"I'm awright," said Cleaver gently. "Jest stunned a little. I come
to a few minutes ago, but I figgered as how I mought as well keep my
eyes an' mouth shut. No sense lettin' the enemy know you got y'r wits
about you, I calc'late." His eyes studied the ever-fanning flame with
incredibly detached interest. "Hmm! Thing's spreadin' fast, hey? Do you
reckon the fire department'll be able to ketch it afore it ruins the
whole plant?"
"I'd give a million bucks," I told him honestly, "to be here to find
out."
"'Pears to me," mused Hank, "like they will. That's green wood, you
know. Don't burn as quick as seasoned timber would. Yep, I 'low as how
them spies won't do as much damage as they planned on."
"That," I moaned, "will be a great consolation to us when they bury our
ashes!"
"Our which?" Hank stared at me curiously. "Oh, you mean--Why, hell,
Jim, we ain't dead yet!"
At this point another voice intruded itself into the conversation. The
dry, resigned voice of Mr. Grimper.
"No, not yet, gentlemen. But I am afraid it is time to prepare for that
fate. For we are hopelessly secured, the doors are locked and bolted
upon us, and in a few minutes the room will be a furnace of flame!"
* * * * *
I shuddered. Of course his prophecy was not news to me. But it made our
peril more real to hear it thus spoken.
His words, however, completely failed to disturb the placidity of
Horsesense Hank. Hank just said, "Why, 'lo, Mr. Grimper! I was hopin'
you'd snap out of it purty soon. Die? Why, we ain't agonna die. Not
sence them Nazies was too dumb to tie us up."
My heart gave a sudden leap; I had to swallow before I could choke,
"Tie us--What do you mean, Hank? We _are_ tied--and to something far
above our heads. We can't even reach the bar we're chained to--"
"We don't have to, Jim. They give us a loophole almost within reach.
You notice that there skylight chain is a right thin one. I can't get
these rope loops off'n my wrists but I think I c'n squeeze the skylight
chain through a loop."
He straightened his legs, and I realized suddenly he had purposely kept
them _slightly_ bent at the knees during the time our enemies had been
in the room. Now his toes gave him a reasonable foothold on the floor.
Using this, he leaped up and gripped the steel chain _above_ his
ropes ... drew himself up hand-over-hand until he was swinging
comfortably in the loop.
What he did then was weird and inexplicable to me--until, of course, a
long time afterward. He pushed the steel chain through one of the rope
loops about his wrist, pulled a wide, metal bight through this opening,
stepped into the loop--and dropped lightly to the floor, _free_!
The only encumbrance on him was a length of hemp between his arms. Now
that he was at liberty to approach us it was a matter of minutes for
him to unloose our bonds and have us untie his!
* * * * *
Grimper's jaw had dropped to his bottom vest button. Slow comprehension
dawned on his features. He gasped, "A--a problem in applied
topography![2] Astounding! I can hardly believe my eyes--but it's
completely logical. Mr. Cleaver--I owe you an apology. Please allow me
to--"
[Footnote 2: Hank's problem here was similar to those interesting ones
presented by Messrs. Krasna and Newman in their fascinating volume,
_Mathematics and the Imagination_: The captives were not truly bound so
long as freedom of leg movement permitted them to convert their bonds
into a simply-connected manifold.
[Illustration]
By way of illustration (and for your own amusement) tie a 36" piece of
string to each of your wrists. Tie a second piece of string to each of
the wrists of a friend in such a fashion that the second piece loops
the first. By experiment, you will discover it is quite possible to
disengage yourself from your companion without breaking or cutting the
string.
Another interesting example of topological freedom is that achieved
in removing the vest without first removing the coat. Try it. The
coat may be unbuttoned, but your arms must not slip out of the coat
sleeves.--Ed.]
"Topogra-which?" asked Hank interestedly. "I didn't know it had no
name, Mr. Grimper. Just 'peared to me like as if a circle's got an
inside an' an outside, an' we was in the inside, so we wasn't tied up
at all, rightly speakin'. Well, let's git out o' here!"
Well he might make the suggestion. For all this had taken time. As we
labored to free each other we had heard an excited hubbub gathering
outside, the wail of fire sirens had sounded, the yammer of voices
raised in command, and a stream of water was already beginning to
play upon one wall. But in the meantime, the fire had gained headway.
The walls of this room were ruddy sheets of flame. The narrow circle
of safety in which we stood was rapidly dwindling. And my skin was
beginning to crack and blister with oven-fierce heat.
I croaked despairingly, "But how, Hank? We're free, yes! But the doors
are still locked, and the windows--"
"Why, the skylight, Jim!" drawled Hank. "That's our exit--Hey! Grab
him!"
I whirled just in time to catch the falling frame of government agent
Grimper. The thin man had come to an end of his endurance. His heart
was stout and courageous out of all proportion to his physical makeup.
With a stifled cry he had fainted dead away!
* * * * *
Well, there you are! One moment we were on our road to a Happy Ending,
and _bing!_--all of a sudden the Three Gray Ladies slap us in the puss
with a damp mackerel! I stared at Hank fearfully, and moistened parched
lips.
"Wh-what will we do with him, Hank? W-we can't just leave him here to
die!"
Hank stroked a lean and thoughtful jaw.
"Sort o' complicates matters, don't it?" he queried. "Let's see--we
couldn't h'ist him up, could we?"
I said bitterly, "_I_ can't, Hank. I hate to admit it--but I'd be a
damned liar if I pretended otherwise. I'm so weak, and my armpits so
badly strained, that it will be all I can do to lift myself. Can--can
you?"
Hank shook his head miserably.
"Nup. I didn't _jump_ off'n that chain just now, Jim, I _fell_ off.
Hangin' up there like jerked meat wrenched somethin' in my back. I
calc'late I c'n climb that chain myself, but I couldn't h'ist nobody
else's weight.
"Wait a minute! _Weight!_" He repeated the word more loudly. A
gleam brightened in his eye. "Sure! Dead weight! That's the answer!
Here--gimme a hand, Jim. We got to lash him to one strand o' this
pulley-chain. Use them ropes. Got it? Okay--tie him tight, now."
"He--he's tied!" I puffed. The smoke was beginning to get me now.
Tears were coursing down my cheeks. Time was getting perilously short.
"W-what do we do next?"
"Git on the other end o' that chain," ordered Hank, "an' _climb_!"
"W-what? And leave him dangling here below? But it only saves our
lives, Hank! See, the flames are right on us. We won't have time to
reach the skylight and haul him up--"
"_Do whut I tell you!_" roared Hank, "_An' hurry!_"
There was more vehemence in his voice than I'd heard at any previous
time. It shocked, startled me into activity. I leaped for the side of
the draw-chain opposite to that upon which Grimper was hanging limp;
began climbing like a monkey, hand-over-hand. The dangling chain drew
taut above me, and I saw that Hank, too, was climbing. I looked for
Grimper--
And Grimper was _above_ me! As Hank and I climbed one side of the
chain, the agent's inert body was being hauled up the other. He
reached the cool sanctuary of the skylight before we did, lifted
to safety by our combined weights, before I remembered the old
monkey-weight-and-pulley puzzle that one time caused a near-riot in a
staid academy of savants!
* * * * *
So all's well that ends well. It was an easy matter to unlash Grimper
when we had reached the roof, an easier job yet to hurry him down a
fire escape to the ground. And as my ever-logical friend had guessed,
the fire-laddies put out the blaze before it spread to adjacent
buildings; thus what might have proved a serious loss to America's
_offense_ was held to a minimum. One building which could be easily
replaced.
We didn't leave town that night. We were exhausted, for one thing; for
another, Hank was in no condition to board a train. His suitcase had
been destroyed in the fire, and as he ruefully confessed to me when I
asked his reason for _backing_ away from the wildly cheering mob that
escorted us to our hotel, the fire had got in one last, farewell lick
just as we escaped. Said caress had singed a neat, round hole in Hank's
southern exposure.
And the next day there came a hurry-call from Johnny Day. They had
caught the saboteurs, or thought they had, and would we please come and
identify them?
So we did, and they were, and the Jerries were taken into custody by a
detail of granite-eyed soldiers who gripped their Garands as if they
hoped Hitler's hirelings _would_ break for freedom. Which of course
they didn't. No longer holding the whip-hand, they were the meekest,
humblest looking skunks you ever saw.
It was then that Grimper, so trim and fresh that you would never know
he'd almost been baked _Grimper au jus_, moved forward to shake Hank's
hand.
"Last night, Mr. Cleaver," he said, "I apologized to you. This morning
I want to repeat that apology and wish you all possible success when
you leave here."
Hank just blushed and wriggled a bulldog-tipped shoe into the carpet.
"Aw, that's all right, Mr. Grimper--"
But if he could take it like that, I couldn't. In a fury I stepped
forward and shoved my nose into Grimper's pan.
"You may be an agent for Uncle Sam," I snarled, "and a joy to your
loving mama--but you're a pain in the pants to me, Grimper! You've got
one hell of a nerve. This man saved your life and MacDonald's plant
after you fired him. And now you've got the almighty guts to wish him
_bon voyage_! Well, I for one--"
But, surprisingly, it was Old Mac who stopped me.
"Now, take it easy, Blakeson," he said. "'Tisna the time to gripe and
growse. Mr. Grimper kens his dooties as an agent o' Oncle Som. There's
a cairtain amount o' accuracy in whut he says. There _is_ no fitting
place here for Hank's peecoolyar talents--"
"If not here," I howled, "then where on earth--?"
"Now, Jim!" begged Hank mildly.
But the answer came from Mr. Grimper. A smile split the lips of the
scrawny little fighting-cock.
"Why, in Washington, of course," he said. "Like all humans, I make
mistakes, Mr. Blakeson. But when I discovered I erred, I try to rectify
my hastiness. Therefore I have today wired Washington that Mr. Cleaver
is on his way. He will act as personal and confidential adviser to--the
President. Mr. Cleaver, do you think you'll like that?"
But he got no answer from Horsesense Hank. For that gentleman had
fainted dead away on the floor. And me? Well, I slumbered blissfully
beside him. Where Hank goes ... I go....