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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-22 17:50:46 -0800 |
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diff --git a/66210-h/66210-h.htm b/66210-h/66210-h.htm index 2d03552..966fe64 100644 --- a/66210-h/66210-h.htm +++ b/66210-h/66210-h.htm @@ -1,1631 +1,1174 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
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- The Project Gutenberg eBook of Repeat Performance, by Rog Phillips.
- </title>
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-<body>
-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Repeat Performance, by Rog Phillips</p>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-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 <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>
-
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Repeat Performance</p>
- <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Rog Phillips</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 3, 2021 [eBook #66210]</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
- <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p>
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPEAT PERFORMANCE ***</div>
-
-<div class="figcenter">
- <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="titlepage">
-
-<h1>REPEAT PERFORMANCE</h1>
-
-<h2>By Rog Phillips</h2>
-
-<p>The little man knew Ben had been murdered;<br />
-the trouble was, Ben was still alive! Could the<br />
-future be wrong—or merely a dress rehearsal?</p>
-
-<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br />
-Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br />
-January 1954<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>The pounding at the door woke me up. I groped for the light. It flooded
-the room, erasing the glow of the afternoon sun through the drapes. The
-clock said three-thirty.</p>
-
-<p>"Come on, Benny! Open up!" a gruff voice ordered.</p>
-
-<p>I groaned as I recognized the voice. As I went to the door I hastily
-reviewed last night's activities. Two wallets on the subway that had
-netted seventeen bucks, one in an elevator at the Morrison that had
-added forty-five bucks. An all night crap game near the Wilson El that
-had nearly cleaned me....</p>
-
-<p>"Come in, Calahan," I said cheerfully to the cop. "A social visit—I
-hope?"</p>
-
-<p>Calahan grinned mirthlessly at my little joke. I got dressed. An hour
-later I was shoved into line with a dozen others. We knew what to do.
-We walked single file onto the stage, then faced a screen. We couldn't
-see beyond it because it was dark there, and floodlights from the floor
-and the ceiling blinded us.</p>
-
-<p>"That's the man!" a woman's voice said excitedly.</p>
-
-<p>My stomach did a flip flop. Who did she mean? Me? I looked at the
-others in the line-up. Joey North was looking sick. The others just
-looked uneasy, like I felt. Poor Joey....</p>
-
-<p>On the sidewalk outside the station I lit a cigarette with shaking
-fingers. I hated the whole system. They take you down in a car. You
-walk home. If you get out. Suddenly I was sick of Chicago, and when I
-get sick of Chicago I go somewhere.</p>
-
-<p>Night found me at the counter in a drugstore in Evanston. I was
-beginning to feel better. I had a newspaper and a cup of coffee in
-front of me.</p>
-
-<p>I'd read everything else, so I started reading the society stuff. A lot
-of it was Evanston. A bosom-type matron smirked at me from one of the
-pictures. Under the picture it said she was Mrs. Sarah Fish, Evanston
-society leader. I started to read more. Then this little guy came into
-the drugstore.</p>
-
-<p>"A package of Camels," he said to the cashier.</p>
-
-<p>He sensed my stare. I looked quickly down at my paper and casually took
-a sip of coffee. But I wasn't interested in the news now. Out of the
-corner of my eye I studied the little man. He wasn't more than five
-feet tall, very slim, and very erect. I got the strange impression of
-looking at a small giant. Then I realized what caused that impression.
-It was his head. It was more the right size for a man six feet tall.</p>
-
-<p>"That will be twenty cents," the baldish cashier said.</p>
-
-<p>The little man handed him a bill he had been holding in his hand. "By
-the way," he said as the cashier rang up the twenty cents, "Could you
-tell me the way to the Sarah Fish residence?" I pricked up my ears at
-that.</p>
-
-<p>"Why yes," the cashier said. "You go down to the stop sign and turn
-right two blocks. It's the big white place set back from the street,
-with a wide driveway that goes back to a four car garage. Let's see
-now. That was twenty cents. Twenty-five, fifty, one. Two, three. There
-you are. Don't forget, the big white house."</p>
-
-<p>"Thank you," the little man said.</p>
-
-<p>I watched him go to the door. It wasn't until he was out of sight that
-I did a double take.</p>
-
-<p>"Hey!" I said to the cashier. "What kind of a bill did that little guy
-give you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why, a—a—Oh good Lord."</p>
-
-<p>I slid out of my seat at the counter and leaned over the cigar counter
-as the cashier rang up a no sale. He picked out the bill and held it in
-limp fingers. I took it and spread it on the glass counter.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>It was a three dollar bill. There was a picture of Truman on it. I
-turned it over. On the back was a picture of an atomic mushroom cloud
-with a series of ellipses interlocking to form the popular conception
-of an atom.</p>
-
-<p>It looked like real money. It had the feel of real money.</p>
-
-<p>"Well," the cashier said philosophically. "I guess I'm out three
-dollars. His talking was what threw me off."</p>
-
-<p>I picked up the three dollar bill and squinted at the fine print. It
-said <i>Series of 1964</i>. The date on my newspaper on the counter beside
-my cold coffee was April 5, 1954.</p>
-
-<p>"I'll tell you what I'll do," I said. "I'll give you three dollars for
-it."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh no!" the cashier said quickly. "I can't do that. The law says I
-must turn all counterfeit money directly over to the nearest F.B.I.
-office."</p>
-
-<p>"Sure," I soothed. "Sure, I know that. But this isn't the same thing.
-A counterfeit is an imitation of real money—and there aren't any real
-three dollar bills."</p>
-
-<p>The cashier chuckled suddenly. "By gollies you're right," he said.
-"That means I can keep it. Think I will. I'm going to deposit it in the
-bank tomorrow morning. Just for a laugh. Ned Sparks'll fall off his
-high stool when he sees it."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll give you three and a half for it," I said.</p>
-
-<p>But I was already turning away as he shook his head. I knew the only
-way to get a three dollar bill was to catch up with the little man.</p>
-
-<p>Outside the drugstore I looked up the street the way the little man had
-gone. He wasn't in sight. I saw the stop sign a block away, and hurried
-toward it.</p>
-
-<p>It was Lincoln Avenue, in a part of Evanston that was just like a
-small town set off by itself, downstate instead of a northern suburb
-of Chicago. I followed the directions the cashier had given the little
-man. Turn right two blocks.</p>
-
-<p>I still hadn't seen the little man by the time I reached the big white
-house with the four car garage. The house itself had one of those
-old colonial porches with six pillars holding up a porch roof with
-unnecessary solidity. Between the pillars brightly lit huge windows
-brought a clear view of the interior.</p>
-
-<p>A party of some sort was going on. That's the way it looked. People
-standing in small groups holding glasses.</p>
-
-<p>I hesitated. I wanted a three dollar bill, but was it worth it, to go
-up to the door and ask for someone I didn't know? I decided it was, and
-went up the walk as though I belonged there.</p>
-
-<p>Beside the huge door was a button. I pushed it, and heard a series of
-chimes ring out. A few seconds later the massive door swung open and a
-middle aged man with a jovial expression said, "Come in, come in. I'm
-George Wile. Sarah's somewhere. What's your name? Sorry I can't keep
-track of all of Sarah's friends."</p>
-
-<p>"Ben Smith," I said, stepping inside.</p>
-
-<p>"Sarah'll show up in a minute," George Wile said, and promptly forgot
-me.</p>
-
-<p>That was okay by me. I stood by the door looking around, trying to spot
-the little man. A gorgeous young thing held a tray in front of my face
-until I took a tall glass that contained, I discovered, an excellent
-Tom Collins.</p>
-
-<p>I couldn't see the little man anywhere. I mosied across the room to the
-archway to another room where there were more people. He wasn't there
-either.</p>
-
-<p>A distinguished appearing man seemed to be the center of attraction
-here. I edged into the crowd around him and finally deduced that he had
-earlier given a book review or lecture or something, and this was the
-refreshment period before everyone went home.</p>
-
-<p>Still no sign of the little man.</p>
-
-<p>Suddenly a sharp rapping sounded. I turned my head. A woman with a
-large bust was pounding a gavel on the small stand. Around me the buzz
-of conversation dropped off into silence.</p>
-
-<p>"Is there a Mr. Ben Smith here?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"He's here somewhere, Sarah," George Wile's voice sounded loudly.
-"Where are you, Ben old boy?"</p>
-
-<p>I was too startled to speak for a second or two. Then I said, "Yes!"</p>
-
-<p>Sarah Fish separated me from the crowd with her eyes, then came toward
-me. There seemed to be concern, a mixture of pity, and something else
-in her expression. When she reached me she said in a low voice, "Please
-come with me, Mr. Smith."</p>
-
-<p>No one was paying attention to us. The conversational murmur was
-on again. I followed her into the front room and around to a door
-underneath the stairs that arched up to a balcony.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>She opened the door and stood aside for me to go in. There was still
-that strange something in her expression. I tried to place it, then
-went past her into the room.</p>
-
-<p>The little man was there, standing across the room against a back-drop
-of shelves filled with books. His piercing eyes flicked at me. Then he
-lifted his arm and examined his wristwatch.</p>
-
-<p>"Right on the second," he said, a shade of disappointment in his tone.
-"I'd hoped this time you'd be off a few seconds." He lowered his arm
-and advanced toward me, hand outstretched politely. "I'm Sam Golfin,"
-he said. "I want to ask you some questions, Benny. And this time I hope
-I get the right answers."</p>
-
-<p>I ignored his hand. "How'd you know my name?" I demanded. "How'd you
-know I came here?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh dear," Sarah Fish said. "I <i>don't</i> know how to tell him, Sam.
-You'll have to."</p>
-
-<p>Sam Golfin gave her a sympathetic glance, then looked grim. "This
-time," he said, fixing me with a stare, "I'm not going to try to spare
-your feelings. In—" He studied his watch again. "—exactly one hour
-and seventeen minutes you are going to be murdered. A man doesn't just
-get murdered without knowing who might have done it, who his enemies
-are. Someone in this house is going to kill you. <i>Who is it?</i>"</p>
-
-<p>"You see," Sarah Fish said, her bosom expanding in an anxious breath,
-"you <i>must</i> tell us who did it."</p>
-
-<p>I stared at them both, then gave what I intended to be a derisive
-laugh, but it sounded thin. "What makes you think I'm going to be
-murdered?" I said.</p>
-
-<p>"For one thing," Sam Golfin said cautiously, "it's in tomorrow's
-papers."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, I see," I said sarcastically.</p>
-
-<p>"I know you must think I'm joking...." Golfin said.</p>
-
-<p>"Hardly," I said. And it was the truth. I thought he was crazy.</p>
-
-<p>"I'm glad you don't," Sam Golfin said with relief. "Every minute counts
-if we are to save you."</p>
-
-<p>"Save me?" I mocked. "But I thought you said it was in the papers. So
-it must be true."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm not so sure," Golfin said with an important frown. "I'm not so
-sure the future can't be altered. That's why I'm here. I want to see if
-I can change the future. If I can...." He left whatever thought he was
-toying with unspoken.</p>
-
-<p>A sudden thought shattered my amused point of view. That three dollar
-bill. It had been a <i>Series of 1964</i>, something utterly absurd by
-itself. But coupled with Sam Golfin's obvious conviction that I was
-going to be murdered, and his talk of changing the future, it made a
-pattern that made me suddenly uneasy.</p>
-
-<p>"Why would anyone here kill me?" I asked with a defiance that covered
-my unease. "I don't even know anyone here. As a matter of fact, the
-reason I came here was to—"</p>
-
-<p>"But someone here knows you," Golfin said. "And that someone knew you
-were going to be here. The murder was—will be—carefully planned."</p>
-
-<p>"Just how am I going to be murdered?" I asked, not grinning.</p>
-
-<p>"The coroner's report says that you were—will be—poisoned," Golfin
-said.</p>
-
-<p>I thought of the Tom Collins, and my stomach turned over.</p>
-
-<p>"A venom," Golfin went on, "injected by means of a pin or needle. The
-coroner found—will find, that is—a small puncture in the small of
-your back on the right side, with some of the venom still imbedded,
-along with the paste."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," I said. "I'm getting out of
-here." I turned toward the door.</p>
-
-<p>"Wait!" Sarah Fish said. "Mr. Golfin says it will happen when you try
-to leave."</p>
-
-<p>My momentum left me as my hand touched the doorknob. It flowed out of
-me. I turned around and faced them.</p>
-
-<p>"Just how do you know all this?" I said, glaring at the little man.</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose I had better tell you," he said. "I'm <i>Dr.</i> Golfin."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh," I said.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>He reached into his breast pocket and extracted an expensive leather
-billfold. Looking quite important for his size, he took out a card and
-extended it to me.</p>
-
-<p>"My specialty is—has been," he said, "amnesiacs. I've made a life
-study of them."</p>
-
-<p>I looked at the card. It gave the name, Dr. S. L. Golfin, and an
-address on Wabash, Chicago.</p>
-
-<p>"The phenomenon of amnesia interested me," he went on. "A person
-suddenly can't remember anything. Perhaps years later memory returns,
-but there is a gap. Why?"</p>
-
-<p>He smiled at me triumphantly. Sarah Fish nodded sagely.</p>
-
-<p>"Because...." Golfin lifted his left arm with a flourish and inspected
-his watch. "One hour and three minutes," he said quietly. Then,
-"That was the question I asked myself. Why? Unfortunately amnesia is
-rather rare. The few genuine cases didn't give me enough opportunity
-to find the answer. I did, however, arrive at several theories about
-it. And finally I came to the conclusion that amnesia is part of a
-larger field. I expanded my research to include other phenomena
-such as prophetic dreams. I was sure I was on the right track, but
-unfortunately it was impossible to study a person in the process of
-having a prophetic dream."</p>
-
-<p>"I can see that," I said sympathetically.</p>
-
-<p>"Exactly," Golfin said, blinking up at me. "However, I asked myself,
-'Of the several theories, wouldn't the one that also accounts for
-prophetic dreams be the more probable one?' And of course it's well
-known that the more a theory explains, the more probable it is of being
-true."</p>
-
-<p>"Not always," I ventured.</p>
-
-<p>He pondered this, then looked at his watch again. "Fifty-three
-minutes," he said.</p>
-
-<p>I swallowed.</p>
-
-<p>"But how do amnesia and prophetic dreams tie together?" I asked.</p>
-
-<p>"They are basically the same phenomenon," Golfin said, "with one
-important difference. In amnesia the conscious mind jumps over a period
-of time and stays there, going on in normal fashion. In prophetic
-dreams it does the same, <i>except that it returns to its starting
-point</i>."</p>
-
-<p>I glanced at Sarah Fish. She was listening intently. It occurred to me
-that she hadn't heard any of this before either. She was the congenial
-type. Undoubtedly when Golfin had sprung this murder business on her
-she hadn't asked questions.</p>
-
-<p>"Now do you see what I'm getting at?" Golfin said. "The mechanism must
-be the same in both instances. An underlying mechanism. In amnesia a
-person may suffer a brain injury, or a person may be under a terrific
-compulsion to escape the present. In either case the person jumps over
-a period of days or years in, seemingly, an instant—and refuses to
-return. In prophetic dreams the person jumps into the future to an
-instant when something crucial is taking place, and returns to the
-present with memory of it."</p>
-
-<p>I looked at my own watch and said, "Any other time I would like to
-listen, but what are you driving at?"</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>He frowned and glanced at his watch. "Forty-one minutes," he said.
-"This is what I'm driving at. If I could discover the mechanism by
-which the mind leaps into the future, and returns, I would have a
-means of doing that myself. I could, possibly, go to tomorrow and
-buy a newspaper and see what it says, and return to today with that
-knowledge."</p>
-
-<p>"I see now!" Sarah Fish said, quivering with excitement. "That's how
-you learned that Mr. Smith is to be murdered!"</p>
-
-<p>"So you did discover a way?" I said.</p>
-
-<p>"I did. That's why I'm here. For some time now I have been going into
-the future at will, and also into the past. I've learned how to control
-it, the length of time I stay there, and just how far into the future
-or the past I go."</p>
-
-<p>"It sounds good," I admitted. "How could you change things?"</p>
-
-<p>He glanced at his watch worriedly. "We haven't much time," he said.
-"A little over half an hour. What I want to do is this. I have the
-instruments with me to send you into the future to the moment you
-are dying. I want you to go there and see if you don't know then
-who killed you, and how. You will return to the present moment with
-that knowledge, and be able to avoid death. At least—" He smiled
-encouragingly. "At least I hope you will."</p>
-
-<p>"And if I don't?"</p>
-
-<p>He shrugged. "This is my first serious attempt to change the past.
-Sooner or later I will succeed." He had reached into his breast pocket
-again. Now he brought out something like a fat fountain pen.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know," I said uneasily. "You sure this doesn't hurt?"</p>
-
-<p>He unscrewed the end of the thing. There was a short hollow needle on
-it, with what looked like a trigger that had swung out into position
-against the side.</p>
-
-<p>"I've used it on myself many times," he said. He started toward me.</p>
-
-<p>"Wait a minute," I said, backing up a step and holding up my hand.
-"This is going to take me up to the instant I'm dying?"</p>
-
-<p>"That's right," he said, "and I want you to try, in that single instant
-you are there, to find out who did it. Think where you were when it
-happened, and who might have done it."</p>
-
-<p>"You sure it won't kill me?" I asked.</p>
-
-<p>He took another step toward me. "Of course not," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"Wait a minute," I said, backing up against a bookcase to get away from
-him. "Why didn't you go farther ahead in time and read in the papers
-who did it? Wouldn't that have been the best way?"</p>
-
-<p>For a brief instant his eyes flashed with what seemed to me to be
-madness. I thought of the three dollar bill. The guy was crazy. It
-had to be that. He'd been using the stuff on himself. Whatever it was
-it had affected his mind. He imagined he could send his mind into the
-future. Or maybe—</p>
-
-<p>I remembered suddenly why I was here. I had followed Golfin in the
-hopes of getting one of those three dollar bills. That made it a
-vicious circle. Sure. It was <i>he</i> who was going to murder me, if
-anyone was. Those other people didn't know me. And he said I was going
-to be poisoned by venom on a pin or needle—<i>or was it going to be a
-hypodermic needle</i>?</p>
-
-<p>"Don't be afraid, Mr. Smith," Golfin purred. "It's the only hope of
-saving your life. Your murder was never solved."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, it is, is it?" I gritted. I snaked out with my hand and wrapped
-my fingers around the wrist of the hand that held the needle. "Give me
-that thing," I said.</p>
-
-<p>He struggled. He had a lot of strength for a little man. He pivoted
-around and tried to pull his wrist free. With his other hand he tried
-to get hold of the needle. I kept shaking his wrist to keep him from
-doing it.</p>
-
-<p>Then I remembered his expensive billfold. It probably had the three
-dollar bills in it. I simply reached into his breast pocket and
-appropriated it. He didn't know it was gone.</p>
-
-<p>A second later, with a loud grunt, he twisted violently in a last
-effort to get free. I heard a sharp snap, and at the same time I felt a
-sharp pain stab into me.</p>
-
-<p>It was in the small of my back on the right side. <i>The small of my back
-on the right side!</i></p>
-
-<p>I let go of his wrist. He was just starting to jerk again, and my
-letting go made him stagger backwards and fall against the bookcase on
-the far wall. He didn't even know his gadget had gone off!</p>
-
-<p>I did, though. And a strange fatalism was seeping into me, like the
-emotional effect of a drug. A numbness was beginning to make itself
-felt along my right side.</p>
-
-<p>Sarah Fish was staring at me, her eyes large and round. Not like a fish
-though. Too human, too full of concern and sympathy. Maybe she had seen
-the needle stick me....</p>
-
-<p>Funny ... Golfin came here convinced in his own insane way that he was
-going to prevent a murder. If he hadn't come, I wouldn't have come
-either. And if he hadn't come, there wouldn't have been a corpse....</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I looked around until I found the door, and headed toward it. My right
-leg dragged a little as I walked. And I didn't need to go into the
-future to know what was going to happen. I would make it to the door.
-Sure. I would open it, and walk through the crowd outside toward the
-front door. Before I got there I would die. Golfin would never know,
-maybe, that it was his drug that had killed me. Sarah Fish, convinced
-by the way it happened that Golfin had been right, would insist to the
-police that I was okay when I left her.</p>
-
-<p>I could stop right where I was and die in this room. My hand gripped
-the doorknob and twisted, and the door opened. And I knew I wasn't
-going to stay in this room. I was going to try to get to the front door.</p>
-
-<p>My whole right side was numb now. I had to walk slowly. Even then I
-wasn't sure of my next step. And with each step the massive front door
-seemed farther away.</p>
-
-<p><i>I wasn't going to make it.</i></p>
-
-<p>I bumped into someone—or someone bumped into me. I jerked my head
-around with a snarl starting on my lips. It was George Wile.</p>
-
-<p>"Sorry old boy," he apologized. "I didn't see you."</p>
-
-<p>I blinked at him, an idea forming. Maybe if I could change
-something—any little thing—I could save myself. What could I change?
-I didn't know, because I didn't know whether even the change I might
-make would be part of the future. Still....</p>
-
-<p>"'Sall right, ol' boy," I said, bumping against him. And my hands moved
-fast. My own wallet went into his pocket, and his went into mine.</p>
-
-<p>I stepped back, grinning. I had at least done something to confuse the
-issues. I would leave that puzzle behind me. It wouldn't fool anyone
-though, because they would know who I was. Sarah Fish and Sam Golfin.</p>
-
-<p>My heart was starting to pound painfully. Panic flooded into me. I had
-to reach that front door. I had to! It was already open, and people
-were going through it, leaving the party. The distinguished appearing
-man was standing there shaking hands with them as they left.</p>
-
-<p>Where was I supposed to drop dead? I wished I had asked Golfin that. I
-took another step, and another. And, unbelieving, I was at the door.</p>
-
-<p>"Glad you could be here," the distinguished appearing man said,
-gripping my hand and letting it go.</p>
-
-<p>He had turned to the next person, and I was standing there, my heart
-pounding, expecting to drop. Somebody pushed against me gently and
-said, "Pardon me." I put my hand on the door frame and put one foot
-over the threshold. I was still standing.</p>
-
-<p>I let go the door frame and put the other foot over the threshold. I
-was standing on the porch. I sucked in a breath. It was too good to be
-true. There was a catch to it somewhere. But—</p>
-
-<p>I took another step. Eager haste possessed me. I took quick steps off
-the porch. I was on the sidewalk. I was still alive!</p>
-
-<p>And somewhere I had lost the numbness in my side.</p>
-
-<p>Around me people were getting in their cars, the doors slamming shut
-softly. I glanced over my shoulder. More people were coming out of the
-house.</p>
-
-<p>I waited for no more. Almost running, I went the two blocks to the stop
-sign and turned toward the drugstore.</p>
-
-<p>"Made it," I said under my voice as I pushed open the door and went in.
-I slid into the same seat I had occupied before. The same counter girl
-took my order for coffee. "Black this time," I said. "And where's my
-paper?"</p>
-
-<p>My heart wasn't pounding any more. I was still shaky, but there wasn't
-a chance of my dying. Not a chance. I grinned to myself.</p>
-
-<p>My coffee came. Also a paper. I sipped the coffee and tried to get
-interested in the paper. But I kept going back to what had happened.</p>
-
-<p>Then I heard the sound of police sirens. They approached until they
-were just outside. I looked out and saw the police cars turn the
-corner, going in the direction of the house where I had been.</p>
-
-<p>So someone had died after all!</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I reached under my coat and touched the spot where the needle had
-struck me. It was a little sore, but not enough to bother me.</p>
-
-<p>Who had been killed? George Wile? Suddenly I remembered the exchange
-of wallets I had made. I reached into my hip pocket and took out his
-wallet.</p>
-
-<p>I looked in the money compartment and saw I had enriched myself by
-twenty dollars. Grinning, I looked in another pocket of the wallet.
-There was a package of needles. My grin wiped off. They were ordinary
-sewing needles. But the pointed ends were covered with what seemed to
-be gray paint.</p>
-
-<p>The counter girl was at the far end scrubbing the counter. The baldish
-cashier was on the other side of the store behind a counter, waiting on
-a man and a woman. I took Golfin's billfold and quickly thumbed through
-it.</p>
-
-<p>There were several of the three dollar bills. There were two ones. And
-there were five twenty dollar bills. I shoved all the money into my
-pocket except one of the three dollar bills.</p>
-
-<p>I made sure no one was looking my way, and dropped Golfin's billfold
-on the floor, kicking it under the counter behind me in the center
-aisle where it wouldn't be found unless the janitor swept under there.
-I decided to do the same with Wile's. After all, if Sam Golfin were
-right, and there was a murder, I didn't want a couple of strange
-wallets on me. Nor those coated needles.</p>
-
-<p>I looked at the three dollar bill in my hand. It was like that other
-one. Picture of Truman on it, atomic mushroom on the other side, with
-the atom superimposed. I squinted at the fine print. <i>Series of 1958.</i></p>
-
-<p>That made me frown. Why would someone bother to change the date on
-phony money? And it was too nice a job of engraving for such a thing
-too.</p>
-
-<p>I thought of one of the tests for good money. I rubbed the three dollar
-bill against the margin of the newspaper. Some of the ink came off.</p>
-
-<p>The wild theory Golfin had fed me was tame compared to what I was
-beginning to suspect. I took out the rest of his money and picked out a
-twenty dollar bill. Putting the rest back in my pocket, I studied the
-twenty. I rubbed it against the margin of the newspaper. Ink came off.
-It was genuine money.</p>
-
-<p>Taking a deep breath, I squinted at the fine print. <i>Series of 1964.</i></p>
-
-<p>I looked at the rest of the money I had taken from Golfin. The two ones
-were okay. All the rest had dates in the future. I knew money. I could
-spot a phony bill a block away. It was real money.</p>
-
-<p>Either a master counterfeiter had—Another thought struck me. I
-compared the serial numbers of the bills. All different. That clinched
-it. They weren't phony.</p>
-
-<p>That meant that Golfin was <i>actually from the future himself</i>. Then why
-had he given me and Sarah Fish that story about prophetic dreams and
-amnesia? I thought about that a bit and nodded to myself. He wanted to
-give us something we could believe. We wouldn't have believed a raw
-statement that he was from the future. Those three dollar bills....</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>The more I thought about them the less they seemed like a gag. I tried
-to recall every detail of Golfin's passing it when he bought his
-cigarettes. He hadn't done it like he was pulling a gag. He had taken
-his change and walked out. He didn't know he had done anything wrong.
-He had assumed a three dollar bill was used here—or now, rather.</p>
-
-<p>My coffee was cold. The girl was looking at me as if she wanted to
-close up. I smiled at her and tossed a quarter on the counter and went
-out on the sidewalk.</p>
-
-<p>I debated what to do. Should I forget the whole thing? Or should I take
-a walk back to Sarah Fish's house and see what was going on? I decided
-on the latter.</p>
-
-<p>Her house was dark. No police cars were there. That was not what I had
-expected. With a murder, there should be police cars, and the place
-should be lit up. Or maybe not. It had been an hour since I left the
-place.</p>
-
-<p>I went back to the drugstore and caught the bus down to the Davis
-Street El station. Riding on the elevated it occurred to me that maybe
-I'd better not go to my apartment. If the police had gotten my wallet
-from George Wile they might be waiting for me.</p>
-
-<p>I decided to rent a room for the night and wait until morning. Then
-I changed my mind. If I went back to my room I could claim Wile had
-picked <i>my</i> pocket. If the police were looking for me they would
-eventually get me anyway, since I already had a record of three arrests
-for this and that.</p>
-
-<p>I sighed and relaxed, and after a while the train dipped down into the
-subway, and I got off and had a late snack at the corner cafeteria.</p>
-
-<p>It was almost midnight when I climbed the stairs to my apartment. When
-I opened the door the phone was ringing. I turned on the light and
-closed the door, and answered it.</p>
-
-<p>"Ben Smith?" a strange voice said. "This is George Wile."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh," I said. I did some quick thinking. "Oh!" I said in a different
-tone. "I remember you. How'd you know my number. Did you find my
-wallet? That must be it. I lost it. Thanks a lot for calling me about
-it. I'll meet you tomorrow and get it back."</p>
-
-<p>"It was in my pocket," he said coldly. "And my own was missing. I want
-it back."</p>
-
-<p>"Yours was missing?" I said. "Hey, wait a minute. If you think I got
-it you're crazy. Somebody played a trick on us. There must have been a
-pickpocket at Sarah Fish's tonight."</p>
-
-<p>"There was," he said coldly. "You. I took the trouble of calling the
-police and found out. I want my wallet and I want it tonight."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't have it. No kidding." I said worriedly. "I'm handing you the
-straight goods. By the way, what happened after I left? I heard the
-police sirens."</p>
-
-<p>"Someone had called them and said there was a murder. They were pretty
-sore about it."</p>
-
-<p>"And there wasn't? Ha Ha?" I said.</p>
-
-<p>"Quit stalling, Smith," Wile said. "I want my wallet back. And
-everything in it."</p>
-
-<p>"Haven't got it," I said.</p>
-
-<p>A long sigh came over the phone.</p>
-
-<p>"All right," Wile said. "I sort of expected this. I'll give you five
-hundred dollars for it."</p>
-
-<p>I took the phone from my face and stared at it, thinking. Talking
-sounds came from the receiver. I put it back to my ear and said, "Come
-again? I didn't hear you."</p>
-
-<p>"You heard me all right," Wile said. "Okay, I can get you two thousand
-dollars from the bank tomorrow. Meet me at eleven o'clock at State and
-Washington, northeast corner."</p>
-
-<p>"Okay," I said. "Be sure and bring me <i>my</i> wallet."</p>
-
-<p>"I will," he said smoothly. His tone became worried. "Is my wallet in a
-<i>safe</i> place?"</p>
-
-<p>"Sure," I said, thinking of the spot under the counter where I had slid
-it with my foot. "You don't need to worry about it at all."</p>
-
-<p>The line was dead. I realized suddenly that he had trapped me into an
-admission that I had his wallet.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>This wasn't the same as a little light finger work on a crowded train,
-or getting a rubber check chased, or any of the many things I did when
-the opportunity arose, to pay my rent. Wile didn't just want these
-poison needles back. He was planning to kill me to keep me quiet. But
-he wanted the needles and his wallet back too. First.</p>
-
-<p>I thought of Golfin and his reading in the papers that I had been
-murdered, and it wasn't funny. I locked the door and wedged a chair
-under the knob. Wile now knew for sure I was the one who had his
-wallet. He could be on his way down to kill me right now.</p>
-
-<p>I started packing.</p>
-
-<p>It wasn't until I was almost packed that I suddenly became aware of
-someone standing behind me. I jerked around in alarm. It was Sam Golfin.</p>
-
-<p>"How'd you get in here?" I blurted out.</p>
-
-<p>"I've been waiting here ever since tomorrow," he said. "I had to see
-you."</p>
-
-<p>I grinned at him thinly. "I didn't get murdered at Sarah's after all,"
-I remarked dryly.</p>
-
-<p>"No, thank God," Golfin said. "It proves that the past <i>can</i> be
-changed. I'd hoped it could." He frowned. "But unfortunately in
-preventing your murder at Sarah's a new future came into existence. I
-have to do it all over again."</p>
-
-<p>"What do you mean?" I asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Tomorrow when I came to see you, you were in here—dead. The door was
-unlocked. That's how I got in."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh fine!" I snorted. "See what I'm doing? I'm packing. In another five
-minutes I'll be on my way to parts unknown."</p>
-
-<p>"I only wish that were true," Golfin said sadly.</p>
-
-<p>"Look," I said. "I wish you'd get out and leave me alone. You want to
-know why I almost got killed last night?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I do," Golfin said. "That's something the police couldn't find
-out—in that other future, I mean."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll tell you," I said. "I didn't know anything about Sarah Fish's
-place. I probably would never have gone there except for you. You
-bought a pack of cigarettes in the drugstore. Remember?"</p>
-
-<p>Golfin blinked his eyes, then nodded.</p>
-
-<p>"You paid for them with a three dollar bill."</p>
-
-<p>"What is wrong with that?" Golfin asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing," I said slowly, "except that there aren't any three dollar
-bills."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh dear me," Golfin said. "Of course there aren't. It completely
-slipped my mind!"</p>
-
-<p>"I wanted one of those three dollar bills," I said. "The druggist
-wouldn't let me have the one you left, so I went to Sarah Fish's place
-to find you and get one."</p>
-
-<p>A knock sounded at the door.</p>
-
-<p>"It's the man who's going to kill you," Sam said.</p>
-
-<p>"And there isn't any other way out of here," I said. "How are you going
-to get me out of this one?"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know," he mused. He looked from me to the door, his eyes
-thoughtful. "I'm beginning to see something," he said. "It's very
-interesting. So you went to the Fish residence because of me. Hmmm. I
-wonder.... It doesn't seem possible, but...."</p>
-
-<p>"What doesn't seem possible?" I asked.</p>
-
-<p>He smiled apologetically. "There really isn't anything that can be done
-about that man in the hall." The knocking was repeated, more loudly.
-"And this future is quite hopeless for you...."</p>
-
-<p>Whoever was in the hall was trying some kind of key in the lock.</p>
-
-<p>"If I owned a gun it wouldn't be," I said, watching the door bend in
-under pressure from outside.</p>
-
-<p>"If you only knew who it was!" Golfin groaned.</p>
-
-<p>"But I do!" I said.</p>
-
-<p>"You said at Sarah's that you didn't," Golfin snapped.</p>
-
-<p>"I didn't, then," I said. Quickly I told him about George Wile and the
-package of poisoned needles. "He's obviously planning on murdering
-someone. Maybe at Sarah's last night," I concluded hastily, my eye on
-the door. "My switching wallets with him stopped that. Now he's got to
-kill me before he can go ahead with this other murder, or I could put
-the finger on him."</p>
-
-<p>"Why—didn't—you—say—so—before?" Golfin said, glaring at me with
-annoyance.</p>
-
-<p>The door splintered a little, the noise sounding like a shot. I took my
-eyes off Golfin to look, and when I looked back Golfin was darting at
-me, his hypodermic gadget in his hand and what looked like murder in
-his eye.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I tried to grab his wrist. This time he was too fast for me. He evaded
-my clutch and was behind me before I could turn. I felt a sharp pain
-stab at the base of my skull. I started to turn. The room blurred as a
-wave of dizziness swept over me....</p>
-
-<p>"Here's your coffee, sir."</p>
-
-<p>I looked at the girl behind the counter, then down at my newspaper.
-"Thanks," I said. My stomach felt funny. I felt just like a guy I knew
-once who had a premonition he was going to die. Heartburn, I decided
-hastily. But I felt nervous.</p>
-
-<p>I took a sip of the hot coffee and tried to concentrate on the paper.
-Then I became aware of the little man. I felt instantly I had seen him
-someplace before, but I couldn't place him.</p>
-
-<p>"A package of Camels," he said to the cashier.</p>
-
-<p>"That will be twenty cents," the baldish cashier said.</p>
-
-<p>The little man handed him a bill he had been holding in his hand. "By
-the way," he said smoothly as the cashier glanced at it, "could you
-tell me the way to Sarah Fish's residence?"</p>
-
-<p>The little man glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He seemed
-to know me, but gave no sign of recognition. The cashier was giving
-him directions. I was listening, but I was trying to puzzle out the
-strange feeling that I had been through all this before. And it wasn't
-until the little man had left that it seeped into my consciousness that
-something was queer about that bill.</p>
-
-<p>"Hey!" I said to the cashier. "What kind of bill did that little guy
-give you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why, a—a—Oh good Lord."</p>
-
-<p>We examined it together. It was a three dollar bill. And instead of
-surprise, I felt the jaws of a trap closing in on me. I listened to the
-cashier babble about playing gags on his friends with it. A part of me
-wanted to turn my back on the whole thing and forget it.</p>
-
-<p>But some force pulled me in the direction the little man had gone. As
-I walked I relaxed. I shrugged off the strange feeling I had. I told
-myself I didn't believe in premonitions.</p>
-
-<p>A party of some sort was in full swing at the Sarah Fish place. I
-nodded to myself. I could go in and mix with the crowd. I could pick
-this little man's pocket. Maybe a few more. The worst that could happen
-would be that they wouldn't let me in.</p>
-
-<p>Beside the huge door was a button. I pressed it and heard a series of
-chimes ring out. A few seconds later the door swung open and a middle
-aged man with a jovial expression said, "Come in, come in. I'm George
-Wile. Sarah's somewhere. What's your name? Sorry I can't keep track of
-all Sarah's friends."</p>
-
-<p>"Ben Smith," I said, stepping inside.</p>
-
-<p>"Sarah'll show up in a minute," George Wile said, and promptly forgot
-me. That was okay by me. I had taken an instant dislike to him.</p>
-
-<p>I stood near the door looking around, trying to spot the little man.
-A gorgeous young thing held a tray in front of my face until I took a
-tall glass that contained, I discovered, an excellent Tom Collins.</p>
-
-<p>Suddenly I saw the little man. He was at the edge of the group
-surrounding a distinguished appearing man who was talking. I edged over
-near the crowd and sized things up. It would be a cinch.</p>
-
-<p>I crowded against the little man, then jerked as though someone had
-shoved me. At the same time my free hand snaked in and got his wallet.</p>
-
-<p>"Sorry," I murmured. "Someone pushed me."</p>
-
-<p>The little man looked up at me and smiled. And I had a strange feeling
-that he had been expecting it. I could have sworn he even knew I had
-his wallet, and was laughing at me.</p>
-
-<p>There was one obvious answer. He was a cop and he knew me. He'd take
-his time and get me with the goods. He didn't look like a cop but—</p>
-
-<p>I looked for him and he had disappeared.</p>
-
-<p>I tried to locate him, meanwhile sipping my Collins as though I
-belonged here. Then I did something I always do unconsciously as a
-matter of habit. I felt in my hip pocket to make sure my own wallet
-hadn't been stolen by some other pickpocket. It was gone!</p>
-
-<p>So that was it! The little man was a pickpocket. I thought I had seen
-him someplace before! I grinned suddenly, wondering if he had really
-missed his billfold yet.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I kept looking for him. Then things happened fast. I saw the little man
-sliding away from the man who had let me into the house. George Wile.
-I took a step after the little man. My eyes jerked back to George when
-he uttered a scream and clutched at his back. He fell forward, his arms
-and legs jerking.</p>
-
-<p>I pulled my eyes away, searching for the little man. A crowd was
-rushing around George Wile. I heard someone—a woman—scream, "My God!
-He's dead!"</p>
-
-<p>I saw the little man at the front door. He slipped out as I pushed
-through the crowd toward him. I went as fast as I dared. When I reached
-the sidewalk I saw him running toward the drugstore.</p>
-
-<p>I ran after him, gaining rapidly. He looked over his shoulder and saw
-me. Then—</p>
-
-<p>He just vanished. Right in front of my eyes. He couldn't have darted
-off the walk into the bushes.</p>
-
-<p>I stopped, not believing my eyes, and started searching the lawns
-carefully. A couple of minutes later I heard sirens coming toward this
-part of town.</p>
-
-<p>I hid between two houses and watched the police cars pull up in front
-of Sarah Fish's place. Then I went to the bus line.</p>
-
-<p>A few hours later, after a lot of riding around town I climbed up to
-the sidewalk from the subway. A night extra was being shouted.</p>
-
-<p>"Big murdah in Evanston!"</p>
-
-<p>And I knew before I read the paper that it would give my name as the
-murdered man. Premonition. I was beginning to believe in it now.</p>
-
-<p>I went to an all night cafe and ordered a hamburger plate and read the
-paper. They had identified the victim by the wallet they found on him.
-My wallet, of course. And that meant that the little man had planted it
-on him and then killed him. With a poisoned needle the papers said.</p>
-
-<p>Why?</p>
-
-<p>I gave up trying to figure it out after a while and went to my
-apartment. I had made up my mind to get out of town. They might find
-out the victim's real identity, and then they would come looking for me
-to find out why my wallet was on him.</p>
-
-<p>I locked the door and began packing clothes into a suitcase. I became
-aware after a while of someone standing behind me. I jerked around in
-alarm. It was the little man.</p>
-
-<p>"You!" I blurted. "How'd you get in here?" I doubled a fist and started
-toward him. He had killed a man and planted my wallet on the corpse.</p>
-
-<p>Then, suddenly, a queer distortion blanketed my mind. I had a strange
-conviction that things were happening just the way they had happened
-before—many times before—only not at different times, but this very
-instant.</p>
-
-<p>Abruptly, like a veil drawing away from a window, the distortion
-vanished. With preternatural clarity everything that had happened
-flooded into memory.</p>
-
-<p>"Good!" Golfin said. "I see the time-lines have emerged as true
-memories. And this time I saved your life."</p>
-
-<p>"You think so?" I snarled. "The police will be after me by morning.
-They'll pin the murder on me—the murder <i>you</i> committed."</p>
-
-<p>He was shaking his head. "I didn't kill George Wile. Let me explain
-what happened. But go on with your packing. I can talk while you work."</p>
-
-<p>I nodded.</p>
-
-<p>"In the first time-line," Golfin said, "the one I started out to
-investigate, you were actually killed. I know now how it happened. You
-see, Sarah Fish is a blackmailer. George Wile was one of her victims.
-To get out of her clutches he had planned on killing her. It was a
-perfect setup for him. Several of her blackmail victims were there.
-All he had to do was stick her with the poisoned needle and sit back.
-Nothing could be pinned on him. Motive? A dozen of those present had
-equal motives.</p>
-
-<p>"But you were there. A pickpocket. You lifted his wallet. He wouldn't
-have felt your light touch ordinarily, but he was acutely conscious of
-those spare poisoned needles. He had one in his fingers. Within a few
-moments Sarah would have been killed. You changed things. He killed you
-instead, and in the excitement stole back his wallet. And of course he
-didn't go through with his original plan to kill Sarah Fish. And also
-of course, the police never solved your murder. That's why I chose it
-in my first attempt to change the past. It was an ideal mystery. I
-could solve it and at the same time save your life.</p>
-
-<p>"I went into the past and watched your every move. But George Wile was
-too smart. Even watching I couldn't find out who had done it. So I went
-back into the past again and began my great experiment, <i>an attempt to
-alter what has already happened</i>.</p>
-
-<p>"I succeeded—but not the way I had hoped. There is an inertia to
-events. That inertia in events made you steal his wallet the second
-time—and plant your own on him. You left before he discovered the
-switch. He came after you to kill you here. It was then you gave me the
-identity of your killer. After that I went back to my original point
-again. At the proper time I did what you had done. I picked George
-Wile's pocket. He felt me do it. Again—the inertia of events—he
-tried to stick me with the poisoned needle. But I was ready for him. I
-deflected his hand and shoved. He stuck himself."</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Golfin grinned. "Sure I planted your wallet on him. But who can say
-whether it was my own free will or the inertia of events that made me
-do it? The morning papers will carry the story exactly the same as it
-was in the first time-line. A tremendous inertia of a single event."</p>
-
-<p>"But what about me?" I said wildly. "The police will check. They'll
-know he isn't me."</p>
-
-<p>Golfin shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. "My guess is that Sarah will
-identify him as you and keep quiet. To protect her racket, George
-will be buried as Ben Smith. George Wile's relatives will report him
-missing. He'll never be found. 'Your' murder will remain unsolved."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm getting out anyway," I said. "I don't want to chance it."</p>
-
-<p>"Then why not come with me?" Golfin said. "Now that I know I can change
-the past I'm going to start doing it in earnest."</p>
-
-<p>"Go with you?" I said.</p>
-
-<p>"You could work for me," Golfin said persuasively. "I would pay you
-far more than you average picking pockets, and it would be far more
-exciting work."</p>
-
-<p>"Say...." I said thoughtfully. "That's not a bad idea. I guess I owe
-you something, too, for saving my life." I nodded. "Okay. But where do
-we go?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not where," Sam Golfin said. "To when. We're going to my present—a
-future year not too far removed from 1954."</p>
-
-<p>He took out his hypodermic gadget and came toward me. I retreated
-a step, then stood still, the palms of my hands suddenly wet with
-perspiration.</p>
-
-<p>"Good boy," he said. "It won't hurt much."</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I went into the drugstore and up to the cigar counter. "A pack of
-Camels," I said to the cashier. I took out a three dollar bill and
-handed it to him as he slid the pack toward me.</p>
-
-<p>"Fifty cents out of three dollars," he said absently.</p>
-
-<p>I nodded, thinking of the first time I had seen a three dollar bill.</p>
-
-<p>That was a long time ago, as time goes. Back in fifty-four. I was a
-pickpocket then, in case you want to know. Now—I'm working for Sam
-Golfin.</p>
-
-<p>Investigations. Any place, any Time.</p>
-
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+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Repeat Performance, by Rog Phillips. + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} + +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66210 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + +<h1>REPEAT PERFORMANCE</h1> + +<h2>By Rog Phillips</h2> + +<p>The little man knew Ben had been murdered;<br /> +the trouble was, Ben was still alive! Could the<br /> +future be wrong—or merely a dress rehearsal?</p> + +<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> +Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> +January 1954<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>The pounding at the door woke me up. I groped for the light. It flooded +the room, erasing the glow of the afternoon sun through the drapes. The +clock said three-thirty.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Benny! Open up!" a gruff voice ordered.</p> + +<p>I groaned as I recognized the voice. As I went to the door I hastily +reviewed last night's activities. Two wallets on the subway that had +netted seventeen bucks, one in an elevator at the Morrison that had +added forty-five bucks. An all night crap game near the Wilson El that +had nearly cleaned me....</p> + +<p>"Come in, Calahan," I said cheerfully to the cop. "A social visit—I +hope?"</p> + +<p>Calahan grinned mirthlessly at my little joke. I got dressed. An hour +later I was shoved into line with a dozen others. We knew what to do. +We walked single file onto the stage, then faced a screen. We couldn't +see beyond it because it was dark there, and floodlights from the floor +and the ceiling blinded us.</p> + +<p>"That's the man!" a woman's voice said excitedly.</p> + +<p>My stomach did a flip flop. Who did she mean? Me? I looked at the +others in the line-up. Joey North was looking sick. The others just +looked uneasy, like I felt. Poor Joey....</p> + +<p>On the sidewalk outside the station I lit a cigarette with shaking +fingers. I hated the whole system. They take you down in a car. You +walk home. If you get out. Suddenly I was sick of Chicago, and when I +get sick of Chicago I go somewhere.</p> + +<p>Night found me at the counter in a drugstore in Evanston. I was +beginning to feel better. I had a newspaper and a cup of coffee in +front of me.</p> + +<p>I'd read everything else, so I started reading the society stuff. A lot +of it was Evanston. A bosom-type matron smirked at me from one of the +pictures. Under the picture it said she was Mrs. Sarah Fish, Evanston +society leader. I started to read more. Then this little guy came into +the drugstore.</p> + +<p>"A package of Camels," he said to the cashier.</p> + +<p>He sensed my stare. I looked quickly down at my paper and casually took +a sip of coffee. But I wasn't interested in the news now. Out of the +corner of my eye I studied the little man. He wasn't more than five +feet tall, very slim, and very erect. I got the strange impression of +looking at a small giant. Then I realized what caused that impression. +It was his head. It was more the right size for a man six feet tall.</p> + +<p>"That will be twenty cents," the baldish cashier said.</p> + +<p>The little man handed him a bill he had been holding in his hand. "By +the way," he said as the cashier rang up the twenty cents, "Could you +tell me the way to the Sarah Fish residence?" I pricked up my ears at +that.</p> + +<p>"Why yes," the cashier said. "You go down to the stop sign and turn +right two blocks. It's the big white place set back from the street, +with a wide driveway that goes back to a four car garage. Let's see +now. That was twenty cents. Twenty-five, fifty, one. Two, three. There +you are. Don't forget, the big white house."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," the little man said.</p> + +<p>I watched him go to the door. It wasn't until he was out of sight that +I did a double take.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" I said to the cashier. "What kind of a bill did that little guy +give you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, a—a—Oh good Lord."</p> + +<p>I slid out of my seat at the counter and leaned over the cigar counter +as the cashier rang up a no sale. He picked out the bill and held it in +limp fingers. I took it and spread it on the glass counter.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was a three dollar bill. There was a picture of Truman on it. I +turned it over. On the back was a picture of an atomic mushroom cloud +with a series of ellipses interlocking to form the popular conception +of an atom.</p> + +<p>It looked like real money. It had the feel of real money.</p> + +<p>"Well," the cashier said philosophically. "I guess I'm out three +dollars. His talking was what threw me off."</p> + +<p>I picked up the three dollar bill and squinted at the fine print. It +said <i>Series of 1964</i>. The date on my newspaper on the counter beside +my cold coffee was April 5, 1954.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I'll do," I said. "I'll give you three dollars for +it."</p> + +<p>"Oh no!" the cashier said quickly. "I can't do that. The law says I +must turn all counterfeit money directly over to the nearest F.B.I. +office."</p> + +<p>"Sure," I soothed. "Sure, I know that. But this isn't the same thing. +A counterfeit is an imitation of real money—and there aren't any real +three dollar bills."</p> + +<p>The cashier chuckled suddenly. "By gollies you're right," he said. +"That means I can keep it. Think I will. I'm going to deposit it in the +bank tomorrow morning. Just for a laugh. Ned Sparks'll fall off his +high stool when he sees it."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you three and a half for it," I said.</p> + +<p>But I was already turning away as he shook his head. I knew the only +way to get a three dollar bill was to catch up with the little man.</p> + +<p>Outside the drugstore I looked up the street the way the little man had +gone. He wasn't in sight. I saw the stop sign a block away, and hurried +toward it.</p> + +<p>It was Lincoln Avenue, in a part of Evanston that was just like a +small town set off by itself, downstate instead of a northern suburb +of Chicago. I followed the directions the cashier had given the little +man. Turn right two blocks.</p> + +<p>I still hadn't seen the little man by the time I reached the big white +house with the four car garage. The house itself had one of those +old colonial porches with six pillars holding up a porch roof with +unnecessary solidity. Between the pillars brightly lit huge windows +brought a clear view of the interior.</p> + +<p>A party of some sort was going on. That's the way it looked. People +standing in small groups holding glasses.</p> + +<p>I hesitated. I wanted a three dollar bill, but was it worth it, to go +up to the door and ask for someone I didn't know? I decided it was, and +went up the walk as though I belonged there.</p> + +<p>Beside the huge door was a button. I pushed it, and heard a series of +chimes ring out. A few seconds later the massive door swung open and a +middle aged man with a jovial expression said, "Come in, come in. I'm +George Wile. Sarah's somewhere. What's your name? Sorry I can't keep +track of all of Sarah's friends."</p> + +<p>"Ben Smith," I said, stepping inside.</p> + +<p>"Sarah'll show up in a minute," George Wile said, and promptly forgot +me.</p> + +<p>That was okay by me. I stood by the door looking around, trying to spot +the little man. A gorgeous young thing held a tray in front of my face +until I took a tall glass that contained, I discovered, an excellent +Tom Collins.</p> + +<p>I couldn't see the little man anywhere. I mosied across the room to the +archway to another room where there were more people. He wasn't there +either.</p> + +<p>A distinguished appearing man seemed to be the center of attraction +here. I edged into the crowd around him and finally deduced that he had +earlier given a book review or lecture or something, and this was the +refreshment period before everyone went home.</p> + +<p>Still no sign of the little man.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a sharp rapping sounded. I turned my head. A woman with a +large bust was pounding a gavel on the small stand. Around me the buzz +of conversation dropped off into silence.</p> + +<p>"Is there a Mr. Ben Smith here?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"He's here somewhere, Sarah," George Wile's voice sounded loudly. +"Where are you, Ben old boy?"</p> + +<p>I was too startled to speak for a second or two. Then I said, "Yes!"</p> + +<p>Sarah Fish separated me from the crowd with her eyes, then came toward +me. There seemed to be concern, a mixture of pity, and something else +in her expression. When she reached me she said in a low voice, "Please +come with me, Mr. Smith."</p> + +<p>No one was paying attention to us. The conversational murmur was +on again. I followed her into the front room and around to a door +underneath the stairs that arched up to a balcony.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>She opened the door and stood aside for me to go in. There was still +that strange something in her expression. I tried to place it, then +went past her into the room.</p> + +<p>The little man was there, standing across the room against a back-drop +of shelves filled with books. His piercing eyes flicked at me. Then he +lifted his arm and examined his wristwatch.</p> + +<p>"Right on the second," he said, a shade of disappointment in his tone. +"I'd hoped this time you'd be off a few seconds." He lowered his arm +and advanced toward me, hand outstretched politely. "I'm Sam Golfin," +he said. "I want to ask you some questions, Benny. And this time I hope +I get the right answers."</p> + +<p>I ignored his hand. "How'd you know my name?" I demanded. "How'd you +know I came here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear," Sarah Fish said. "I <i>don't</i> know how to tell him, Sam. +You'll have to."</p> + +<p>Sam Golfin gave her a sympathetic glance, then looked grim. "This +time," he said, fixing me with a stare, "I'm not going to try to spare +your feelings. In—" He studied his watch again. "—exactly one hour +and seventeen minutes you are going to be murdered. A man doesn't just +get murdered without knowing who might have done it, who his enemies +are. Someone in this house is going to kill you. <i>Who is it?</i>"</p> + +<p>"You see," Sarah Fish said, her bosom expanding in an anxious breath, +"you <i>must</i> tell us who did it."</p> + +<p>I stared at them both, then gave what I intended to be a derisive +laugh, but it sounded thin. "What makes you think I'm going to be +murdered?" I said.</p> + +<p>"For one thing," Sam Golfin said cautiously, "it's in tomorrow's +papers."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see," I said sarcastically.</p> + +<p>"I know you must think I'm joking...." Golfin said.</p> + +<p>"Hardly," I said. And it was the truth. I thought he was crazy.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you don't," Sam Golfin said with relief. "Every minute counts +if we are to save you."</p> + +<p>"Save me?" I mocked. "But I thought you said it was in the papers. So +it must be true."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure," Golfin said with an important frown. "I'm not so +sure the future can't be altered. That's why I'm here. I want to see if +I can change the future. If I can...." He left whatever thought he was +toying with unspoken.</p> + +<p>A sudden thought shattered my amused point of view. That three dollar +bill. It had been a <i>Series of 1964</i>, something utterly absurd by +itself. But coupled with Sam Golfin's obvious conviction that I was +going to be murdered, and his talk of changing the future, it made a +pattern that made me suddenly uneasy.</p> + +<p>"Why would anyone here kill me?" I asked with a defiance that covered +my unease. "I don't even know anyone here. As a matter of fact, the +reason I came here was to—"</p> + +<p>"But someone here knows you," Golfin said. "And that someone knew you +were going to be here. The murder was—will be—carefully planned."</p> + +<p>"Just how am I going to be murdered?" I asked, not grinning.</p> + +<p>"The coroner's report says that you were—will be—poisoned," Golfin +said.</p> + +<p>I thought of the Tom Collins, and my stomach turned over.</p> + +<p>"A venom," Golfin went on, "injected by means of a pin or needle. The +coroner found—will find, that is—a small puncture in the small of +your back on the right side, with some of the venom still imbedded, +along with the paste."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," I said. "I'm getting out of +here." I turned toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" Sarah Fish said. "Mr. Golfin says it will happen when you try +to leave."</p> + +<p>My momentum left me as my hand touched the doorknob. It flowed out of +me. I turned around and faced them.</p> + +<p>"Just how do you know all this?" I said, glaring at the little man.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I had better tell you," he said. "I'm <i>Dr.</i> Golfin."</p> + +<p>"Oh," I said.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>He reached into his breast pocket and extracted an expensive leather +billfold. Looking quite important for his size, he took out a card and +extended it to me.</p> + +<p>"My specialty is—has been," he said, "amnesiacs. I've made a life +study of them."</p> + +<p>I looked at the card. It gave the name, Dr. S. L. Golfin, and an +address on Wabash, Chicago.</p> + +<p>"The phenomenon of amnesia interested me," he went on. "A person +suddenly can't remember anything. Perhaps years later memory returns, +but there is a gap. Why?"</p> + +<p>He smiled at me triumphantly. Sarah Fish nodded sagely.</p> + +<p>"Because...." Golfin lifted his left arm with a flourish and inspected +his watch. "One hour and three minutes," he said quietly. Then, +"That was the question I asked myself. Why? Unfortunately amnesia is +rather rare. The few genuine cases didn't give me enough opportunity +to find the answer. I did, however, arrive at several theories about +it. And finally I came to the conclusion that amnesia is part of a +larger field. I expanded my research to include other phenomena +such as prophetic dreams. I was sure I was on the right track, but +unfortunately it was impossible to study a person in the process of +having a prophetic dream."</p> + +<p>"I can see that," I said sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," Golfin said, blinking up at me. "However, I asked myself, +'Of the several theories, wouldn't the one that also accounts for +prophetic dreams be the more probable one?' And of course it's well +known that the more a theory explains, the more probable it is of being +true."</p> + +<p>"Not always," I ventured.</p> + +<p>He pondered this, then looked at his watch again. "Fifty-three +minutes," he said.</p> + +<p>I swallowed.</p> + +<p>"But how do amnesia and prophetic dreams tie together?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"They are basically the same phenomenon," Golfin said, "with one +important difference. In amnesia the conscious mind jumps over a period +of time and stays there, going on in normal fashion. In prophetic +dreams it does the same, <i>except that it returns to its starting +point</i>."</p> + +<p>I glanced at Sarah Fish. She was listening intently. It occurred to me +that she hadn't heard any of this before either. She was the congenial +type. Undoubtedly when Golfin had sprung this murder business on her +she hadn't asked questions.</p> + +<p>"Now do you see what I'm getting at?" Golfin said. "The mechanism must +be the same in both instances. An underlying mechanism. In amnesia a +person may suffer a brain injury, or a person may be under a terrific +compulsion to escape the present. In either case the person jumps over +a period of days or years in, seemingly, an instant—and refuses to +return. In prophetic dreams the person jumps into the future to an +instant when something crucial is taking place, and returns to the +present with memory of it."</p> + +<p>I looked at my own watch and said, "Any other time I would like to +listen, but what are you driving at?"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>He frowned and glanced at his watch. "Forty-one minutes," he said. +"This is what I'm driving at. If I could discover the mechanism by +which the mind leaps into the future, and returns, I would have a +means of doing that myself. I could, possibly, go to tomorrow and +buy a newspaper and see what it says, and return to today with that +knowledge."</p> + +<p>"I see now!" Sarah Fish said, quivering with excitement. "That's how +you learned that Mr. Smith is to be murdered!"</p> + +<p>"So you did discover a way?" I said.</p> + +<p>"I did. That's why I'm here. For some time now I have been going into +the future at will, and also into the past. I've learned how to control +it, the length of time I stay there, and just how far into the future +or the past I go."</p> + +<p>"It sounds good," I admitted. "How could you change things?"</p> + +<p>He glanced at his watch worriedly. "We haven't much time," he said. +"A little over half an hour. What I want to do is this. I have the +instruments with me to send you into the future to the moment you +are dying. I want you to go there and see if you don't know then +who killed you, and how. You will return to the present moment with +that knowledge, and be able to avoid death. At least—" He smiled +encouragingly. "At least I hope you will."</p> + +<p>"And if I don't?"</p> + +<p>He shrugged. "This is my first serious attempt to change the past. +Sooner or later I will succeed." He had reached into his breast pocket +again. Now he brought out something like a fat fountain pen.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I said uneasily. "You sure this doesn't hurt?"</p> + +<p>He unscrewed the end of the thing. There was a short hollow needle on +it, with what looked like a trigger that had swung out into position +against the side.</p> + +<p>"I've used it on myself many times," he said. He started toward me.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," I said, backing up a step and holding up my hand. +"This is going to take me up to the instant I'm dying?"</p> + +<p>"That's right," he said, "and I want you to try, in that single instant +you are there, to find out who did it. Think where you were when it +happened, and who might have done it."</p> + +<p>"You sure it won't kill me?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He took another step toward me. "Of course not," he said.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," I said, backing up against a bookcase to get away from +him. "Why didn't you go farther ahead in time and read in the papers +who did it? Wouldn't that have been the best way?"</p> + +<p>For a brief instant his eyes flashed with what seemed to me to be +madness. I thought of the three dollar bill. The guy was crazy. It +had to be that. He'd been using the stuff on himself. Whatever it was +it had affected his mind. He imagined he could send his mind into the +future. Or maybe—</p> + +<p>I remembered suddenly why I was here. I had followed Golfin in the +hopes of getting one of those three dollar bills. That made it a +vicious circle. Sure. It was <i>he</i> who was going to murder me, if +anyone was. Those other people didn't know me. And he said I was going +to be poisoned by venom on a pin or needle—<i>or was it going to be a +hypodermic needle</i>?</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, Mr. Smith," Golfin purred. "It's the only hope of +saving your life. Your murder was never solved."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is, is it?" I gritted. I snaked out with my hand and wrapped +my fingers around the wrist of the hand that held the needle. "Give me +that thing," I said.</p> + +<p>He struggled. He had a lot of strength for a little man. He pivoted +around and tried to pull his wrist free. With his other hand he tried +to get hold of the needle. I kept shaking his wrist to keep him from +doing it.</p> + +<p>Then I remembered his expensive billfold. It probably had the three +dollar bills in it. I simply reached into his breast pocket and +appropriated it. He didn't know it was gone.</p> + +<p>A second later, with a loud grunt, he twisted violently in a last +effort to get free. I heard a sharp snap, and at the same time I felt a +sharp pain stab into me.</p> + +<p>It was in the small of my back on the right side. <i>The small of my back +on the right side!</i></p> + +<p>I let go of his wrist. He was just starting to jerk again, and my +letting go made him stagger backwards and fall against the bookcase on +the far wall. He didn't even know his gadget had gone off!</p> + +<p>I did, though. And a strange fatalism was seeping into me, like the +emotional effect of a drug. A numbness was beginning to make itself +felt along my right side.</p> + +<p>Sarah Fish was staring at me, her eyes large and round. Not like a fish +though. Too human, too full of concern and sympathy. Maybe she had seen +the needle stick me....</p> + +<p>Funny ... Golfin came here convinced in his own insane way that he was +going to prevent a murder. If he hadn't come, I wouldn't have come +either. And if he hadn't come, there wouldn't have been a corpse....</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I looked around until I found the door, and headed toward it. My right +leg dragged a little as I walked. And I didn't need to go into the +future to know what was going to happen. I would make it to the door. +Sure. I would open it, and walk through the crowd outside toward the +front door. Before I got there I would die. Golfin would never know, +maybe, that it was his drug that had killed me. Sarah Fish, convinced +by the way it happened that Golfin had been right, would insist to the +police that I was okay when I left her.</p> + +<p>I could stop right where I was and die in this room. My hand gripped +the doorknob and twisted, and the door opened. And I knew I wasn't +going to stay in this room. I was going to try to get to the front door.</p> + +<p>My whole right side was numb now. I had to walk slowly. Even then I +wasn't sure of my next step. And with each step the massive front door +seemed farther away.</p> + +<p><i>I wasn't going to make it.</i></p> + +<p>I bumped into someone—or someone bumped into me. I jerked my head +around with a snarl starting on my lips. It was George Wile.</p> + +<p>"Sorry old boy," he apologized. "I didn't see you."</p> + +<p>I blinked at him, an idea forming. Maybe if I could change +something—any little thing—I could save myself. What could I change? +I didn't know, because I didn't know whether even the change I might +make would be part of the future. Still....</p> + +<p>"'Sall right, ol' boy," I said, bumping against him. And my hands moved +fast. My own wallet went into his pocket, and his went into mine.</p> + +<p>I stepped back, grinning. I had at least done something to confuse the +issues. I would leave that puzzle behind me. It wouldn't fool anyone +though, because they would know who I was. Sarah Fish and Sam Golfin.</p> + +<p>My heart was starting to pound painfully. Panic flooded into me. I had +to reach that front door. I had to! It was already open, and people +were going through it, leaving the party. The distinguished appearing +man was standing there shaking hands with them as they left.</p> + +<p>Where was I supposed to drop dead? I wished I had asked Golfin that. I +took another step, and another. And, unbelieving, I was at the door.</p> + +<p>"Glad you could be here," the distinguished appearing man said, +gripping my hand and letting it go.</p> + +<p>He had turned to the next person, and I was standing there, my heart +pounding, expecting to drop. Somebody pushed against me gently and +said, "Pardon me." I put my hand on the door frame and put one foot +over the threshold. I was still standing.</p> + +<p>I let go the door frame and put the other foot over the threshold. I +was standing on the porch. I sucked in a breath. It was too good to be +true. There was a catch to it somewhere. But—</p> + +<p>I took another step. Eager haste possessed me. I took quick steps off +the porch. I was on the sidewalk. I was still alive!</p> + +<p>And somewhere I had lost the numbness in my side.</p> + +<p>Around me people were getting in their cars, the doors slamming shut +softly. I glanced over my shoulder. More people were coming out of the +house.</p> + +<p>I waited for no more. Almost running, I went the two blocks to the stop +sign and turned toward the drugstore.</p> + +<p>"Made it," I said under my voice as I pushed open the door and went in. +I slid into the same seat I had occupied before. The same counter girl +took my order for coffee. "Black this time," I said. "And where's my +paper?"</p> + +<p>My heart wasn't pounding any more. I was still shaky, but there wasn't +a chance of my dying. Not a chance. I grinned to myself.</p> + +<p>My coffee came. Also a paper. I sipped the coffee and tried to get +interested in the paper. But I kept going back to what had happened.</p> + +<p>Then I heard the sound of police sirens. They approached until they +were just outside. I looked out and saw the police cars turn the +corner, going in the direction of the house where I had been.</p> + +<p>So someone had died after all!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I reached under my coat and touched the spot where the needle had +struck me. It was a little sore, but not enough to bother me.</p> + +<p>Who had been killed? George Wile? Suddenly I remembered the exchange +of wallets I had made. I reached into my hip pocket and took out his +wallet.</p> + +<p>I looked in the money compartment and saw I had enriched myself by +twenty dollars. Grinning, I looked in another pocket of the wallet. +There was a package of needles. My grin wiped off. They were ordinary +sewing needles. But the pointed ends were covered with what seemed to +be gray paint.</p> + +<p>The counter girl was at the far end scrubbing the counter. The baldish +cashier was on the other side of the store behind a counter, waiting on +a man and a woman. I took Golfin's billfold and quickly thumbed through +it.</p> + +<p>There were several of the three dollar bills. There were two ones. And +there were five twenty dollar bills. I shoved all the money into my +pocket except one of the three dollar bills.</p> + +<p>I made sure no one was looking my way, and dropped Golfin's billfold +on the floor, kicking it under the counter behind me in the center +aisle where it wouldn't be found unless the janitor swept under there. +I decided to do the same with Wile's. After all, if Sam Golfin were +right, and there was a murder, I didn't want a couple of strange +wallets on me. Nor those coated needles.</p> + +<p>I looked at the three dollar bill in my hand. It was like that other +one. Picture of Truman on it, atomic mushroom on the other side, with +the atom superimposed. I squinted at the fine print. <i>Series of 1958.</i></p> + +<p>That made me frown. Why would someone bother to change the date on +phony money? And it was too nice a job of engraving for such a thing +too.</p> + +<p>I thought of one of the tests for good money. I rubbed the three dollar +bill against the margin of the newspaper. Some of the ink came off.</p> + +<p>The wild theory Golfin had fed me was tame compared to what I was +beginning to suspect. I took out the rest of his money and picked out a +twenty dollar bill. Putting the rest back in my pocket, I studied the +twenty. I rubbed it against the margin of the newspaper. Ink came off. +It was genuine money.</p> + +<p>Taking a deep breath, I squinted at the fine print. <i>Series of 1964.</i></p> + +<p>I looked at the rest of the money I had taken from Golfin. The two ones +were okay. All the rest had dates in the future. I knew money. I could +spot a phony bill a block away. It was real money.</p> + +<p>Either a master counterfeiter had—Another thought struck me. I +compared the serial numbers of the bills. All different. That clinched +it. They weren't phony.</p> + +<p>That meant that Golfin was <i>actually from the future himself</i>. Then why +had he given me and Sarah Fish that story about prophetic dreams and +amnesia? I thought about that a bit and nodded to myself. He wanted to +give us something we could believe. We wouldn't have believed a raw +statement that he was from the future. Those three dollar bills....</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The more I thought about them the less they seemed like a gag. I tried +to recall every detail of Golfin's passing it when he bought his +cigarettes. He hadn't done it like he was pulling a gag. He had taken +his change and walked out. He didn't know he had done anything wrong. +He had assumed a three dollar bill was used here—or now, rather.</p> + +<p>My coffee was cold. The girl was looking at me as if she wanted to +close up. I smiled at her and tossed a quarter on the counter and went +out on the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>I debated what to do. Should I forget the whole thing? Or should I take +a walk back to Sarah Fish's house and see what was going on? I decided +on the latter.</p> + +<p>Her house was dark. No police cars were there. That was not what I had +expected. With a murder, there should be police cars, and the place +should be lit up. Or maybe not. It had been an hour since I left the +place.</p> + +<p>I went back to the drugstore and caught the bus down to the Davis +Street El station. Riding on the elevated it occurred to me that maybe +I'd better not go to my apartment. If the police had gotten my wallet +from George Wile they might be waiting for me.</p> + +<p>I decided to rent a room for the night and wait until morning. Then +I changed my mind. If I went back to my room I could claim Wile had +picked <i>my</i> pocket. If the police were looking for me they would +eventually get me anyway, since I already had a record of three arrests +for this and that.</p> + +<p>I sighed and relaxed, and after a while the train dipped down into the +subway, and I got off and had a late snack at the corner cafeteria.</p> + +<p>It was almost midnight when I climbed the stairs to my apartment. When +I opened the door the phone was ringing. I turned on the light and +closed the door, and answered it.</p> + +<p>"Ben Smith?" a strange voice said. "This is George Wile."</p> + +<p>"Oh," I said. I did some quick thinking. "Oh!" I said in a different +tone. "I remember you. How'd you know my number. Did you find my +wallet? That must be it. I lost it. Thanks a lot for calling me about +it. I'll meet you tomorrow and get it back."</p> + +<p>"It was in my pocket," he said coldly. "And my own was missing. I want +it back."</p> + +<p>"Yours was missing?" I said. "Hey, wait a minute. If you think I got +it you're crazy. Somebody played a trick on us. There must have been a +pickpocket at Sarah Fish's tonight."</p> + +<p>"There was," he said coldly. "You. I took the trouble of calling the +police and found out. I want my wallet and I want it tonight."</p> + +<p>"I don't have it. No kidding." I said worriedly. "I'm handing you the +straight goods. By the way, what happened after I left? I heard the +police sirens."</p> + +<p>"Someone had called them and said there was a murder. They were pretty +sore about it."</p> + +<p>"And there wasn't? Ha Ha?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Quit stalling, Smith," Wile said. "I want my wallet back. And +everything in it."</p> + +<p>"Haven't got it," I said.</p> + +<p>A long sigh came over the phone.</p> + +<p>"All right," Wile said. "I sort of expected this. I'll give you five +hundred dollars for it."</p> + +<p>I took the phone from my face and stared at it, thinking. Talking +sounds came from the receiver. I put it back to my ear and said, "Come +again? I didn't hear you."</p> + +<p>"You heard me all right," Wile said. "Okay, I can get you two thousand +dollars from the bank tomorrow. Meet me at eleven o'clock at State and +Washington, northeast corner."</p> + +<p>"Okay," I said. "Be sure and bring me <i>my</i> wallet."</p> + +<p>"I will," he said smoothly. His tone became worried. "Is my wallet in a +<i>safe</i> place?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," I said, thinking of the spot under the counter where I had slid +it with my foot. "You don't need to worry about it at all."</p> + +<p>The line was dead. I realized suddenly that he had trapped me into an +admission that I had his wallet.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>This wasn't the same as a little light finger work on a crowded train, +or getting a rubber check chased, or any of the many things I did when +the opportunity arose, to pay my rent. Wile didn't just want these +poison needles back. He was planning to kill me to keep me quiet. But +he wanted the needles and his wallet back too. First.</p> + +<p>I thought of Golfin and his reading in the papers that I had been +murdered, and it wasn't funny. I locked the door and wedged a chair +under the knob. Wile now knew for sure I was the one who had his +wallet. He could be on his way down to kill me right now.</p> + +<p>I started packing.</p> + +<p>It wasn't until I was almost packed that I suddenly became aware of +someone standing behind me. I jerked around in alarm. It was Sam Golfin.</p> + +<p>"How'd you get in here?" I blurted out.</p> + +<p>"I've been waiting here ever since tomorrow," he said. "I had to see +you."</p> + +<p>I grinned at him thinly. "I didn't get murdered at Sarah's after all," +I remarked dryly.</p> + +<p>"No, thank God," Golfin said. "It proves that the past <i>can</i> be +changed. I'd hoped it could." He frowned. "But unfortunately in +preventing your murder at Sarah's a new future came into existence. I +have to do it all over again."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow when I came to see you, you were in here—dead. The door was +unlocked. That's how I got in."</p> + +<p>"Oh fine!" I snorted. "See what I'm doing? I'm packing. In another five +minutes I'll be on my way to parts unknown."</p> + +<p>"I only wish that were true," Golfin said sadly.</p> + +<p>"Look," I said. "I wish you'd get out and leave me alone. You want to +know why I almost got killed last night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," Golfin said. "That's something the police couldn't find +out—in that other future, I mean."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you," I said. "I didn't know anything about Sarah Fish's +place. I probably would never have gone there except for you. You +bought a pack of cigarettes in the drugstore. Remember?"</p> + +<p>Golfin blinked his eyes, then nodded.</p> + +<p>"You paid for them with a three dollar bill."</p> + +<p>"What is wrong with that?" Golfin asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," I said slowly, "except that there aren't any three dollar +bills."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear me," Golfin said. "Of course there aren't. It completely +slipped my mind!"</p> + +<p>"I wanted one of those three dollar bills," I said. "The druggist +wouldn't let me have the one you left, so I went to Sarah Fish's place +to find you and get one."</p> + +<p>A knock sounded at the door.</p> + +<p>"It's the man who's going to kill you," Sam said.</p> + +<p>"And there isn't any other way out of here," I said. "How are you going +to get me out of this one?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he mused. He looked from me to the door, his eyes +thoughtful. "I'm beginning to see something," he said. "It's very +interesting. So you went to the Fish residence because of me. Hmmm. I +wonder.... It doesn't seem possible, but...."</p> + +<p>"What doesn't seem possible?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He smiled apologetically. "There really isn't anything that can be done +about that man in the hall." The knocking was repeated, more loudly. +"And this future is quite hopeless for you...."</p> + +<p>Whoever was in the hall was trying some kind of key in the lock.</p> + +<p>"If I owned a gun it wouldn't be," I said, watching the door bend in +under pressure from outside.</p> + +<p>"If you only knew who it was!" Golfin groaned.</p> + +<p>"But I do!" I said.</p> + +<p>"You said at Sarah's that you didn't," Golfin snapped.</p> + +<p>"I didn't, then," I said. Quickly I told him about George Wile and the +package of poisoned needles. "He's obviously planning on murdering +someone. Maybe at Sarah's last night," I concluded hastily, my eye on +the door. "My switching wallets with him stopped that. Now he's got to +kill me before he can go ahead with this other murder, or I could put +the finger on him."</p> + +<p>"Why—didn't—you—say—so—before?" Golfin said, glaring at me with +annoyance.</p> + +<p>The door splintered a little, the noise sounding like a shot. I took my +eyes off Golfin to look, and when I looked back Golfin was darting at +me, his hypodermic gadget in his hand and what looked like murder in +his eye.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I tried to grab his wrist. This time he was too fast for me. He evaded +my clutch and was behind me before I could turn. I felt a sharp pain +stab at the base of my skull. I started to turn. The room blurred as a +wave of dizziness swept over me....</p> + +<p>"Here's your coffee, sir."</p> + +<p>I looked at the girl behind the counter, then down at my newspaper. +"Thanks," I said. My stomach felt funny. I felt just like a guy I knew +once who had a premonition he was going to die. Heartburn, I decided +hastily. But I felt nervous.</p> + +<p>I took a sip of the hot coffee and tried to concentrate on the paper. +Then I became aware of the little man. I felt instantly I had seen him +someplace before, but I couldn't place him.</p> + +<p>"A package of Camels," he said to the cashier.</p> + +<p>"That will be twenty cents," the baldish cashier said.</p> + +<p>The little man handed him a bill he had been holding in his hand. "By +the way," he said smoothly as the cashier glanced at it, "could you +tell me the way to Sarah Fish's residence?"</p> + +<p>The little man glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He seemed +to know me, but gave no sign of recognition. The cashier was giving +him directions. I was listening, but I was trying to puzzle out the +strange feeling that I had been through all this before. And it wasn't +until the little man had left that it seeped into my consciousness that +something was queer about that bill.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" I said to the cashier. "What kind of bill did that little guy +give you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, a—a—Oh good Lord."</p> + +<p>We examined it together. It was a three dollar bill. And instead of +surprise, I felt the jaws of a trap closing in on me. I listened to the +cashier babble about playing gags on his friends with it. A part of me +wanted to turn my back on the whole thing and forget it.</p> + +<p>But some force pulled me in the direction the little man had gone. As +I walked I relaxed. I shrugged off the strange feeling I had. I told +myself I didn't believe in premonitions.</p> + +<p>A party of some sort was in full swing at the Sarah Fish place. I +nodded to myself. I could go in and mix with the crowd. I could pick +this little man's pocket. Maybe a few more. The worst that could happen +would be that they wouldn't let me in.</p> + +<p>Beside the huge door was a button. I pressed it and heard a series of +chimes ring out. A few seconds later the door swung open and a middle +aged man with a jovial expression said, "Come in, come in. I'm George +Wile. Sarah's somewhere. What's your name? Sorry I can't keep track of +all Sarah's friends."</p> + +<p>"Ben Smith," I said, stepping inside.</p> + +<p>"Sarah'll show up in a minute," George Wile said, and promptly forgot +me. That was okay by me. I had taken an instant dislike to him.</p> + +<p>I stood near the door looking around, trying to spot the little man. +A gorgeous young thing held a tray in front of my face until I took a +tall glass that contained, I discovered, an excellent Tom Collins.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I saw the little man. He was at the edge of the group +surrounding a distinguished appearing man who was talking. I edged over +near the crowd and sized things up. It would be a cinch.</p> + +<p>I crowded against the little man, then jerked as though someone had +shoved me. At the same time my free hand snaked in and got his wallet.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," I murmured. "Someone pushed me."</p> + +<p>The little man looked up at me and smiled. And I had a strange feeling +that he had been expecting it. I could have sworn he even knew I had +his wallet, and was laughing at me.</p> + +<p>There was one obvious answer. He was a cop and he knew me. He'd take +his time and get me with the goods. He didn't look like a cop but—</p> + +<p>I looked for him and he had disappeared.</p> + +<p>I tried to locate him, meanwhile sipping my Collins as though I +belonged here. Then I did something I always do unconsciously as a +matter of habit. I felt in my hip pocket to make sure my own wallet +hadn't been stolen by some other pickpocket. It was gone!</p> + +<p>So that was it! The little man was a pickpocket. I thought I had seen +him someplace before! I grinned suddenly, wondering if he had really +missed his billfold yet.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I kept looking for him. Then things happened fast. I saw the little man +sliding away from the man who had let me into the house. George Wile. +I took a step after the little man. My eyes jerked back to George when +he uttered a scream and clutched at his back. He fell forward, his arms +and legs jerking.</p> + +<p>I pulled my eyes away, searching for the little man. A crowd was +rushing around George Wile. I heard someone—a woman—scream, "My God! +He's dead!"</p> + +<p>I saw the little man at the front door. He slipped out as I pushed +through the crowd toward him. I went as fast as I dared. When I reached +the sidewalk I saw him running toward the drugstore.</p> + +<p>I ran after him, gaining rapidly. He looked over his shoulder and saw +me. Then—</p> + +<p>He just vanished. Right in front of my eyes. He couldn't have darted +off the walk into the bushes.</p> + +<p>I stopped, not believing my eyes, and started searching the lawns +carefully. A couple of minutes later I heard sirens coming toward this +part of town.</p> + +<p>I hid between two houses and watched the police cars pull up in front +of Sarah Fish's place. Then I went to the bus line.</p> + +<p>A few hours later, after a lot of riding around town I climbed up to +the sidewalk from the subway. A night extra was being shouted.</p> + +<p>"Big murdah in Evanston!"</p> + +<p>And I knew before I read the paper that it would give my name as the +murdered man. Premonition. I was beginning to believe in it now.</p> + +<p>I went to an all night cafe and ordered a hamburger plate and read the +paper. They had identified the victim by the wallet they found on him. +My wallet, of course. And that meant that the little man had planted it +on him and then killed him. With a poisoned needle the papers said.</p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p>I gave up trying to figure it out after a while and went to my +apartment. I had made up my mind to get out of town. They might find +out the victim's real identity, and then they would come looking for me +to find out why my wallet was on him.</p> + +<p>I locked the door and began packing clothes into a suitcase. I became +aware after a while of someone standing behind me. I jerked around in +alarm. It was the little man.</p> + +<p>"You!" I blurted. "How'd you get in here?" I doubled a fist and started +toward him. He had killed a man and planted my wallet on the corpse.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, a queer distortion blanketed my mind. I had a strange +conviction that things were happening just the way they had happened +before—many times before—only not at different times, but this very +instant.</p> + +<p>Abruptly, like a veil drawing away from a window, the distortion +vanished. With preternatural clarity everything that had happened +flooded into memory.</p> + +<p>"Good!" Golfin said. "I see the time-lines have emerged as true +memories. And this time I saved your life."</p> + +<p>"You think so?" I snarled. "The police will be after me by morning. +They'll pin the murder on me—the murder <i>you</i> committed."</p> + +<p>He was shaking his head. "I didn't kill George Wile. Let me explain +what happened. But go on with your packing. I can talk while you work."</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>"In the first time-line," Golfin said, "the one I started out to +investigate, you were actually killed. I know now how it happened. You +see, Sarah Fish is a blackmailer. George Wile was one of her victims. +To get out of her clutches he had planned on killing her. It was a +perfect setup for him. Several of her blackmail victims were there. +All he had to do was stick her with the poisoned needle and sit back. +Nothing could be pinned on him. Motive? A dozen of those present had +equal motives.</p> + +<p>"But you were there. A pickpocket. You lifted his wallet. He wouldn't +have felt your light touch ordinarily, but he was acutely conscious of +those spare poisoned needles. He had one in his fingers. Within a few +moments Sarah would have been killed. You changed things. He killed you +instead, and in the excitement stole back his wallet. And of course he +didn't go through with his original plan to kill Sarah Fish. And also +of course, the police never solved your murder. That's why I chose it +in my first attempt to change the past. It was an ideal mystery. I +could solve it and at the same time save your life.</p> + +<p>"I went into the past and watched your every move. But George Wile was +too smart. Even watching I couldn't find out who had done it. So I went +back into the past again and began my great experiment, <i>an attempt to +alter what has already happened</i>.</p> + +<p>"I succeeded—but not the way I had hoped. There is an inertia to +events. That inertia in events made you steal his wallet the second +time—and plant your own on him. You left before he discovered the +switch. He came after you to kill you here. It was then you gave me the +identity of your killer. After that I went back to my original point +again. At the proper time I did what you had done. I picked George +Wile's pocket. He felt me do it. Again—the inertia of events—he +tried to stick me with the poisoned needle. But I was ready for him. I +deflected his hand and shoved. He stuck himself."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Golfin grinned. "Sure I planted your wallet on him. But who can say +whether it was my own free will or the inertia of events that made me +do it? The morning papers will carry the story exactly the same as it +was in the first time-line. A tremendous inertia of a single event."</p> + +<p>"But what about me?" I said wildly. "The police will check. They'll +know he isn't me."</p> + +<p>Golfin shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. "My guess is that Sarah will +identify him as you and keep quiet. To protect her racket, George +will be buried as Ben Smith. George Wile's relatives will report him +missing. He'll never be found. 'Your' murder will remain unsolved."</p> + +<p>"I'm getting out anyway," I said. "I don't want to chance it."</p> + +<p>"Then why not come with me?" Golfin said. "Now that I know I can change +the past I'm going to start doing it in earnest."</p> + +<p>"Go with you?" I said.</p> + +<p>"You could work for me," Golfin said persuasively. "I would pay you +far more than you average picking pockets, and it would be far more +exciting work."</p> + +<p>"Say...." I said thoughtfully. "That's not a bad idea. I guess I owe +you something, too, for saving my life." I nodded. "Okay. But where do +we go?"</p> + +<p>"Not where," Sam Golfin said. "To when. We're going to my present—a +future year not too far removed from 1954."</p> + +<p>He took out his hypodermic gadget and came toward me. I retreated +a step, then stood still, the palms of my hands suddenly wet with +perspiration.</p> + +<p>"Good boy," he said. "It won't hurt much."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I went into the drugstore and up to the cigar counter. "A pack of +Camels," I said to the cashier. I took out a three dollar bill and +handed it to him as he slid the pack toward me.</p> + +<p>"Fifty cents out of three dollars," he said absently.</p> + +<p>I nodded, thinking of the first time I had seen a three dollar bill.</p> + +<p>That was a long time ago, as time goes. Back in fifty-four. I was a +pickpocket then, in case you want to know. Now—I'm working for Sam +Golfin.</p> + +<p>Investigations. Any place, any Time.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66210 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |