Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 162

I turned to Jedson, who was not looking any too happy himself, and said, Let's get back to the office.'

We did.

We decided at last to do a little investigating on our own before taking up what we had learned with the Better Business Bureau or with the police. It was just as well that we did; none of the gang whose names we had obtained was any longer to be found in the haunts which we had listed. There was plenty of evidence that such persons had existed and that they had lived at the addresses which Jedson had sweated out of their pal. But all of them, without exception, had done a bunk for parts unknown the same afternoon that their accomplice had been killed.

We did not go to the police, for we had no wish to be a.s.sociated with an especially unsavoury sudden death. Instead, Jedson made a cautious verbal report to a friend of his at the Better Business Bureau, who pa.s.sed it on secondhand to the head of the racket squad and elsewhere, as his judgement indicated.

I did not have any trouble with my business for some time thereafter, and I was working very hard, trying to show a profit for the quarter in spite of setbacks.

I had put the whole matter fairly well out of my mind, except that I dropped over to call on Mrs Jennings occasionally and that I had used her young friend

Jack Bodie once or twice in my business, when I needed commercial magic. He was a good workman - no monkey business and value received.

I was beginning to think I had the world on a leash when I ran into another series of accidents. This time they did not threaten my business; they threatened me - and I'm just as fond of my neck as the next man.

In the house where I live the water heater is installed in the kitchen. It is a storage type, with a pilot light and a thermostatically controlled main flame.

Right alongside it is a range with a pilot light.

I woke up in the middle of the night and decided that I wanted a drink of water.

When I stepped into the kitchen - don't ask me why I did not look for a drink in the bathroom, because I don't know - I was almost gagged by the smell of gas. I ran over and threw the window wide open, then ducked back out the door and ran into the living room, where I opened a big window to create a cross draught.

At that point there was a dull whoosh and a boom, and I found myself sitting on the living room rug.

I was not hurt, and there was no damage in the kitchen except for a few broken dishes. Opening the windows had released the explosion, cushioned the effect.

Natural gas is not an explosive unless it is confined. What had happened was clear enough when I looked over the scene. The pilot light on the heater had gone out; when the water in the tank cooled, the thermostat turned on the main gas jet, which continued inde- finitely to pour gas into the room. When an explosive mixture was reached, the pilot light of the stove was waiting, ready to set it off.

Apparently I wandered in at the zero hour.

I fussed at my landlord about it, and finally we made a d.i.c.ker whereby he installed one of the electrical water heaters which I supplied at cost and for which I donated the labour.

No magic about the whole incident, eh? That is what I thought. Now I am not so sure.

The next thing that threw a scare into me occurred the same week, with no apparent connexion. I keep a dry mix - sand, rock, gravel - in the usual big bins set up high on concrete stanchions, so that the trucks can drive under the hoppers for loading. One evening after closing time I was walking past the bins when I noticed that someone had left a scoop shovel in the driveway pit under the hoppers.

I have had trouble with my men leaving tools out at night; I decided to put this one in my car and confront someone with it in the morning. I was about to jump down into the pit when I heard my name called.

Archibald!' it said - and it sounded remarkably like Mrs Jennings's voice.

Naturally I looked around. There was no one there. I turned back to the pit in time to hear a cracking sound and to see that scoop covered with twenty tons of medium gravel.

A man can live through being buried alive, but not when he has to wait overnight for someone to miss him and dig him out. Acrystallized steel forging was the prima-facie cause of the mishap. I suppose that will do.

There was never anything to point to but natural causes, yet for about two weeks

I stepped on banana peels both figuratively and literally. I saved my skin with a spot of fast footwork at least a dozen times. I finally broke down and told

Mrs Jennings about it.

Don't worry too much about it, Archie,' she rea.s.sured me. It is not too easy to kill a man with magic unless he himself is involved with magic and sensitive to it.'

Might as well kill a man as scare him to death!' I protested.

She smiled that incredible smile of hers and said, I don't think you have been really frightened, lad. At least you have not shown it.'

I caught an implication in that remark and taxed her with it. You've been watching me and pulling me out of jams, haven't you?'

She smiled more broadly and replied, That's my business, Archie. It is not well for the young to depend on the old for help. Now get along with you. I want to give this matter more thought.'

A couple of days' later a note came in the mail addressed to me in a spidery,

Spencerian script. The penmanship had the dignified flavour of the last century, and was the least bit shaky, as if the writer were unwell or very elderly. I had never seen the hand before, but guessed who it was before I opened it. It read:

My dear Archibald: This is to introduce my esteemed friend, Dr Royce

Worthington. You will find him staying at the Belmont Hotel; he is expecting to hear from you. Dr Worthington is exceptionally well qualified to deal with the matters that have been troubling you these few weeks past. You may repose every confidence in his judgement, especially where unusual measures are required.

Please to include your friend, Mr Jedson, in this introduction, if you wish.

I am, sir,

Very sincerely yours,

Amanda Todd Jennings

I rang up Joe Jedson and read the letter to him. He said that he would be over at once, and for me to telephone Worthington.

Is Dr Worthington there?' I asked as soon as the room clerk had put me through.

Speaking,' answered a cultured British voice with a hint of Oxford in it.

This is Archibald Fraser, Doctor. Mrs Jennings has written to me, suggesting that I look you up.'

Oh, yes!' he replied, his voice warming considerably. I shall be delighted. When will be a convenient time?'

If you are free, I could come right over.'

Let me see-' He paused about long enough to consult a watch. I have occasion to go to your side of the city. Might I stop by your office in thirty minutes, or a little later?'

That will be fine, Doctor, if it does not discommode you-'

Not at all. I will be there.'

Jedson arrived a little later and asked me at once about Dr Worthington. I haven't seen him yet,' I said, but he sounds like something pretty sw.a.n.k in the way of an English-university don. He'll be here shortly.'

My office girl brought in his card a half hour later. I got up to greet him and saw a tall, heavy-set man with a face of great dignity and evident intelligence.