“Speak of the devil,” somebody said.
“You have that Fuzzy in here, Fitz?” Eggers demanded. “Where the hell… ?”
“There he is,” one of the men in the doorway said, pointing.
The Fuzzy, who had been behind the desk-chair, came out into view. He pulled the bottom of Eggers’s coat, yeeking again. He looked like a hunchback Fuzzy.
“What’s he got on his back?” Eggers reached down. “Whatta you got there, anyhow?”
It was a little rucksack, with leather shoulder-straps and a drawstring top. As soon as Eggers displayed an interest in it, the Fuzzy climbed out of it as though glad to be rid of it. Mortlake picked it up and put it on the desk; over ten pounds, must weigh almost as much as the Fuzzy. Eggers opened the drawstrings and put his hand into it.
“It’s full of gravel,” he said, and brought out a handful.
The gravel was glowing faintly. Eggers let go of it as though it were as hot as it looked.
“Holy God!” It was the first time he ever heard anybody screaming in baritone. “The damn things are sunstones!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“BUT WHAT FOR?” Diamond was insisting. “What for Big Ones first, bang, bang, make dead? Not good. What for not make friend, make help, have fun?”
“Well, some Big Ones bad, make trouble. Other Big Ones fight to stop trouble.”
“But what for Big Ones be bad? Why not everybody make friend, have fun, make help, be good?”
Now how in Nifflheim could you answer a question like that? Maybe that was what Ernst Mallin meant when he said Fuzzies were the sanest people he’d ever seen. Maybe they were too sane to be bad, and how could a non-sane human explain to them?
“Pappy Vic not know. Maybe Unka Ernst, Unka Panko, know.”
The bell of the private communication screen began its slow tolling. Diamond looked around; this was something that didn’t happen often. He rose, taking Diamond from his lap and setting him on the chair, then went to the wall and put the screen on. It was Captain Morgan Lansky, at Chief Steefer’s desk. He looked as though a planet buster had just dropped in front of him and hadn’t exploded yet.
“Mr. Grego; the gem-vault! Fuzzies in it, robbing it!”
He conquered the impulse to ask Lansky if he were drunk or crazy. Lansky was neither; he was just frightened.
“Take it easy, Morgan. Tell me about it. First, what you know’s happened, and then what you think is happening.”
“Yes, sir.” Lansky got hold of himself; for an instant he was silent. “Ten minutes ago, in the captain’s office at detective bureau; the shifts were changing, and both lieutenants were there. A Fuzzy came out of a storeroom in back of the office; he had a little knapsack on his back, with about twelve pounds of sunstones in it. The Fuzzy’s here now, so are the sunstones. Do you want to see them?”
“Later; go ahead.” Then, before Lansky could speak, he asked: “Sure he came out of this storeroom?”
“Yes, sir. There was five-six men in the doorway to the squadroom, he couldn’t of come through that way. And the only way he could of got into this storeroom was out a ventilation duct there. The grating over it was open.”
“That sounds reasonable. He could have gotten into the gem-vault through the ventilation system too.”
The entrance to the gem-vault stairway was on the same floor as the detective bureau. The inlet and outlet screens were hinged, and the latch worked from either side to allow any outlet screen to be put on anywhere. And the sunstones couldn’t have come from anywhere else; just yesterday he’d had to go down and let Evins in to put away what had accumulated in his office safe.
“Ten minutes; what’s been done since?”
“Carlos Hurtado’s here, he hadn’t gone home. He’s staying, and so are most of the pre-midnight men. We put out a quiet alert to all the police in the building. We’re blocking off everything from the top of the fourteenth level down, and a second block around the fifteenth. I called the Chief; he’s coming in. Hurtado’s calling the Constabulary and the Mallorysport police for men and vehicles to blockade the building from the outside. I’ve sent calls out for Dr. Mallin, and for Mr. E. Evins, and I’ve sent out for as many hearing aids as I can get.”
“That was good. Now, have a jeep or something up here for me right away; I’ll have to open the gem-vault. And have men there to meet me. With sono-stunners; there may be more Fuzzies inside. And get hold of the building superintendent and the ventilation engineer, and get plans of the ventilation system.”
“Right. Anything else, Mr. Grego?”
“Not that I can think of now. Be seeing you.”
He blanked the screen. Diamond, in the chair, was looking at him wide-eyed.
“Pappy Vic; what make do?”
He looked at Diamond for a moment. “Diamond, you remember when bad Big Ones bring you, other Fuzzies, here?” he asked. “You know other Fuzzies again, you see them?”
“Yeh, ’tsure. Good friend; know again.”
“Hokay. Stay put; Pappy Vic be back.”
He ran into the kitchenette and gathered a couple of tins of Extee-Three. Returning, he found a hearing aid — Diamond was using his Fuzzyphone, and he hadn’t needed it — and pocketed it. Then, swinging Diamond to his shoulder, he went outside. Just as he emerged onto the terrace, a silver-trimmed maroon company airjeep, lettered police, lifted above the edge of the terrace, turned, and glided down. He thought, again, that police vehicles should have some distinctive color-scheme to distinguish them from ordinary Company cars. Talk about that with Harry Steefer, some time. Then the jeep was down and the pilot had opened the door. He climbed in and held Diamond on his lap, while the pilot reported him aboard. Then he took the radio handphone himself.
“Grego; who’s there?” he asked.
“Hurtado. We have everything from the fourteenth level down to the sixteenth sealed off, inside and out. Captain Lansky and Lieutenant Eggers have gone to meet you at the gem vault. Dr. Mallin’s coming in; so’s Miss Glenn and Captain Khadra of the ZNPF. Maybe they can get something out of this Fuzzy.” He muttered something bitterly. “Questioning Fuzzies; what’s police work coming to next?”
“Teaching Fuzzies to crack safes; what’s crime coming to next? You get the ventilation system plans yet?”
“They’re coming up; so’s the ventilation engineer. You think there’s more Fuzzies than this one?”
“Four more. And two men, named Phil Novaes and Moses Herckerd.”
Hurtado was silent for a moment, then cursed. “Now why in Nifflheim didn’t I think of that?” he demanded. “Sure!”
They went inside from a landing-stage on the third level down. There were police there, with portable machine guns, and a couple of cars. Work was going on in some of the offices along the horizontal vehicle-way, but no excitement. They encountered a police car in the vertical shaft just above the fourteenth level down; the jeep pilot put on his red-and-white blinker and picked up the handphone of his loudspeaker, saying, “Mr. Grego here; please don’t delay us.” The car moved out of the way.
The fifteenth level down was police country. Everything was superficially quiet, but a number of vehicles were concentrated around the horizontal ways from the vertical shaft. The pilot set the jeep down at the entrance to the gem-buyer’s offices. Morgan Lansky and a detective were waiting there. He got out, holding Diamond, and the pilot handed the tins of Extee-Three to the detective. Lansky, who seemed to have recovered his aplomb, grinned.
“Interpreter, Mr. Grego?” he asked.
“Yes, and maybe he can make identification. I think he knows these Fuzzies.”
It took Lansky two seconds to get that. Then he nodded.
“Sure. That would explain everything.”