"You do have the reputation of being a lone wolf." Siggen remarked
slowly. "After this business is over I'd be glad to consider
consolidating our, ah, talents. We could go far together."
"You offer me this when you know me so little?"
"The best test of good relations between men is an instinctive liking,"
Siggen said. "I feel we have this, plus a common purpose."
"I'll think it over," Ostby replied. "In the meantime I'll expect
results tomorrow."
Ostby lay flat on his stomach with his head facing the window in front
of him. The window was set flush with the floor and he had a good view
of the Stalls across the street.
The Stalls was a squat, three-story building, with a basement and a
sub-basement. The upper three stories were occupied by government
offices. The basement housed the heating equipment and was used as a
storage space. But it was the sub-basement that gave the place its
name. Here the slaves were kept until sold.
* * * * *
The deserted office room in which Ostby lay had been closed for many
months, and it was hot inside, and close. The sun shining through the
windows added to the heat, and the film of moisture that bathed his
body had long since developed small rivulets that collected in sodden
patches of his clothing.
"How much longer will it be, Groves?" Ostby asked.
"There's no way of knowing." The young man who sat with his back
resting against the wall had wilted under the heat and crawled over out
of the sunlight. "As soon as it's safe," he said. "Let me know if you
see anyone coming out."
"I thought Siggen had fixed it so we could get in without any trouble?"
"He bribed the guards," Groves replied. "But you saw those two men go
in. I recognized one of them as Boorrls of the secret police. They're
liable to turn up any place, any time. We'd be sticking our necks out
to go in while they're there."
For another ten minutes neither man said a word. A big drop of moisture
collected on the cleft in the middle of Ostby's chin. He wished he were
certain that he could trust Groves. Groves was an open-faced young
man with candor in his blue eyes, and a ready smile that asked for
confidence, but somewhere in the man's makeup was a black streak, Ostby
reckoned.
All morning Ostby's infallible intuition had throbbed a slow pulse
of warning. He knew better than to disregard that warning but when
he turned to thieves for help he had no right to expect sterling
characters for companions.
Siggen should have enough control over his men to make Groves afraid
to double-cross him. And, strangely enough, Ostby trusted Siggen. His
intuition told him that Siggen was a man true to his own principles,
distorted though they might be.
Ostby had seen another facet of Siggen's character that morning. When
he had returned to the house Siggen had introduced him to Groves, and
the three of them had gone down into the fat man's basement.
"I want to show you a pretty sight," Siggen said.
Lying on the basement floor was the body of a man. A knife was buried
in his throat. The dead mouth that smiled up at Ostby was widened by a
long scar.
"What will we do when we get in the Stalls?" Groves interrupted Ostby's
reflections.
Ostby did not answer, but turned his head to look at the young man,
long and levelly.
"It's none of my business, of course," Groves added hurriedly, "but I
won't be much help in case of trouble if I don't even know what you're
trying to do."
"If trouble comes we just get out as fast as we can."
"You aren't going to try to get one of the slaves out, are you? You
told Siggen that you only wanted to get in, and get out again."
"That's all I want."
"It you're trying to close the 'door,' what would you want in...."
Abruptly Groves stopped talking. Ostby read the dismay in his voice as
he realized that he had said too much.
Ostby rolled over on his side, bringing his gun up and firing in the
same motion. Groves had his own gun drawn when the slug caught him in
the forehead and slapped his head back as though riding the blow of a
fist. Slowly he fell sideways along the wall.
Ostby was on his feet immediately. He'd have to move fast now, he knew.
No one but the police, or someone high in the Imperator's confidence,
would know that he was here to close the "door" between the worlds.
Groves had made a bad slip.
In Groves' right rear pocket Ostby found a black billfold. Inside was
a white card with the word, _Confidential_, written on it. He found
nothing else of interest. But that was enough to wipe away Ostby's last
doubt. Sweat broke out anew on his forehead as he realized how close
the trap had come to closing around him. He might be too late already.
On the other hand, he reflected, perhaps this would be the moment when
boldness would accomplish more than it ever could have in the past. He
had been able to get nowhere in the past months with caution, and this
time, being so close, he would not turn back.