Part 6

"That I don't doubt," said Justin. "But what guarantee can you give us that you will?" And, as Ortine colored slightly, "We go together or we don't go at all. In either case you're cooked."

"An odd expression to use toward me," said Ortine thoughtfully, "I assure you I can make things extremely unpleasant for Deborah."

"I don't doubt that either," Justin told him. "But to what avail?" He hesitated, then plunged into a statement he had been considering through dinner. "Ortine, I don't think you give a damn what happens to our world. I don't believe you give a damn about our sun going nova."

Ortine said silkily, "Very well, Justin, what _do_ you believe--where I am concerned?"

"I think you'd have taken off from here like a shot if it weren't for your becoming inextricably entangled with the human race through your multiple-Eve disaster. I have no idea of the effect of plural birth upon a polymorphous being but I have a hunch it is serious. I think you've got to destroy all of us to get away. Otherwise none of this makes sense."

"Then why shouldn't I simply stay on?" Ortine inquired caustically.

"I'll tell you why," replied Justin. "You've got to get away because we're beginning to learn too much. Sooner or later the existence of this ship of yours is going to be discovered--_you_ are going to be discovered. And when that happens, you're in the wrong galaxy and your physical weapons will be as useless as your psychological weapons are useless against an educated mind and spirit."

Ortine said, "You have reared quite a structure upon a few involuntary hints, a smidgin of knowledge and a long train of intuition." He smiled ruefully, added, "I might as well confess you are remarkably close to the truth--not a bullseye but close."

"Thank you for that," said Justin ironically.

"You needn't feel too proud of yourself," Ortine told him. "I suppose the indications are there for anyone to read who is able to. You're right about my mission. Mine is merely an experimental flight to crash the barrier between your space and mine--incidentally, I believe, the first to do so successfully.

"Unfortunately my ship emerged into this galaxy on a collision course for a planet of your system, shattering it into what you know as the asteroids. As a result of the damage it caused I was forced to moor to Earth in an effort to effect repairs.

"I could not make such repairs alone--hence I was forced to develop the dominant species to a point where its members could actually do some of the heavy work. The construction needed, while minuscule in comparison to my ship, was immense in relation to men--immense and generally senseless."

"The Tower of Babel," mused Justin, "and the pyramids...."

"And the basalt water city of Ponape and scores of other structures whose size has always seemed to exceed the needs of their purpose," Ortine affirmed. "Call them jacks if you wish--that was their primary function. At any rate, thanks to the labor of humans, my ship has at last been readied for its return flight."

"And if you should return successfully what will happen?"

Ortine shrugged. "I belong to an aggressive race," he said simply. "We have already conquered one universe. Need I say more?"

"And your communications are ineffective?" Justin asked.

"Yes, thanks to the crash. But don't let your hopes rise too high, Justin. When my plans are complete human science and knowledge will be irreparably set back."

"So you _are_ afraid of what we're beginning to learn."

"Afraid? That is an emotional word but I suppose in a parallel way I am." Ortine paused, added, "Your species is aggressive too. As I have already told you, we are very similar."

"Why not simply cut and run and then come back in force and destroy us?" countered Justin.

"Time is much less simple than you people seem to think," said Ortine. "The few months it would require us to organize such an expedition in my universe would be the equivalent of several centuries in this one. And by that time, if you have not destroyed yourselves, you may know as much as we."

"So you plan to destroy us," said Justin.

Ortine replied, "You should know better than that, Justin. Why should I trouble to bring all of you here, why should I have spent the time and labor I have on this experiment--when I could blast your planet out of hand?"

Justin studied him for a moment, then said, "I can think of a pair of possible reasons, Ortine. One--your extra-space weapons might not be effective in this universe. Two--from some of the things you have dropped about polymorphous conception and birth, you may not be able to dis-ally yourself from humanity so easily."

Ortine studied Justin in turn, then said, "You're wrong about my weapons--they have long since been adjusted to operate in your space. But I _am_ saddled with you--_all_ of you. I am like a man with a diseased appendix--save that in this instance my appendix numbers three to four billion."

"You mean you are actually part of us--and we of you?" asked Justin, appalled at the thought.

"Unfortunately, yes--in what you would call a physiological sense but one which is painfully physical to me," Ortine replied. "Now consider my plight in terms of your own appendicitis. Such major disasters as battles and natural catastrophes are like recurring attacks. An atomic war might well rupture my very fabric.

"Naturally deaths in smaller quantities or lesser disasters do not noticeably affect me--but the destruction for which your world may be heading is more than I can risk. Therefore I have had to take steps, first to obviate the possibility of atomic war, secondly to lower the population. These are the twin purposes toward which I have conducted my experiment. If I were to wipe out humanity, as I easily could, I should myself die."

"I think I understand," Justin told him, frowning. "By removing human imagination--you call it madness--you plan not only to reduce human population to a nubbin but to rig things so that the remnants will eliminate themselves in a manner practically painless to yourself. Am I right?"

Ortine hesitated, then said, "Consider again the man with appendicitis. If it bursts and he has no proper medical care he will die. But if it withers away, then he is free of the diseased organ."

"And for that purpose you expect me to go through with your assignment?" asked Justin. "_You're_ the one who's mad!"

"I think not," said Ortine, rising. "I happen to know how all-powerful the peculiar form of insanity you humans call love can be. For instance...."

He extended a hand casually toward Deborah. At once a wall of flame sprang up around the cot on which she was sitting. She screamed and shrank back, cowering and covering her eyes. Justin sprang toward her, stood in the midst of the fire.

* * * * *

"Come," he told her but she refused to believe the fire was illusory. She screamed again, said, "Ye'r a de'il too, Charles!"

"_Stop_ it!" cried Justin to Ortine.

"Certainly." At once the flames vanished. Deborah looked at Charles piteously. "Charles, he's going to burn us alive. He _is_ Satan!"

"You want to go back to your own time alone, my dear?" Ortine had strolled casually to the other side of the bed.

Deborah gave him a long look, replied, "Nay, I'll take my chances wi' ye'r hellfire, Master Devil."

"I can ensure that the importunities of Master Otis will meet with no success," offered Ortine. "I can see that you wed a fine young man of family with a mansion near North Square."

"Ye cannot give me Charles," Deborah said fiercely.

Ortine lifted a sardonic eyebrow at Justin. He said, "I'll give you a few minutes alone with her, my dear fellow. For her own sake and yours I hope you can talk some sense into her."

He strolled out and Deborah flung herself on Charles, sobbing her fear. He said when she had calmed a little, "Dear Deborah, you've _got_ to understand. Ortine's fire is real only if you believe it. You saw me standing in it unsinged."

"I know!" she sobbed. "My eyes saw and my poor brain understood but the rest of me couldn't believe."

"You can thank your preachers for that," said Justin. "They've been playing right into the hands of Ortine all along. Now that you've seen I can't be hurt you've got to believe yourself. Otherwise I'm afraid...."

"Else what?" she asked tremulously.

"Otherwise there's no hope for us, honey. If we can't stand together against him we might as well both be dead. It will mean the death of the world as we know it." He looked close into the depths of her blue eyes. "Do you think you're strong enough--with me at your side?"

"I--don't--know," she replied. "Darling Charles, can't ye see how much I _want_ to be strong? But can't ye understand how little it will avail us if, after I promise, I fail?"

He sighed, automatically patted his pockets for a cigarette.

The spider! It was still there. Justin pulled it out, looked at it. When Corinne Forrester had questioned him about its uses other than as a waterproofer, he had not given her an answer.

Deborah touched the odd little sprayer with a forefinger, said, "I found this in ye'r nightdress when I put it away. What is it, Charles?"

He hesitated, made up his mind, said, "It's an invention from my own time, honey. It shelters against cold--and against heat. Providence must be with us."

"Against heat? How does it work, Charles?"

"Here--I'll show you." He pressed a tiny button, spraying some of the transparent plastic across the palm of his left hand.

"'Tis as magical as Master Ortine's devices," cried the girl.

"Perhaps," replied Justin. "Now stand very still, honey--I'm going to give you a coat of this stuff. Then you'll have nothing to fear from Ortine's flame illusions."

"Ye'r a very wonderful man, Charles," she told him proudly.

"We'll soon know," he replied, then got busy and sprayed her with it all over, not sparing even her hair and lashes.

Finished, he returned the spider to his pocket, said, "Now let him do his worst. Are ye--are you _sure_ you want to come back with me, honey? There's going to be one hell of a row over you."

"I'll be with _ye_," she said simply.

Ortine returned. He bowed to his guests, said, "Well, I hope this is our last session."

"We've reached an agreement," Justin told him.

"An intelligent agreement?"

"Quite. We're going back together--to my time."

Ortine's smile was not pleasant. He said, "This may sound a trifle trite but don't say I didn't warn you." Then, to Deborah, "For your information this may be quite painful while it lasts--or while _you_ last."

"Don't be afraid, honey," Justin told her.

"I'm not." The countenance she lifted to his was radiantly assured. "Not any more."

Ortine hesitated, his hand half outstretched, and said, "I truly hate to disillusion you, Justin."

"We'll see how your tricks prevail against love," said Justin.

"_Love!_" The word seemed to infuriate Ortine. He gestured at them and the room became a cubicle of fire. For a fraction of a second Justin flinched involuntarily and during that time he could actually feel the heat. Then, once more in control of himself, he stood quietly amid flames that neither seared nor burned.

Deborah locked up at him and smiled, the blaze flickering against her face. Her hand found his, pressed it tightly, and she smiled.

The flames vanished. A weary Ortine shook his head in bafflement. He said, "All right, you two--you win. I'll do anything you wish. Anything to get you out of here."

XI

When Justin came to he felt as if he had been wrapped in several layers of flour sacking. Then, with returning consciousness, he discovered himself to be lying in his own bed in the house on Louisburg Square, wearing the coarse heavy clothes Deborah had given him.

Deborah! A quick glance to his left revealed her lying beside him. He put out a reassuring hand to stroke her face, felt its plastic coating, got out of bed in a hurry.

"Come on," he said, "let's get that stuff off of you."

She moved like a girl in a trance. Her eyes ranged from the bed itself to the electric light on the bedside table, to the telephone, to the carpet, to the walls--then at last to Justin.

"Don't let it throw you, honey," he told her. "Think how I felt when I woke up in _your_ bed."

She said in a near-whisper, "But _this_--this is more wonderful than Belvoir itself!"

"Prepare yourself for another shock, honey--a twentieth-century bathroom. We're going to get you cleaned up."

It was like showing a child its first Christmas tree. It took Justin a full fifteen minutes to get Deborah safely ensconced in a hot tub. He emerged, perspiring, carrying her clothes, and deposited them on a chair, then began to strip off his own ill-fitting garments.

He stopped in the process of disrobing, picked up the phone, dialed the Ritz and reserved a suite. He had no intention of having Marie walk in to find Deborah there with him.

He found the spider again in his pocket, sat down on the bed to examine it once more. On impulse he squirted some of the remaining plastic on his hand, picked up a lighter, ran the flame beneath it. The stuff flamed up like benzine, blistering his palm before he could extinguish it. Justin shook his head and tossed it onto the table, feeling more sweat bead his forehead.

This, he decided, was one invention he was definitely going to turn down--if he still had his job with the Ninth of Boston, come the morning. He got out of his absurd clothes, scratched his flanks with relief, rummaged in the wardrobe for an extra robe.

Deborah called for help. She was having difficulty getting the plastic out of her hair. Justin stood her under the shower, soaped her head and turned on the warm water. "We'll get you a decent shampoo at a beautician's tomorrow, honey," he told her.

It was at that moment that Marie appeared in the doorway. She looked at Justin, then at Deborah incredulously. She was carrying the blue-and-white dress of the girl from Old Boston in her hand. She said, "I was going to ask you what this was, Justin--but I see there's no need."

Justin turned off the water, tossed the girl a towel, escorted his wife to the bedroom, shutting the bathroom door behind them. He glanced for the first time at the clock beside the telephone, discovered it was past two A.M. Ortine had had his little joke--instead of returning them to the banker's house at the moment of his first summons, he had allowed a few hours to elapse.

"What are you smiling about?" Marie asked him sharply. "I was coming in to tell you I met a rather fascinating friend of yours--a Mrs. Forrester--tonight. She suggested I drop in to give you her regards before I turned in. And here I find you...."

"Did she give you a Cuban cigarette?" Justin asked mildly.

"Don't joke--your taste is sufficiently bad as it is."

"Well," said Justin, feeling almost grateful to Ortine for forcing the issue into the open, "I suppose it had to happen sometime. We haven't been of much use to each other lately."

"I wouldn't exactly say that," replied Marie, sitting down and tilting a cigarette for him to light. "After all, I wonder just how far you'd have got without me, Charles."

"And that makes a marriage?" Justin asked sharply.

Marie shrugged disinterestedly. "There are all kinds of marriages." She yawned, added, "Where'd you pick her up? At a servants' costume ball?"

"Not exactly," Justin told her. "Actually it's been a rather remarkable evening."

"I bet it has!" Marie's tone was sharp. "Well, what are you going to do about it, Charles?"

"I've already made reservations at the Ritz," he told her. "We'll both be out of here in a few minutes. By the way, could you loan Debby something to wear?"

She regarded him with amusement. "Do you really think I should?" she countered. "Perhaps the maid has something. I'll go and see. The Ritz--hmmm. Well, gather ye rosebuds and all that, sweetheart. You know I'll have your hide for this, don't you?"

"I never for a moment doubted it," he replied.

She rose, looked as puzzled as had Ortine. Love, pure love between man and woman, was apparently as implausible to Marie as it was to the master of Belvoir. She said, "Charles, you know that's rather sweet. I'll see what I can do for your little friend. Better let me have a look at her though--just for size."

Obeying an unexpected impulse, Justin kissed his wife on the forehead and told her, "You know, Marie, that's the nicest thing you've said since we've been married."

"Don't crowd your luck, Charles," Marie warned. "Call out the concubine."

Deborah emerged hesitantly, her brown hair an uncontrolled mess, Justin's robe flopping about her. She looked at Marie, then at Justin, said, "Is this Mistress Justin, Charles?"

One of Marie's pale eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. She looked at Justin, shocked, then blinked groggily and managed to say, "I don't know who's whose mistress around here but I think I have an outfit that will fit her fairly well. And, Charles, I don't know what she's done to her hair but I'll bring along a snood."

* * * * *

Justin was late in reaching the office the following morning. Devereux Chandler was there ahead of him, practicing chip shots on the carpet with his cane.

Steeled for the worst, Justin was surprised at the half-mocking grin with which Chandler greeted him. "I don't know what you did to my niece last night, Charles," he said, "but you've been the devil of a long time getting to it. She was on the phone this morning, demanding I have you fired."

"I rather expected that, Dev," said Justin. "Drink?"

"Not now," said Chandler. He sank into an armchair, looked at Justin quizzically. "I don't know what got into you, but then I don't know how you could stand Marie this long. She's used you for all you were worth."

"That's not quite her story," said Justin, sitting on a corner of his desk. "She seems to think that without you and her connection with you I'd be counting change in a teller's cage out in Melrose."

"Possibly--but we'd be the losers, Charles," Chandler told him. "I don't like to crowd your business hours but I thought it only proper to set your mind at rest."

"Thanks--I appreciate it," said Justin.

There was a long, rather awkward pause. Then Chandler cleared his throat and said, "I suppose Marie will trap Jack Fellowes next. Too bad--he's not a bad apple."

"There are worse around."

Chandler stood up, cut at the carpet with his cane. He remarked without looking up, "From what Marie tells me you seem to have come up with a rather remarkable young woman. You wouldn't mind telling me how it happened?"

"If I hadn't decided to turn in early," said Justin, "and if I hadn't used a certain mental device to go back to sleep after you woke me up with your call from the party...." He stopped and shook his head helplessly. "You wouldn't believe me if I did explain it."

"Eh? Well, probably not--but I hope you'll ask me around for a drink when you get settled."

"You'll be the very first," Justin assured him warmly.

Henri Dubois was ushered in shortly after Devereux Chandler left. This time he came alone. Justin asked him where Miss Forrester was as he got his visitor seated. Dubois replied, "She had to go away this morning on a long trip."

"A very fascinating woman," said Justin, lighting a smoke. Then, "Mr. Dubois, I can't offer any assurance that we'll be able to give you and your movement the backing you want. But I can tell you this--I shall do everything in my power to see that you get it."

Henri Dubois extended a warm hand across the desk, said, "Mr. Justin, that's good enough for me."

Justin left early that afternoon. With his job safe and Dubois taken care of there was nothing to keep him at his desk. He paused briefly by the entrance to the Park Street Subway station to eye the vast expanse of the modern city and compare it with the snowbound panorama he had viewed from almost the same spot a few hours--or was it two centuries?--earlier.

It seemed strangely like the dream he had, for awhile, believed it to be. But Deborah was awaiting him at the Ritz. He began to walk faster.

So it hadn't been a dream at all. And, perhaps, he really had saved the world from a savage and sudden retrogression from which it could scarcely have recovered. He had had to lose his sanity to do it--for no man in love is sane, he told himself.

But Deborah was awaiting him at the Ritz.

He crossed Charles Street, entered the Public Gardens. And it occurred to him that perhaps he hadn't outwitted Ortine. Perhaps his behavior was carefully plotted as part of some far subtler scheme. He wondered.

But Deborah was awaiting him at the Ritz.