Rebel in Time

Through the open rear door he saw that the interior was now a mass of flames. The stream of water from the hose was being played onto the roof above to stop the fire from spreading, while two rows of sweating, shouting men hurled pails of water on the fire below. Troy seized up a bucket and joined them.

It was hot and desperate work. For a while the fire would appear to be under control — then it would break out again, flaring up in the dry wood. Everyone was smeared and filthy with ashes, running with sweat. Troy worked as hard as any of the others, moving in to fight the fire in the depths of the smoking building. Pushing through the smoking embers. Kicking his foot against something made of metal.

He glanced around; for the moment no one seemed to be looking his way. He bent swiftly, grabbed up the metal and dropped it into the bucket. Plunging his hand into the water after it as the hot metal seared his flesh. Then turning, bumping into others, making his way out into the night.

The first casualties of the fire were on the far side of the road, coughing with the agony of their smoke-filled lungs. Troy joined them, his coughing realistic enough since he had breathed in a good deal of the same smoke. He dropped to the ground, sat there, coughing, his head between his legs. His hidden fingers slipping the metal out of the bucket and concealing it inside his shirt.

The night grew darker as the flames were brought under control. He found that there was no difficulty at all in slipping away and then vanishing in the blackness.

Troy controlled his impatience until he was far from the scene of the fire, in a silent street among dark trees. He sheltered behind a row of sweet-smelling shrubs, placed the piece of metal on the ground and bent over it. The match flared and the stub of candle caught and flickered. He let it burn for just a moment, then blew it out.

But he had seen enough. He knew what he had. Carefully he took up the blackened piece of metal, held it tightly in his hands.

He had held a piece of steel like this once before, in a different time and place. That had been in the Smithsonian Institute, in Washington.

The two pieces of metal were identical.

What he was holding now was the trigger plate of a Sten-gun.

Chapter 28

It was dawn before the fire was completely out. Streamers of smoke still drifted up from the blackened ruins, while soot-smeared and weary men stood about in small groups, or sat sprawled on the ground. Wes McCulloch kicked at a burned timber in the workshop and cursed savagely under his breath. Bad, but it could have been worse; the fire had been stopped in time and none of the machinery had been seriously damaged. It would all be working again as soon as the place was cleaned up and the leather belts replaced. The storeroom had had the worst of it, but even there nothing irreplaceable had been destroyed.

'This is terrible, colonel, terrible,' the fat man said, picking his way delicately through the rubble. His spotless clothing and polished boots were sure indications that he had had no part in fighting the fire, no matter how great his concern now. 'Do you know how it started?'

'No, senator, I don't,' McCulloch said. 'But you can see over there, on the wall, where the centre of the fire was. It appears to have been located near the forge. Perhaps a stray spark from that, smouldering, you know how these things are.' He turned as he heard the horses gallop up outside. 'Excuse me, senator. We had better both get outside, it's not too comfortable in here.'

McCulloch waited until the senator had started talking to some of his friends before he waved the two hard-looking men over to him.

'Hicks, I want you and Yancy to get over to the Blue House hotel. Do you know the Scotchman, Shaw, the man who was with me yesterday?'

'Shore do, colonel. Little fancy feller.'

'Get him. Wake him up, tell him I have to see him at once. If he argues with you, why, take him anyway. I want you to get him back to the house — then lock him up. Use that cell in the slave quarters. He's involved in this fire. But don't let on about that until you get him away from the hotel. I want to keep this a private matter, because after we talk to him I think that he is going to vanish, quiet like.'

'You think he set it!'

'No — but his nigger did. So look around for the black bastard before you stir up Shaw. I don't think that he'll still be there, but look anyway. If you don't find him, why this Shaw will tell us where he can be found. I'll see to that myself. You just keep him locked away until I get back. That won't be until later today. Now get him.'