At first he felt no transition, but suddenly he heard the safe’s mechanism click open — and at exactly the same moment he heard gasps and excited voices behind him. He whirled, realizing immediately the mistake he’d made; it was now nine o’clock the next morning and the store’s employees — those on the early shift — were already there, had discovered that the safe was missing, and were standing amazed in a semicircle about the spot where it had stood — when the safe and Eustace Weaver had suddenly appeared.
Luckily he still had the time machine in his hand. Quickly he turned the dial back to zero — which he had calibrated to be the exact moment when he had perfected the invention — and again pressed the button.
And, of course, he was back before he had started, and…
When Eustace Weaver invented his time machine he knew that he had the world by the tail on a downhill pull, as long as he kept his invention a secret. To become rich all he had to do was take short trips into the future to see which horses were going to win and which stocks were going up, then come back and bet the horses or buy the stocks.
The horses came first because they would require less capital — but he didn’t have plane fare to the nearest track where horses were running.
He thought of the safe in the supermarket where he worked as a stock clerk. That safe had at least a thousand dollars in it, and it had a time lock. A time lock should be duck soup for a time machine.
So when he went to work that day he took his time machine with him in a camera case and left it in his locker. When they closed at nine he hid in the stock room and waited an hour till he was sure everyone else had left. Then he got the time machine from his locker and went with it to the safe.
He set the machine for eleven hours ahead — and then had a second thought. That setting would take him to nine o’clock the next morning. The safe would click open then, but the store would be open too and there’d be a lot of people around. So, instead, he set the machine ahead twenty-four hours, took hold of the handle of the safe, and then pressed the button on the time machine.
At first he thought nothing had happened. Then he found that the handle of the safe worked when he turned it and he knew that he’d made the jump to evening of the next day. And, of course, the time mechanism of the safe had unlocked en route.
He quickly opened the safe and took out all the paper money, stuffing it into his pockets.
He went to the alley door to let himself out, but before he reached for the bolt that kept it locked from the inside he had a sudden brilliant thought. If instead of leaving by a door he departed by using his time machine, he’d not only increase the mystery by leaving the store tightly locked on the inside, but he’d be taking himself back in time and space to the very moment when he had completed his invention — a day and a half before the robbery.
Then, by the time the robbery took place, he could establish an ironclad alibi: he’d be staying at a hotel in Florida or California, in either case over a thousand miles from the scene of the crime. He hadn’t thought of his time machine as a maker of alibis, but now he saw it was perfect for that purpose.
He set the dial on zero and pressed the button.
When Eustace Weaver invented his time machine he knew that he had the world by the tail on a downhill pull, as long as he kept his invention a secret. By playing the races and the stock market he could make himself fabulously wealthy in short order. The only catch was that he was flat broke.
Suddenly he remembered the store where he worked and the safe in it that operated on a time lock. A time lock should be a cinch for a man with a time machine.
He sat down on the edge of his bed to think. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and pulled them out — but with them came paper money, a handful of ten-dollar bills! He tried other pockets and found banknotes in every one of them. He stacked the money on the bed beside him, and by counting the big bills and estimating the smaller ones, he found he had nearly $1500.
Suddenly he realized the truth, and laughed. He had already gone forward in time and emptied the supermarket safe; then he had used the time machine to return to the point in time when he had invented it. And since the burglary had not yet, in normal time, occurred, all he had to do was get out of town in a hurry and be a thousand miles away from the scene of the crime when it did happeen.
Two hours later he was on a plane bound for Los Angeles and the Santa Anita track — and doing some heavy thinking. One thing he had not anticipated was the apparent fact that when he returned from a jaunt into the future, he had no memory of whatever it was that hadn’t happened yet.
But the money had come back with him. So, then, would any notes written to himself, or Racing Forms or financial pages from newspapers. It would work like a charm!
In Los Angeles he took a cab downtown and checked in at a good hotel. It was late evening by then and he briefly considered jumping himself into the next day to save waiting time, but he realized that he was tired and sleepy. He went to bed and slept until almost noon the next day.
His taxi got tangled in a jam on the freeway, so he didn’t get to the track until the first race was over; but he was in time to read the winner’s number on the tote board and to mark it on his dope sheet. He watched five more races, not betting but noting down the winner of each race, then decided not to bother with the last race. He left the grandstand and walked around behind and under it — to a secluded spot where no one could see him. He set the dial of his time machine two hours back, and pressed the button.
But nothing happened.
He tried again.
The same result.
Then he heard a voice behind him say, “It won't work. It’s in a deactivating field.”
Eustace whirled around and there standing behind him were two tall slender young men, one blond and the other dark, each of them with a hand in one pocket as though holding a weapon.
“We are Time Police,” the dark one said, “from the Twenty-fifth Century. We have come to punish you for the illegal use of a time machine.”
“B-b-but,” Weaver sputtered, “I haven’t made any bets yet.”
“That is true,” the blond young man said. “And when we find any inventor of a time machine using it to win at any form of gambling, we give him warning the first time. But we’ve traced you back and found out that your very first use of the time machine was to steal money from a store. And that is a crime in any century.”
The Time Policeman took from his pocket something that looked vaguely like a pistol.
Eustace Weaver took a step backward. “Y-you don’t mean—”
“I do mean,” said the blond young man, pulling the trigger.
Eustace Weaver’s time had run out.
Nigel Morland
All in the Niqht's Work
Constable Gill stood on the corner of Curzon Street, peacefully surveying the quietness of the midsummer night — and in the comparative backwater of Mayfair, London can be very quiet indeed.
Younger constables might have sneered as Gill rocked slowly in that time-honored motion beloved of some policemen. But Gill would not have minded; he was an old-fashioned man who clung faithfully to a drooping, curtain mustache which went well with a large and corpulent body. If he could serve as the cartoonist’s idea of a uniformed policeman, he also epitomized the Metropolitan Police.
There was nothing to attract his attention. He resumed his steady beat, moving in complete silence. His large hand tested shop doors as he passed, considerately ruffled the heads of occasional cats on their night journeys, but all the time his right hand was free to switch on the beam of the powerful Wootton lamp attached to his belt — if emergency should require it. As usual, nothing did happen and he moved under the arch into a small and deserted square.