is this? What's he doing here?"
The entire montage of skull faces turned upon Curt. He heard a sharp collective intake of breath, as if his presence were some un
foreseen calamity that had shaken the course of their incomprehensible lives.
"This is Curtis Johnson," said Brown. "He got lost looking for a doctor for Dell."
A mummylike figure rose from a seat before the instrument. "Your coming is tremendously unfortunate, but for the moment we can do nothing about it. Sit here beside me. My name is Tarron Sark."
The man indicated a chair.
"My friend, Dr. Dell, is dying," Curt snapped out, refusing to sit down. "I've got to get help. I saw your light and hoped you'd allow me to use your phone. I don't know who you are nor what Dell's hired man is doing here with you. But you've got to let me go for help!"
"No." The man, Sark, shook his head. "Dell is reconciled. He has to go. We are awaiting precisely the event you would halt — his death."
He had known it, Curt thought, from the moment he entered that room. Like vultures sitting on cliffs waiting for the death of their prey, these fantastic men let their glance slip back to the screen. The green line was a third of the way toward the red marker now, and moving more rapidly.
It was nightmare — meaningless —
'I'm not staying," Curt insisted. "You can't prevent me from helping Dell without assuming responsibility for his death. I demand you let me call."
"You're not going to call," said Sark wearily. "And we assumed responsibility for Dell's death long ago. Sit down!"
Slowly Curt sank down upon the chair beside the stranger. There was nothing else to do. He was powerless against Brown's gun. But he'd bring them to justice somehow, he swore.
He didn't understand the meaning of the slowly moving pattern on the 'scope face, yet, as his eyes followed that pip, he sensed tension in the watching men that seemed sinister, almost murderous. How?
What did the inexorably advancing pip signify?
NO ONE spoke. The room was Stirling hot and the breathing of the circle of men was a dull, rattling sound in Curt's ears. .
Quickly then, gathering sudden momentum, the pip accelerated. The circle of men grew taut.
The pip crossed the red line — and vanished.
Only the smooth green trace remained, motionless and without meaning.
With hesitant shuffling of feet, the circle expanded. The men glanced uncertainly at one another.
One said, "Well, that's the end of Dell. We'll soon know now
if we're on the right track, or if we've botched it. Carlson will call when he's computed it."
"The end of Dell?" Curt repeated slowly, as if trying to convince himself of what he knew had happened. 'The pip on the screen — that showed his life leaving him?"
"Yes," said Sark. "He knew he had to go. And there are perhaps hundreds more like him. But Dell couldn't have told you of that — "
"What will we do with him?" Brown asked abruptly.
"If Dell is dead, you murdered him!" Curt shouted.
A rising personal fear grew within him. They could not release him now, even though his story would make no sense to anybody. But they had somehow killed Dell, or thought they had, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill Curt. He thought of Louise in the great house with the corpse of Haman Dell — if, of course, he was actually dead. But that was nonsense. . . .
"Dell must have sent you to us!" Sark said, as if a great mystery had suddenly been lifted from his mind. "He did not have time to tell you everything. Did he tell you to take the road behind the farm?"
Curt nodded bitterly. "He told me it was the quickest way to get to a doctor."
"He did? Then he knew even better than we did how rapidly he was slipping. Yes, this was the quickest way."
"What are you talking about?" Curt demanded.
"Did Dell say anything at all about what he wanted of you?"
"It was all wild. Something
The entire montage of skull faces turned upon Curt. He heard a sharp collective intake of breath, as if his presence were some un
foreseen calamity that had shaken the course of their incomprehensible lives.
"This is Curtis Johnson," said Brown. "He got lost looking for a doctor for Dell."
A mummylike figure rose from a seat before the instrument. "Your coming is tremendously unfortunate, but for the moment we can do nothing about it. Sit here beside me. My name is Tarron Sark."
The man indicated a chair.
"My friend, Dr. Dell, is dying," Curt snapped out, refusing to sit down. "I've got to get help. I saw your light and hoped you'd allow me to use your phone. I don't know who you are nor what Dell's hired man is doing here with you. But you've got to let me go for help!"
"No." The man, Sark, shook his head. "Dell is reconciled. He has to go. We are awaiting precisely the event you would halt — his death."
He had known it, Curt thought, from the moment he entered that room. Like vultures sitting on cliffs waiting for the death of their prey, these fantastic men let their glance slip back to the screen. The green line was a third of the way toward the red marker now, and moving more rapidly.
It was nightmare — meaningless —
'I'm not staying," Curt insisted. "You can't prevent me from helping Dell without assuming responsibility for his death. I demand you let me call."
"You're not going to call," said Sark wearily. "And we assumed responsibility for Dell's death long ago. Sit down!"
Slowly Curt sank down upon the chair beside the stranger. There was nothing else to do. He was powerless against Brown's gun. But he'd bring them to justice somehow, he swore.
He didn't understand the meaning of the slowly moving pattern on the 'scope face, yet, as his eyes followed that pip, he sensed tension in the watching men that seemed sinister, almost murderous. How?
What did the inexorably advancing pip signify?
NO ONE spoke. The room was Stirling hot and the breathing of the circle of men was a dull, rattling sound in Curt's ears. .
Quickly then, gathering sudden momentum, the pip accelerated. The circle of men grew taut.
The pip crossed the red line — and vanished.
Only the smooth green trace remained, motionless and without meaning.
With hesitant shuffling of feet, the circle expanded. The men glanced uncertainly at one another.
One said, "Well, that's the end of Dell. We'll soon know now
if we're on the right track, or if we've botched it. Carlson will call when he's computed it."
"The end of Dell?" Curt repeated slowly, as if trying to convince himself of what he knew had happened. 'The pip on the screen — that showed his life leaving him?"
"Yes," said Sark. "He knew he had to go. And there are perhaps hundreds more like him. But Dell couldn't have told you of that — "
"What will we do with him?" Brown asked abruptly.
"If Dell is dead, you murdered him!" Curt shouted.
A rising personal fear grew within him. They could not release him now, even though his story would make no sense to anybody. But they had somehow killed Dell, or thought they had, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill Curt. He thought of Louise in the great house with the corpse of Haman Dell — if, of course, he was actually dead. But that was nonsense. . . .
"Dell must have sent you to us!" Sark said, as if a great mystery had suddenly been lifted from his mind. "He did not have time to tell you everything. Did he tell you to take the road behind the farm?"
Curt nodded bitterly. "He told me it was the quickest way to get to a doctor."
"He did? Then he knew even better than we did how rapidly he was slipping. Yes, this was the quickest way."
"What are you talking about?" Curt demanded.
"Did Dell say anything at all about what he wanted of you?"
"It was all wild. Something
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