The second clue was the manner of his arrival. Nobody could have slipped into the bedroom by conventional means without Abe knowing about it. The little man had definitely materialised, with a popping sound and the suggestion of an electrical crackle, and Abe had even felt a gust of displaced air. Only a mad scientist would have done such a thing.
Abe set his binoculars down on the window ledge and pretended he had not been studying the movements of the guard at the bank across the avenue. Now that his system was recovering from the shock, he decided that the intruder would have to be questioned closely and precisely about his identity, motives and method of entry.
“Waddaya?” he demanded angrily. “Waddaya?”
“How interesting,” the mad scientist said. “I expected this apartment to be empty in the beta timestream. I’m astonished that anybody would pay two-fifty a month for such inferior accommodation.”
Abe sensed he had been insulted. “Lay off the accommodation. You better tell me how you got in here.”
“I was here all along …”
“You was not!”
“… but in the alpha timestream,” the little man continued calmly. “I used the devices built into this belt to exert a chronomotive impulse in a lateral direction, and transferred myself from alpha time to beta time. The nomenclature is purely arbitrary, of course. If you would prefer it you are free to think of your timestream as alpha and mine as beta.”
Abe shook his head impatiently. “I don’t get it.”
“There is no reason why you should, but as I will be in this timestream for just a few minutes on this initial visit it can’t do any harm to let you share my triumph. My name, by the way, is Kincade.” The little man pulled a drawer a short distance out of the tallboy and sat on the edge of it. “You’re familiar with the theory of multiple probability worlds?”
“Huh?”
“It used to be thought that there were a great number of slightly divergent timestrearns generated by decision-points. You know the idea—that in another existence Columbus turned back before he discovered America, that in yet another Germany won the war, and so on. Some quite eminent thinkers held to this theory, even though it leads inescapably to the Doctrine of Infinite Redundancy—which is, of course, utter nonsense.”
“Huh?”
“Well, it follows from the theory that there is another universe identical to this one in every detail except that …” Kincade looked around with magnified eyes, “… the cigarette burn on the edge of this tallboy is a hundredth of an inch further to the left. Another with it further to the left again. And another with it a little smaller, or a different shape. You expend billions of universes simply catering for the billions of possible vagaries of one little cigarette burn. It doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“No.” Abe was emphatic.
“What I’ve done is to rationalise the whole theory. And I’ve proved that there are only two probability worlds, or timestreams, both generating from a single vital decision-point in our history. A little research in this timestream should reveal what this all-important event was, but that can be done on my next visit.
“Now, if you will excuse me.” Kincade moved his hand to a switch which grew out of the buckle of his gleaming belt, but he did not succeed in pressing it.
Abe darted across the room and hit him on top of the skull with the only solid object available, which in this case happened to be the binoculars. Luckily—from Abe’s point of view—they were built to a robust naval specification and were able to put Kincade to sleep in a satisfactory manner. He trussed the unconscious man with cord, then removed the metal belt from around his waist. It was heavy, warm to the touch, and throbbed with a pseudo-life of its own.
One hour later a small cigar store, half a block away from the bank, opened up for the day’s business. Abe, who was watching through the slats of his blind, saw morning sunlight flash on the store’s glass door, and he nodded contentedly.
“See that cigar store over there?” he said. “It sells cigars, all right, but that ain’t all that goes on in there. The guy who owns it just happens to run the local book. Waddaya think of that?”
Kincade, who was in the process of recovering consciousness, retched weakly.
Abe accepted this as an adequate response to a rhetorical question. “Know what’s gonna happen next? About ten minutes from now the guard on that hick bank across the avenue is gonna drift along and lay a few bets the way he does every Friday morning. And that’s when I move in to collect. Waddaya think of that, professor?”
Kincade’s lips moved this time, but no sound came out.
“I got a good car outside,” Abe continued, ‘but now I got a better getaway—thanks to you. I hope your head don’t hurt too much, professor.”
He clucked sympathetically at Kincade, and began putting on his working rig. This consisted of a hand-knitted blue sweater with a special roll neck which could be pulled right up over his face, and a shoulder holster containing a realistic toy Luger. He slipped a jacket on over it, put the metallic belt around his waist and picked up the canvas duffle bag he used for transporting large sums of money.
“What … What are you going to do?” Kincade mumbled.
“I’m gonna rob a bank.”
‘But my chronomotive device!”
“You mean this belt? That’s my getaway, professor. You was enjoying yourself with all the doubletalk a while back. The only reason you gave me all that stuff was you thought I couldn’t understand it, but I’m not dumb, professor. All I got to do is lift the money, get out of the bank, then throw this switch and I disappear into another timestream where nobody robbed the bank—so I’m not wanted. I’ll have all that bread and nobody chasing me to get it back.”
Kincade shook his head. “It may not work for you.”
“Waddaya mean?” Abe scowled at him, took a deep breath and moved the switch on the belt. He felt a curious sensation, like a mild electric shock, and Kincade disappeared. For an instant Abe thought he had been outwitted by the little man, then he noticed the bedspread was a different colour. He was in the other timestream. A sound of movement came from the other room so, without wasting any time, Abe clicked the switch to its original position, felt the strange tingling sensation, and grinned as Kincade reappeared on the room’s only chair.
“I knew it would work, professor.” He patted the belt with proprietory pride. “I’m gonna make a fortune with this gadget.”
Kincade struggled ineffectually with his bonds. “That wasn’t what I meant. Your personal world-lines may not be sufficiently divergent to enable you to capitalise on …’
“Give it up, professor—the big words don’t fool me.” Abe closed the door of his bedroom and went out into the corridor. He had spent longer than he had intended in the apartment and he would have to hurry to be ready for action as soon as the bank guard had left.
The first thing he saw on emerging into the morning sunlight was the guard’s blue uniform disappearing into the cigar store, which meant he had already lost a couple of minutes. Abe danced an impatient jig on the avenue’s central island as the traffic flow prevented him from getting across, then came the realisation that there was really no need to hurry. After all, he had the bank-robber’s ideal companion—the instant getaway.
He reached the sidewalk, strolled casually into the bank’s shady, old-fashioned porch and looked through the inner door. There were no customers in, and the four clerks behind the counter were all the sort he liked to deal with—not so young that they might be reckless, not so old that they might have crazy notions about loyalty. He pulled his collar up over his face, whipped out the toy Luger and shouldered his way through the door.