Stranger in a Strange Land

«One moment. Messages are either handed in or telephoned. If handed over the counter, the customer can have facsimile transmission of handwriting and signature … but if filed by phone, it has to be typed before it can be photographed.»

«Yes, of course.»

«Doesn't that suggest anything, Jill?»

«Uh … Jubal, I'm so worried I can't think.»

«Quit breast-beating; it wouldn't have suggested anything to me, either. But the pro working for me is a sneaky character; he went to Paoli with a statprint faked from the photograph taken under Kilgallen's nose — and with credentials that made it appear that he was “Osbert Kilgallen,” the addressee. Then, with his fatherly manner and sincere face, he conned a young lady into telling things which she should have divulged only under court order — very sad. Ordinarily she wouldn't remember one message out of hundreds — they go in her ears, out her fingertips, and are gone, save for filed microprints. But this lady is one of Ben's fans; she reads his columns every night — a hideous vice.» Jubal blinked.«Front!»

Anne appeared, dripping. «Remind me,» Jubal told her, «to write an article on the compulsive reading of news. The theme will be that most neuroses can be traced to the unhealthy habit of wallowing in the troubles of five billion strangers. Title is “Gossip Unlimited” — no, make that “Gossip Gone Wild”. »

«Boss, you're getting morbid.»

«Not me. Everybody else. See that I write it next week. Now vanish; I'm busy.» He turned to Gillian. «She noticed Ben's name — thrilled because she was speaking to one of her heroes … but was irked because Ben hadn't paid for vision as well as voice. Oh, she remembers … and she remembers that the service was paid for by cash from a public booth — in Washington.»

«“In Washington”?» repeated Jill. «Why would Ben call from — »

«Of course!» Jubal agreed pettishly. «If he's at a booth in Washington, he can have voice and vision with his assistant, cheaper, easier, and quicker than he could phone a message to be sent back to Washington from a hundred miles away. It doesn't make sense. Or it makes just one kind. Hanky-panky. Ben is as used to hanky-panky as a bride is to kisses. He didn't get to be the best winchell in the business through playing his cards face up.»

«Ben is not a winchell! He's a lippmann!»

«Sorry, I'm colorblind in that range. He might have believed that his phone was tapped but his statprinter was not. Or suspected that both were tapped — and used this round-about relay to convince whoever was tapping him that he was away and would not be back soon.» Jubal frowned. «In that case we would do him no favor by finding him. We might endanger his life.»

«Jubal! No!»

«Jubal, yes,» he answered wearily. «That boy skates close to the edge; that's how he made his reputation. Jill, Ben has never tackled a more dangerous assignment. If he disappeared voluntarily — do you want to call attention to the fact? Kilgallen has him covered, Ben's column appears every day. I've made it my business to know.»

«Canned columns!»

«Of course. Or perhaps Kilgallen is writing them. In any case, Ben Caxton is still officially on his soap box. Perhaps he planned it, my dear — because he was in such danger that he did not dare get in touch even with you. Well?»

Gillian covered her face. «Jubal… I don't know what to do!»

«Snap out of it,» he said gruffly. «The worst that can happen to him is death … and that we all are in for — in days, or weeks, or years. Talk to Mike. He regards “discorporation” as less to be feared than a scolding. Why, if I told Mike we were going to roast him for dinner, he would thank me for the honor with his voice choked with gratitude.»

«I know,» Jill agreed in a small voice, «but I don't have his philosophical attitude.»

«Nor I,» Harshaw agreed cheerfully, «but I'm beginning to grasp it — and it is a consoling one to a man my age. A capacity for enjoying the inevitable — why, I've been cultivating that all my life … but this infant, barely old enough to vote and too unsophisticated to stand clear of the horse cars, has me convinced that I've just reached kindergarten. Jill, you asked if Mike was welcome. Child, I want to keep that boy until I've found out what he knows and I don't! This “discorporation” thing … it's not the Freudian “death-wish” — none of that “Even the weariest river” stuff — it's more like Stevenson's “Glad did I live and gladly die and I lay me down with a will!” I suspect that Stevenson was whistling in the dark or enjoying the euphoria of consumption, but Mike has me halfway sold that he knows what he is talking about.»

«I don't know,» Jill answered dully. «I'm just worried about Ben.»

«So am I,» agreed Jubal. «Jill, I don't think Ben is hiding.»

«But you said — »

«Sorry. My snoops didn't limit themselves to Ben's office and Paoli Flat. On Thursday morning Ben called at Bethesda Medical Center with a lawyer and a Fair Witness — James Oliver Cavendish, in case you follow such things.»

«I don't, I'm afraid.»