Clifford D. Simak

“Then,” said Sharp, “suppose you start right now by explaining it to me. I’ll own to a slight curiosity. Let’s go across the street to my office, where we can settle down and have a talk. Or might that inconvenience you? There’s probably a thing or two you still have to do to finish up the job of bankrupting Time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” said Oop. “I’d say, offhand, that we’ve done about everything we can.”

Inspector Drayton rose heavily from the chair in which he had been sitting in Sharp’s outer office.

“I’m glad you finally arrived, Dr. Sharp,” he said. “Something has arisen-”

The inspector cut short his speech when he caught sight of Maxwell. “So it’s you,” said the inspector. “I am glad to see you. You’ve led me a long, hard chase.”

Maxwell made a face. “I’m not sure, Inspector, that I can reciprocate your gladness.”

If there was anyone he could get along without right now, he told himself, it was Inspector Drayton.

“And who might you be?” Sharp asked shortly. “What do you mean by busting in here.”

“I’m Inspector Drayton, of Security. I had a short talk with Professor Maxwell the other day, on the occasion of his return to Earth, but I’m afraid that there are still some questions…”

“In that case,” said Sharp, “please take your place in line. I have business with Dr. Maxwell and I’m afraid that mine takes precedence over yours.”

“You don’t understand,” said Drayton. “I had not come here to apprehend your friend. His turning up with you is a piece of good fortune I had not expected. There is another matter in which I thought you might be helpful, a matter which came up rather unexpectedly. You see, I had heard that Professor Maxwell had been a guest at Miss Clayton’s recent party and so I went to see her-”

“Talk sense, man,” said Sharp. “What has Nancy Clayton got to do with all of this?”

“I don’t know, Harlow,” said Nancy Clayton, appearing at the doorway of the inner office. “I never intended to get involved in anything. All I ever try to do is entertain my Mends and I can’t see how there’s anything so wrong in that.”

“ Nancy, please,” said Sharp. “First tell me what is going on. Why are you here and why is Inspector Drayton here and-”

“It’s Lambert,” Nancy said.

“You mean the man who painted the picture that you have.”

“I have three of them,” said Nancy proudly.

“But Lambert has been dead more than five hundred years.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Nancy, “but he turned up tonight. He said that he was lost.”

A man stepped from the inner room, urging Nancy to one side-a tall and rugged man with sandy hair and deep lines in his face.

“It appears, gentlemen,” he said, “that you are discussing me. Would you mind if I spoke up for myself?”

There was a strange twang to the way he spoke his words and he stood there, beaming at them, in a good-natured manner, and there was not much that one could find in him to make one dislike the man.

“You are Albert Lambert?” Maxwell asked.

“Indeed I am,” said Lambert, “and I hope I don’t intrude, but I have a problem.”

“And you’re the only one?” asked Sharp.

“I’m sure that I don’t know,” said Lambert. “I suppose there are many other persons who are faced with problems. When you have a problem, however, the question is of where to go to have it solved.”

“Mister,” said Sharp, “I am in the same position and I am seeking answers just the same as you are.”

“But don’t you see,” Maxwell said to Sharp, “that Lambert has the right idea. He has come to the one place where his problem can be solved.”

“If I were you, young fellow,” Drayton said, “I wouldn’t be so sure. You were pretty foxy the other day, but now I’m onto you. There are a lot of things.”

“Inspector, will you please keep out of this,” said Sharp. “Things are bad enough without you complicating them. The Artifact is gone and the museum is wrecked and Shakespeare has disappeared.”

“But all I want,” said Lambert reasonably, “is to get back home again. Back to 2023.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Sharp commanded. “You are out of line. I don’t-”

“ Harlow,” Maxwell said, “I explained it all to you. Just this afternoon. And I asked you about Simonson. Surely you recall.”

“Simonson? Yes, I remember now.” Sharp looked at Lambert. “You are the man who painted the canvas that shows the Artifact.”

“Artifact?”

“A big block of black stone set atop a hill.”

Lambert shook his head. “No, I haven’t painted it. Although I suppose I will. In fact, it seems I must, for Miss Clayton showed it to me and it’s undeniably something that I would have done. And I must say, who shouldn’t, that it is not so bad.”

“Then you actually saw the Artifact back in Jurassic days?”

“Jurassic?”

“Two hundred million years ago.”

Lambert looked surprised. “So it was that long ago. I knew it was pretty far. There were dinosaurs.”

“But you must have known. You were traveling in time.”

“The trouble is,” said Lambert, “the time unit has gone haywire. I never seem to be able to go to the time I want.”