TO STEAL A WORLD.
The morning passed in unbroken darkness. Traffic thickened, grew dense,
and thinned out again. Two million people, balked of information from
the usual sources, were asking two other million people what they
thought about the darkness, and the second two million were telling the
first that they didn't know what to make of it, but so-and-so was going
down to the office and there was no use being docked for absence.
Crowds filled the subway platforms and the elevated trains, and other
crowds swarmed up and down from the rapid-transit stations and split up
into infinitesimal fragments which coalesced at the entrances to office
buildings, and always the topic of conversation was the extraordinary,
inexplicable continuation of night.
Modern civilized man, however, pays the very minimum of attention to
the natural part of his environment. There are literally hundreds of
thousands of people in New York who are outdoors less than one hour in
twenty-four. To those people the absence of daylight was an extremely
trivial matter. Something to be puzzled about and something to ask
questions about, but not especially anything to be worried about.
In the lesser cities of the United States, of course, the darkness
loomed more largely. In the small towns it was a matter of immediate
and overwhelming importance. In the villages it produced apprehension
bordering on panic. On the farms it was stark tragedy. But on the whole
the matter was taken with a surprising calmness. If it was a precarious
sort of composure, likely to break into mob hysteria at any moment, it
was nevertheless composure.
But the darkness held for hour after hour, unbroken and menacing. Ten
o'clock arrived. Half past ten. Eleven. The sky remained a jetty black.
The temperature of the air fell below the daunting chill which normally
fills the small hours before dawn.
People in the offices and factories had worked almost gayly at first,
taking the use of artificial light in daytime as a sort of adventure.
But as time went on and the unwontedly protracted night continued,
little groups gathered at windows, staring out uneasily.
The interchange of questions about the darkness ceased to be jocular.
The adventure became serious. Concern deepened to apprehension. More
and more offices were quietly closed for the day. More and more
factories announced a holiday. A stream of homeward-bound folk began to
crowd the elevated trains and subways.
The newspaper extras were late in getting out, and Hines, cooperating
and conferring with the Washington authorities, was responsible. He had
put police on guard at the publishing offices, and would not let one
copy of the newspapers leave the publishing plants until he had made
provision for the public reaction.
The subway and elevated lines needed to be prepared for a monster
homeward rush. Traffic squads needed to be reinforced. The reserves
of the police department posted themselves at strategic points, the
elevated and subway lines prepared for a jam, and the Newspapers were
unleashed. All over the city a chorus of voices was upraised, crying
extra editions. In ten thousand office buildings the elevators became
jammed with folk going down to buy them. And the subway tunnels roared
and rumbled with empty trains rushing down town to carry back the mob
that within minutes would be fighting for places.
The newspapers were much alike, though Kathryn Bush's story in the
_Star_ was naturally the one which gave the fullest account. All the
papers, however, had reasonably complete accounts of the phenomenon.
This was no time to play favorites. And nearly all of them printed
Schaaf's explanation in full. He had lectured for nearly half an hour
in Hines's office at police headquarters, and his explanation--though
given so promptly--still holds good.
* * * * *
"Last year," said Schaaf, "there was a sudden flood of darkness on
Fifth Avenue, and there were many robberies. Hines and myself, we
discovered that a deffil named Breston had done it. He had learned
that under der influence of certain fery short Hertzian wafes, der
air ceases to be transparent. Actually, it was der phenomenon of
der fluorescence of der ionized bodies in der atmosphere, when they
absorbed all der fisible colors of light and emitted infisible ones
instead.
"Der essential thing is that der air is opaque, there is no light. Now,
three times, so far, those short short wafes haff been used. Once on
Fifth Afenue. Once der whole city was made dark. Some few months ago
Breston created a storm in der Catskill Mountains by means of der fact
that when der air is no longer transparent it absorbs der heat of der
sun, becomes hot, and rises in huge folumes." All this, of course, was
ancient history. Everybody knew it. The Storm That Had to be Stopped
was one of the most distressing catastrophes in the history of the
United States.
"Now, at der time of der Storm," Schaaf went on bitterly, "when we
got to der sending-station which sent out der short short wafes, we
blew it to pieces and der storm stopped. But der apparatus for making
those short short wafes had had thermit and explosifes placed about
it so that it was destroyed. Breston did that. Also we found der body
of a man, burned with der explosifes and der thermit. Der newspapers
printed that it was the body of Breston. We hoped it was so. But later
infestigation profed that it was not. Breston is fife feet three inches
tall. Der dead body was fife feet nine inches tall.
"For months past, Inspector Hines has been defoting all his time to a
search for Breston. And I haff worked on der problem of combating der
short wafes. _Himmel!_ How I haff worked! But in both cases, Breston
has so far kept ahead of us. This morning's darkness is of Breston's
contrifance. But we haff licked him three times before, we will lick
him again, and anything that he says to der contrary is banana oil!"
* * * * *
So far, Schaaf was quoted verbatim. But the rest of his lecture was
expanded in most of the papers, because Schaaf's mixture of technical
terms and slang was confusing. The essence of his explanation, though,
was very simple.
To make the earth's whole atmosphere opaque would have required
millions of billions of horse-power. But far above the surface of the
earth the Heaviside Layer in the atmosphere seemed as if made for
Preston's purposes. From five to fifteen miles up there is an abrupt
change in the characteristics of the air. At that height there is a
layer of highly ionized air, markedly electrically conducting, which
spreads over the whole earth. Schaaf likened it to a roof of conducting
metal over the whole earth.
It was clear that if the short short waves of Preston's discovery could
be introduced into that conducting layer of the atmosphere, they would
spread out over the whole earth with but little loss of power. Five
thousand horse-power would do it.
"Der thing we do not yet understand," said Schaaf, "is how Breston
manages to introduce his short short wafes into der Heaviside Layer. We
will find it out, fery shortly. Breston cannot bring der darkness down
to der surface of der earth, because he can haff power enough to darken
only a small part of it, and der moment he does that we locate him,
and when we locate him we kill him. And sooner or later we locate him
anyhow!"
His expressed optimism was not altogether unfeigned, of course. He
had the desperate certitude of a man who simply dares not admit
the possibility of failure. At the moment that the newspapers were
blazoning his announcement on their front pages, Schaaf was actually in
something close to despair.
* * * * *
Long, explorative fingers of light were poking upward toward the sky,
from warships anchored in the harbor. Half a dozen giant ships of
the Atlantic Fleet were in port. Army tanks had been loaned Hines to
destroy Preston's storm-making apparatus, and all the resources of
the government, of course, would be used to restore sunlight to the
world again. The harbor was smoothly rippling, almost oily on its
surface. Long lights glimmered on its waves. Then, suddenly, from the
flagship of the fleet there came three or four staccato detonations.
Seconds later there were thin crackling explosions high overhead. The
searchlights shot back and forth, searching the roof over the world.
A little later, three or four more explosions. After a longer interval,
brittle detonations high above. The searchlights moved restlessly over
the ebon ceiling of the earth. And still again came the sharp sound of
an anti-aircraft gun firing at an empty sky.
The searchlights followed a thin thread of whitish vapor upward. It
stretched like a kite-string toward the sky. It was the trail of
tracer-smoke left by the anti-aircraft shell.
Blinkers began to operate on the ships. A man on shore spoke crisply
into a telephone.
Schaaf got the message, frowning bitterly in his despair.
"Yes. I haff it. Thank you."
He was in Hines's office, waiting for the information. An anti-aircraft
gun had fired time-fused shells to burst at progressively greater
heights. The shell which burst at an elevation of forty-two thousand
feet had been unseen, because its cloud of smoke had been formed inside
the now opaque Heaviside Layer of the atmosphere. The layer of darkness
which kept the whole world deep in night was eight miles above the
surface.
"What can we do, Hines?" demanded Schaaf in despair. "Can we send an
afiator up eight miles to do intricate obserfations with delicate
apparatus? We cannot. Then how are we going to locate der point of
dissemination of der _verdammt_ darkness-producing wafes?" Hines held
up his hand, spoke quietly into a telephone. He was deathly pale, but
Schaaf was too excited to notice it.
"We're coming along pretty well," said Hines grimly, "except that
you've still got to find out more about Preston's weapons. I think I
know, roughly, where he is."
Schaaf sat up and blinked.
"It's been apparent from the first that when we do locate Preston we
have everything in our favor. We have an army we can fling against him,
on land. We have aircraft to attack him by air. We can send the shells
from fourteen-inch guns against him from the sea. He knows all that."
Schaaf ran his fingers through his beard. "Shoot der works," he said
harassedly.
"The President received a letter from him telling what his demands are
going to be. Other governments have got similar letters. He's fighting
the whole world, and he knows it. What weapons has he got?"
"Darkness," said Schaaf bitterly, "and storms, and a total lack of
humanity."
"And we have all the other weapons. Where can he defend himself, with
the weapons he has, if we do locate him?"
Schaaf scratched his chin, underneath his beard.
"Wherefer he is. Tell me, Hines."
"If he's on an island," said Hines, "he can't be attacked by an army.
If he can blind any ship within twenty or thirty miles by making all
the atmosphere--not only the Heaviside Layer--opaque to light, no ship
can navigate to that island. And if he cuts the darkness on the rest
of the world, he can make a storm that will sink any ship or wreck any
aircraft in the world."
"He is on an island!" said Schaaf instantly.
"Of course he is on an island! But where?"
* * * * *
"He gave himself away," said Hines grimly. "He talked to his assassins,
in Brooklyn, just fourteen hours before the darkness went on. And he
wouldn't trust anybody else to work an affair the size of this, so he's
at his darkness plant. At most he's not more than twelve hours from New
York. More probably only ten. And the last eleven of those hours were
night hours, and there are no night-flying passenger air lines out of
the metropolitan district now. He traveled by train or boat or motor
car. Averaging, he's not more than four hundred miles from New York if
he made the longest part of his journey by train or car. He's probably
not less than two hundred, for reasons of discretion. Here's a map.
Draw the two circles--two hundred miles and four hundred miles away.
We can block off the land between the circles. He isn't there. We can
block off the area where there are no islands. If he needs to make a
storm, he'll want to be on an island, not a steamer."
Schaaf looked at the area that was left.
"Der Maine coast!"
"Of course," said Hines. "And now remember he wants an island well
out at sea so storms can sweep clear around it, and one that's
fairly isolated, so he could have built his plant without attracting
attention."
Schaaf scrutinized the map with painstaking care.
"Hm. This little speck looks promising, Hines."
Hines said grimly, "The police of all New England have been questioning
fishermen. I mentioned that island especially. Only one man has been
near it recently. He was ordered off by guards who told him a rich man
had bought it and was making a summer home on it. And so I've checked
up, and it hasn't been sold, and the present owner knows nothing about
guards there. And also, it isn't a rum-runner's rendezvous. What does
that add up to?"
"Plenty!" said Schaaf exuberantly. "I take off der hat. I make der
grand salaam! Now we go there and haff a _Schrecklichkeit_ party; wait
until night, because we do not want to haff him start a storm. And we
line up der Nafy, and they take der sights, and there is a signal, and
_bam_, _pow_, _biff_, and he is blooey! Blown off der map!"
Hines looked at Schaaf. And for the first time Schaaf saw how pale his
friend was. His face was like a mask. He reached over his desk and
tossed Schaaf a little envelope.
"I was to be married to-day," said Hines steadily. "Preston's men tried
to kidnap Kathryn this morning, just as they tried to blow the two of
us to bits. We beat the assassins, and Kathryn, thanks to you, Schaaf,
escaped the trap that was set for her. We've been busy ever since. She
wrote the account for the extra edition of the Star. We postponed our
wedding as a matter of course."
Schaaf said suddenly, "Gott! Hines, you look like der deffil!"
"You blocked one attempt to kidnap Kathryn," repeated Hines evenly.
"She went to the office of the Star. And another attempt was made three
hours ago. The one thing she didn't expect was another attempt to
kidnap her, made in exactly the same fashion as the first. This time it
succeeded. Kathryn's disappeared. And I had a telegram from his man,
sent from here in New York, saying that he's taking her direct to his
headquarters. So she'll be killed if we kill Preston."
Hines moistened his lips and said with difficulty, "The--thing--that
makes it bad is that we were to have been married to-day."