Another thought struck him, and he grabbed up the love story book and almost tore it getting it open to the contents page. Yes—Betty Hadley was Managing Editor.
It still read Whaley Publishing Co., of course. This issue was before Borden had bought the magazine.
Whatever mad universe this was, he had a job here and Betty Hadley was here.
He sighed a little with relief. Betty Hadley—this couldn’t be too bad a place.
The tune on the radio stopped suddenly, as though someone had shut off a record. A voice cut in:
«Special news bulletin. Second warning to citizens of Greeneville and surrounding territory. The Arcturian spy reported half an hour ago has not yet been apprehended. All railway stations and spaceports are being closely guarded and a house-to-house search is being instituted. All citizens are requested to be on the alert.
«Go armed. Shoot on sight. Mistakes may be made but again we remind you that it is better that a hundred innocent people die than that the spy escape to cause the loss, perhaps, of a million Terrestrial lives.
«We repeat the description …»
Scarcely breathing, Keith Winton listened to that description. About five feet nine … one-sixty pounds … tan suit, white sport shirt open at the collar …
He let his breath out slowly. They hadn’t discovered his change of clothes then. And there was no mention of his being wounded. The druggist, then, didn’t know that one of the shots he’d fired had hit.
The physical description was fairly close but that couldn’t be too dangerous if they didn’t know the clothes he was wearing now or the fact that his upper arm would be bandaged. If only the man whose room he had burgled at the rooming house didn’t come home and find the dark suit missing, and tie it in with the broadcasts—
But—ye gods, what had he walked into? «Shoot on sight!»
At least that ended but definitely his half-formed intention to go to the police with the truth as soon as he’d oriented himself a bit. Somehow, he was in deadly danger here and there wouldn’t be any chance to explain. Somehow he’d have to get back to New York, and—but what would New York be like? As he knew it or otherwise?
It was getting hot and stuffy in the room. He went over to the window and opened it, then stood looking out at the street below. So ordinary a street, such ordinary people. And then three of the tall purple monsters, arm in arm, came out of the theater lobby across the way and nobody on the street paid any attention to them.
He stepped back suddenly from the window, for one of the purple things might, for all he knew, be the one that had seen him in the drugstore; they all looked alike to him but it might recognize him if it saw him at the window.
He was trembling a little at a sudden thought. Was he crazy? If so, it was the craziest form of craziness he’d ever heard of and he’d studied abnormal psychology at college. And, if he were crazy, which was the delusion—this world he’d just discovered or his memories of a world without space travel and purple Bems?
Were all his memories wrong? Or—what?
There were footsteps along the corridor outside his door, footsteps of three or four people.
There was a knock at his door. A voice said, «Police.»
CHAPTER IV
Manhattan Madness
KEITH TOOK A deep breath and thought fast. The radio had just told him that a house-to-house search was being made, probably that’s all this was. As someone who’d just checked into the hotel he’d be investigated first, of course. Aside from his time of checking in, they could have no grounds for suspicion.
Was there anything on him that would give him away if he were searched? His money—money that was in dollars and cents instead of credits. That was all. Quickly he took from his pocket the change he had left—a quarter, two dimes and some pennies. From his billfold he took the bills—three tens and some singles—that weren’t credit bills. He wrapped the change in the bills, making a small tight wad, and reached out through the window, putting them on the corner of the window ledge out of sight.
Then he went and opened the door of the room.
Three men, two of them in police uniform, stood there. The uniformed ones held drawn revolvers in their hands. It was the other, the man in a gray business suit, who spoke.
He said, «Sorry, sir. We’re making a routine check-up. You’ve heard the broadcasts?»
«Of course,» Keith said. «Come in.»
They came in, ready and alert. The muzzles of the pistols were aimed at his chest and they didn’t waver a bit. The cold suspicious eyes of the man in gray didn’t waver from his face either. But his voice was polite. «Your name?»
«Keith Winton.»
«Occupation?»
«Editor. Managing Editor, that is, of Surprising Stories.» Keith gestured casually at the magazine lying on the bed.
The muzzle of one of the revolvers dropped a little and a broad grin came across the face of the man behind it.
«The heck!» said the uniformed man. «Then you run the Rocketalk Department, don’t you? You’re The Rocketeer?»
Keith nodded.
«Then maybe you remember my name? John Garrett. I’ve written you some letters and you published two of them.» Quickly he transferred his pistol to his left hand and stuck out his right.
Keith shook it. «Sure,» he said. «You’re the guy who keeps trying to talk us into running color on our inside illustrations, even if we have to raise the price a d—» He caught himself quickly. «—a credit.»
The man’s grin got broader and his pistol dropped to his side. «Sure,» he said. «That’s me. I’ve been a fan of your magazine ever since—»
The man in gray cleared his throat. He said, «That’ll do, Sergeant. We’re on business, remember?»
But his attitude was more relaxed as he smiled at Keith, and some of the stiffness had gone out of his face and voice. «Guess you’re all right, Mr. Winton. But, as routine, do you have identification?»
Keith nodded and started to reach for the wallet in his hip pocket, but the man in gray said, «Wait. If you don’t mind—»
And, whether Keith minded or not, he stepped around behind Keith and ran his hands swiftly over all of Keith’s pockets, ending by removing the wallet himself, glancing inside it and then handing it back.
«Okay,» he said, «if—»
He went to the closet, opened the door and looked inside. He opened the dresser drawers, looked under the bed, made a quick but reasonably thorough search.
«You have no luggage?»
Keith said, «Didn’t expect to stay here overnight. Came on business and it took me longer than I expected.»
The man in gray finished his search. He said, «Sorry to have bothered you. Mr. Winton. By the way, I’m Captain Hoffman. If there’s anything I can do for you—you’re going back to New York tomorrow morning?»
Keith had been thinking about that. Sometime tonight the man whose suit he was wearing was going to discover it was missing and possibly report it to the police. It might be better if he could run the gauntlet of the railroad station now, while things looked good.
He said, «I’ve been thinking about that, Captain. Going back in the morning, I mean. It’ll get me in at the office so late; I think I’m going to change my mind and go back tonight. I was tired when I decided to stay over here but I’m feeling better now. Will I have any trouble at the station?»
«Possibly. They’re screening pretty close at all the outlets. I’ll write you a note if you like.»
«Fine,» Keith told him. «I’ll appreciate it.»
Half an hour later, he was on an uncrowded train to New York. He had a seat to himself and two hours of leisure to read the two magazines and the newspaper he had bought.