The Starcomber Read Free

need?”
    â€œGive me an hour.”
    â€œI doubt very much whether it’ll do any good.”
    â€œBut there’s no harm trying?”
    â€œI suppose not. All right, Mr. Derelict. Call the nurse when you’re through.”
    The door opened; the door closed. The stranger-man named Derelict put his hand on Halsyon’s shoulder in a friendly, intimate way. Halsyon looked up at him and grinned cleverly, meanwhile waiting for the sound of the bolt in the door. It came; like a shot, like a final nail in a coffin.
    â€œJeff, I’ve brought some of your old work with me,” Derelict said in a voice that was only approximately casual. “I thought you might like to look it over with me.”
    â€œHave you got a watch on you?” Halsyon asked.
    Restraining his start of surprise at Halsyon’s normal tone, the art dealer took out his pocket watch and displayed it.
    â€œLend it to me for a minute.”
    Derelict unchained the watch and handed it over. Halsyon took it carefully and said, “All right. Go ahead with the pictures.”
    â€œJeff!” Derelict exclaimed. “This is you again, isn’t it? This is the way you always—”
    â€œThirty,” Halsyon interrupted. “Thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, ONE.” He concentrated on the flicking second hand with rapt expectation.
    â€œNo, I guess it isn’t,” the dealer muttered. “I only imagined you sounded—Oh well.” He opened the portfolio and began sorting mounted drawings.
    â€œForty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, TWO.”
    â€œHere’s one of your earliest, Jeff. Remember when you came into the gallery with the roughs and we thought you were the new polisher from the agency? Took you months to forgive us. You always claimed we bought your first picture just to apologize. Do you still think so?”
    â€œForty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, THREE.”
    â€œHere’s that tempera that gave you so many heartaches. I was wondering if you’d care to try another? I really don’t think tempera is as inflexible as you claim and I’d be interested to have you try again now that your technique’s so much more matured. What do you say?”
    â€œForty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, FOUR.”
    â€œJeff, put down that watch.”
    â€œTen, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five . . .”
    â€œWhat the devil’s the point of counting minutes?”
    â€œWell,” Halsyon said reasonably, “sometimes they lock the door and go away. Other times they lock up and stay and spy on you. But they never spy longer than three minutes so I’m giving them five just to make sure. FIVE.”
    Halsyon gripped the pocket watch in his big fist and drove the fist cleanly into Derelict’s jaw. The dealer dropped without a sound. Halsyon dragged him to the wall, stripped him naked, dressed himself in his clothes, repacked the portfolio and closed it. He picked up the dollar bill and pocketed it. He picked up the bottle of carbon ink warranted nonpoisonous and smeared the contents over his face.
    Choking and shouting, he brought the nurse to the door.
    â€œLet me out of here,” Halsyon cried in a muffled voice. “That maniac tried to drown me. Threw ink in my face. I want out!”
    The door was unbolted and opened. Halsyon shoved past the nurse-man, cunningly mopping his blackened face with a hand that only masked it more. As the nurse-man started to enter the cell, Halsyon said, “Never mind Halsyon. He’s all right. Get me a towel or something. Hurry!”
    The nurse-man locked the door again, turned and ran down the corridor. Halsyon waited until he disappeared into a supply room, then turned and ran in the opposite direction. He went through the heavy doors to the main wing corridor, still cleverly mopping, still sputtering with cunning indignation. He reached the main building. He was halfway out and still no