“I hope the boxes are good and tight.”
“Sure. They’re nailed shut. Say, my name’s Charlie Lightfoot.”
“Glad to know you,” I told him. “I’m Bill Wunderly. Going to take a job up at Einar.”
“The hell,” he said. “You an astronomer, or going on as an assistant?”
“Neither. Sort of an accountant-clerk. Wish I did know astronomy.”
Yes, I’d been wishing that for several years now, ever since I’d fallen for Annabel Burke. That had been while Annabel was taking her master’s degree in math, and writing her thesis on probability factors in quantum mechanics.
Heaven only knows how a girl with a face like Annabel’s and a figure like Annabel’s can possibly be a mathematics shark, but Annabel is.
Worse, she had the astronomy bug. She loved both telescopes and me, but I came out on the losing end when she chose between us. She’d taken a job as an assistant at Einar, probably the most isolated and inaccessible observatory in the country.
Then a month ago Annabel had written me that there was to be an opening at the observatory which would be within the scope of my talents.
I wrote a fervid letter of application, and now I was on my way to take the job. Nor storm nor mud nor dark of night nor boxes of rattlesnakes could stop me from getting there.
“Got a drink?” Charlie asked.
“In the glove compartment,” I told him. “Sorry I didn’t think to offer it. You’re soaked to the skin.”
He laughed. “I’ve been wet before and it hasn’t hurt me. But I’ve been sober, and it has.”
“You go to Haskell, Charlie?”
“No. Oxford. Hit hisn’t the ‘unting that ‘urts the ‘orse; hit’s the ‘ammer, ‘ammer—”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No such luck.” I heard the gurgle of liquid as he tilted the bottle. Then he added, “Oil. Pop’s land.”
I risked an unbelieving look out of the corner of my eye. Charlie’s face was serious.
He said, “You wonder why I hunt rattlesnakes. For one reason, I like it, and for another— Well, if this was a quart instead of a pint, I could show you.”
“But what happened to the oil money?”
“Pop’s still got it. But the third time I went to jail, I stopped getting any of it. Not that I blame him. Say, take it easy down this hill. The bridge at the bottom was washed out four years ago, last time there was a big storm like this one.”
But the bridge was still there, with the turbid waters of a swollen stream swirling almost level with the plank flooring. I held my breath as we went across it.
“It’ll be gone in an hour,” Charlie said, “if it keeps raining this hard. You haven’t another bottle of that rye, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. How do you catch rattlers, Charlie?”
“Pole with a loop of thin rope running through a hole in the end. Throw the loop over a snake and pull the loop tight. Then you can ease the pole in and grab him by the back of the neck.”
“How about the ones you don’t see?”
“They strike. But I wear thick shoes and I’ve got heavy leather leggings under my trousers. They never strike high, so I’m safe as long as I stay upright on level ground.” He chuckled. “You ought to hear the sound of them striking those puttees. When you step in a nest of them, it sounds like rain on a tin roof.”
I shivered a little, and wished I hadn’t asked him.
Then, ahead of us, there were lights.
Charlie said, “Take the left turn here. You might as well drive right up to the garage.”
I turned left, around the big dome on the north end of the building. Apparently, someone had heard us coming or seen our headlights, for the garage doors were opening.
I said, “You know the place, Charlie?”
“Know it?” His voice sounded surprised. “Hell, Bill, I designed it.”
Chapter 2
The Thud of Murder
ANNABEL WAS was more beautiful than I had remembered her. I wanted to put my arms around her then and there, despite the presence—in the hallway with us—of Charlie Lightfoot and a morose-looking man in overalls, who’d let me in the garage and then led us into the main building.
But I had a hunch I wouldn’t get away with it, besides I was standing in the middle of a puddle of water and was as wet as though I’d been swimming instead of driving.
Annabel looked fresh and cool and dry in a white smock. She said, “You should have waited in Scardale, Bill. I’m surprised you made it. Hello, Charlie.”
Charlie said, “Hi, Annabel. I guess Bill’s in safe hands now, so I’m going to borrow some dry clothes. See you later.”
He left us, managing somehow to walk as silently as a shadow despite the heavy, wet shoes he was wearing.
Annabel turned to the man in overalls. “Otto, will you take Mr. Wunderly to his room?”
He nodded and started off, and I after him. But Annabel said, “Just a minute, Bill. Here’s Mr. Fillmore.”
A tall, saturnine man who had just come in one of the doorways held out his hand. “Glad to know you, Wunderly. Annabel’s been talking about you a lot. I’m sure you’re just the man we need.”
I said, “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I guess I was thanking him mostly for telling me that Annabel had talked a lot about me.
I remembered, now, having heard of him. Fergus Fillmore, the lunar authority.
A minute later I followed the janitor up a flight of stairs and was shown to the room which was henceforth to be mine. I lost no time getting rid of my wet clothes and into dry ones. Then I hurried back downstairs.
A bridge game was in progress in the living room. Annabel and Fergus Fillmore were partners. Their opponents were a handsome young man and a rather serious-looking young woman who wore shell-rimmed glasses.
Annabel introduced them.
“Zoe, this is Mr. Wunderly. Bill, Miss Fillmore… And Eric Andressen. He’s an assistant, as I am.”
Andressen grinned. “This is an experiment, Wunderly. Annabel thinks she can apply Planck’s constant h to a tenace finesse.”
There was a cheerful crackling fire in the fireplace. I stood with my back to it, behind Annabel’s chair. But I didn’t watch the play of the hand; I was too interested in studying the people I had just met.
Eric Andressen had a young, eager face and was darkly handsome. He could not have been more than a few years out of college. Something in his voice—although his English was perfect—made me think that college had been across the pond. Scandinavian, probably, as his name would indicate.
Zoe Fillmore, playing opposite Andressen, looked quite a bit like her father. She was attractive without being pretty. She seemed much less interested in the game than the others.
She caught me looking at her and smiled. “Would you care to take my hand after this deal, Mr. Wunderly? I’m awfully poor at cards. I don’t know why they make me play.”
While I was trying to decide whether to accept her offer, a man I had not yet met came into the room. He said, “You were right, Fillmore. I blink-miked that corner of the plates again and—”
Fergus Fillmore interrupted him. “You found it, then? Well, never mind the details. Paul, this is Bill Wunderly, our new office man. Wunderly, Paul Bailey, our other assistant.”
Bailey shook hands. “Glad to know you, Wunderly. I’ve heard a lot about you from Annabel. If you’re as good as she says you are—”
Annabel looked flustered. She said, “Bill, this sounds like a conspiracy. Really, I haven’t talked about you quite as much as these people would lead you to think.”