Стюарт Стерлинг - The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

Other voices caught her up. “Master, they can’t kill you!”

“Praise the Truth! Praise the Master!”

I almost shivered. They were like animals yapping with fanatical joy. And so help me that huge old man stood there on the dais, unharmed, unhurt.

I was close. I could see two of the bullet holes in the outer cloth of his robes. The holes were over his chest. He should have been dead, dying at least. And I could see no blood, no hurt, no break in the dreamy, unearthly manner.

Voss’ eyes were black slits as he snarled: “Pick her up! Pick her up! Toward that door back of you!”

The crowd was surging toward the dais as we started to carry the woman away. They weren’t even thinking of her. Voss had slipped the gun into his pocket. I thought of her purse and didn’t see it.

John Paige appeared beside me and snapped: “I’ll take her!”

“She isn’t heavy,” I panted.

“I’ll take her!” he snapped again, and elbowed me aside.

So I let him have her and started to follow them.

Paige was excited. His voice broke at me. “We don’t need you. Go on back!”

“Scram!” Eddy Voss threw at me. His eyes were black coals. He looked like he might start shooting himself.

So I turned back. Starting a fight with those two wouldn’t get Mike Harris any information.

I pushed back toward the dais hoping to find the woman’s purse. No sign of it. I looked again to make certain Father Orion was all right. He was.

By now I was thinking again. You don’t do tricks with bullets from modern automatics, even if it is small. But you can stop ’em with bullet-proof vests.

And bullet-proof vests mean that someone expects to get shot at now and then. People don’t shoot because they’re taught the Great Truth of Life.

Trixie Meehan hauled at my elbow.

“I’ve got her purse, Mike!”

“Slip me!” I said quickly. “Find out where Paige and Voss are taking that woman. See what they do with her. They ran me away. It’ll look suspicious for me to watch them now!”

Trixie gave me the black purse and hurried off like the little trouper she was in a pinch. And for once I was thankful for the bedsheet I was wearing. Under cover of the robe I emptied the purse into the pocket where my money was. Back in the crowd again I dropped the purse on the floor.

As near as I could tell from a quick look, my haul was some paper money and coins, a Pullman check, vanity, nailfile, a little memorandum book, a crumpled envelope and a small handkerchief.

She had spoken of a man who had killed himself, had charged Father Orion with the responsibility. The idea was hot enough to sizzle. A plain trail of death pointed to Orion! And if once, why not twice? Like, say, Frances Farnson? Well, why not?

So we had more mystery. Ideas began to rattle in my mind. A nebulous thought took form, so startling that I almost shrugged it off.

The woman in black could have settled the idea in a few minutes. But would I have a chance to talk with her? I would not. Paige and Voss’ manner had left no doubt that I wasn’t wanted around her.

I wondered if they suspected me? But why should they? What cop would turn up carrying eight thousand dollars?

Would they turn her over to the police? Don’t be silly. By now I could see that this guarded estate in the hills north of Hollywood could settle its own troubles.

I smiled at the thought of Larry Sweet and Jake Dennis. They’d give something to be in on this. Chances were that Jake Dennis was still profanely wondering why I’d appeared on that Chicago plane.

Trixie came back. “They took her through that door, Mike. It’s locked.”

“What’s beyond the door?”

Trixie shrugged.

“Will the Cudahy girl know?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

“Ask her. But first, you’d better get outside and see if they’re taking her away.”

Trixie nodded. “Where are you staying, Mike?”

“Fourth — no, fifth cabin — to the right of the driveway.”

“We’re two cabins from the eating pavilion. Sometimes Nancy spends the night. And the more I see of this the less I like it,” Trixie said as she turned away.

Paige was back on the dais a moment later, leaning close as he spoke to Father Orion. The old man nodded. Paige lifted his voice for quiet.

And when he had quiet, Paige called: “The woman dropped her purse. Who has it?”

“Here, Brother.” A reedy eager little man pushed forward with the purse.

Paige solemnly lifted his hand.

“You have seen. The woman is mad. The Master orders that there be no mention of this.”

“No mention,” Father Orion boomed dreamily.

“Another day ends,” Paige told them. “There will be no ceremonies tonight. The Master gives you Peace and Truth.”

“Peace and Truth!” Father Orion intoned.

So we were eased out, and I had to leave also. Voss hadn’t appeared. Outside I made a circuit of the big white building. Trixie wasn’t in sight.

The woman had fainted, Paige had said. Fooey. I wondered what Paige would think when he found the purse empty.

The brethren and sistern were scattering. I headed for my cabin to shuck out of the white sheet. I’d left my suit over the foot of the bed with a few flakes of cigarette ash scattered where they’d do the most good. The little gray flakes had vanished from the suit fabric.

So my clothes had been frisked. I lighted a cigarette and was reaching for the loot inside my robe when Paige knocked and entered hurriedly.

“I’ll lock your money in the safe tonight,” he told me.

“Don’t bother,” I said. “It’s safe with all that electricity around and Father Orion near.” And I added: “Brother, I’m afraid I’ll forget where this money is if I lock it up anywhere.”

“Nonsense,” Paige said.

“Tomorrow, Brother, I’ll look for the Truth about it.”

“Take my advice in this,” Paige insisted.

“Tomorrow,” I promised. “Tomorrow, Brother.”

Paige looked as if he were not sure whether he was being kidded or not. A slight smile followed.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed. “We’ll settle everything tomorrow. Remember, Brother, no smoking near the Master.”

He left as abruptly as he entered — and I hadn’t been so near a chill in years.

Father Orion, Paige and the disciples were funny on the surface. The guarded estate and fantastic Shrine of Truth were good for a laugh. But some crackpots are only a hair-line from an asylum. And a madhouse can have its horrors.

Paige had just called me “Brother.” His changed manner had suggested “Sucker.” I switched off the light and got into my clothes fast.

And when the money went back inside my coat I damned myself for thinking of such a stunt. But then I hadn’t thought it possible to walk into a situation like this.

The purse loot was next. I drew the curtains before I switched on the light to take inventory.

The money came to fourteen dollars and some coins. The Pullman check didn’t tell me much at the moment. A Philadelphia pawnshop ticket made out to Mrs. H. Mossman dropped out of the memorandum book. The crumpled letter was postmarked Bridgeport, Connecticut, and was addressed to Mrs. Harry Mossman, at a North Side address in Philadelphia.

Dear Mae:

I can’t loan you any more. And I don’t see how you and Harry can need so much cash. Last year when you folks came back from Los Angeles and bought the garage, you were well fixed. For that matter I never could see why Harry sold out and came back. He was doing well and liked the Coast. If business is so bad, Harry had better sellout and take a job somewhere. We’re all well here. We’d like you two to come up and visit us.