"Very well. Imagine, then, a situation where, at one given instant every
single traffic light on this congested island turns green and STAYS
green." I shuddered at the thought. "Picture the beauty of it," he said.
"Not red, which would cause all automobiles to stop, but green, the
signal to go! Imagine their mad desire to rush forward in righteous
obedience to the law, and their awful frustration to find every other
automobile and truck obeying the same law, regardless of the direction
from which it is coming. It has been estimated by noted mathematicians
who are involved in this plan, that within forty-five seconds all
traffic in Manhattan would come to a standstill, it becoming impossible
for a car to move forward or backward. Oh, what utter chaos!"
"_Ab homine homini periculum quotidianum_," I said.
"Eh?"
"Man is daily in danger from man. An ancient Roman said that."
"He knew what he was talking about. But this is only Phase One of the
plan. A corollary is based upon the axiom that one disabled automobile
is equal to ten thousand operating ones."
"I don't follow."
* * * * *
"The highways leading into and out of this island. Regardless of the
number of lanes, if one automobile breaks down, traffic is immobilized
for miles. Multiply that by several dozen, all at the same time, on all
the entrances and exits to the island, and no earthly power could
untangle that situation in less than a week, if then!"
His words evoked an image of metal monsters, stretched as far as the eye
could see, steam pouring from their overheated radiators as they
raucously bleated for help.
"All this can be accomplished quite simply and inexpensively," continued
my bearded little man. "However, what of subsurface transportation?"
"You mean the subway system?"
"Exactly. Once again, simplicity is the key. What do subway riders use
to gain entrance through the turnstiles? Tokens. Let us suppose that on
this same given day the majority of tokens distributed are all
fractionally larger than normal. Not enough to be noticed, mind you, but
just enough so they cannot pass through the slots and activate the
mechanism."
"But--"
"Do you realize the absolute ingenuity of this plan? Subway riders by
the thousands will be trying to put tokens _that they paid for_ into
slots that will not receive them! The tremendous howl of anguish that
will arise! The roar of frustration and then anger as the thousands pile
upon the thousands at rush hour! The screaming and pushing as multitudes
press forward at each subway station, demanding their rights of ingress
as good citizens, while more multitudes press from the incoming trains
demanding their rights of egress! Unquestionably the entire subway
system will collapse in a matter of minutes! What was it you said
before?"
"_Ab homine homini periculum quotidianum?_"
"And how!" He lit a cigar and puffed away for a few moments, filling my
room with its foul odor. "Ingenious, eh?" he said finally.
"But to what end?" I asked. "If anarchy rules the city, how could
whoever is behind this plan assume control?"
He leaned back in the chair, disappearing from view. "That is not part
of the scheme. The purpose is to arouse the rest of the country to what
has happened to its greatest metropolis. Every eye, ear, radio and
television station will be turned towards Manhattan. The armed forces,
all the resources of the government will, within hours, pour into the
city, or try to. And at precisely that moment the rest of the country
will be childishly open to invasion! If this plan succeeds, professor,
the United States will be conquered within a matter of days, with
remarkably little destruction or loss of life."
I stared at the little figure in the chair. Was he serious? More
important--was he sane? "Who is planning this invasion?"
"Who else?"
"Why tell me this story? Why not go to the authorities?"
"I need sufficient proof, first. Unfortunately, matters are coming to a
head far sooner than I expected. In addition, my disposing of one of
their men earlier," he tapped his left arm significantly, "has left me
in a vulnerable position. I dare not go to the authorities myself, for
fear of exposing myself. And believe me"--he snapped his fingers--"I
would not get as far as the nearest policeman. However, professor, you
are unsuspected. _You_ could report this plan with no danger to
yourself."
"Enough! My dear Mr. Rumplestein-O'Grady, do you expect me to charge
into a police station and blurt out this ridiculous story?"
"I don't expect you to charge anywhere, professor. Not without proof. I
will get the proof for you, by tomorrow. Then--as I suspect--if _I_ am
unable to warn the authorities, I will expect _you_ to do so. In the
meantime, make use of these when you go to the university, tomorrow. I
found them on the body of the man I disposed of."
He dropped several tinkly objects on my desk, rose, and, without another
word, was gone. I picked up the items. They were subway tokens. I
hurried to the window and glanced out. I could see the little man
hurrying down the street, his head bobbing up and down like a swimmer in
the ocean. Then, my mind in a turmoil, I turned out the light and went
to bed. Fortunately, regardless of the press of circumstances, I have
never had difficulty in falling asleep and tonight was no exception.
* * * * *
At seven-thirty the next morning I arose, dressed, and prepared my
breakfast. I thought of the events of the preceding evening. Had it not
been for the bloodied towel with which I had washed the little man's
wounds, I might have dismissed the entire incident as a dream. I
continued to think about it while walking to the subway. I berated
myself for taking the story seriously even for a moment, as I dropped a
token into the turnstile and pressed forward. I gasped in sudden pain as
the turnstile, still locked, pushed into my midriff. I glanced at the
token in the slot. It had not dropped. I pressed it down. It refused to
budge. I tried several other tokens, all with the same result. By this
time half a dozen people had gathered behind me, making angry remarks.
Flustered, I backed away, bought a token from the cashier, and rode to
the University. Then it was I recalled that I had tried to use the
tokens my strange visitor had placed on my desk before parting from me,
and which I had, without thinking, picked up in the morning.
All that day I pondered over the tokens and the odd tale of Mr.
Rumplestein-O'Grady. I could still give it no credence, but I _was_
disturbed. On my way home, that evening, as is my wont, I bought a
newspaper and began reading it casually. Just before reaching my
station, I came across a small item on one of the inside pages. It
stated that a small, bearded man, wearing a checkered suit, had been
found in the river that morning, stabbed. There were no identification
papers on him, only a pocket full of subway tokens which, police
believed, had been used to weight down the body.
"Good heavens!" I said aloud. Several passengers raised their eyebrows.
I flushed, hurried out of the train and to my apartment where I fell
into my chair, shocked and shaking. No doubt the body was that of
Rumplestein. The poor little man! What did this mean? Could his story
conceivably have been true?
The knock on my door startled me. "Professor, are you home?" It was my
landlady. When I opened the door she handed me an envelope with my name
written on it in small, neat letters. "A little fellow with a beard gave
it to me early this morning, after you'd gone. He said to be sure you
got it. Then he ran away." She shook her head in obvious disapproval of
such actions.
After she left I tore open the envelope and read the contents.
"By the time you see this chances are excellent that I shall be dead.
However, that is of little importance. I have found the proof we
need--their distribution plant. It's an old warehouse. I am going there
to see if I cannot obtain concrete proof--perhaps a pocketful of tokens.
If I fail, you must carry on. Farewell, professor. It was a privilege
knowing you."
Beneath the message was an address which I recognized as being in one of
the less reputable sections of the city. There was no signature.
What to do! What to do! I no longer doubted the truth of little Mr.
Rumplestein-O'Grady's story. But what to do about it? I considered going
to the warehouse, but the thought of high adventure sends nothing but
ennui coursing through my veins. Besides, there was undoubtedly some
element of danger in that course. The police! Naturally! They would know
how to deal with this situation and perhaps even avenge poor Mr.
Rumplestein's death. Filled with righteous anger and indignation I
hurried out and went to the nearest police station.
In retrospect I can understand the reaction of the desk sergeant to my
wild-eyed claim that the city was in imminent danger of invasion and he
must do something about it at once!
"How much, now, have ye had to drink?" he asked calmly.
When I swore that I was as sober as he, he grew purple with rage and
threatened to have me thrown into jail for insulting a police officer
unless I disappeared immediately.
All that night and the next day I tried to reach someone in authority
with my information. The New York City police were admirably calm about
my information. My actions and voice, however, seemed to disturb them
greatly. When I insisted they investigate the warehouse, they told me
the officer on the beat would do so in good time. When I suggested they
examine the tokens found on the body they informed me that these had
been turned over to the Property Clerk and if not claimed within ninety
days would be given to the PAL.
As a last desperate measure I went to the New York office of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation and presented myself to one of the Federal men.
I told him my story. He looked at me calmly, then pored through a thick
book on his desk. He closed one eye thoughtfully and peered at me
through the other.
"There's really nothing," he said, "that we can do about it."
"Don't you believe me?"
"That has nothing to do with it. According to regulations this is
strictly a municipal affair. It doesn't come within the jurisdiction of
the FBI. And we wouldn't want to step on municipal toes." He closed the
book smartly.
I was crushed. I couldn't believe it. Finally I said, "_Serum est
cavendi tempus in mediis malis!_"
"What?"
"'It is too late to be cautious when in the very midst of dangers.'
Seneca said that two thousand years ago."
The young man rose and nodded towards the door. "Good day, professor.
And an _E pluribus unum_ to you!"
That was an hour ago.
* * * * *
Professor Clarke stopped talking. Jimmy and I said nothing. The only
sound was the hum of traffic outside. "And that is the way it is,
gentlemen," said Professor Clarke, finally. "_Quando cadet Roma, cadet
et mundus._ When Rome falls--the world!" He sipped the beer which by now
had gone flat. "Do you believe me?"
Jimmy and I exchanged glances. "Have another beer," said Jimmy. "On the
house."
"I see." Professor Clarke sighed. "Well, I cannot really blame you,
gentlemen. I only hope you do not live to regret it." He got up and put
a coin on the bar. Jimmy went to make change.
Then we became aware of automobile horns blasting steadily on a rising
note of urgency. Jimmy and I ran outside. Traffic was piling up rapidly
in the street. And as far as we could see in every direction, all the
traffic lights had turned green!
"Holy cow!" said Jimmy. "He was telling the truth!"
"So it appears," said a voice at my elbow. I turned. It was the
professor. There was a sad, wistful expression on his face. "_Quod erat
demonstrandum_," he said softly. "Q.E.D." Then, as the horns got louder,
and we could hear drivers cursing, he strode down the street and around
the corner.
"Professor!" I yelled. "Wait!" I started to run after him when the horns
stopped blowing. Cars started moving again, and many of the traffic
lights had turned red.
Jimmy wiped his face in obvious relief. "Must have been a short
circuit," he said hoarsely. "But for a minute--"
"Yes," I said. "A short circuit. Or maybe--a dry run to test facilities
for the big day?"
Neither one of us said anything, but we both had the same thought as we
returned to the bar. I picked up the subway token the professor had left
there. I flipped it in the air several times and looked at Jimmy. He
nodded in agreement. I went out and headed for the nearest subway.