'I know. He proposes to kill Mrs Constable by what he calls Teleforce. He is very modest about it, and doesn't entirely promise he can do this trick ...'
'Not exactly,' said the voice. 'That's what he said fifteen minutes ago. Now he says she's dead.'
For a time Sanders looked at the number on the white dial before him. Without listening to what the person at the other end of the wire was saying, he replaced the phone.
He would not be gulled again. It had been all imagination that he thought he saw Herman Pennik in this house, for at that time Herman Pennik had been at the Black Swan Hotel four miles away. Everything was imagination. Yet the fact that it had been such vivid imagination, the fact that Pennik's image had been stamped on that glass as clearly as the prkjis of his nose and fingers, was what made Sanders's scalp stir with the remembrance of that hard sandy head as a reality.
He had seen it. By the Lord, he had.
Again the telephone clattered out.
'Grovetop three-one? This is the Daily Wireless -
This time Sanders put down the receiver with nicety and
re. Taking the key to Mina's room out of his pocket, he crossed the room and went upstairs; and it was not until he tad nearly reached the top of the stairs that he began to run. He fitted the key into the lock, opened the door, and vent across to the bed.
When he came out again, a few minutes later, he had only one idea. Mina was still lying in the bed, but her posture was no longer peaceful except in the thin sense that death is peaceful.
Poor devil, poor woman whom he had liked so touch, poor pathetic lump of clay lying with arms and legs asprawl. Yet he had only one idea: he must somehow shut off the noise of that telephone, still ringing violently and incessantly downstairs.
PART III
TERROR
Concerning Meaningless Clues
flashes from everywhere
Daily Non-Stop; Monday, May 2nd, 1938
mina shields defies mystic, dies; second death from unknown force
Daily Trumpeter
teleforce: new menace to mankind?
Daily News-Record
student foretells to 'news-record' death from alleged thought-rays
what is teleforce?
Evening Griddle (Monday night Final)
no sign of death:
terror stalks in surrey as teleforce claims next victim!
(Exclusive!)
... but we 'eard it. Yerce! Me and me 'usband 'eard it on the wireless. And I said to me 'usband, I said, 'Well, if yer can't trust the B.B.C., then 'oo can yer trust?' That's what I said. If yer can't trust the B.B.C., 'oo can yer trust?' Cor lumme, people ain't 'arf talkin' about it. Nuffing else wherever yer go. Poor Mrs Drew, fair got the wind up she 'as; not 'arf; 'er Bert works in a garridge in Grovetop; didn't yer know? 'Reckon 'e ought to be 'anged,' she says, 'this Pennik ought.' 'Let 'im kill old 'Itler,' I says; 'let 'im kill old 'Itler,
and then we shall see.' I said to me 'usband; knows all about it; ow, yerce, reads all the science bits in the papers; I said, 'But wot is this Teleforce?' 'E says, 'Ow, it's big, it is. Like wireless, only bigger.' But I said, "What'll they do to this Pennik, that's what I wanter know? Will they 'ang 'im? What'll they do to 'im?'
‘
Another pint, please, miss. Ta.
Now, old man, I'm sorry to say this, but I'm afraid you're a reactionary. Yes, old man, I'm afraid that's just what you are: a reactionary. No offence, I hope, but you'd be the first to admit yourself you're a bit of a reactionary.
Believe it, old man? Why not? That's science for you. I mean, look at how the times are moving. I mean, thirty or forty years ago you'd have said wireless was impossible. Now wouldn't you, old man? I mean, if you'd been alive then? And yet there it is right bang in your own house, and all you've got to do is twiddle a little knob and there you are. See what I mean, old man?
Gummy! In thirty or forty years you'll be able to turn on this Teleforce and kill your boss or Hitler or anybody you damn well please. Gummy! Wouldn't I show 'em a thing or two, if I knew how to work it! Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Like a machine-gun. All the same, old man, I mean to say. This Pennik. He can't do that. I mean, people like Einstein and H. G. Wells are all very well but, thanks, old man, I don't mind if I do.
Another of the same, please, miss.
Ta.
‘
Evening Griddle? New York calling. Go ahe-ea-d. Hello? Evening Griddle? Let me talk to Ray Dodsworth, will you?
Yeah, that's right: Dodsworth.
Hello? Ray? This is Louie Westerham of the Floodlight. How-zit, Ray? Look: for crissake what's all this about a CzechoSlovakian scientist getting ready to knock off Hitler with a death-ray?
‘What?
So it's all a lot of hooey?
What do you mean, it's a better story than that?
What?
Look, Ray, can I depend on that?
Story! Holy jumping - why, it's the biggest thing that - wait a minute, wait a minute; let's see how it looks in a head. T-E-L -holy jumping -
What? -
What do you mean, 'go easy?'
Oh, for crissake, Ray, why bother about that? It's new, ain't it? It's big, ain't it? Suppose nobody does know what it is; that won't keep 'em from talking, will it? We'll sell Teleforce to the American people, thaf s what we'll do. We'll make every man, woman, and child in this country Teleforce-conscious. Now wait, Ray; don't go 'way; I want you to talk to -
Allo! Allo!
Ne coupez pas, mademoiselle, ne coupez pas! Quelqu'un sur la ligne. Retirez-vous, imbecile! Is it again the British Ministry for War ? Bon!
All, my friend, it is still you ?
I spoke, my friend, to offer you my sincerest congratulations. Of a truth it is magnificent. It will be of an inestimable service to the Entente Cordiale, will it not?
Ha, ha!
We know of what I speak, do we not? Boum! The machine which your engineers have constructed ?
No, no, I say no more. I do not press you. It is necessary to be discreet. I only offer congratulations.
Your tone is admirable. I, too, suspect that the wire is tapped.
But our engineers may call on you, perhaps ?
I cannot understand you. The wire makes sputtering sounds; it is tapped. Yes, it is beautiful weather here in Paris. The tulips are out in the gardens of the Tuileries.
A'voir, my friend.
CHAPTER XIII
On Tuesday it rained. It was raining in a solid sheet when Dr Sanders got out of the Underground at Trafalgar Square and hurried across to the restaurant at the top of Whitehall where he was to meet Masters and H. M. for a conference over lunch.
He was relieved to be back in town again, in the steamy bustle where fantasies could be forgotten. But something followed and caught up with him; with the difference that whereas in the country it had been only a whisper, here it was several million voices. From the table behind the big plate-glass window giving on the street, where Masters rose to meet him, he could see newspaper bills. And they were enough.
H. M. was only a few minutes late. They saw him get out of his car and waddle in through the rain, in a large transparent oilskin with a hood, which swathed him entirely (including his hat) and made him resemble a particularly malevolent ghost in a cloud of ectoplasm.
He disentangled himself from this, tossed it to a waiter, and sniffed the steam of good cooking. Masters rose at him.
'You promised, sir -
H. M. howled back.
'It's no good goin' for me, Masters,' he said. 'I couldn't go down to Fourways yesterday. I couldn't. There's blue blazes to pay here; and unless I can get myself out of this I'm headed for the House of Lords as straight as an onion to Covent Garden.'
'Trouble?'
'Trouble?' said H. M., sticking the end of his napkin under his collar and looking up over the menu. 'Oh no. We nearly had an international situation on our hands, that's all. It's better now. Or at least I hope it is. I'd like to know-what fathead started that report about us havin' a death-ray that would knock any bomber out of the sky if it wasn't more'n half a mile up. We're supposed to be crafty. Crafty. Oh, my eye! You know, Masters, it seems like every time a mess starts in this world it's our fellers who have to go out and smooth it over; and all we get for our pains is a kick in the pants for not bein' more active.'