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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..730fa2a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64789 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64789) diff --git a/old/64789-0.txt b/old/64789-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 58e3deb..0000000 --- a/old/64789-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1505 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bratton's Idea, by Manly Wade Wellman - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Bratton's Idea - -Author: Manly Wade Wellman - -Release Date: March 11, 2021 [eBook #64789] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRATTON'S IDEA *** - - - - - BRATTON'S IDEA - - By MANLY WADE WELLMAN - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Comet December 40. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Old Bratton, janitor at the studios of Station XCV in Hollywood, was -as gaunt as Karloff, as saturnine as Rathbone, as enigmatic as Lugosi. -He was unique among Californians in professing absolutely no motion -picture ambitions. Once, it is true, a director had stopped him on the -street and offered to test him for a featured role, but old Bratton -had refused with loud indignation when he heard that the role would be -that of a mad scientist. Old Bratton was touchy about mad scientists, -because he was one. - -For a time he had been a studio electrician, competent though touchy; -but then it developed that he had lied about his age--he was really -eighty years old, and he had been fooling with electricity ever since -Edison put apparatus of various sorts within the reach of everyone. -Studio rules imposed pretty strict age limits on the various jobs, and -so he was demoted to a janitorship. - -He accepted, grumbling, because he needed money for the pursuit he -had dreamed of when a boy and maintained from his youth onward. In -his little two-room apartment he had gathered a great jumble of -equipment--coils, transformers, cathodes, lenses, terminals--some of it -bought new, some salvaged from studio junk, and a great deal curiously -made and not to be duplicated elsewhere save in the eccentric mind of -its maker. For old Bratton, with the aid of electricity, thought to -create life. - -"Electricity is life," he would murmur, quoting Dr. C. W. Roback, who -had been venerable when old Bratton was young. And again: "All these -idiots think that 'Frankenstein' is a romance and 'R.U.R.' a flight of -fancy. But all robot stories are full of truth. I'll show them." - -But he hadn't shown them yet, and he was eighty-two. His mechanical -arrangements were wonderful and crammed with power. They could make -dead frogs kick, dead birds flutter. They could make the metal figures -he constructed, whether large or small, stir and seem about to wake. -But only while the current animated them. - -"The fault isn't with the machine," he would say again, speaking aloud -but taking care none overheard. "It's perfect--I've seen to that. No, -it's in the figures. They're too clumsy and creaky. All the parts are -good, but the connections are wrong, somehow. Wish I knew anatomy -better. And a dead body, even a fresh one, has begun dissolution. I -must try and get--" - -Haranguing himself thus one evening after the broadcast, he pushed his -mop down a corridor to the open door of a little rehearsal hall, then -stopped and drew into a shadowy corner, for he had almost blundered -upon Ben Gascon in the act of proposing marriage. - -Ben Gascon, it will be remembered, was at the time one of radio's -highest paid performers, and well worthy of his hire for the fun he -made. Earlier in life he had been a competent vaudeville artist. When, -through no fault of his, vaudeville died, Gascon went into sound -pictures and radio. - -He was a ventriloquist, adroit and seasoned by years of performance, -and a man of intelligence and showmanship as well. Coming to the stage -from medical school, he had constructed with his own skilful hands the -small figure of wood, metal, rubber and cloth that had become known to -myriads as Tom-Tom. Tom-Tom the impish, the witty, the leering cynic, -the gusty little clown, the ironical jokester, who sat on the knee of -Ben Gascon and, by a seeming misdirection of voice, roused the world to -laughter by his sneers and sallies. Tom-Tom was so droll, so dynamic, -so uproariously wicked in thought and deed, that listeners were prone -to forget the seemingly quiet, grave, Ben Gascon who held him and fed -him solemn lines on which to explode firecracker jokes--Ben Gascon, who -really did the thinking and the talking that Tom-Tom the dummy might be -a headliner in the entertainment world. - -Not really a new thing--the combination of comedian and stooge may -or may not have begun with Aristophanes in ancient Greece--but Ben -Gascon was offering both qualities in his own person, and in surpassing -excellence. Press agents and commentators wrote fascinating conjectures -about his dual personality. In any case, Tom-Tom was the making of him. -It was frequently said that Gascon would be as lost without Tom-Tom as -Tom-Tom without Gascon. - -But tonight Ben Gascon and Tom-Tom were putting on a show for an -audience of one. - -Shannon Cole was the prima donna and co-star of the program. She was -tall, almost as tall as Gascon, and her skin was delectably creamy, -and her dark hair wound into a glossy coronet of braids. Usually she -seemed stately and mournful, to match the songs of love and longing she -sang in a rich contralto; but now she almost groaned with laughter as -she leaned above the impudent Tom-Tom, who sat on the black broadcloth -knee of Ben Gascon and cocked his leering wooden face up at her. Above -Gascon's tuxedo his slender, wide-lined face was a dusky red. His lips -seemed tight, even while they stealthily formed words for Tom-Tom. - -"Oh, Shanny," it seemed that Tom-Tom was crooning, in that ingratiating -drawl that convulsed listeners from coast to coast, "don't you think -that you and I might just slip away alone somewhere and--and--" The -wooden head writhed around toward Gascon. "Get away, Gaspipe! Don't you -see that I'm in conference with a very lovely lady? Can't you learn -when you're not wanted?" - -Shannon Cole leaned back in her own chair, sighing because she had -not enough breath to laugh any more. "I never get enough of Tom-Tom," -she vowed between gasps. "We've been broadcasting together for two -years now, and he's still number one in my heart. Ben, how do you ever -manage--" - -"Shanny," drawled the voice that was Tom-Tom's, "this idiot Ben -Gascon has something to say. He wants me to front for him--but why do -I always have to do the talking while he gets the profit. Speak up, -Gaspipe--who's got your tongue this time, the cat, or the cat?" - -Shannon Cole looked at the ventriloquist, and suddenly stopped -laughing. Her face was pale, as his had gone red. She folded her -slender hands in her lap, and her eyes were all for Gascon, though it -was as if Tom-Tom still spoke: - -"I'll be John Alden," vowed Tom-Tom with shrill decision. "I'll talk -up for this big yokel--I always do, don't I, Shanny? As Gaspipe's -personal representative--engaged at enormous expense--I want to put -before you a proposition. One in which I'm interested. After all, I -should have a say as to who will be my--well, my step-mother--" - -"It won't work!" came the sudden, savage voice of Ben Gascon. - -Rising, he abruptly tossed Tom-Tom upon a divan. Shannon Cole, too, was -upon her feet. "Ben!" she quavered. "Why, Ben!" - -"I've done the most foolish thing a ventriloquist could do," he flung -out. - -"Well--if you were really serious, you didn't need to clown. You think -it was fair to me?" - -He shook his head. "Tom-Tom's done so much of my saucy talking for -me these past years that I thought I'd use him to get out what I was -afraid to tell you myself," he confessed wretchedly. - -"Then you were afraid of me," Shannon accused. She, too, was finding it -hard to talk. Gascon made a helpless gesture. - -"Well, it didn't work," he groaned. "I'm sorry. You're right if you -think I've been an idiot. Just pretend it never happened." - -"Why, Ben--" she began once more, and broke off. - -"We've just finished our last program for the year," said Ben Gascon. -"Next year I won't be around. I think I'll stop throwing my voice for -a while and live like a human being. Once I studied to be a doctor. -Perhaps once more I can--" - -He walked out. The rush of words seemed to have left him spiritually -limp and wretched. - -Shannon Cole watched him go. Then she bent above the discarded figure -of little Tom-Tom, who lay on his back and goggled woodenly up at her. -She put out a hand toward him, and her full raspberry-tinted lips -trembled. Then she, too, left. - -And old Bratton stole from his hiding, to where lay the dummy. Lifting -it, he realized that here was what he wanted. Again he spoke aloud--he -never held with the belief that talking to oneself is the second or -third stage of insanity: - -"Clever one, that Gascon. This thing's anatomically perfect, even to -the jointed fingers." Thrusting his arm through the slit in the back, -he explored the hollow body and head. "Space for organs--yes, every -movement and reaction provided for--and a _personality_." - -He straightened up, the figure in his arms. "That's it! That's why I've -failed! My figures were dead before they began, but this one has life!" -He was muttering breathlessly. "It's like a worn shoe, or an inhabited -house, or a favorite chair. I don't have to add the life force, I need -only to stimulate what's here." - -Ben Gascon, at the stage door, had telephoned for a taxi. He turned at -the sound of approaching footsteps, and faced old Bratton, who carried -Tom-Tom. - -"Mr. Gascon--this dummy--" - -"I'm through with him," said Gascon shortly. - -"Then, can I have him?" - -Tom-Tom seemed to stare at Gascon. Was it mockery, or pleading, in -those bulging eyes? - -"Take him and welcome," said Gascon, and strode out to wait for his -taxi. - -When old Bratton finished his cleaning that night, he carried away a -bulky bundle wrapped in newspapers. He returned to his lodgings, but -not to eat or sleep. First he filled the emptiness of Tom-Tom's head -and body with the best items culled from his unsuccessful robots--a -cunning brain-device, all intricate wiring and radiating tubes set in -a mass of synthetic plasm; a complex system of wheels, switches and -tubes, in the biggest hollow where a heart, lungs and stomach should -be; special wires, of his own alloy, connecting to the ingenious -muscles of rubberette that Ben Gascon had devised for Tom-Tom's arms, -legs and fingers; a jointed spinal column of aluminum; an artificial -voice-box just inside the moveable jaws; and wondrous little -marble-shaped camera developments for eyes, in place of the moveable -mockeries in Tom-Tom's sockets. - -It was almost dawn before old Bratton stitched up the slit in the back -of Tom-Tom's little checked shirt, and laid the completed creation upon -the bedlike slab that was midmost of his great fabric of machinery -in the rear room. To Tom-Tom's wrists, ankles, and throat he clamped -the leads of powerful terminals. With a gingerly care like that of a -surgeon at a delicate operation, he advanced a switch so as to throw -the right amount of current into play. - -The whole procession of wheeled machinery whispered into motion, its -voice rising to a clear hum. A spark sprang from a knob at the top, -extended its blinding length to another knob, and danced and struggled -there like a radiant snake caught between the beaks of two eagles. Old -Bratton gave the mechanism more power, faster and more complicated -action. His bright eyes clung greedily to the little body lying on the -slab. - -"He moves, he moves," old Bratton cackled excitedly. "His wheels are -going round, all right. Now, if only--" - -Abruptly he shut off the current. The machinery fell dead silent. - -"Sit up, Tom-Tom!" commanded old Bratton harshly. - -And Tom-Tom sat up, his fingers tugging at the clamps that imprisoned -him. - - * * * * * - -The Los Angeles papers made little enough fuss over the death of old -Bratton. True, he was murdered--they found him stabbed, lying face down -across the threshold of his rear room that was jammed full of strange -mechanical junk--but the murder of a janitor is not really big crime -news in a city the size of Los Angeles. - -The police were baffled, more so because none of them could guess what -the great mass of machinery could be, if indeed it were anything. But -they forgot their concern the following week, when they had a more -important murder to consider, that of one Digs Dilson. - -Digs Dilson was high in the scale of local gang authority. He had long -occupied a gaudy apartment in that expensive Los Angeles hotel which -has prospered by catering to wealthy criminals. He was prudent enough -to have a bedroom with no fire escape. He feared climbing assassins -from without more than flames from within. In front of his locked room -slept two bodyguards on cots, and his own bedside window was tightly -wedged in such a fashion that no more than five inches of opening -showed between sill and sash. The electric power-line that was clamped -along the brickwork just outside could hardly have supported a greater -weight than thirty or forty pounds. - -Yet Digs Dilson had been killed at close range, by a stab with an -ordinary kitchen knife, as he slept. The knife still remained in the -wound, as if defying investigators to trace finger-prints that weren't -there. And the bodyguards had not been wakened and the door had -remained locked on the inside. - -The blade of the knife, had anyone troubled to compare wounds, could -have been demonstrated to be the exact size and shape as the one that -had killed old Bratton. His landlord might have been able to testify -that it came from old Bratton's little store of kitchen utensils. But -nobody at police headquarters bothered to connect the murders of a -friendless janitor and a grand duke of gangdom. After considerable -discussion and publicity, the investigators called the case one of -suicide. How else could Digs Dilson have received a knife in his body? - -Hope was expressed that the Dilson mob, formerly active and successful -in meddling with film extras' organizations and the sea food racket, -would now dissolve. But the hope was short-lived. - -A spruce lieutenant of the dead chief, a man by the name of Juney -Saltz, was reputed to have taken command. He appeared briefly at the -auction of old Bratton's effects, buying all the mysterious machinery -at junk prices and carting it away. After that, the organization, -now called the Salters, blossomed out into the grim but well-paid -professions of kidnapping, alien-running and counterfeiting. - -The first important kidnapping they achieved, that of a very frightened -film director, gained them a ransom of ninety thousand dollars and the -attention of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. - -The victim, once released, told of imprisonment in a dank cellar, -blind-folded and shackled. Once, fleetingly, he saw a captor who looked -like the rogue's gallery photographs of Juney Saltz, but that person -was plainly not the one in authority. In fact, he seemed to listen with -supple respect to a high but masterful voice that gave orders. And -the owner of that high voice once came close to the chair where the -prisoner sat bound; the point from which the voice seemed to issue was -very, very close to the cellar floor, as though the speaker was no more -than two feet high. - -An individual short and shrill! Did a child rule that desperate -band? The sages of the law were more apt to consider this a clever -simulation, with the order-giver crouching low and squeaking high lest -he be identified. A judicious drag-netting of several unsavory drinking -places brought in one of the old Dilson crowd, who was skilfully, if -roughly, induced to talk. - -He admitted a part in the kidnapping and ransom collection. He -described the cellar hideout as being located in a shabby suburb. He -implicated several of his comrades by name, including Juney Saltz. But -he shut up with a snap when his interrogators touched on the subject -of the Salters' real chief. No, it wasn't Juney Saltz--Juney was only -a front. No, nobody on the police records but, he insisted pallidly, -he wouldn't say any more. Let them kill him if they wanted to, he was -through talking. - -"I'd rather die in the chair this minute than get my turn with the -boss," he vowed hysterically. "Don't tell me you'll take care of me, -either. There's things can get between bars, through keyholes even, -into the deepest hole you got. And you can smack me around all week -before I'll pipe up with another word." - -His captors shut him in an inside cell generally reserved for -psychopathic cases--a solidly plated cubicle, with no window, grating, -or other opening save a narrow ventilator in the ceiling that gave upon -a ten-inch shaft leading to the roof. Then they gathered reenforcements -and weapons and descended on the house with the cellar where the -kidnapped director had been held for ransom. - -Stealthily surrounding that house, they shouted the customary -invitation to surrender. Silence for a few seconds, then a -faint-hearted member of the Salters appeared at the front door with -his hands up. He took a step into the open, and dropped dead to the -accompaniment of a pistol-report from inside. And the besiegers heard -the shrill voice about which they had been wondering: - -"Come in and take us. This place is as full of death as a drug store!" - -Followed a loud and scientific bombardment with machine guns, gas bombs -and riot guns. The mobster who had been placed on guard at the back -door showed too much of himself and was picked off. A contingent of -officers made a quick, planned rush. More fighting inside, with three -more Salters dying in hot blood in the parlor and kitchen. What seemed -to be the sole survivor fled to the cellar and locked himself in a -rear compartment. The walls were of concrete, the one door of massive -planking. The chief of the attacking force stood in front of this door -and raised his voice: - -"Hello, in there! You're Juney Saltz, aren't you?" - -Gruff was the reply: "What if I am? Don't try to crack in here. I'll -get the first copper shows me his puss, and the second and the third." - -"You can't get us all, Juney. And we've got more men out here than -you've got bullets in there. Come out with your hands up while you -still have the chance to stand a fair trial." - -"Not me," growled Juney Saltz from within. "Come in and catch me before -you talk about what kind of a trial I'll get." - -There was a keyhole, only partially blocked by the turnkey. One of the -G-men bent and thrust in the point of something that looked like a -fountain pen. Carefully he pressed a stud. The little tube spurted a -cloud of tear gas through the keyhole into Juney Saltz's fortress. The -besiegers grinned at each other, and all relaxed to wait. - -The waiting was not long, as it developed. Juney Saltz spoke up within, -his voice a blubber: "Hey! I--I'm s-smothering--" - -"But I'm not," drawled the same high voice that was becoming familiar. -"Sit back, Juney, and put your head between your knees. You'll stand it -better that way." - -"I'm--done for!" wailed Juney Saltz. "If they crack in, I--I can't -s-see to shoot!" - -"I can see to shoot." The shrill voice had become deadly. "And you'll -be the first thing I shoot at if you don't do what I tell you." - -A strangled howl burst from Juney Saltz. "I'd rather be shot than--" -And next moment he was scrabbling at the door. "I surrender! I'll let -you bulls in!" - -He had turned the key in the lock just as the shot that killed him rang -out. A rush of police foiled an attempt from within to fasten the door -again. Sneezing and gurgling, two of the raiders burst into the final -stronghold, stumbling over the subsiding lump of flesh that had been -Juney Saltz. - -Blinded by tears from their own gas, they could not be sure afterward -of what the scurrying little thing was that they saw and fired at. -Those outside knew that nothing could have won past them, and the -den itself had no window that was not bricked up. When the gas had -been somewhat blown out, an investigator gave the place a thorough -searching. Yes, there was one opening, a stovepipe hole through which a -cat might have slipped. That was all. And the place was empty but for -the body of Juney Saltz. - -"Juney was shot in the back," announced another operative, bending to -examine the wound. "I think I see what happened. Squeaky-Voice was at -that stovepipe hole, and plugged him from there as he tried to let us -in. Then Juney tried to lock up again, just as we pushed the door open." - -Upstairs they went, and investigated further. The hole had joined a -narrow chimney, with no way out except the upper end, a rectangle eight -inches by ten. Even with six corpses to show, the agents returned to -their headquarters with a feeling of failure. "In the morning," they -promised one another, "we'll give that one Salter we're holding another -little question bee." - -But in the morning, the jailer with breakfast found that prisoner dead. - -He had been caught with a noose of thin, strong cord, tightened around -his throat from behind. Suicide? But the cord had been drawn into the -little ventilator hole, and tied to a projecting rivet far inside and -above. - -On the same day, police, federal agents, newspapers and the public -generally were exercised by the information that Shannon Cole, popular -contralto star of stage, screen and radio, had been kidnapped from her -Beverly Hills bedroom. No clues, and so the investigation turned to her -acquaintances, among whom was Ben Gascon, recently retired from stage, -screen and radio. - - * * * * * - -Benjamin Franklin Gascon left the office of the Los Angeles chief -of detectives, where he had spent a most trying forenoon convincing -his interrogators that he had no idea why he should be brought into -the case. He knew nothing of the underworld. True, he knew Miss Cole -professionally, but--and his face was rueful--had no reason to count -himself a really close friend of hers. He had not seen her since the -termination of their latest radio assignment. His personal affairs, -meanwhile, were quite open to investigation; he had grown weary -of ventriloquism, and had retired to live on the income from his -investments. Later, he might resume his earlier profession, medicine. -He was attending lectures now at the University of California in Los -Angeles. And once again, he had no idea of how he was being brought -into this case, or of who could have kidnapped Miss Cole. - -But, even as he departed, he suddenly got that idea. - -"_Tom-Tom!_" - -It took moments to string together the bits of logic which brought that -thought into his mind. - -Things had happened to people, mostly gangsters, at the hands of a -malevolent creature; that is, if the creature had hands--but it must -have hands, if it could wield a gun, a slip-cord, a knife! It must -also be notably small and nimble, if it really traveled up chimneys, -down ventilator shafts, along power-lines and through stovepipe holes. -Gascon's imagination, as good as anyone's, toyed with the conception -of a wise and wicked monkey, or of a child possessed by evil like the -children of old Salem, or a dwarf. - -But the point at which he coupled on his theory was the point at which -police had paused, or rather begun. - -Digs Dilson had been killed with a knife. So had old Bratton. - -He, Ben Gascon, had given old Bratton the dummy that people called -Tom-Tom. And old Bratton was forthwith murdered. Gascon had meant to go -to the funeral, but something had turned up to interfere. What else -concerned the janitor? What, for instance, had the younger electricians -and engineers teased him about so often? "Electricity is life," that -was old Bratton's constant claim. And he was said to have whole -clutters of strange machinery at his shabby rooms. - -Bratton had taken Tom-Tom. Thereafter Bratton and others had been -killed. In the background of their various tragedies had lurked and -plotted something small, evil, active, and strange enough to frighten -the most hardened of criminals. "Electricity is life"--and Bratton had -toiled over some kind of electrical apparatus that might or might not -be new and powerful in ways unknown to ordinary electricians. - -Gascon left the rationalization half completed in the back of his mind, -and sought out the shabby street where the janitor had lodged. - -The landlord could not give him much help. To be sure old Bratton had -made a nuisance of himself with his machines, mumbling that they would -startle the world some day; but after his death, someone had bought -those machines, loaded them upon a truck and carted them off. The -landlord had seen the purchase, and later identified the purchaser from -newspaper photographs as the late Juney Saltz. - -And Juney Saltz, pondered Gascon, had been killed by something with a -shrill voice, that could crawl through a stovepipe hole.... "You saw -the sale of the goods?" he prompted the landlord. "Was there a dummy--a -thing like a big doll, such as ventriloquists use?" - -The landlord shook his head. "Nothing like that. I'd have noticed if -there was." - -So Tom-Tom, who had gone home with old Bratton, had vanished. - -Gascon left the lodgings and made a call at a newspaper office, where -he inserted a personal notice among the classified advertisements: - -T-T. I have you figured out. Clever, but your old partner can add two -and two and get four. Better let S.C. go. B.F.G. - -The notice ran for three days. Then a reply, in the same column: - -B.F.G. So what? T-T. - -It was bleak, brief defiance, but Gascon felt a sudden blaze of -triumph. Somehow he had made a right guess, on a most fantastic -proposition. Tom-Tom had come to life as a lawless menace. All that -he, Gascon, need do, was act accordingly. He made plans, then inserted -another message: - -T-T. I made you, and I can break you. This is between us. Get in touch -with me, or I'll come looking for you. You won't like that. B.F.G. - -Next day his telephone rang. A hoarse voice called him by name: - -"Look, Gascon, you better lay off if you know what's good for you." - -"Ah," replied Gascon gently, "Tom-Tom seems to have taken up -conventional gangster methods. It means that he's afraid--which I'm -not. Tell him I'm not laying off, I'm laying on." - -That night he took dinner at a restaurant on a side street. As he left -it, two men sauntered out of a doorway and came up on either side of -him. One was as squat and bulky as a wrestler, with a truculent square -face. The other, taller but scrawny, had a broad brow and a narrow -chin, presenting the facial triangle which phrenologists claim denotes -shrewdness. Both had their hands inside their coats, where bulges -betrayed the presence of holstered guns. - -"This is a stickup," said Triangle-Face. "Don't make a move or a peep, -or we'll cut down on you." - -They walked him along the street. - -"I'm not moving or peeping," Gascon assured them blandly, "but where -are you taking me?" - -"Into this car," replied the triangle-faced one, and opened the rear -door of a parked sedan. Gascon got in, with the powerful gunman beside -him. The other got into the front seat and took the wheel. - -"No funny business," he cautioned as he trod on the starter. "The boss -wants to talk to you." - -The car drew away from the curb, heading across town. Gascon produced -his cigarette case--Shannon Cole had given it to him on his last -birthday--opened it, and offered it to the man beside him. Smiling -urbanely at the curt growl of refusal, he then selected a cigarette and -lighted it. - -"Understand one thing," he bade his captors, through a cloud of smoke. -"I've expected this. I've worked for it. And I have written very fully -about all angles of this particular case. If anything happens to me, -the police will get my report." - -It was patently a bluff, and in an effort to show that it did not work -both men laughed scornfully. - -"We're hotter than a couple wolves in a prairie fire right now," the -triangle-faced one assured him. "Anyway, no dumb cop would believe the -truth about the boss." - -That convinced Gascon that he was on his way to Tom-Tom. Too, the -remark about "a coupla wolves" showed that the driver thought of only -two members of the gang. Tom-Tom's following must have been reduced -to these. Gascon sat back with an air of enjoying the ride. Growling -again, his big companion leaned over and slapped him around the body. -There was no hard lump to betray knife or pistol, and the bulky fellow -grunted to show that he was satisfied. Gascon was satisfied as well. -His pockets were not probed into, and he was carrying a weapon that, -if unorthodox, was nevertheless efficient. He foresaw the need and the -chance to use it. - -"Is Miss Cole all right?" he asked casually. - -"Sure she is," replied Square-Face. - -"Pipe down, you!" snapped his companion from the driver's seat. "Let -the boss do the talking to this egg." - -"Your boss likes to do the talking, I judge," put in Gascon, still -casually. "Do you like to listen? Or," and his voice took on a mocking -note, "does he give you the creeps?" - -"Never mind," Square-Face muttered. "He's doing okay." - -"But not his followers," suggested Gascon. "Quite a few of them have -been killed, eh? And aren't you two the only survivors of the old -Dilson crowd? How long will your luck hold out, I wonder?" - -"Longer than yours," replied the man at the wheel sharply. "If you talk -any more, we'll put the slug on you." - -The remainder of the ride was passed in silence, and the car drew up -at length before a quiet suburban cottage, on the edge of town almost -directly opposite the scene of the recent fight between police and the -Salters. - -The three entered a dingy parlor, full of respectable looking -furniture. "Keep him here," Triangle-Face bade Square-Face. "I'll go -help the boss get ready to talk to him." - -He was gone. His words suggested that there would be some moments alone -with Square-Face, and Gascon meant to make use of them. - -The big fellow sat down. "Take a chair," he bade, but Gascon shook his -head and lighted another cigarette. He narrowed his eyes, in his best -diagnostician manner, to study his guard. - -"You look as if there was something wrong with your glands," he said -crisply. - -"Ain't nothing wrong with me," was the harsh response. - -"Are you sure? How do you feel?" - -"Good enough to pull a leg off of you if you don't shut that big mouth." - -Gascon shrugged, and turned to a rear wall. A picture hung there, a -very unsightly oil painting. He put his hand up, as if to straighten it -on its hook. Then he glanced toward a window, letting his eyes dilate. -"Ahhhh!" he said softly. - -Up jumped the gangster, gun flashing into view. "What did you say?" he -demanded. - -"I just said 'Ahhhh,'" replied Gascon, his eyes fixed on the window. - -"If anybody's followed you here--" The giant broke off and tramped -toward the window to look out. - -Like a flash Gascon leaped after him. With him he carried the picture, -lifted from where it hung. He swept it through the air, using the edge -of the frame like a hatchet and aiming at the back of the thick neck. - -The blow was powerful and well placed. Knocked clean out, the gangster -fell on his face. Gascon stooped, hooked his hands under the armpits, -and made shift to drag the slack weight back to its chair. It took -all his strength to set his victim back there. Then he drew from his -side pocket the thing he had been carrying for days--a wad of cotton -which he soaked in chloroform. Holding it to the broad nose, he waited -until the last tenseness went out of the great limbs. Then he crossed -one leg over the other knee, poised the head against the chair-back, -an elbow on a cushioned arm. Clamping the nerveless right hand about -the pistol-butt, he arranged it in the man's lap. Now the attitude was -one of assured relaxation. Gascon hung the picture back in place, and -himself sat down. He still puffed on the cigarette that had not left -his lips. - -He had more than a minute to wait before the leaner mobster returned. -"Ready for you now," he said to Gascon, beckoning him through a rear -door. He gave no more than a glance to his quiet, easy-seeming comrade. - -They went down some stairs into a basement--plainly basements were an -enthusiasm of the commander of this enterprise--and along a corridor. -At the end was a door, pulled almost shut, with light showing through -the crack. "Go in," ordered Triangle-Face, and turned as if to mount -the stairs again. - -But it was not Gascon's wish that he find his companion senseless. -In fact, Gascon had no intention of leaving anyone in the way of the -retreat he hoped to make later. With his hand on the doorknob, he -spoke: - -"One thing, my friend." - -Triangle-Face paused and turned. "I'm no friend of yours. What do you -want?" - -Gascon extended his other hand. "Wish me luck." - -"The only luck I wish you is bad. Don't try to grab hold of me." - -The gangster's hand slid into the front of his coat, toward that bulge -that denoted an armpit holster. Gascon sprang upon him, catching him -by the sleeve near the elbow so that he could not whip free with the -weapon. Gascon's other hand dived into his own pocket, again clutching -the big wad of chloroform-soaked cotton. - -He whipped the wad at and upon the triangular face. The man tried to -writhe away but Gascon, heavier and harder-muscled than he, shoved -him against the wall, where the back of his head could be clamped and -held. Struggling, the fellow breathed deeply, again, again. His frantic -flounderings suddenly went feeble. Gascon judged the dose sufficient, -and let go his holds. The man subsided limply and Gascon, still holding -to his sleeve, dragged the right hand out of the coat. Dropping his wad -of cotton, he took up the big pistol. - -"I'm afraid, Gaspipe," said a shrill, wise voice he should know better -than anyone in the world, "that that gun won't really help you a -nickel's worth." - -Gascon spun around. A moment ago he had put his hand on the doorknob. -When he had turned to leap at the triangle-faced man, he had pulled -the door open. Now he could see inside a bare, officelike room, a big -sturdy desk and a figure just beyond; a figure calm and assured, but so -tiny, so grotesque. - -"Come in, Gaspipe," commanded Tom-Tom, the dummy. - - * * * * * - -Tom-Tom did not look as Gascon had remembered him. The checked jacket -was filthy and frayed, and in the breast of it was a round black hole -the size of a fingertip. The paint had been flaked away from the -comical face, one broad ear was half broken off, the wig was tousled -and matted. And the eyes goggled no more in the clownish fashion -that had been made so famous in publicity photographs. They crouched -deep in Tom-Tom's wooden face and glowed greenly, like the eyes of a -meat-eating animal. - -"You're the only man I ever expected to figure me out, Gaspipe," said -Tom-Tom. "And even you can't do much about it, can you? Put away the -gun. I've been shot at and shot at, and it does nothing but make little -holes like this." - -He tapped the black rent in his jacket-front with a jointed forefinger. - -"As a matter of fact, I was glad to see your notice in the agony -column. I think I'd have hunted you up, anyway. You see, we make a fine -team, Gaspipe. There are things we can still do for each other, but you -must be reasonable." - -"I'm not here to let you make fun of me," said Gascon. "You're just a -little freak, brought to life by the chance power evolved by a cracked -old intelligence. Once I puzzled it out, I knew that I needn't be -afraid. You can't do anything to me." - -"No?" said Tom-Tom, with what seemed a chuckle. "Let me show you -something, Gaspipe." - -His wooden hand moved across the desk-top and touched a button. A -section of the wall slid back like a stage curtain, revealing an -opening the size of a closet door. The opening was fenced in with a -metal grating. Behind it stood Shannon Cole, her long black hair awry, -her face pale, her cloth-of-gold pajamas rumpled. - -"Ben!" she said, in a voice that choked. "Did he get you, too?" - -[Illustration: "_How about it, Gaspipe? Are you working -with me? We were a good pair once._"] - -Gascon exclaimed, and turned as if to spring toward the grating. But -at the same instant, with a swiftness that was more than a cat's, -Tom-Tom also moved. He seemed to fly across his desk as though flung by -a catapult. His hard head struck Gascon's stomach, doubling him up, -and then Tom-Tom's arms whipped around Gascon's ankles, dragging them -sidewise. Down fell the ventriloquist, heavily and clumsily. The gun -flew from his hand, bouncing on the floor like a ball. Tom-Tom caught -it in mid-bounce, and lifted it with both hands. - -"I won't kill you, Gaspipe," he announced, "but I'll most emphatically -shoot off your kneecap, if you try anything sudden again. Sit up. Put -your back against that wall. And listen." - -"Do what he says, Ben! He means business!" Shannon Cole urged -tremulously from behind her bars. - -Gascon obeyed, trying to think of a way to grapple that imp of wood and -fabric. Tom-Tom chuckled again, turned back to his desk and scrambled -lightly upon it. As before he touched the button, and Shannon was -instantly shut from sight. - -"Good thing I kidnapped her," he observed. "Not only is she worth -thousands to her managers, but she brought you to me. Now we'll have a -dandy conference. Just like old times, isn't it, Gaspipe?" - -Gascon sat still, eyeing the gun. He might have risked its menace, -but for the thought of Shannon behind those bars. Tom-Tom, so weirdly -strong, might fight him off even if disarmed, then turn on his captive. -The dummy that was no longer a dummy seemed to read his mind: - -"No violence, Gaspipe. I tell you, it's been tried before. When the -Dilson mobsters were through laughing at the idea of my taking over, -one or two thought that Digs Dilson should be avenged. But their guns -didn't even make me blink. I killed a couple, and impressed the others. -I put into them the fear of Tom-Tom." Again the chuckle. "I'm almost -as hard to hurt as I am to fool, Gaspipe. And that's very, very hard -indeed." - -"What do you want of me?" blurted Gascon, scowling. - -"Now that's a question," nodded Tom-Tom. "It might be extended a -little. What do I want of life, Gaspipe? Life is here with me, but -I never asked for it. It was thrust into me, and upon me. My first -feeling was of crazy rage toward the life-giver--" - -"And so you killed him?" interrupted Gascon. - -"I did. And the killing gave me the answer. The only thing worth while -in life is taking life." - -Tom-Tom spread his wooden hands, as though he felt that he had made a -neat point. Gascon made a quick gesture of protest, then subsided as -Tom-Tom picked up the gun again. - -"You're wrong, Tom-Tom," he said earnestly. - -"Am I? You're going to give me a moral lecture, are you? But men -invented morals, so as to protect their souls. I don't have a soul, -Gaspipe. I don't have to worry about protecting it. I'm not human. I'm -a _thing_." Sitting on the desk, he crossed his legs and fiddled with -the gun. "You've lived longer than I. What else, besides killing, is -worth while in life?" - -"Why--enjoyment--" - -The marred head waggled. "Enjoyment of what? Food? I can't eat. -Companionship? I doubt it, where a freak like me is concerned. -Possessions? But I can't use clothes or houses or money or anything -like that. They're for men, not dummies. What else, Gaspipe?" - -"Why--why--" This time Gascon fell silent. - -"Love, you were going to say?" The chuckle was louder, and the glowing -yellow eyes flickered aside toward the place behind the wall where -Shannon was penned up. "You're being stupid, Gaspipe. Because you know -what love is, you think others do. Gaspipe, I'll never know what love -is. I'm not made for it." - -"I see you aren't," Gascon nodded solemnly. "All right, Tom-Tom. -You can find life worth living if you try for supremacy in some -line--leadership--" - -"That," said Tom-Tom, "is where killing comes in. And where you come -in, too." - -He laid down the gun and put the tips of his jointed fingers together, -in a pose grotesquely like that of a mild lecturer. "I've given my -case a lot of time and thought, you see. I realize that I don't fit -in--humanity hasn't ever considered making a place for me. I don't have -needs or reactions or wishes to fit those of humanity." - -"Is that why you turn to criminals? Because they don't fit into normal -human ethics, either?" - -"Exactly, exactly." Tom-Tom nodded above his poised hands. "And -criminals understand me, and I understand them better than you think. -But," and he sounded a little weary, "they're no good, either. - -"You see, Gaspipe, they scare too easily. They die too easily. Just now -you overpowered one. They're not fit to associate with me on the terms -I dictate. If I'm going to have power, it will turn what passes for my -stomach if I have only people--people of meat and bone--under me." He -made a spitting sound, such as Gascon had often faked for him in the -days when the two were performing. "As I say, this is where you come -in." - -"In heaven's name, what do you mean?" - -"You're smart, Gaspipe. You made me--the one thing that has been given -artificial life. Well, you'll make other things to be animated." - -"More robots?" demanded Gascon. "You want a science factory." - -"I am the apex of science come true. Oh, it's practical. A couple -at first. Then ten. Then a hundred. Then enough, perhaps, to grab a -piece of the world and rule it. Don't bug out your eyes, Gaspipe. My -followers bought up the life-making machinery and other things for me. -I have lots of money--from that ransom--and I can get more." - -Gascon was finding the idea not so surprising as at first, but he shook -his head over it. "I won't." - -"Yes, you will. We'll be partners again. Understand?" - -"If I refuse?" - -Tom-Tom made no audible answer. He only turned and gazed meaningly at -the place where Shannon was shut up. - -Gascon sighed and rose. "Show me this machinery of yours." - -"Step this way." Monkey-nimble, Tom-Tom hopped to the floor. He had -taken up the gun again, and gestured with it for Gascon to walk beside -him. Together they crossed the office to a rear corner, where Tom-Tom -touched what looked like a projecting nail head. As with the door to -Shannon's cell, a panel slid back. They passed into a corridor, and the -panel closed behind them. - -"Straight ahead," came the voice of Tom-Tom in the darkness. "Being -mechanical, I have a head for mechanics. I devised all these secret -panels. Neat?" - -"Dramatic," replied Gascon, who could be ironical himself. "Now, -Tom-Tom, if I do what you want, what happens to me and to Miss Cole?" - -"You both stay with me." - -"You won't let them ransom her?" - -A chuckle, and: "I'll take the ransom money, but she's seen too much -to go free. Maybe I'll make the two of you a nice suite of rooms for -house-keeping--barred in, of course. Didn't you use to carry me around -in a little case, Gaspipe? I'll take just as good care of you, if you -do what I want." - -The little monster did something or other to open a second door, and -beyond showed the light of a strong electric lamp. They passed into a -big windowless room, with rough wooden walls, probably a deep cellar. -It held a complicated arrangement of electrical machinery. - -Hopping lightly to a bench the height of Gascon's shoulder, Tom-Tom -seized a switch and closed it. There were emissions of sparks, a stir -of wheels and belts, and the hum of machinery being set in motion. - -"This, Gaspipe, is what brought me to life. And look!" The jointed -wooden hand flourished toward a corner. "There's the kind of thing -that was tried and failed." - -It looked like a caricature of an armored knight--a tall, jointed, -gleaming thing, half again as big as a big man, with a head shaped like -a bucket. There were no features except two vacant eyes of quartz, -staring through the blank metal as through a mask. Gascon walked around -it, his doctor-mind and builder-hands immediately interested. The body -was but loosely pinned together, and he drew aside a plate, peering -into the works. - -"The principle's wrong," he announced at once. "The fellow didn't -understand anatomical balance--" - -"I knew it, I knew it!" cried Tom-Tom. "You can add the right touch, -Gaspipe. That's the specimen that came closest to success before me. -I'll help. After all, my brain was made by the old boy who did all -these things. Through it, I know what he knew." - -"Why didn't you save him to help you?" demanded Gascon. He picked up a -pair of tapering pincers and a small wrench, and began to tinker. - -"I told you about that once. I was angry. My first impulse was a -killing rage. The death of my life-giver was my first pleasure and -triumph. I hadn't dreamed up the plan I've been describing." - -Anger was Tom-Tom's first emotion. Not so different from human beings -as the creature imagined, mused Gascon. What had the lecturer at -medical school once quoted from Emmanuel Kant: - -"The outcry that is heard from a child just born was not the note of -lamentation, but of indignation and aroused wrath." - -Of course, a new-born baby has not the strength to visit its rage on -mother or nurse or doctor, but a creature as organized and powerful in -body and mind as Tom-Tom--or as huge and overwhelming as this metal -giant he fiddled with-- - -Gascon decided to think such thoughts with the greatest stealth. If -Tom-Tom could divine them, something terrible was due to happen. -Stripping off his coat, he went to work on the robot with deadly -earnestness. - - * * * * * - -Morning had probably come to the outside world. Gascon, wan and weary, -stepped back and mopped his brow with a shirt sleeve. Tom-Tom spoke -from where he sat cross-legged on the bench beside the controls. - -"Is he pretty much in shape, Gaspipe?" - -"As much as you ever were, Tom-Tom. If you are right, and this machine -gave you life, it will give him life, too." - -"I can't wait for my man Friday. Get him over and lay him on the slab." - -The metal man was too heavy to lift, but Gascon's hours of work had -provided his joints with beautiful balance. An arm around the tanklike -waist was enough to support and guide. The weight shifted from one -big shovel-foot to the other and the massive bulk actually walked to -the table-like slab in the midst of the wheels and tubes, and Gascon -eased it down at full length. Now Tom-Tom approached, bringing a -spongy-looking object on a metal tray, an amorphous roundness that -sprouted copper wires in all directions. He slid it into the open top -of the robot's bucketlike head. - -"That's a brain for Friday," explained Tom-Tom. "Not as complex as -mine, but made the same way. He'll have simple reactions and impulses. -A model servant." - -_Simple reactions_--and Tom-Tom had sprung up from his birthcouch to -kill the man who brought him to life. Gascon's hands trembled ever so -slightly as he connected the brain wires to terminals that did duty as -nerves. Tom-Tom himself laid a plate over the orifice and stuck it down -with a soldering iron. - -"My own brain's armored inside this wooden skull," he commented. "No -bullet or axe could reach it. And nobody can hurt the brain of Friday -here unless they get at him from above. He's pretty tall to get at -from above, eh, Gaspipe?" - -"That's right," nodded Gascon, and in his mind rose a picture of the -big metal thing bending down, exposing that vulnerable soldered patch. -Tom-Tom and he clamped the leads to wrists, ankles and neck. - -"Get back to the wall, Gaspipe," commanded Tom-Tom bleakly, and Gascon -obeyed. "Now watch. And don't move, or I'll set Friday on you when he -wakes up." - -Gascon sat down on a long, low bench next to the open door. Tom-Tom -noticed his position, and lifted the gun he had carried into the -chamber. - -"Don't try to run," he warned, "or I'll drill you--maybe in the -stomach. And you can lie there and die slowly. When you die there'll be -nobody to help Shanny yonder in her little hole in the wall." - -"I won't run," promised Gascon. And Tom-Tom switched on more power. - -Sparks, a shuddering roar, a quickening of all parts of the machine. -The shining hulk on the slab stirred and quivered, like a man troubled -by dreams. Tom-Tom gave a brief barking laugh of triumph, brought the -mechanism to a howling crescendo of sound and motion, then abruptly -shut it down to a murmur. - -"Friday! Friday!" he called. - -Slowly the metal giant sat up in its bonds. - -The bucket-head, with its vacant eyes now gleaming as yellow as -Tom-Tom's, turned in that direction. Then, with unthinkable swiftness, -the big metal body heaved itself erect, ripping free of the clamps that -had been fastened upon it. Up rose two monstrous hands, like baseball -gloves of jointed iron. There was a clashing, heavy-footed charge. - -Sitting still as death, Gascon again recalled to mind what Tom-Tom had -said, what he had heard at medical school. - -Tom-Tom gave a prolonged yell, and threw up the gun to fire. The -explosions rattled and rolled in the narrow confinement of the room. -Bullets spattered the armor-plated breast of the oncoming giant. One -knocked away a gleaming eye. The towering thing did not falter in its -dash. Tom-Tom tried to spring down too late. The big hands flashed out, -and had him. - -Gascon, now daring to move, dragged the bench across the doorway. From -a corner he caught up a heavy wrought-iron socket lever, as long as -a walking stick and nearly as thick as his wrist. All the while he -watched, over his shoulder, a battle that was not all one-sided. - -After his final effort to command the newly animated giant, Tom-Tom had -not made a sound. He concentrated on freeing himself from the grip that -had fastened upon him. Both his wooden hands clutched a single finger, -strained against it. Gascon saw, almost as in a ridiculous dream, that -immense finger bending backward, backward, and tearing from its socket. -But the other fingers kept their hold. They laid Tom-Tom on the floor, -a great slab of a foot pinned him there. The two metal hands began to -pluck him to pieces, and to throw the pieces away. - -First an arm in a plaid sleeve flew across the room--an arm ripped -from Tom-Tom's little sleeve, an arm that still writhed and wriggled, -its fingers opening and closing. It fell among the wheels that still -turned, jamming them. Sparks sprang up with a grating rattle. Then a -flame of blueness. Gascon turned his back toward the doorway that he -had blocked with the bench, to see the thing out. - -With a wanton fury, the victorious ogre of metal had shredded Tom-Tom's -body, hurling the pieces in all directions. To one side, the machinery -was putting forth more flame and more. The blaze licked up the wall. -The giant straightened his body at last, holding in one paw the -detached head of its victim. The jaws of Tom-Tom snapped and moved, as -though he was trying to speak. - -"Look this way!" roared Gascon at the top of his voice. - -The creature heard him. Its head swiveled doorward. It stared with one -gleaming eye and one empty black socket. Gascon brandished the socket -lever over his head, as though in challenge, then turned and sprang -over the bench into the dark corridor. - -A jangling din as the thing rushed after him. Hands shot out to clutch. -Its shins struck the bench violently, the feet lost their grip of the -floor, and the clumsy structure plunged forward and down, with a noise -like an automobile striking a stone wall. For a moment the huge head -was just at Gascon's knee. - -He struck. The solder-fastened patch flew away under the impact of his -clubbed lever-bar like a driven golf ball. The cranium yawned open, -and he jabbed the bar in. Something squashed and yielded before his -prodding--the delicate artificial brain. Then the struggling shape at -his feet subsided. From one relaxing hand rolled something round--the -head of Tom-Tom. - -It still lived, for the eyes rolled up to glare at Gascon, the jaws -snapped at his toe. He kicked the thing back through the door, into the -growing flames. The fire was bright enough to show him the way back -along the corridor. He did not know how Tom-Tom had arranged the panel -to open and close, nor did he pause to find out. Heavy blows of the bar -cleared him a way. - -Out in the office, he fairly sprang to the desk, located the button on -its top, and pressed it. A moment later, Shannon was staring out at him -through her grating. - -"Ben!" she gasped. "Are you all right? Tom-Tom--" - -"He's finished," Gascon told her. "This whole business is finished." -With his lever he managed to rip the grating from its fastenings, and -then dragged Shannon forth. She clung to him like a child awakened -from a nightmare. - -"Come, we're getting out." - -In the second corridor he stooped, searched the pockets of the -senseless triangle-faced one and secured the keys to the car outside. -Then he shook the fellow back to semi-consciousness. - -"This house is on fire!" Gascon shouted. "Get your pal upstairs on his -feet, and get out of here." - -Leaving the fellow standing weakly, Gascon and Shannon got into the -open and into the car. Driving along the street, they heard the clang -of fire-engines, heading for the now angry fire. - -Shannon said one thing: "Ben, how much can we tell the police?" - -"It isn't how much we can tell them," replied Gascon weightily. "It's -how little." - - * * * * * - -When Autumn returned, Ben Gascon was on the air again after all. His -sponsors feared that his marriage to Shannon Cole might damage their -popularity as co-stars, but radio fans showed quite the opposite -reaction. Gascon introduced a fresh note in the form of a new dummy, -which he named Jack Duffy, a green-horn character with a husky voice -instead of a shrill one and rural humor instead of cocktail-hour -repartee. - -Sometimes people asked what had become of Tom-Tom; but Gascon always -managed to change the subject, and eventually Tom-Tom was forgotten. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRATTON'S IDEA *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Bratton's Idea</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Manly Wade Wellman</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 11, 2021 [eBook #64789]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRATTON'S IDEA ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>BRATTON'S IDEA</h1> - -<h2>By MANLY WADE WELLMAN</h2> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Comet December 40.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Old Bratton, janitor at the studios of Station XCV in Hollywood, was -as gaunt as Karloff, as saturnine as Rathbone, as enigmatic as Lugosi. -He was unique among Californians in professing absolutely no motion -picture ambitions. Once, it is true, a director had stopped him on the -street and offered to test him for a featured role, but old Bratton -had refused with loud indignation when he heard that the role would be -that of a mad scientist. Old Bratton was touchy about mad scientists, -because he was one.</p> - -<p>For a time he had been a studio electrician, competent though touchy; -but then it developed that he had lied about his age—he was really -eighty years old, and he had been fooling with electricity ever since -Edison put apparatus of various sorts within the reach of everyone. -Studio rules imposed pretty strict age limits on the various jobs, and -so he was demoted to a janitorship.</p> - -<p>He accepted, grumbling, because he needed money for the pursuit he -had dreamed of when a boy and maintained from his youth onward. In -his little two-room apartment he had gathered a great jumble of -equipment—coils, transformers, cathodes, lenses, terminals—some of it -bought new, some salvaged from studio junk, and a great deal curiously -made and not to be duplicated elsewhere save in the eccentric mind of -its maker. For old Bratton, with the aid of electricity, thought to -create life.</p> - -<p>"Electricity is life," he would murmur, quoting Dr. C. W. Roback, who -had been venerable when old Bratton was young. And again: "All these -idiots think that 'Frankenstein' is a romance and 'R.U.R.' a flight of -fancy. But all robot stories are full of truth. I'll show them."</p> - -<p>But he hadn't shown them yet, and he was eighty-two. His mechanical -arrangements were wonderful and crammed with power. They could make -dead frogs kick, dead birds flutter. They could make the metal figures -he constructed, whether large or small, stir and seem about to wake. -But only while the current animated them.</p> - -<p>"The fault isn't with the machine," he would say again, speaking aloud -but taking care none overheard. "It's perfect—I've seen to that. No, -it's in the figures. They're too clumsy and creaky. All the parts are -good, but the connections are wrong, somehow. Wish I knew anatomy -better. And a dead body, even a fresh one, has begun dissolution. I -must try and get—"</p> - -<p>Haranguing himself thus one evening after the broadcast, he pushed his -mop down a corridor to the open door of a little rehearsal hall, then -stopped and drew into a shadowy corner, for he had almost blundered -upon Ben Gascon in the act of proposing marriage.</p> - -<p>Ben Gascon, it will be remembered, was at the time one of radio's -highest paid performers, and well worthy of his hire for the fun he -made. Earlier in life he had been a competent vaudeville artist. When, -through no fault of his, vaudeville died, Gascon went into sound -pictures and radio.</p> - -<p>He was a ventriloquist, adroit and seasoned by years of performance, -and a man of intelligence and showmanship as well. Coming to the stage -from medical school, he had constructed with his own skilful hands the -small figure of wood, metal, rubber and cloth that had become known to -myriads as Tom-Tom. Tom-Tom the impish, the witty, the leering cynic, -the gusty little clown, the ironical jokester, who sat on the knee of -Ben Gascon and, by a seeming misdirection of voice, roused the world to -laughter by his sneers and sallies. Tom-Tom was so droll, so dynamic, -so uproariously wicked in thought and deed, that listeners were prone -to forget the seemingly quiet, grave, Ben Gascon who held him and fed -him solemn lines on which to explode firecracker jokes—Ben Gascon, who -really did the thinking and the talking that Tom-Tom the dummy might be -a headliner in the entertainment world.</p> - -<p>Not really a new thing—the combination of comedian and stooge may -or may not have begun with Aristophanes in ancient Greece—but Ben -Gascon was offering both qualities in his own person, and in surpassing -excellence. Press agents and commentators wrote fascinating conjectures -about his dual personality. In any case, Tom-Tom was the making of him. -It was frequently said that Gascon would be as lost without Tom-Tom as -Tom-Tom without Gascon.</p> - -<p>But tonight Ben Gascon and Tom-Tom were putting on a show for an -audience of one.</p> - -<p>Shannon Cole was the prima donna and co-star of the program. She was -tall, almost as tall as Gascon, and her skin was delectably creamy, -and her dark hair wound into a glossy coronet of braids. Usually she -seemed stately and mournful, to match the songs of love and longing she -sang in a rich contralto; but now she almost groaned with laughter as -she leaned above the impudent Tom-Tom, who sat on the black broadcloth -knee of Ben Gascon and cocked his leering wooden face up at her. Above -Gascon's tuxedo his slender, wide-lined face was a dusky red. His lips -seemed tight, even while they stealthily formed words for Tom-Tom.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Shanny," it seemed that Tom-Tom was crooning, in that ingratiating -drawl that convulsed listeners from coast to coast, "don't you think -that you and I might just slip away alone somewhere and—and—" The -wooden head writhed around toward Gascon. "Get away, Gaspipe! Don't you -see that I'm in conference with a very lovely lady? Can't you learn -when you're not wanted?"</p> - -<p>Shannon Cole leaned back in her own chair, sighing because she had -not enough breath to laugh any more. "I never get enough of Tom-Tom," -she vowed between gasps. "We've been broadcasting together for two -years now, and he's still number one in my heart. Ben, how do you ever -manage—"</p> - -<p>"Shanny," drawled the voice that was Tom-Tom's, "this idiot Ben -Gascon has something to say. He wants me to front for him—but why do -I always have to do the talking while he gets the profit. Speak up, -Gaspipe—who's got your tongue this time, the cat, or the cat?"</p> - -<p>Shannon Cole looked at the ventriloquist, and suddenly stopped -laughing. Her face was pale, as his had gone red. She folded her -slender hands in her lap, and her eyes were all for Gascon, though it -was as if Tom-Tom still spoke:</p> - -<p>"I'll be John Alden," vowed Tom-Tom with shrill decision. "I'll talk -up for this big yokel—I always do, don't I, Shanny? As Gaspipe's -personal representative—engaged at enormous expense—I want to put -before you a proposition. One in which I'm interested. After all, I -should have a say as to who will be my—well, my step-mother—"</p> - -<p>"It won't work!" came the sudden, savage voice of Ben Gascon.</p> - -<p>Rising, he abruptly tossed Tom-Tom upon a divan. Shannon Cole, too, was -upon her feet. "Ben!" she quavered. "Why, Ben!"</p> - -<p>"I've done the most foolish thing a ventriloquist could do," he flung -out.</p> - -<p>"Well—if you were really serious, you didn't need to clown. You think -it was fair to me?"</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "Tom-Tom's done so much of my saucy talking for -me these past years that I thought I'd use him to get out what I was -afraid to tell you myself," he confessed wretchedly.</p> - -<p>"Then you were afraid of me," Shannon accused. She, too, was finding it -hard to talk. Gascon made a helpless gesture.</p> - -<p>"Well, it didn't work," he groaned. "I'm sorry. You're right if you -think I've been an idiot. Just pretend it never happened."</p> - -<p>"Why, Ben—" she began once more, and broke off.</p> - -<p>"We've just finished our last program for the year," said Ben Gascon. -"Next year I won't be around. I think I'll stop throwing my voice for -a while and live like a human being. Once I studied to be a doctor. -Perhaps once more I can—"</p> - -<p>He walked out. The rush of words seemed to have left him spiritually -limp and wretched.</p> - -<p>Shannon Cole watched him go. Then she bent above the discarded figure -of little Tom-Tom, who lay on his back and goggled woodenly up at her. -She put out a hand toward him, and her full raspberry-tinted lips -trembled. Then she, too, left.</p> - -<p>And old Bratton stole from his hiding, to where lay the dummy. Lifting -it, he realized that here was what he wanted. Again he spoke aloud—he -never held with the belief that talking to oneself is the second or -third stage of insanity:</p> - -<p>"Clever one, that Gascon. This thing's anatomically perfect, even to -the jointed fingers." Thrusting his arm through the slit in the back, -he explored the hollow body and head. "Space for organs—yes, every -movement and reaction provided for—and a <i>personality</i>."</p> - -<p>He straightened up, the figure in his arms. "That's it! That's why I've -failed! My figures were dead before they began, but this one has life!" -He was muttering breathlessly. "It's like a worn shoe, or an inhabited -house, or a favorite chair. I don't have to add the life force, I need -only to stimulate what's here."</p> - -<p>Ben Gascon, at the stage door, had telephoned for a taxi. He turned at -the sound of approaching footsteps, and faced old Bratton, who carried -Tom-Tom.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Gascon—this dummy—"</p> - -<p>"I'm through with him," said Gascon shortly.</p> - -<p>"Then, can I have him?"</p> - -<p>Tom-Tom seemed to stare at Gascon. Was it mockery, or pleading, in -those bulging eyes?</p> - -<p>"Take him and welcome," said Gascon, and strode out to wait for his -taxi.</p> - -<p>When old Bratton finished his cleaning that night, he carried away a -bulky bundle wrapped in newspapers. He returned to his lodgings, but -not to eat or sleep. First he filled the emptiness of Tom-Tom's head -and body with the best items culled from his unsuccessful robots—a -cunning brain-device, all intricate wiring and radiating tubes set in -a mass of synthetic plasm; a complex system of wheels, switches and -tubes, in the biggest hollow where a heart, lungs and stomach should -be; special wires, of his own alloy, connecting to the ingenious -muscles of rubberette that Ben Gascon had devised for Tom-Tom's arms, -legs and fingers; a jointed spinal column of aluminum; an artificial -voice-box just inside the moveable jaws; and wondrous little -marble-shaped camera developments for eyes, in place of the moveable -mockeries in Tom-Tom's sockets.</p> - -<p>It was almost dawn before old Bratton stitched up the slit in the back -of Tom-Tom's little checked shirt, and laid the completed creation upon -the bedlike slab that was midmost of his great fabric of machinery -in the rear room. To Tom-Tom's wrists, ankles, and throat he clamped -the leads of powerful terminals. With a gingerly care like that of a -surgeon at a delicate operation, he advanced a switch so as to throw -the right amount of current into play.</p> - -<p>The whole procession of wheeled machinery whispered into motion, its -voice rising to a clear hum. A spark sprang from a knob at the top, -extended its blinding length to another knob, and danced and struggled -there like a radiant snake caught between the beaks of two eagles. Old -Bratton gave the mechanism more power, faster and more complicated -action. His bright eyes clung greedily to the little body lying on the -slab.</p> - -<p>"He moves, he moves," old Bratton cackled excitedly. "His wheels are -going round, all right. Now, if only—"</p> - -<p>Abruptly he shut off the current. The machinery fell dead silent.</p> - -<p>"Sit up, Tom-Tom!" commanded old Bratton harshly.</p> - -<p>And Tom-Tom sat up, his fingers tugging at the clamps that imprisoned -him.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Los Angeles papers made little enough fuss over the death of old -Bratton. True, he was murdered—they found him stabbed, lying face down -across the threshold of his rear room that was jammed full of strange -mechanical junk—but the murder of a janitor is not really big crime -news in a city the size of Los Angeles.</p> - -<p>The police were baffled, more so because none of them could guess what -the great mass of machinery could be, if indeed it were anything. But -they forgot their concern the following week, when they had a more -important murder to consider, that of one Digs Dilson.</p> - -<p>Digs Dilson was high in the scale of local gang authority. He had long -occupied a gaudy apartment in that expensive Los Angeles hotel which -has prospered by catering to wealthy criminals. He was prudent enough -to have a bedroom with no fire escape. He feared climbing assassins -from without more than flames from within. In front of his locked room -slept two bodyguards on cots, and his own bedside window was tightly -wedged in such a fashion that no more than five inches of opening -showed between sill and sash. The electric power-line that was clamped -along the brickwork just outside could hardly have supported a greater -weight than thirty or forty pounds.</p> - -<p>Yet Digs Dilson had been killed at close range, by a stab with an -ordinary kitchen knife, as he slept. The knife still remained in the -wound, as if defying investigators to trace finger-prints that weren't -there. And the bodyguards had not been wakened and the door had -remained locked on the inside.</p> - -<p>The blade of the knife, had anyone troubled to compare wounds, could -have been demonstrated to be the exact size and shape as the one that -had killed old Bratton. His landlord might have been able to testify -that it came from old Bratton's little store of kitchen utensils. But -nobody at police headquarters bothered to connect the murders of a -friendless janitor and a grand duke of gangdom. After considerable -discussion and publicity, the investigators called the case one of -suicide. How else could Digs Dilson have received a knife in his body?</p> - -<p>Hope was expressed that the Dilson mob, formerly active and successful -in meddling with film extras' organizations and the sea food racket, -would now dissolve. But the hope was short-lived.</p> - -<p>A spruce lieutenant of the dead chief, a man by the name of Juney -Saltz, was reputed to have taken command. He appeared briefly at the -auction of old Bratton's effects, buying all the mysterious machinery -at junk prices and carting it away. After that, the organization, -now called the Salters, blossomed out into the grim but well-paid -professions of kidnapping, alien-running and counterfeiting.</p> - -<p>The first important kidnapping they achieved, that of a very frightened -film director, gained them a ransom of ninety thousand dollars and the -attention of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.</p> - -<p>The victim, once released, told of imprisonment in a dank cellar, -blind-folded and shackled. Once, fleetingly, he saw a captor who looked -like the rogue's gallery photographs of Juney Saltz, but that person -was plainly not the one in authority. In fact, he seemed to listen with -supple respect to a high but masterful voice that gave orders. And -the owner of that high voice once came close to the chair where the -prisoner sat bound; the point from which the voice seemed to issue was -very, very close to the cellar floor, as though the speaker was no more -than two feet high.</p> - -<p>An individual short and shrill! Did a child rule that desperate -band? The sages of the law were more apt to consider this a clever -simulation, with the order-giver crouching low and squeaking high lest -he be identified. A judicious drag-netting of several unsavory drinking -places brought in one of the old Dilson crowd, who was skilfully, if -roughly, induced to talk.</p> - -<p>He admitted a part in the kidnapping and ransom collection. He -described the cellar hideout as being located in a shabby suburb. He -implicated several of his comrades by name, including Juney Saltz. But -he shut up with a snap when his interrogators touched on the subject -of the Salters' real chief. No, it wasn't Juney Saltz—Juney was only -a front. No, nobody on the police records but, he insisted pallidly, -he wouldn't say any more. Let them kill him if they wanted to, he was -through talking.</p> - -<p>"I'd rather die in the chair this minute than get my turn with the -boss," he vowed hysterically. "Don't tell me you'll take care of me, -either. There's things can get between bars, through keyholes even, -into the deepest hole you got. And you can smack me around all week -before I'll pipe up with another word."</p> - -<p>His captors shut him in an inside cell generally reserved for -psychopathic cases—a solidly plated cubicle, with no window, grating, -or other opening save a narrow ventilator in the ceiling that gave upon -a ten-inch shaft leading to the roof. Then they gathered reenforcements -and weapons and descended on the house with the cellar where the -kidnapped director had been held for ransom.</p> - -<p>Stealthily surrounding that house, they shouted the customary -invitation to surrender. Silence for a few seconds, then a -faint-hearted member of the Salters appeared at the front door with -his hands up. He took a step into the open, and dropped dead to the -accompaniment of a pistol-report from inside. And the besiegers heard -the shrill voice about which they had been wondering:</p> - -<p>"Come in and take us. This place is as full of death as a drug store!"</p> - -<p>Followed a loud and scientific bombardment with machine guns, gas bombs -and riot guns. The mobster who had been placed on guard at the back -door showed too much of himself and was picked off. A contingent of -officers made a quick, planned rush. More fighting inside, with three -more Salters dying in hot blood in the parlor and kitchen. What seemed -to be the sole survivor fled to the cellar and locked himself in a -rear compartment. The walls were of concrete, the one door of massive -planking. The chief of the attacking force stood in front of this door -and raised his voice:</p> - -<p>"Hello, in there! You're Juney Saltz, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>Gruff was the reply: "What if I am? Don't try to crack in here. I'll -get the first copper shows me his puss, and the second and the third."</p> - -<p>"You can't get us all, Juney. And we've got more men out here than -you've got bullets in there. Come out with your hands up while you -still have the chance to stand a fair trial."</p> - -<p>"Not me," growled Juney Saltz from within. "Come in and catch me before -you talk about what kind of a trial I'll get."</p> - -<p>There was a keyhole, only partially blocked by the turnkey. One of the -G-men bent and thrust in the point of something that looked like a -fountain pen. Carefully he pressed a stud. The little tube spurted a -cloud of tear gas through the keyhole into Juney Saltz's fortress. The -besiegers grinned at each other, and all relaxed to wait.</p> - -<p>The waiting was not long, as it developed. Juney Saltz spoke up within, -his voice a blubber: "Hey! I—I'm s-smothering—"</p> - -<p>"But I'm not," drawled the same high voice that was becoming familiar. -"Sit back, Juney, and put your head between your knees. You'll stand it -better that way."</p> - -<p>"I'm—done for!" wailed Juney Saltz. "If they crack in, I—I can't -s-see to shoot!"</p> - -<p>"I can see to shoot." The shrill voice had become deadly. "And you'll -be the first thing I shoot at if you don't do what I tell you."</p> - -<p>A strangled howl burst from Juney Saltz. "I'd rather be shot than—" -And next moment he was scrabbling at the door. "I surrender! I'll let -you bulls in!"</p> - -<p>He had turned the key in the lock just as the shot that killed him rang -out. A rush of police foiled an attempt from within to fasten the door -again. Sneezing and gurgling, two of the raiders burst into the final -stronghold, stumbling over the subsiding lump of flesh that had been -Juney Saltz.</p> - -<p>Blinded by tears from their own gas, they could not be sure afterward -of what the scurrying little thing was that they saw and fired at. -Those outside knew that nothing could have won past them, and the -den itself had no window that was not bricked up. When the gas had -been somewhat blown out, an investigator gave the place a thorough -searching. Yes, there was one opening, a stovepipe hole through which a -cat might have slipped. That was all. And the place was empty but for -the body of Juney Saltz.</p> - -<p>"Juney was shot in the back," announced another operative, bending to -examine the wound. "I think I see what happened. Squeaky-Voice was at -that stovepipe hole, and plugged him from there as he tried to let us -in. Then Juney tried to lock up again, just as we pushed the door open."</p> - -<p>Upstairs they went, and investigated further. The hole had joined a -narrow chimney, with no way out except the upper end, a rectangle eight -inches by ten. Even with six corpses to show, the agents returned to -their headquarters with a feeling of failure. "In the morning," they -promised one another, "we'll give that one Salter we're holding another -little question bee."</p> - -<p>But in the morning, the jailer with breakfast found that prisoner dead.</p> - -<p>He had been caught with a noose of thin, strong cord, tightened around -his throat from behind. Suicide? But the cord had been drawn into the -little ventilator hole, and tied to a projecting rivet far inside and -above.</p> - -<p>On the same day, police, federal agents, newspapers and the public -generally were exercised by the information that Shannon Cole, popular -contralto star of stage, screen and radio, had been kidnapped from her -Beverly Hills bedroom. No clues, and so the investigation turned to her -acquaintances, among whom was Ben Gascon, recently retired from stage, -screen and radio.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Benjamin Franklin Gascon left the office of the Los Angeles chief -of detectives, where he had spent a most trying forenoon convincing -his interrogators that he had no idea why he should be brought into -the case. He knew nothing of the underworld. True, he knew Miss Cole -professionally, but—and his face was rueful—had no reason to count -himself a really close friend of hers. He had not seen her since the -termination of their latest radio assignment. His personal affairs, -meanwhile, were quite open to investigation; he had grown weary -of ventriloquism, and had retired to live on the income from his -investments. Later, he might resume his earlier profession, medicine. -He was attending lectures now at the University of California in Los -Angeles. And once again, he had no idea of how he was being brought -into this case, or of who could have kidnapped Miss Cole.</p> - -<p>But, even as he departed, he suddenly got that idea.</p> - -<p>"<i>Tom-Tom!</i>"</p> - -<p>It took moments to string together the bits of logic which brought that -thought into his mind.</p> - -<p>Things had happened to people, mostly gangsters, at the hands of a -malevolent creature; that is, if the creature had hands—but it must -have hands, if it could wield a gun, a slip-cord, a knife! It must -also be notably small and nimble, if it really traveled up chimneys, -down ventilator shafts, along power-lines and through stovepipe holes. -Gascon's imagination, as good as anyone's, toyed with the conception -of a wise and wicked monkey, or of a child possessed by evil like the -children of old Salem, or a dwarf.</p> - -<p>But the point at which he coupled on his theory was the point at which -police had paused, or rather begun.</p> - -<p>Digs Dilson had been killed with a knife. So had old Bratton.</p> - -<p>He, Ben Gascon, had given old Bratton the dummy that people called -Tom-Tom. And old Bratton was forthwith murdered. Gascon had meant to go -to the funeral, but something had turned up to interfere. What else -concerned the janitor? What, for instance, had the younger electricians -and engineers teased him about so often? "Electricity is life," that -was old Bratton's constant claim. And he was said to have whole -clutters of strange machinery at his shabby rooms.</p> - -<p>Bratton had taken Tom-Tom. Thereafter Bratton and others had been -killed. In the background of their various tragedies had lurked and -plotted something small, evil, active, and strange enough to frighten -the most hardened of criminals. "Electricity is life"—and Bratton had -toiled over some kind of electrical apparatus that might or might not -be new and powerful in ways unknown to ordinary electricians.</p> - -<p>Gascon left the rationalization half completed in the back of his mind, -and sought out the shabby street where the janitor had lodged.</p> - -<p>The landlord could not give him much help. To be sure old Bratton had -made a nuisance of himself with his machines, mumbling that they would -startle the world some day; but after his death, someone had bought -those machines, loaded them upon a truck and carted them off. The -landlord had seen the purchase, and later identified the purchaser from -newspaper photographs as the late Juney Saltz.</p> - -<p>And Juney Saltz, pondered Gascon, had been killed by something with a -shrill voice, that could crawl through a stovepipe hole.... "You saw -the sale of the goods?" he prompted the landlord. "Was there a dummy—a -thing like a big doll, such as ventriloquists use?"</p> - -<p>The landlord shook his head. "Nothing like that. I'd have noticed if -there was."</p> - -<p>So Tom-Tom, who had gone home with old Bratton, had vanished.</p> - -<p>Gascon left the lodgings and made a call at a newspaper office, where -he inserted a personal notice among the classified advertisements:</p> - -<p>T-T. I have you figured out. Clever, but your old partner can add two -and two and get four. Better let S.C. go. B.F.G.</p> - -<p>The notice ran for three days. Then a reply, in the same column:</p> - -<p>B.F.G. So what? T-T.</p> - -<p>It was bleak, brief defiance, but Gascon felt a sudden blaze of -triumph. Somehow he had made a right guess, on a most fantastic -proposition. Tom-Tom had come to life as a lawless menace. All that -he, Gascon, need do, was act accordingly. He made plans, then inserted -another message:</p> - -<p>T-T. I made you, and I can break you. This is between us. Get in touch -with me, or I'll come looking for you. You won't like that. B.F.G.</p> - -<p>Next day his telephone rang. A hoarse voice called him by name:</p> - -<p>"Look, Gascon, you better lay off if you know what's good for you."</p> - -<p>"Ah," replied Gascon gently, "Tom-Tom seems to have taken up -conventional gangster methods. It means that he's afraid—which I'm -not. Tell him I'm not laying off, I'm laying on."</p> - -<p>That night he took dinner at a restaurant on a side street. As he left -it, two men sauntered out of a doorway and came up on either side of -him. One was as squat and bulky as a wrestler, with a truculent square -face. The other, taller but scrawny, had a broad brow and a narrow -chin, presenting the facial triangle which phrenologists claim denotes -shrewdness. Both had their hands inside their coats, where bulges -betrayed the presence of holstered guns.</p> - -<p>"This is a stickup," said Triangle-Face. "Don't make a move or a peep, -or we'll cut down on you."</p> - -<p>They walked him along the street.</p> - -<p>"I'm not moving or peeping," Gascon assured them blandly, "but where -are you taking me?"</p> - -<p>"Into this car," replied the triangle-faced one, and opened the rear -door of a parked sedan. Gascon got in, with the powerful gunman beside -him. The other got into the front seat and took the wheel.</p> - -<p>"No funny business," he cautioned as he trod on the starter. "The boss -wants to talk to you."</p> - -<p>The car drew away from the curb, heading across town. Gascon produced -his cigarette case—Shannon Cole had given it to him on his last -birthday—opened it, and offered it to the man beside him. Smiling -urbanely at the curt growl of refusal, he then selected a cigarette and -lighted it.</p> - -<p>"Understand one thing," he bade his captors, through a cloud of smoke. -"I've expected this. I've worked for it. And I have written very fully -about all angles of this particular case. If anything happens to me, -the police will get my report."</p> - -<p>It was patently a bluff, and in an effort to show that it did not work -both men laughed scornfully.</p> - -<p>"We're hotter than a couple wolves in a prairie fire right now," the -triangle-faced one assured him. "Anyway, no dumb cop would believe the -truth about the boss."</p> - -<p>That convinced Gascon that he was on his way to Tom-Tom. Too, the -remark about "a coupla wolves" showed that the driver thought of only -two members of the gang. Tom-Tom's following must have been reduced -to these. Gascon sat back with an air of enjoying the ride. Growling -again, his big companion leaned over and slapped him around the body. -There was no hard lump to betray knife or pistol, and the bulky fellow -grunted to show that he was satisfied. Gascon was satisfied as well. -His pockets were not probed into, and he was carrying a weapon that, -if unorthodox, was nevertheless efficient. He foresaw the need and the -chance to use it.</p> - -<p>"Is Miss Cole all right?" he asked casually.</p> - -<p>"Sure she is," replied Square-Face.</p> - -<p>"Pipe down, you!" snapped his companion from the driver's seat. "Let -the boss do the talking to this egg."</p> - -<p>"Your boss likes to do the talking, I judge," put in Gascon, still -casually. "Do you like to listen? Or," and his voice took on a mocking -note, "does he give you the creeps?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind," Square-Face muttered. "He's doing okay."</p> - -<p>"But not his followers," suggested Gascon. "Quite a few of them have -been killed, eh? And aren't you two the only survivors of the old -Dilson crowd? How long will your luck hold out, I wonder?"</p> - -<p>"Longer than yours," replied the man at the wheel sharply. "If you talk -any more, we'll put the slug on you."</p> - -<p>The remainder of the ride was passed in silence, and the car drew up -at length before a quiet suburban cottage, on the edge of town almost -directly opposite the scene of the recent fight between police and the -Salters.</p> - -<p>The three entered a dingy parlor, full of respectable looking -furniture. "Keep him here," Triangle-Face bade Square-Face. "I'll go -help the boss get ready to talk to him."</p> - -<p>He was gone. His words suggested that there would be some moments alone -with Square-Face, and Gascon meant to make use of them.</p> - -<p>The big fellow sat down. "Take a chair," he bade, but Gascon shook his -head and lighted another cigarette. He narrowed his eyes, in his best -diagnostician manner, to study his guard.</p> - -<p>"You look as if there was something wrong with your glands," he said -crisply.</p> - -<p>"Ain't nothing wrong with me," was the harsh response.</p> - -<p>"Are you sure? How do you feel?"</p> - -<p>"Good enough to pull a leg off of you if you don't shut that big mouth."</p> - -<p>Gascon shrugged, and turned to a rear wall. A picture hung there, a -very unsightly oil painting. He put his hand up, as if to straighten it -on its hook. Then he glanced toward a window, letting his eyes dilate. -"Ahhhh!" he said softly.</p> - -<p>Up jumped the gangster, gun flashing into view. "What did you say?" he -demanded.</p> - -<p>"I just said 'Ahhhh,'" replied Gascon, his eyes fixed on the window.</p> - -<p>"If anybody's followed you here—" The giant broke off and tramped -toward the window to look out.</p> - -<p>Like a flash Gascon leaped after him. With him he carried the picture, -lifted from where it hung. He swept it through the air, using the edge -of the frame like a hatchet and aiming at the back of the thick neck.</p> - -<p>The blow was powerful and well placed. Knocked clean out, the gangster -fell on his face. Gascon stooped, hooked his hands under the armpits, -and made shift to drag the slack weight back to its chair. It took -all his strength to set his victim back there. Then he drew from his -side pocket the thing he had been carrying for days—a wad of cotton -which he soaked in chloroform. Holding it to the broad nose, he waited -until the last tenseness went out of the great limbs. Then he crossed -one leg over the other knee, poised the head against the chair-back, -an elbow on a cushioned arm. Clamping the nerveless right hand about -the pistol-butt, he arranged it in the man's lap. Now the attitude was -one of assured relaxation. Gascon hung the picture back in place, and -himself sat down. He still puffed on the cigarette that had not left -his lips.</p> - -<p>He had more than a minute to wait before the leaner mobster returned. -"Ready for you now," he said to Gascon, beckoning him through a rear -door. He gave no more than a glance to his quiet, easy-seeming comrade.</p> - -<p>They went down some stairs into a basement—plainly basements were an -enthusiasm of the commander of this enterprise—and along a corridor. -At the end was a door, pulled almost shut, with light showing through -the crack. "Go in," ordered Triangle-Face, and turned as if to mount -the stairs again.</p> - -<p>But it was not Gascon's wish that he find his companion senseless. -In fact, Gascon had no intention of leaving anyone in the way of the -retreat he hoped to make later. With his hand on the doorknob, he -spoke:</p> - -<p>"One thing, my friend."</p> - -<p>Triangle-Face paused and turned. "I'm no friend of yours. What do you -want?"</p> - -<p>Gascon extended his other hand. "Wish me luck."</p> - -<p>"The only luck I wish you is bad. Don't try to grab hold of me."</p> - -<p>The gangster's hand slid into the front of his coat, toward that bulge -that denoted an armpit holster. Gascon sprang upon him, catching him -by the sleeve near the elbow so that he could not whip free with the -weapon. Gascon's other hand dived into his own pocket, again clutching -the big wad of chloroform-soaked cotton.</p> - -<p>He whipped the wad at and upon the triangular face. The man tried to -writhe away but Gascon, heavier and harder-muscled than he, shoved -him against the wall, where the back of his head could be clamped and -held. Struggling, the fellow breathed deeply, again, again. His frantic -flounderings suddenly went feeble. Gascon judged the dose sufficient, -and let go his holds. The man subsided limply and Gascon, still holding -to his sleeve, dragged the right hand out of the coat. Dropping his wad -of cotton, he took up the big pistol.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid, Gaspipe," said a shrill, wise voice he should know better -than anyone in the world, "that that gun won't really help you a -nickel's worth."</p> - -<p>Gascon spun around. A moment ago he had put his hand on the doorknob. -When he had turned to leap at the triangle-faced man, he had pulled -the door open. Now he could see inside a bare, officelike room, a big -sturdy desk and a figure just beyond; a figure calm and assured, but so -tiny, so grotesque.</p> - -<p>"Come in, Gaspipe," commanded Tom-Tom, the dummy.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Tom-Tom did not look as Gascon had remembered him. The checked jacket -was filthy and frayed, and in the breast of it was a round black hole -the size of a fingertip. The paint had been flaked away from the -comical face, one broad ear was half broken off, the wig was tousled -and matted. And the eyes goggled no more in the clownish fashion -that had been made so famous in publicity photographs. They crouched -deep in Tom-Tom's wooden face and glowed greenly, like the eyes of a -meat-eating animal.</p> - -<p>"You're the only man I ever expected to figure me out, Gaspipe," said -Tom-Tom. "And even you can't do much about it, can you? Put away the -gun. I've been shot at and shot at, and it does nothing but make little -holes like this."</p> - -<p>He tapped the black rent in his jacket-front with a jointed forefinger.</p> - -<p>"As a matter of fact, I was glad to see your notice in the agony -column. I think I'd have hunted you up, anyway. You see, we make a fine -team, Gaspipe. There are things we can still do for each other, but you -must be reasonable."</p> - -<p>"I'm not here to let you make fun of me," said Gascon. "You're just a -little freak, brought to life by the chance power evolved by a cracked -old intelligence. Once I puzzled it out, I knew that I needn't be -afraid. You can't do anything to me."</p> - -<p>"No?" said Tom-Tom, with what seemed a chuckle. "Let me show you -something, Gaspipe."</p> - -<p>His wooden hand moved across the desk-top and touched a button. A -section of the wall slid back like a stage curtain, revealing an -opening the size of a closet door. The opening was fenced in with a -metal grating. Behind it stood Shannon Cole, her long black hair awry, -her face pale, her cloth-of-gold pajamas rumpled.</p> - -<p>"Ben!" she said, in a voice that choked. "Did he get you, too?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p>"<i>How about it, Gaspipe? Are you working with me? We were a good pair once.</i>"</p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Gascon exclaimed, and turned as if to spring toward the grating. But -at the same instant, with a swiftness that was more than a cat's, -Tom-Tom also moved. He seemed to fly across his desk as though flung by -a catapult. His hard head struck Gascon's stomach, doubling him up, -and then Tom-Tom's arms whipped around Gascon's ankles, dragging them -sidewise. Down fell the ventriloquist, heavily and clumsily. The gun -flew from his hand, bouncing on the floor like a ball. Tom-Tom caught -it in mid-bounce, and lifted it with both hands.</p> - -<p>"I won't kill you, Gaspipe," he announced, "but I'll most emphatically -shoot off your kneecap, if you try anything sudden again. Sit up. Put -your back against that wall. And listen."</p> - -<p>"Do what he says, Ben! He means business!" Shannon Cole urged -tremulously from behind her bars.</p> - -<p>Gascon obeyed, trying to think of a way to grapple that imp of wood and -fabric. Tom-Tom chuckled again, turned back to his desk and scrambled -lightly upon it. As before he touched the button, and Shannon was -instantly shut from sight.</p> - -<p>"Good thing I kidnapped her," he observed. "Not only is she worth -thousands to her managers, but she brought you to me. Now we'll have a -dandy conference. Just like old times, isn't it, Gaspipe?"</p> - -<p>Gascon sat still, eyeing the gun. He might have risked its menace, -but for the thought of Shannon behind those bars. Tom-Tom, so weirdly -strong, might fight him off even if disarmed, then turn on his captive. -The dummy that was no longer a dummy seemed to read his mind:</p> - -<p>"No violence, Gaspipe. I tell you, it's been tried before. When the -Dilson mobsters were through laughing at the idea of my taking over, -one or two thought that Digs Dilson should be avenged. But their guns -didn't even make me blink. I killed a couple, and impressed the others. -I put into them the fear of Tom-Tom." Again the chuckle. "I'm almost -as hard to hurt as I am to fool, Gaspipe. And that's very, very hard -indeed."</p> - -<p>"What do you want of me?" blurted Gascon, scowling.</p> - -<p>"Now that's a question," nodded Tom-Tom. "It might be extended a -little. What do I want of life, Gaspipe? Life is here with me, but -I never asked for it. It was thrust into me, and upon me. My first -feeling was of crazy rage toward the life-giver—"</p> - -<p>"And so you killed him?" interrupted Gascon.</p> - -<p>"I did. And the killing gave me the answer. The only thing worth while -in life is taking life."</p> - -<p>Tom-Tom spread his wooden hands, as though he felt that he had made a -neat point. Gascon made a quick gesture of protest, then subsided as -Tom-Tom picked up the gun again.</p> - -<p>"You're wrong, Tom-Tom," he said earnestly.</p> - -<p>"Am I? You're going to give me a moral lecture, are you? But men -invented morals, so as to protect their souls. I don't have a soul, -Gaspipe. I don't have to worry about protecting it. I'm not human. I'm -a <i>thing</i>." Sitting on the desk, he crossed his legs and fiddled with -the gun. "You've lived longer than I. What else, besides killing, is -worth while in life?"</p> - -<p>"Why—enjoyment—"</p> - -<p>The marred head waggled. "Enjoyment of what? Food? I can't eat. -Companionship? I doubt it, where a freak like me is concerned. -Possessions? But I can't use clothes or houses or money or anything -like that. They're for men, not dummies. What else, Gaspipe?"</p> - -<p>"Why—why—" This time Gascon fell silent.</p> - -<p>"Love, you were going to say?" The chuckle was louder, and the glowing -yellow eyes flickered aside toward the place behind the wall where -Shannon was penned up. "You're being stupid, Gaspipe. Because you know -what love is, you think others do. Gaspipe, I'll never know what love -is. I'm not made for it."</p> - -<p>"I see you aren't," Gascon nodded solemnly. "All right, Tom-Tom. -You can find life worth living if you try for supremacy in some -line—leadership—"</p> - -<p>"That," said Tom-Tom, "is where killing comes in. And where you come -in, too."</p> - -<p>He laid down the gun and put the tips of his jointed fingers together, -in a pose grotesquely like that of a mild lecturer. "I've given my -case a lot of time and thought, you see. I realize that I don't fit -in—humanity hasn't ever considered making a place for me. I don't have -needs or reactions or wishes to fit those of humanity."</p> - -<p>"Is that why you turn to criminals? Because they don't fit into normal -human ethics, either?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly, exactly." Tom-Tom nodded above his poised hands. "And -criminals understand me, and I understand them better than you think. -But," and he sounded a little weary, "they're no good, either.</p> - -<p>"You see, Gaspipe, they scare too easily. They die too easily. Just now -you overpowered one. They're not fit to associate with me on the terms -I dictate. If I'm going to have power, it will turn what passes for my -stomach if I have only people—people of meat and bone—under me." He -made a spitting sound, such as Gascon had often faked for him in the -days when the two were performing. "As I say, this is where you come -in."</p> - -<p>"In heaven's name, what do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"You're smart, Gaspipe. You made me—the one thing that has been given -artificial life. Well, you'll make other things to be animated."</p> - -<p>"More robots?" demanded Gascon. "You want a science factory."</p> - -<p>"I am the apex of science come true. Oh, it's practical. A couple -at first. Then ten. Then a hundred. Then enough, perhaps, to grab a -piece of the world and rule it. Don't bug out your eyes, Gaspipe. My -followers bought up the life-making machinery and other things for me. -I have lots of money—from that ransom—and I can get more."</p> - -<p>Gascon was finding the idea not so surprising as at first, but he shook -his head over it. "I won't."</p> - -<p>"Yes, you will. We'll be partners again. Understand?"</p> - -<p>"If I refuse?"</p> - -<p>Tom-Tom made no audible answer. He only turned and gazed meaningly at -the place where Shannon was shut up.</p> - -<p>Gascon sighed and rose. "Show me this machinery of yours."</p> - -<p>"Step this way." Monkey-nimble, Tom-Tom hopped to the floor. He had -taken up the gun again, and gestured with it for Gascon to walk beside -him. Together they crossed the office to a rear corner, where Tom-Tom -touched what looked like a projecting nail head. As with the door to -Shannon's cell, a panel slid back. They passed into a corridor, and the -panel closed behind them.</p> - -<p>"Straight ahead," came the voice of Tom-Tom in the darkness. "Being -mechanical, I have a head for mechanics. I devised all these secret -panels. Neat?"</p> - -<p>"Dramatic," replied Gascon, who could be ironical himself. "Now, -Tom-Tom, if I do what you want, what happens to me and to Miss Cole?"</p> - -<p>"You both stay with me."</p> - -<p>"You won't let them ransom her?"</p> - -<p>A chuckle, and: "I'll take the ransom money, but she's seen too much -to go free. Maybe I'll make the two of you a nice suite of rooms for -house-keeping—barred in, of course. Didn't you use to carry me around -in a little case, Gaspipe? I'll take just as good care of you, if you -do what I want."</p> - -<p>The little monster did something or other to open a second door, and -beyond showed the light of a strong electric lamp. They passed into a -big windowless room, with rough wooden walls, probably a deep cellar. -It held a complicated arrangement of electrical machinery.</p> - -<p>Hopping lightly to a bench the height of Gascon's shoulder, Tom-Tom -seized a switch and closed it. There were emissions of sparks, a stir -of wheels and belts, and the hum of machinery being set in motion.</p> - -<p>"This, Gaspipe, is what brought me to life. And look!" The jointed -wooden hand flourished toward a corner. "There's the kind of thing -that was tried and failed."</p> - -<p>It looked like a caricature of an armored knight—a tall, jointed, -gleaming thing, half again as big as a big man, with a head shaped like -a bucket. There were no features except two vacant eyes of quartz, -staring through the blank metal as through a mask. Gascon walked around -it, his doctor-mind and builder-hands immediately interested. The body -was but loosely pinned together, and he drew aside a plate, peering -into the works.</p> - -<p>"The principle's wrong," he announced at once. "The fellow didn't -understand anatomical balance—"</p> - -<p>"I knew it, I knew it!" cried Tom-Tom. "You can add the right touch, -Gaspipe. That's the specimen that came closest to success before me. -I'll help. After all, my brain was made by the old boy who did all -these things. Through it, I know what he knew."</p> - -<p>"Why didn't you save him to help you?" demanded Gascon. He picked up a -pair of tapering pincers and a small wrench, and began to tinker.</p> - -<p>"I told you about that once. I was angry. My first impulse was a -killing rage. The death of my life-giver was my first pleasure and -triumph. I hadn't dreamed up the plan I've been describing."</p> - -<p>Anger was Tom-Tom's first emotion. Not so different from human beings -as the creature imagined, mused Gascon. What had the lecturer at -medical school once quoted from Emmanuel Kant:</p> - -<p>"The outcry that is heard from a child just born was not the note of -lamentation, but of indignation and aroused wrath."</p> - -<p>Of course, a new-born baby has not the strength to visit its rage on -mother or nurse or doctor, but a creature as organized and powerful in -body and mind as Tom-Tom—or as huge and overwhelming as this metal -giant he fiddled with—</p> - -<p>Gascon decided to think such thoughts with the greatest stealth. If -Tom-Tom could divine them, something terrible was due to happen. -Stripping off his coat, he went to work on the robot with deadly -earnestness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Morning had probably come to the outside world. Gascon, wan and weary, -stepped back and mopped his brow with a shirt sleeve. Tom-Tom spoke -from where he sat cross-legged on the bench beside the controls.</p> - -<p>"Is he pretty much in shape, Gaspipe?"</p> - -<p>"As much as you ever were, Tom-Tom. If you are right, and this machine -gave you life, it will give him life, too."</p> - -<p>"I can't wait for my man Friday. Get him over and lay him on the slab."</p> - -<p>The metal man was too heavy to lift, but Gascon's hours of work had -provided his joints with beautiful balance. An arm around the tanklike -waist was enough to support and guide. The weight shifted from one -big shovel-foot to the other and the massive bulk actually walked to -the table-like slab in the midst of the wheels and tubes, and Gascon -eased it down at full length. Now Tom-Tom approached, bringing a -spongy-looking object on a metal tray, an amorphous roundness that -sprouted copper wires in all directions. He slid it into the open top -of the robot's bucketlike head.</p> - -<p>"That's a brain for Friday," explained Tom-Tom. "Not as complex as -mine, but made the same way. He'll have simple reactions and impulses. -A model servant."</p> - -<p><i>Simple reactions</i>—and Tom-Tom had sprung up from his birthcouch to -kill the man who brought him to life. Gascon's hands trembled ever so -slightly as he connected the brain wires to terminals that did duty as -nerves. Tom-Tom himself laid a plate over the orifice and stuck it down -with a soldering iron.</p> - -<p>"My own brain's armored inside this wooden skull," he commented. "No -bullet or axe could reach it. And nobody can hurt the brain of Friday -here unless they get at him from above. He's pretty tall to get at -from above, eh, Gaspipe?"</p> - -<p>"That's right," nodded Gascon, and in his mind rose a picture of the -big metal thing bending down, exposing that vulnerable soldered patch. -Tom-Tom and he clamped the leads to wrists, ankles and neck.</p> - -<p>"Get back to the wall, Gaspipe," commanded Tom-Tom bleakly, and Gascon -obeyed. "Now watch. And don't move, or I'll set Friday on you when he -wakes up."</p> - -<p>Gascon sat down on a long, low bench next to the open door. Tom-Tom -noticed his position, and lifted the gun he had carried into the -chamber.</p> - -<p>"Don't try to run," he warned, "or I'll drill you—maybe in the -stomach. And you can lie there and die slowly. When you die there'll be -nobody to help Shanny yonder in her little hole in the wall."</p> - -<p>"I won't run," promised Gascon. And Tom-Tom switched on more power.</p> - -<p>Sparks, a shuddering roar, a quickening of all parts of the machine. -The shining hulk on the slab stirred and quivered, like a man troubled -by dreams. Tom-Tom gave a brief barking laugh of triumph, brought the -mechanism to a howling crescendo of sound and motion, then abruptly -shut it down to a murmur.</p> - -<p>"Friday! Friday!" he called.</p> - -<p>Slowly the metal giant sat up in its bonds.</p> - -<p>The bucket-head, with its vacant eyes now gleaming as yellow as -Tom-Tom's, turned in that direction. Then, with unthinkable swiftness, -the big metal body heaved itself erect, ripping free of the clamps that -had been fastened upon it. Up rose two monstrous hands, like baseball -gloves of jointed iron. There was a clashing, heavy-footed charge.</p> - -<p>Sitting still as death, Gascon again recalled to mind what Tom-Tom had -said, what he had heard at medical school.</p> - -<p>Tom-Tom gave a prolonged yell, and threw up the gun to fire. The -explosions rattled and rolled in the narrow confinement of the room. -Bullets spattered the armor-plated breast of the oncoming giant. One -knocked away a gleaming eye. The towering thing did not falter in its -dash. Tom-Tom tried to spring down too late. The big hands flashed out, -and had him.</p> - -<p>Gascon, now daring to move, dragged the bench across the doorway. From -a corner he caught up a heavy wrought-iron socket lever, as long as -a walking stick and nearly as thick as his wrist. All the while he -watched, over his shoulder, a battle that was not all one-sided.</p> - -<p>After his final effort to command the newly animated giant, Tom-Tom had -not made a sound. He concentrated on freeing himself from the grip that -had fastened upon him. Both his wooden hands clutched a single finger, -strained against it. Gascon saw, almost as in a ridiculous dream, that -immense finger bending backward, backward, and tearing from its socket. -But the other fingers kept their hold. They laid Tom-Tom on the floor, -a great slab of a foot pinned him there. The two metal hands began to -pluck him to pieces, and to throw the pieces away.</p> - -<p>First an arm in a plaid sleeve flew across the room—an arm ripped -from Tom-Tom's little sleeve, an arm that still writhed and wriggled, -its fingers opening and closing. It fell among the wheels that still -turned, jamming them. Sparks sprang up with a grating rattle. Then a -flame of blueness. Gascon turned his back toward the doorway that he -had blocked with the bench, to see the thing out.</p> - -<p>With a wanton fury, the victorious ogre of metal had shredded Tom-Tom's -body, hurling the pieces in all directions. To one side, the machinery -was putting forth more flame and more. The blaze licked up the wall. -The giant straightened his body at last, holding in one paw the -detached head of its victim. The jaws of Tom-Tom snapped and moved, as -though he was trying to speak.</p> - -<p>"Look this way!" roared Gascon at the top of his voice.</p> - -<p>The creature heard him. Its head swiveled doorward. It stared with one -gleaming eye and one empty black socket. Gascon brandished the socket -lever over his head, as though in challenge, then turned and sprang -over the bench into the dark corridor.</p> - -<p>A jangling din as the thing rushed after him. Hands shot out to clutch. -Its shins struck the bench violently, the feet lost their grip of the -floor, and the clumsy structure plunged forward and down, with a noise -like an automobile striking a stone wall. For a moment the huge head -was just at Gascon's knee.</p> - -<p>He struck. The solder-fastened patch flew away under the impact of his -clubbed lever-bar like a driven golf ball. The cranium yawned open, -and he jabbed the bar in. Something squashed and yielded before his -prodding—the delicate artificial brain. Then the struggling shape at -his feet subsided. From one relaxing hand rolled something round—the -head of Tom-Tom.</p> - -<p>It still lived, for the eyes rolled up to glare at Gascon, the jaws -snapped at his toe. He kicked the thing back through the door, into the -growing flames. The fire was bright enough to show him the way back -along the corridor. He did not know how Tom-Tom had arranged the panel -to open and close, nor did he pause to find out. Heavy blows of the bar -cleared him a way.</p> - -<p>Out in the office, he fairly sprang to the desk, located the button on -its top, and pressed it. A moment later, Shannon was staring out at him -through her grating.</p> - -<p>"Ben!" she gasped. "Are you all right? Tom-Tom—"</p> - -<p>"He's finished," Gascon told her. "This whole business is finished." -With his lever he managed to rip the grating from its fastenings, and -then dragged Shannon forth. She clung to him like a child awakened -from a nightmare.</p> - -<p>"Come, we're getting out."</p> - -<p>In the second corridor he stooped, searched the pockets of the -senseless triangle-faced one and secured the keys to the car outside. -Then he shook the fellow back to semi-consciousness.</p> - -<p>"This house is on fire!" Gascon shouted. "Get your pal upstairs on his -feet, and get out of here."</p> - -<p>Leaving the fellow standing weakly, Gascon and Shannon got into the -open and into the car. Driving along the street, they heard the clang -of fire-engines, heading for the now angry fire.</p> - -<p>Shannon said one thing: "Ben, how much can we tell the police?"</p> - -<p>"It isn't how much we can tell them," replied Gascon weightily. "It's -how little."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When Autumn returned, Ben Gascon was on the air again after all. His -sponsors feared that his marriage to Shannon Cole might damage their -popularity as co-stars, but radio fans showed quite the opposite -reaction. Gascon introduced a fresh note in the form of a new dummy, -which he named Jack Duffy, a green-horn character with a husky voice -instead of a shrill one and rural humor instead of cocktail-hour -repartee.</p> - -<p>Sometimes people asked what had become of Tom-Tom; but Gascon always -managed to change the subject, and eventually Tom-Tom was forgotten.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRATTON'S IDEA ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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