The picture that followed was lurching madness. Somehow a body had
appeared, balanced upside down on its elbows, in the very center of the
basement floor. And if that wasn't enough, the head had apparently been
severed and placed, for the sake of pure frightfulness, between the
knees.
George, now that the body was complete, recognized the error at
once. With a blush, he dissolved the head from between the knees and
concentrated it down towards the shoulders. The scene instantly became
more sane. Now there was a complete and perfectly formed man standing
on his elbows in the center of the basement. For a moment he remained
rigidly upright, then he wavered and fell flat on his back.
George gazed elatedly down his long length for a moment, then laughed
and sat up. Of course! Now everything was just as it should be. He
didn't know how he had come to be clothed, and he had no idea that he
was wearing an exact duplicate of the suit Marc was wearing, but he
considered himself to be a rather natty specimen. All in all, George
couldn't have been more pleased. He got to his feet, saluted his
new existence with a rather expertly executed jig step, and looked
about....
After a casual search of the basement, just to make sure that the
corpse of Marc Pillsworth was no longer kicking around anywhere, George
directed his attention to the wine bins. If he noticed the floating
debris on the ceiling he didn't know that it constituted a condition
that was in any way unnatural. He selected a bottle from one of the
shelves, opened it, and took a swallow. Immediately, he was overcome
with a feeling of enormous disappointment; this couldn't possibly be
that whiskey stuff that mortals seemed to miss so much in the upper
world. Whiskey, according to report, could cause a poor man to be rich,
a peasant to be king. Certainly this drab liquid was far too pallid for
that kind of magic. George replaced the bottle and wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand. He glanced around at the stairs across from the
bins and went over to investigate.
He stopped at the foot of the steps and listened. Distantly, there were
voices above--and, therefore, mortals. George decided that now was as
good as any other time to plunge into things; perhaps he could pick up
a few pointers. He started up the steps, then stopped thoughtfully.
Perhaps it would be better not to burst in upon these mortals in
a state of complete materialization; it might just a bit too much
for them. Maybe it would be better to break the news of his arrival
gradually, let them just suspect for awhile and give himself time to
grow on them. That was the ticket; he was sure that even the High
Council couldn't find anything wrong with that idea.
George held one foot out before him and dissolved it. Then taking the
next step, he repeated the process with the other foot.
Causing himself to disappear a bit at a time he rose slowly toward the
world of the mortals....
* * * * *
"There's no use hiding in your handkerchief," May Springer said. "The
sooner you talk to your lawyer, the sooner you'll stop crying."
Julie looked up uncertainly. "Maybe you're right," she said. "But I
don't know. Oh, I don't know anything!"
"What you need," Jewel said emphatically, "is a drink to give you
courage. We all do." She turned to May. "Run out to the bar, pet, and
bring us a bottle. This damned tea isn't doing any of us any good."
May, accustomed to acting on Jewel's command, followed instructions.
She left the room in the direction of the study and in a moment was
back with a bottle and three glasses.
"That's the stuff," Jewel said heartily. "Clear out those tea things
and put 'er down. I'll pour."
With everything arranged to her satisfaction, Jewel filled the glasses
with a quick and lavish hand. She handed brimming glasses to May and
Julie, then raised her own glass to propose a toast.
"To divorce!" she boomed. "And the damnation of husbands!"
Julie raised her glass, but only half-heartedly. Then without even
tasting the drink, she placed it on the table in front of her.
"There's nothing like whiskey to open the mind and the pores so that
the poison can get out," Jewel announced loudly. "It's wonderful stuff."
It was just at this moment that the invisible George drifted
expectantly into the room. He stopped short and pricked up his ears.
Whiskey! The very thing he was looking for, and here were mortals
fairly wallowing in the stuff. He observed the ladies with an eye
mainly to the glasses in their hands. Then he noticed Julie's glass,
languishing on the table. It was a circumstance that plainly wanted
mending. George drifted quickly forward.
For a moment George only stood regarding the drink covetously. Then
he turned to observe the ladies. Since this was to be his first
manifestation before an audience he felt he should make the most of
the materials at hand. Considering the ladies in turn, he decided that
he disliked Jewel Drummer the most. He waited carefully until that
turret-faced matron was looking in his direction, then lifted the glass
with a broad flourish. Even to George the effect of the drink suddenly
flying from the table and into the air seemed rather arresting.
To Jewel the effect was downright terrifying. Her glass raised to her
lips, she suddenly started, misdirected her aim and poured the entire
drink into her yawning bodice. With horrified reflex she jolted out of
her chair and hurled the glass from her. As the glass crashed against
the opposite wall, George tossed off his drink and replaced the glass
on the table.
In unison, Julie and May turned puzzled eyes on the palpitating Jewel.
"The glass!" Jewel blurted in tones of terror. "The glass!" Then
suddenly she gulped and sat down again as the bottle, like the glass,
leaped lightly from the table, upended itself over the glass, filled
it, then replaced itself.
"The bottle!" Jewel boomed.
"She wants the bottle!" May told Julie. "God, what a thirst that
woman's got! Did you see her knock off that drink? And now she's
yelling for the bottle. She's fairly lusting for the stuff. Give her
the bottle, dear, before she starts breaking the furniture."
Julie quickly snatched up the bottle from the table and held it out to
Jewel.
"Here, dear," she said, "take it."
Jewel pressed herself frightenedly against the back of her seat.
"Take it easy!" she screamed. "Don't bring it near me!"
"She fights the stuff all the time," May told Julie confidentially.
"Of course I've never really been sure before, but I've suspected all
along."
"I must cling to my reason," Jewel babbled desperately to herself. "I
mustn't give way!"
"What's that, dear?" May asked soothingly.
"Maybe we should pretend nothing's happened," Julie suggested
anxiously. "You know, just go on talking and pay no attention to her."
"It might help," May agreed.
* * * * *
For a moment the two ladies engaged in frenzied and meaningless
conversation, cautiously watching Jewel from the corners of their eyes.
Jewel, her eyes riveted with terrible fascination on the table, seemed
to have gone into a trance.
In the meantime, George, for his part, was suffering the pangs of
disappointment. To all intents and purposes, except for a certain
feeling of inner warmth, he was feeling much the same as always. The
liquor had failed to perform the miracle he had expected. But perhaps
that was only because he hadn't had enough. Once more he reached out
toward the glass and lifted it from the table.
With a final bellow of madness Jewel heaved her bulk from the chair and
bolted from the room.
"God in heaven!" she roared from the hallway. "Let me out of here!"
May rose unhurriedly. "I guess the struggle was too much for her," she
said mildly. "You just stay where you are, dear. I'll take her home.
Poor Jewel. She'll need someone to talk to, to confide in, and I'm her
best friend." Then in an undertone: "I've always thought she belonged
in an institution anyway. I'll call you later."
When they had gone, Julie relinquished her spirit to the quiet
atmosphere of the room. She had worried and cried, she felt, until
she hadn't any emotion left in her. Now she only felt numb. Then she
started slightly as a muffled gurgling sound briefly broke the quiet.
She glanced around quickly, but there was nothing. Then the doorbell
rang. She turned her attention toward the hallway as Marie passed
through to answer the door. After a moment the maid returned to the
living room.
"There are a couple of gentlemen," she reported. "They say they're from
the government and must see you."
Julie was pensive for a moment; she couldn't imagine why anyone from
the government should want an interview with her. She shrugged.
"All right, Marie," she said. Then she glanced at the bottle and the
glasses on the table; not quite the proper fittings for a chat with the
government. "I'll see them in the study."
She rose and started from the room. Then suddenly she heard a small
scraping noise and turned back quickly. For a moment she stood still,
staring at the table. Could the bottle actually have been moving just
as she turned around? But of course that was silly.
Just nerves, she told herself, and continued into the hallway.
After introductions, Julie led the men to the study, gave them seats
and took a place opposite them. She would have known they were from the
government even if she hadn't been told; with that careful, unrevealing
look, they only needed an official stamp of certification on their
foreheads.
"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked.
"Well, we're not exactly sure," one of the men said. "However, we have
reason to believe you can." He cleared his throat. "To get directly
to the point, we are interested in an explosion which we believe took
place on these premises last night."
"Oh, dear!" Julie said. "Have the neighbors complained?"
"No, Mrs. Pillsworth, nothing like that. You see, we have mechanical
means of knowing about explosions. There is a device in existence which
records the precise time, location, magnitude and nature of even the
slightest explosion anywhere on the Earth's surface. One was recorded
here last night. The nature, however, was undetermined and that's why
we decided to investigate."
Julie nodded. She told them of Marc's basement laboratory and his
experiments to make heavy substances lighter than air. She explained
about the explosion.
"The experiment was a complete failure, I guess," she concluded.
"I see," the man said. "Would you mind, though, if we took a look
around in the basement anyway?"
"No, I don't mind," Julie said. "But judging from what I saw down there
last night you won't find anything but a lot of rubble."
"Of course," the man said. "But we can't take a chance on a possible
new type of explosive. It might be of military interest. Just in case,
Mrs. Pillsworth, do you know where your husband kept his notes on the
experiment?"
Julie thought for a moment. "In a little black book, I believe," she
said. "He just left it lying around loose down there."
The man nodded and got up. "We'll have the maid show us where it is,"
he said. "Thank you very much."
* * * * *
When they were gone, Julie leaned back in her chair and closed her
eyes. She was so weary, just from talking to people. Then she sat up
quickly. She could have sworn she'd heard something out in the hall,
a furtive noise, as though someone had cautiously let himself in the
front door. She got up and went to the doorway of the study.
"Marc!" she called, then suddenly froze where she was.
Never had she seen two uglier customers than the ones that were now
cowering before her in the shadows of the hallway. Two very dark little
men with gross black beards, thick-lensed glasses and derby hats. They
seemed to be exact and very dreadful duplicates of each other, as
though the same awful mistake had happened twice. Their eyes shifted
nervously before Julie's horrified gaze. They looked precisely like a
pair of spies.
"Who are you two?" Julie asked uneasily. "What are you doing here?"
The two shifted uncomfortably, glanced at each other. Finally the one
closest to Julie spoke.
"I'm Gerald Blemish," he said, and nodded toward the other. "This is my
twin brother, Cecil. Of course those names are entirely fictitious, but
we haven't used our real ones for so long we've forgotten them. Then,
on the other hand, maybe those are our real names only we just don't
know it. We came with the men from the government."
"Oh," Julie said, relieved. "You're with the government too."
"Oh, no," Gerald Blemish said. "Heavens no. We just followed them in.
We're spies."
"Spies?" Julie said incredulously. "Oh, dear! With government men right
in the house?"
"Oh, we followed them everywhere," the brother called Cecil said. "We
find things out faster that way."
"I can see where you would," Julie said. "Haven't they ever caught
you?"
"Oh, yes. They catch us all the time. That's one reason they like to
have us around; we're handy in case they want to arrest someone and
don't know who to arrest." He glanced at his brother and sniggered
noisily. "They think we're harmless."
"We've been arrested in so many shake-ups," Gerald offered, "we're
known as the Double Malts to some people. We photograph very well in
the newsreels. You know, being taken into custody with our hats over
our faces. That's why we wear hats, just for pictures."
"Oh, yes," Cecil put in. "As a matter of fact, we used to be in the
movies professionally. We played spies exclusively. Because we look so
awful. In fact that's how we got started as spies. After seeing us as
spies on the screen all the time, everyone got to believe we really
were spies. No one would come near us."
Gerald nodded. "When we went to call on anyone, people refused to
answer the door."
"It sort of depressed us at first," Cecil said. "And then, on top
of that, the movies stopped using us. The vogue in spies turned to
beautiful women. They said we were old hat. That put us out of work.
But there wasn't anything else we knew how to do. No one would believe
we weren't spies so we just had to go on being them."
"I see," Julie said, feeling that she had wandered into a world of
complete madness. "What country do you spy for?"
The brothers glanced quickly at each other, then lowered their eyes to
the floor. "That's just the trouble," Gerald said in saddened tones.
"We don't work for anyone. We're unsponsored. No country will hire us
because we look so much like spies. Other spies refuse to be seen with
us."
"I don't wonder," Julie said. "With faces like yours. I wouldn't want
to be seen with you, and I'm not even a spy."
* * * * *
The dreadful brothers looked up with unexpected happiness. They smiled
on Julie crookedly from the corners of their mouths.
"Oh, I'm so glad you said that," Cecil said. "We were afraid we were
beginning to lose our looks. Do you think we're really vile? You're not
just saying that?"
"I think you're perfectly horrible," Julie said with a feeling of
delusion. "And I mean every word of it."
"You're wonderful to say that," Cecil drooled unattractively. He
reached inside his coat and drew out a soiled piece of paper. "Would
you like the secret to the atom bomb? I know it's kind of old stuff,
but maybe you'd get a kick out of just having it to show your friends.
We've had it for years now, only no one would take it from us; they
wouldn't believe it was real. Take it as a token of our appreciation."
Julie backed sharply away. "No, thank you."
"We've stolen all kinds of plans and formulas and things," Cecil said.
"Even secret recipes. But everyone acts like you do; they won't let
us give them a thing. Our room is filled with secret papers. We could
overthrow any government in the world just like that, if someone would
just take us seriously."
"That's too bad," Julie said.
"The trouble is we've got no reputation; we've never done anything
terrible enough to get a break."
"Yeah," Gerald slurred. "That's the trouble. But we'll make it yet.
We'll do something perfectly monstrous one of these days and then we'll
be in. We've got ambition and talent."
"I'm sure you have," Julie said.
"You're very nice to encourage us like this," Cecil said. "And we won't
let you down either. We're very good at our trade. Would you like to
see us skulk?"
"Skulk?" Julie said. "How do you mean?"
"Oh, just skulk. You know, slither and sneak around and things like
that." He turned to Gerald. "Let's show her, huh?"
"All right!" Gerald said. "I'm ready."
"Now wait...!" Julie began, but before she could say anything more the
two had disappeared into the shadows, and suddenly the hallway and the
room behind her were filled with strange furtive scurrying sounds.
As she turned to look behind her in the study, she saw one of the
frightful brothers dart soundlessly from beneath the desk and disappear
behind the drapes at the window. The other peered at her momentarily
from behind a chair. They moved around the room with a rapidity and
stealth that was maddening. They were everywhere.
"Stop that!" Julie cried. "For heavens sake, stop it!"
Instantly the two brothers returned before her, grinning breathlessly.
"Isn't it sinister?" Cecil asked. "Doesn't it just make your spine
crawl?"
"I think mine has already crawled," Julie said. "I wouldn't be
surprised to see it scuttling out the door under its own power at this
very moment."
"We could skulk all day and never get tired." He held out a sheaf of
papers. "I got these out of the desk."
Julie took the papers timidly. "Don't you think you ought to spy on the
gentlemen down in the basement now?" she suggested. "They're probably
wondering what's keeping you."
"That's right," Gerald said. "Well, we'll sneak along now. It's too
bad we haven't more time. We'd show you how we lurk. Everyone says
we're the best lurkers in the business."
* * * * *
And suddenly the two were gone, faded into the shadows. Shaking her
head, Julie turned back to the study to replace the papers in the desk.
Then she stopped as a sharp scream of terror came from the kitchen; the
awful brothers had evidently discovered Marie.
Julie was just returning from the desk when the telephone rang. Without
waiting for Marie, who was probably in no condition to talk at the
moment anyway, she continued to the hallway and answered it herself.
"Mrs. Pillsworth?" a male voice inquired heavily. "This is the police."
"Police?" Julie said. Her first thought turned instantly toward Marc.
"My husband! Has something happened to Marc?"
"I'll say, lady," the voice replied. "He's been arrested."
"Arrested? What for?"
"Well, I don't know how to tell you, lady. It sounds silly, and you
ain't going to believe it, but he was run in for attacking a statue."
"Attacking a statue!"
"That's what the description says. That an' a lot more that I can't
repeat on the telephone. It seems like him and this little redheaded
hell-cat...."
"Oh!" Julie broke in frigidly. "So she's mixed up in it, is she!"
Then suddenly the look of anger faded from Julie's face and became
one of pure astonishment. As she had been talking, her attention had
been drawn to the living room doorway by a movement there. Now, her
eyes wide, she stared at a bottle suspended in thin air. Even as she
watched, it moved a bit, tilted inquisitively, almost as though it were
eavesdropping.
Julie closed her eyes tightly and turned away. She had to get a grip on
herself before her nerves gave way completely. She tightened her hold
on the telephone.
"You tell my husband," she said, "that he can rot in jail for all I
care. I'm going to Reno."
She hung up, passed a trembling hand over her forehead. For a long
moment she stood perfectly still. Then, slowly, she turned and forced
herself to look at the doorway. As she stared, her face draining
white, the bottle tilted smartly and emptied the slight remains of
its contents into thin air. There was a moment of electric silence,
then the hallway resounded from end to end with the rumblings of an
unrestrained burp.
With a smothered cry, Julie sank limply to the floor....