Manly Wade Wellman - Chapbook 02 by Devil's Planet (v1.1) Page B

More
silence. Congreve broke it.
                 “Do
I understand,” he said, “that you are confessing to the murder?”
                 “I
neither confess nor deny,” the girl answered, almost primly. “You are a
criminologist. Find out for yourself.”
                 “You’re
under arrest,” Congreve told her.

           CHAPTER X The Second Explosion
     
     
                GIRRA,
finishing his work, returned to the outer balcony where his flying machine was
moored. But he did not enter it at once. Instead, he selected a wrench from
among his tools and turned upon the robot helper whose peculiar behavior he
diagnosed as faulty mechanism.
                 “I
darre not trrusst you in the flyerr while my attention iss occupied by operrating
the mechanissm,” he addressed the metal figure. “I had bet- terr examine yourr
worrkss now, fix them if possible, or put you temporarily out of commisssion if
not.” He paused, out of patience. His servitor was actually retreating before
him. “Sstand sstill!” commanded Girra, and pursued.
                 Stover
backed up, thinking hard and desperately. Then he could back no farther. Girra
had herded him into a corner, close against the railing.
                 The
Martian extended the wrench, fumbling at one of the bolts that held Stover’s
disguise-shell together.
                 A
twist, a tug, and his secret would be out—Girra would perceive that inside the
apparent robot was, not a mass of mechanism but a living Terrestrial, very much
wanted by police. And Stover did not care to be arrested just now. He had other
plans.
                 Because
he must, he put forth one hand in its metal sheathing and snatched the wrench
from Girra’s grasp. The Martian mechanic retreated in turn, dumbfounded beyond
speech. Then, as Stover made a threatening flourish with the wrench, Girra
dropped the kit of tools he carried and retreated toward the entrance to
Malbrook’s apartment.
                 “Help! Asssisstance!” he squalled. “My
rrobot hass gone out of contrrol!”
                 He
was gone, out of sight for a few moments. In that precious time Stover carried
into action a quick plan of misdirection. From^he fallen toolkit he snatched a
thin, strong line, knotted one end to the railing and threw the other end free
into the abyss below. Then he ducked back into a shallow corner as Girra rushed
forth again, followed by the mystified and impatient policeman who had kept
guard in the vestibule.
                 “Now
then, now then,’’ this policeman was grumbling, after the manner of policemen
generally throughout all worlds and ages. “What happened, you say? Your robot—where
is your robot?”
                 Girra
ran to the railing. One tentacle caught the tethered end of the line.
                 “It
hass climbed down thiss line!” he cried sagely. “Climbed down to lowerr levelss
and escaped!”
                 “Never
heard of a robot doing that,” commented the policeman. He went to Girra’s side,
and also peered down. “Huh!” he grunted. “That’s what comes of too much
clockwork in those babies. They get into wild messes. We’d better call for
Congreve.”
                 They
entered the vestibule again.
                 At
once Stover ran to the moored flyer, got in and went soaring away.
                 Girra
got back to the Bureau office in a hired vehicle. The mystery was deepened when
there came a report from a far rooftop. An
Architecture Bureau ship had landed there. Whoever had flown it was gone. Inside
was a robot shell, with no machinery. Girra, smarting from reprimands by
Congreve and his work superior, sought furiously for the culprit responsible
for this state of affairs. He failed to find him because he did not know where
and how to look.