Stephens wondered how many of the family books Tannahill had read, but he did not press for details. He could hear an automobile climbing the hill and guessed that Mistra was returning. He hesitated, then said, “Mr. Tannahill, as I see this problem, our first job is to try to head off an arrest. To that end, I think we are justified in leaning heavily on local regard for the Tannahill family.”
He explained what he had in mind, and finally finished, “We’ll just have to trust the newspapers will take your side, and will not publish anything that we tell them now. But I do think they should be forewarned, and by us.”
Tannahill, who had listened with evident uneasiness to the plan, said reluctantly, “You certainly believe in taking direct action.”
“I am also,” Stephens said, “going to call on Judge Porter and Judge Adams. I have an idea they don’t know what Howland is up to.”
He half-believed that. It was possible that the group as a whole did not know what was building against them. On this point, Mistra could not be trusted. Her bias against Tanequila might keep her from doing anything to save him. Besides, she had her own plans.
Tannahill held out his hand. “By heaven, Stephens, I like this more every second.”
As they shook hands, Stephens said, “Our best defense, if the worst comes, will be to produce the murderer ourselves. I’ll call you as soon as I have anything to report.”
Stephens paused at the top of the steps of the Grand House and looked around him. Mistra was just turning into the driveway. The breeze was stronger than it had been, and the view almost took his breath away.
The early afternoon sky was brilliantly bright. The Pacific was a mass of short, jewel-like, choppy waves that glinted in the sun. The city below wore its greenest mantle; houses and buildings peeped through the luxuriant plant life.
Mistra pulled up below him, and Stephens started down. As he came level with her, she reached over and opened the door for him. She said, “Hurry, please!”
Startled by the urgency in her tone and the expression on her face, Stephens scrambled in beside her. “What’s the matter?”
She made no answer except that the long machine leaped forward. She pressed a button, and the convertible top glided up over his head. Windows rolled into position.
Instead of turning around as she came to the end of the main driveway and so on back down the hill, she twisted the machine around a group of trees and along a narrow paved road, that sloped downward between high hedges. The speed of the car increased so sharply that Stephens said, “Mistra, for heaven’s sake—”
He stopped, and swallowed hard. The road ended a hundred feet ahead at what looked like the edge of a cliff. Stephens turned on Mistra in astounded dismay—and saw that she was holding a transparent shield over her nose and mouth. Simultaneously, he grew aware of an odor in the car.
Gas!
He was still thinking about that vaguely, and fumbling for the emergency brake when the instrument panel bumped gently against his head. The sensation lasted a moment, only; then ceased to exist.
XIII
Stephens blinked, and heard Mistra say, “. . . You can call Mr. Tannahill if you wish to warn him.”
The words seemed meaningless; and Stephens, remembering in a flash the desperate situation of the car racing toward the edge of the cliff, grabbed instinctively again at the emergency brake.
It wasn’t there.
Amazed, he looked around him, and saw that he was in Mistra’s apartment. To his right was the bar. To his left the corridor that led to the bedrooms, and over to one side there was a window through which the sun was shining. A radio chattered softly in the near corner, and Mistra, who had evidently been bending down behind the bar when he first glanced at it, came up into view holding two glasses.
She stared at Stephens and said, “I assure you, you can call from here. This phone connects with a relay system and so with the regular telephone lines.”
Stephens glanced at the phone, and then shook his head, unwilling to admit that he didn’t know what she was talking about. Twice, he went back in his mind over what had happened and each time he came to the point where the car had been hurtling toward the edge of the cliff, and he had reached for the emergency, and then—
This!
He looked at her accusingly. “What did you use,” he said “to knock me out?”
Mistra smiled. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but there was just no time to explain and I thought you might struggle with me.”
Stephens said irritably, “If I remember correctly, you were to take Howland back to his office and—”
Mistra spoke quickly, “I contacted the group and told them what Howland was planning. It was decided that only one thing mattered now: to cover up. Pressure will accordingly be brought to bear on Howland. But we’re all afraid it won’t work.”
Stephens thought of all the important people in town whom he believed to be members of the group, and who would be able to apply pressure; and he said sharply, “Why not?”
Mistra was shaking her head, “My dear, you don’t understand. Howland has political ambitions. If his friends press him too hard, he’ll turn on them. It happened once before in our history and we lost control of the town for several years. We don’t care to have that happen again.”
Stephens said, “What does the group plan to do?”
Mistra was brisk. “First, of course, the attempt will be made to dissuade Howland. If that fails, we’ve decided to let him have his way. In that case, of course, we’ll do our best to ruin him.’’
“You mean, let him arrest Tannahill?” Stephens shook his head stubbornly. “I’m sorry, but I still intend to prevent that if I can.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t help but feel,” said Stephens quietly, “that the woman who drugged Tannahill might not have his interests at heart. And if the group as a whole also dislikes him, then what we have here might not be a rescue at all, but a kind of legalized lynching. Well, I refuse to play along.”
“The group may dislike him,’’ said Mistra, “but that has not influenced their judgment. They feel that change of ownership is too complex a process. There are no family heirs, and it is even possible that we will lose the house. I felt I had to take that chance in order to block the group’s move to desert Earth, but I was not happy about it.”
Stephens said steadily, “There’s a trick here somewhere. You’ve admitted that the group is desperately anxious to cover up. Do you swear that they’re not planning to sacrifice Tannahill?”
Her reply was prompt. “I can’t swear it, but I believe it, knowing them.”
He had to confess that it was an honest sounding answer. She couldn’t possibly speak for the individuals of the group, whose secret intentions were known only to themselves and perhaps to the mind reader among them.
He said, “What I’m thinking is that we should try to avoid an unpleasant type of arrest. I believe we should be in a position to surrender Tannahill through his lawyer and be ready to arrange bail immediately. There’s no valid reason for Howland having his own way unchecked in this affair.”
Mistra said, “Then you’d better phone Tannahill. Howland is under pressure right now to lay off. If he reacts as we expect, he’ll have that arrest order out in an hour.”
Stephens said “What?”
He jumped to his feet, and a moment later he was talking to Tannahill. He explained what was going on without giving his source of information, and then outlined his plan. He finished, “You must have a service car somewhere on the estate that is not easily identifiable. Take it.” He added, “If possible, whenever you leave the car, walk without your cane . . . grow a mustache—and we can meet as I’ve suggested.”
Tannahill sounded undisturbed. “That’s good advice, Stephens,” he said, “and I’ll do it.”
Stephens hung up, relieved.
Mistra said, matter-of-factly, “And now you’d better look out of the window.”
Stephen
s frowned at her. “Window!” he said.
The suspicion that came brought him to his feet. The venetian blinds were slanted upward, and sunlight was pouring through them in a blazing abundance. He straightened the blinds, and stopped, swaying. In spite of his anticipatory thought, he felt as if he were going to faint. “Oh, my God!” he gasped.
The sky was dark. There was immense, hazy distance below.
The initial feeling of shock left him. He saw that the world below was shapeless and without life. A curious roundness added a final touch of unreality. Finally, he remembered where he had seen similar blurry views: V-2 photographs taken from heights of a hundred miles or more gave that same bizarre effect.
He whirled away from the window, brushed past Mistra, and raced along the corridor that led to the combination library and music room. It was as he remembered it. As he emerged, after one quick look, he saw that the metal door at the top of the stairway—which had been locked on his first visit—was now open. He climbed up into what was unmistakably the control room of a spaceship.
There were four chairs built into frames that were attached to the floor. They were set in a row before a long, curving control panel. The chamber was evidently perched on top of the living quarters, for through “windows” he could look in every direction, and see the curved metal hull of a stream-lined but almost square-built ship. Above the windows, and directly in front of the control chairs were several television-tube surfaces, one of which had a picture on it of the world beneath.
The ship seemed to be floating. There was no sense of movement, nor sound of motors. Stephens started to sit down in one of the chairs but jerked erect as he thought: “This is definitely her apartment. That domed effect on the Waldorf Arms is necessary because underneath it is the hangar of this ship. She wasn’t fooling me about that.”
He felt briefly amazed that he had resisted the idea so long, despite the information that he had. From the beginning, words alone had not been enough to convince him. And now he had been shown.
It was to the words, nevertheless, that his mind returned—all the things that she had said on a previous occasion about attacking Lorilla . . . With slow steps, he made his way back to the living room. Mistra was sitting on the sofa with her drink and his on a table in front of her. She looked at him searchingly as he came in, then shook her head.
“You still won’t help me?” she asked.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He felt the need, curiously, to justify his attitude. And yet he had no clear answer. He said finally, “Why do you think you need me?”
She said simply, “In the last war, bomber planes carried considerable crews, one to do this, one for that, a man for each task. I’ve rigged up relays that theoretically will enable me to do the job, but in practice I couldn’t depend on it, not in the face of determined enemy fire.”
“You have to go down that low?”
Mistra nodded. “We’ll be in range, for a short time, of the most powerful anti-aircraft defense in the world. This ship of mine was not built for. war. That’s why they let me have it; so I was told today. They find it very easy to assume that no member of the group will seriously risk death.”
“And will you?”
“Allison, we’ve got to take the chance. There’s no other way.”
Stephens groped for a suitable reply, found none, and finally said in an irritable tone, “What I don’t understand is, why the rush?”
“I received decisive news. The attack on the United States is set for October instead of next January.”
“Eight months away, and you’re excited.” Stephens could almost feel the pressure lifting from inside him.
“You don’t understand,” said Mistra. “The bombs they’ll use are still stored in groups. Now, they’ll be dispersed within the next week or so to plane and submarine depots. Thereafter, only psychological pressure will be possible.”
She looked at him for a long minute, then said. “You’ll have to take my word for the attack and the danger.” She paused again; finally: “Allison, this is your entry into the house.”
The offer was too unexpected for him to take it all at once. Stephens sat very still, his thoughts slowed as by shock. It did occur to him, vaguely, that he should have known that she would eventually make such a promise. Actually, after all the information he had been given, there were only two things that the group could do with him. He must be taken into the Grand House—or killed! Mistra was now telling him that, for a price, she would try to get him in.
He stirred, conscious of that limitation. He wanted desperately to believe she could do it, but events, and the fact that she herself was in danger, made her offer seem unreal. He said at last, drably, “I doubt if you alone can open the Grand House for me.”
She said, “I think I can.” Without looking at him, she went on, “My dear, long life has its dark moments. There is the terror of thinking: What does it all mean? Where is it leading? Allison, I’ve played with tiny babies, and then ninety years later stood by untouched by time while one of those babies, grown aged and withered, was laid forever into the ground. It’s hard, I can tell you. Some of the others have adopted cynicism and callousness as a barrier between them and the cruelty of the life-death cycle. I was that way for a while. I lived for the moment. I had scores of lovers, one after another, abandoning each of them in turn at the first sign of aging.
“That phase passed, and for a time I lived almost like a nun. But that was a reaction. Slowly I began to develop a sounder philosophy of life—of long life. And strangely enough, that philosophy I was so slow in arriving at was, and is, based on simple things. The notion that what is healthy is good; the knowledge that the needs of the body and mind must balance; oh, and many other ideas that seem, in the telling, more trivial than they are. But there is one need which I have learned is more vital to a woman than any other, and it is one I have allowed to remain unsatisfied. Can you guess what it is?”
Stephens looked at her soberly, touched by the unusual warmth and earnestness in her low voice. Then the sudden awareness of what she meant brought him stirrings of excitement.
“You have never had a child. Is that it?”
Mistra nodded. “The rule of the group is: No children. Several were born long ago, but were adopted out. It was remorselessly done, and I came to accept the attitude behind it as necessary.
“I no longer do. And so for ten years I’ve been looking . for a suitable man to be the father of my child.”
She paused. She drew a deep breath. “Allison, I suppose you’ve guessed that I want you to be that man.”
As she spoke, he felt her fingers gently touch his wrist. He hadn’t noticed her reach toward him, and so the sudden contact was like a spark. The tingle of it went through his whole body. He caught her hand, held it tightly, then kissed it tenderly.
Without another word being spoken, they began to undress. A few moments later, he lifted her lightly into his arms, carried her to her bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. She held her arms out to him. He allowed her to draw him down beside her.
As they embraced, the thought came to Stephens: “Is she trying to buy my help with her body?” It was an idea he held only for a moment before dismissing it as irrelevant. In a way, it was true. But the fact was, temporarily at least, this woman was his without reservation. She was obviously caught up by love desire, and he was the fortunate recipient. He could even believe that she had not for years been stirred to such a response as she was making to him.
For a while, then, he had no thought, only awareness of the physical contact with her, and of a mounting feeling of excitement. Presently, he wondered, could a mortal man really love an immortal woman? Instantly, he didn’t wish to think about that. This was now, not some future time when he would be grown older, and she still young and beautiful and eternally desirable. Here and now, this was an act of love between a virile man and a healthy woman, who, with every meeting, proved that t
hey enjoyed each other immensely. It was pleasant to realize also that there had not yet been a prudish moment between them.
When they finally dressed, she led him back to the bar silently. Without warning, she turned, and was in his arms again. “Allison, I truly believe I feel for you the first real love I’ve ever known.”
Her voice was soft. Stephens kissed her, still not quite believing. Her lips held to his with an intensity of response that left no doubt.
“Mistra,” he said, “you’re beautiful.”
She laughed in her rich contralto. “And it’s guaranteed forever. Don’t forget that.”
He had forgotten. He tried to push away the thought that came. For a moment, he held her so tightly that she laughed and gasped. “My dear man—air!”
Stephens took his arms from around her. He pulled away, and he said somberly, “You speak of bringing a new life into the world. What about the thousands whose lives will be snuffed out when you make your attack?”
She looked at him, and shook her head wonderingly. “I showed you the warning we’ll issue.”
“They won’t pay any attention to it, and you know it.”
She leaned toward him earnestly. “Allison, the attack has to be made, regardless of casualties. You’ve got to help me.”
She went on quickly, “Surely, you’re not going to throw away your chance at the house—the chance for our love—I swear we’ll give them every opportunity.’’
“I notice you didn’t mention—yourself?”
“There’s no price on me.” She spoke simply. “Only love can buy love. And that comes later.”
Just for a moment that caught him again; then silently, he shook his head. At last he said, “I’m sorry, my dear. I’d give almost anything—” He stopped; he spread his hands helplessly.
“But you don’t have to give anything.”
Stephens did not answer immediately, but his mind was set. If he took this step, he would no longer be a free agent, emotionally. He saw with a sharp awareness of his own feelings, that he could become pretty completely wrapped up in this woman. And then he wouldn’t want to extricate himself. Here was the turning point. He must go back or go forward. Even to give love, he had to be true to his beliefs.
The House that Stood Still Page 11
