[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories Winter 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Mister 3 took the small, gray box from his pocket. Smiling, he handedit to Mr. 7.
"Wait!" exclaimed Shalimar Smith.
"Sorry," said Mr. 7, pressing the red button on the right-hand side ofthe box.
Shalimar Smith disappeared from the room.
"An excellent plan, indeed," commented Mr. 1.
Messrs. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 nodded agreement and muttered amongthemselves.
"And now," pursued Mr. 7, "Stage Two." He pressed the green button onthe left-hand side of the gray box.
The Messrs. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 also disappeared from the room.
Shalimar Smith's living room stood empty.
Immediately after Mr. 7 had pressed the red button on the right-handside of the gray box, Shalimar Smith found himself sitting comfortablyin a reclining seat on a fast-moving train. After contemplating thesudden transition and making himself thoroughly dizzy, he turned insome alarm to considering where he was going. He peered out the window,trying to make something from the mixture of blackness and lightsspinning by, overlaid by stationary reflections from inside the car.
"Your ticket, sir," said the conductor for the second time.
"Eh—oh!" Shalimar looked up, felt in the breast pocket of his coat fora ticket that was not there. "Here it—" he pulled the pocket insideout—"isn't," he finished lamely.
"That's nice," said the conductor sarcastically.
Shalimar groaned and dug into his other pockets, distributing theircontents over the seat. Finally he gave a cry of jubilation, pulledhis hand from his inside coat pocket and handed the conductor a smallsquare of cardboard.
The conductor punched three heart-shaped holes through Shalimar'sname and handed him back his driver's license. Shalimar gazed at itstupidly. "I—must have lost it," he ventured.
The thoroughly enraged official grabbed Shalimar by the scruff of hiscoat in an undignified way, pulling the emergency cord with his otherhand. He shoved the unfortunate man down the aisle of the car as thetrain slowed to a halt.
"Stop!" shouted Shalimar.
"Why?" grunted the conductor savagely, shoving him out the dooras the speed of the train diminished. Shalimar landed on his hands andknees, rolled for several yards, and skidded to a halt on his stomach.He sat up and watched in exasperation as the train gathered speed androared away into the darkness.
Finally he stood up, rubbing his head with one hand and feeling of hisskinned knee with the other, and took stock of his surroundings. A moonin quarter phase illuminated dimly the gleaming lines of the railroadtracks, showed a tree in silhouette on a hill not far away. Cloudsscudded across the sky. Shalimar endeavoured to ascertain where hewas, gave up, and headed toward the hill and the silhouetted tree. Inthe far distance the whistle of a train wailed mournfully.
From the top of the hill Shalimar looked over a country of rollingplains and grainfields. A single light shone yellow about a half-mileoff—probably a farm-house. Shalimar headed off toward the light,mentally cursing the monotonous chirping clamor of crickets and othernocturnal insects. He was trying to remember something—something ofvital importance—something that he had to remember before it wastoo late. The memory hung there, just below the surface of conscio