Page:Weird Tales Volume 38 Number 01 (1944-09).djvu/24

 Pittsburgh to secure. Of course, he had said that he was from Chicago. It would never do in an affair of this sort to give one's real home town.

A few moments later he was on the street again. For safety's sake he decided to cut through Central Park. Perhaps he could find a taxi. He had hoped to have a taxi waiting for him. But at the last minute he had decided that to do so would be too risky. As a rule he worked alone. No one had anything on him. In Pittsburgh he was known as a wealthy stockbroker. He was well-respected well-liked. His friends were numerous. They imagined he was extremely rich and he was. After all is not a clever mind far greater in value than mere money? A taxi was ambling past. He hailed it. It was fortunate that it was empty. He directed the chauffeur to drive him to the Pennsylvania Depot. He had decided to take the first train out of town no matter where it went. The main thing now was to get away. After that he would hurry to Pittsburgh as quickly as possible. Thus musing, he stepped into the taxi. To his consternation he discovered that it was not vacant. He had made a frightful mistake. On this one night of all nights when he wished to avoid meeting anyone he had blundered into a situation which necessitated quick thinking. The occupant of the cab was an old man, a rather tiny old man with bushy white hair. Most of the time only his white hair was visible but whenever they passed a street lamp his jovial face loomed into view.

"Pardon me," spluttered Ives Cranston. "I thought this taxi was empty."

The old man laughed heartily. "It practically is," he chuckled, "for I am as good as nobody. A garrulous old man whom no one takes seriously." He seized the arm of Cranston. "You must stay," he went on quickly. His voice was decisive. "After midnight all men are brothers, whether they be kings or thieves. At that time the long still streets of evening take on a hush of magic. All honest folks are sleeping. Only millionaires, beggars and milkmen are prowling about. Where do you wish to go? I'll take you anywhere you say? If you wish I will join you on a night's adventure. I am cursed with insomnia. For years it has clutched at my health. But now I have mastered it. The secret of overcoming insomnia is never to go to bed."

Ives Cranston sat in his corner. He was very dejected. How was he to rid himself of this garrulous old gentleman? He was probably mildly mad but harmless. At another time he would have been amused by the old man's prattle but not while he carried the wondrous Gobi Diamond in his pocket. Not even Scheherazade herself could have interested him at that moment.

He was in a quandary but abruptly he decided that he would be affable. The old man was harmless. To insist on getting out of the taxi might create a scene. He was unable to gauge the exact degree of the old man's mania.

"I wish to go to the Pennsylvania Depot," he said. "If you insist on going out of your way to accommodate me, you may do so."

The old man called through the speaking-tube to the chauffeur. He had hard work making himself understood.

"I guess," he drawled, "you can't get a license to be a chauffeur unless you are slightly deaf. Anyway they all seem to be."

He drew a couple of cigars from his pocket. "Smoke?" he asked laconically. "These are excellent. A friend sent me them from Tampa. They are the only things from Florida that aren't over-rated."

Mechanically Ives Cranston took the proffered cigar. As he lighted it, he admitted that its excellence could not be denied. Never had he smoked a cigar that was more pungent to the taste. After all the evening's work was not ending in failure. Perhaps this was even a better way to get to the station than that which he had planned. The little old gentleman sitting beside him, like an old jovial grandfather, was the very best sort of a companion to direct suspicion from him. He drew on his cigar. It was surprising how rapidly it was burning away. Within the cab it was delightfully comfortable. The chauffeur was driving rather slowly as though he were drowsy. Cranston yawned. He was drowsy too. Time after time he yawned and once he actually dozed. For a moment he forgot where he was. This would never do. A fortune depended on his keeping awake. Yet the drowsiness persisted. His eyes kept closing as though there were leaden weights on