Chapter III: To Steal a World

The morning passed in unbroken darkness. Traffic thickened, grew dense, and thinned out again. Two million people, balked of information from the usual sources, were asking two other million people what they thought about the darkness, and the second two million were telling the first that they didn't know what to make of it, but so-and-so was going down to the office and there was no use being docked for absence.

Crowds filled the subway platforms and the elevated trains, and other crowds swarmed up and down from the rapid-transit stations and split up into infinitesimal fragments which coalesced at the entrances to office buildings, and always the topic of conversation was the extraordinary, inexplicable continuation of night.

Modern civilized man, however, pays the very minimum of attention to the natural part of his environment. There are literally hundreds of thousands of people in New York who are outdoors less than one hour in twenty-four. To those people the absence of daylight was an extremely trivial matter. Something to be puzzled about and something to ask questions about, but not especially anything to be worried about.

In the lesser cities of the United States, of course, the darkness loomed more largely. In the small towns it was a matter of immediate and overwhelming importance. In the villages it produced apprehension bordering on panic. On the farms it was stark tragedy. But on the whole the matter was taken with a surprising calmness. If it was a precarious sort of composure, likely to break into mob hysteria at any moment, it was nevertheless composure.

But the darkness held for hour after hour, unbroken and menacing. Ten o'clock arrived. Half past ten. Eleven. The sky remained a jetty black. The temperature of the air fell below the daunting chill which normally fills the small hours before dawn.

People in the offices and factories had worked almost gayly at first, taking the use of artificial light in daytime as a sort of adventure. But as time went on and the unwontedly protracted night continued, little groups gathered at windows, staring out uneasily.

The interchange of questions about the darkness ceased to be jocular. The adventure became serious. Concern deepened to apprehension. More and more offices were quietly closed for the day. More and more factories announced a holiday. A stream of homeward-bound folk began to crowd the elevated trains and subways.

The newspaper extras were late in getting out, and Hines, cooperating and conferring with the Washington authorities, was responsible. He had put police on guard at the publishing offices, and would not let one copy of the newspapers leave the publishing plants until he had made provision for the public reaction.

The subway and elevated lines needed to be prepared for a monster homeward rush. Traffic squads needed to be reinforced. The reserves of the police department posted themselves at strategic points, the elevated and subway lines prepared for a jam, and the Newspapers were unleashed. All over the city a chorus of voices was upraised, crying extra editions. In ten thousand office buildings the elevators became jammed with folk going down to buy them. And the subway tunnels roared and rumbled with empty trains rushing down town to carry back the mob that within minutes would be fighting for places.

The newspapers were much alike, though Kathryn Bush's story in the _Star_ was naturally the one which gave the fullest account. All the papers, however, had reasonably complete accounts of the phenomenon. This was no time to play favorites. And nearly all of them printed Schaaf's explanation in full. He had lectured for nearly half an hour in Hines's office at police headquarters, and his explanation--though given so promptly--still holds good.

* * * * *

"Last year," said Schaaf, "there was a sudden flood of darkness on Fifth Avenue, and there were many robberies. Hines and myself, we discovered that a deffil named Breston had done it. He had learned that under der influence of certain fery short Hertzian wafes, der air ceases to be transparent. Actually, it was der phenomenon of der fluorescence of der ionized bodies in der atmosphere, when they absorbed all der fisible colors of light and emitted infisible ones instead.

"Der essential thing is that der air is opaque, there is no light. Now, three times, so far, those short short wafes haff been used. Once on Fifth Afenue. Once der whole city was made dark. Some few months ago Breston created a storm in der Catskill Mountains by means of der fact that when der air is no longer transparent it absorbs der heat of der sun, becomes hot, and rises in huge folumes." All this, of course, was ancient history. Everybody knew it. The Storm That Had to be Stopped was one of the most distressing catastrophes in the history of the United States.

"Now, at der time of der Storm," Schaaf went on bitterly, "when we got to der sending-station which sent out der short short wafes, we blew it to pieces and der storm stopped. But der apparatus for making those short short wafes had had thermit and explosifes placed about it so that it was destroyed. Breston did that. Also we found der body of a man, burned with der explosifes and der thermit. Der newspapers printed that it was the body of Breston. We hoped it was so. But later infestigation profed that it was not. Breston is fife feet three inches tall. Der dead body was fife feet nine inches tall.

"For months past, Inspector Hines has been defoting all his time to a search for Breston. And I haff worked on der problem of combating der short wafes. _Himmel!_ How I haff worked! But in both cases, Breston has so far kept ahead of us. This morning's darkness is of Breston's contrifance. But we haff licked him three times before, we will lick him again, and anything that he says to der contrary is banana oil!"

* * * * *

So far, Schaaf was quoted verbatim. But the rest of his lecture was expanded in most of the papers, because Schaaf's mixture of technical terms and slang was confusing. The essence of his explanation, though, was very simple.

To make the earth's whole atmosphere opaque would have required millions of billions of horse-power. But far above the surface of the earth the Heaviside Layer in the atmosphere seemed as if made for Preston's purposes. From five to fifteen miles up there is an abrupt change in the characteristics of the air. At that height there is a layer of highly ionized air, markedly electrically conducting, which spreads over the whole earth. Schaaf likened it to a roof of conducting metal over the whole earth.

It was clear that if the short short waves of Preston's discovery could be introduced into that conducting layer of the atmosphere, they would spread out over the whole earth with but little loss of power. Five thousand horse-power would do it.

"Der thing we do not yet understand," said Schaaf, "is how Breston manages to introduce his short short wafes into der Heaviside Layer. We will find it out, fery shortly. Breston cannot bring der darkness down to der surface of der earth, because he can haff power enough to darken only a small part of it, and der moment he does that we locate him, and when we locate him we kill him. And sooner or later we locate him anyhow!"

His expressed optimism was not altogether unfeigned, of course. He had the desperate certitude of a man who simply dares not admit the possibility of failure. At the moment that the newspapers were blazoning his announcement on their front pages, Schaaf was actually in something close to despair.

* * * * *

Long, explorative fingers of light were poking upward toward the sky, from warships anchored in the harbor. Half a dozen giant ships of the Atlantic Fleet were in port. Army tanks had been loaned Hines to destroy Preston's storm-making apparatus, and all the resources of the government, of course, would be used to restore sunlight to the world again. The harbor was smoothly rippling, almost oily on its surface. Long lights glimmered on its waves. Then, suddenly, from the flagship of the fleet there came three or four staccato detonations. Seconds later there were thin crackling explosions high overhead. The searchlights shot back and forth, searching the roof over the world.

A little later, three or four more explosions. After a longer interval, brittle detonations high above. The searchlights moved restlessly over the ebon ceiling of the earth. And still again came the sharp sound of an anti-aircraft gun firing at an empty sky.

The searchlights followed a thin thread of whitish vapor upward. It stretched like a kite-string toward the sky. It was the trail of tracer-smoke left by the anti-aircraft shell.

Blinkers began to operate on the ships. A man on shore spoke crisply into a telephone.

Schaaf got the message, frowning bitterly in his despair.

"Yes. I haff it. Thank you."

He was in Hines's office, waiting for the information. An anti-aircraft gun had fired time-fused shells to burst at progressively greater heights. The shell which burst at an elevation of forty-two thousand feet had been unseen, because its cloud of smoke had been formed inside the now opaque Heaviside Layer of the atmosphere. The layer of darkness which kept the whole world deep in night was eight miles above the surface.

"What can we do, Hines?" demanded Schaaf in despair. "Can we send an afiator up eight miles to do intricate obserfations with delicate apparatus? We cannot. Then how are we going to locate der point of dissemination of der _verdammt_ darkness-producing wafes?" Hines held up his hand, spoke quietly into a telephone. He was deathly pale, but Schaaf was too excited to notice it.

"We're coming along pretty well," said Hines grimly, "except that you've still got to find out more about Preston's weapons. I think I know, roughly, where he is."

Schaaf sat up and blinked.

"It's been apparent from the first that when we do locate Preston we have everything in our favor. We have an army we can fling against him, on land. We have aircraft to attack him by air. We can send the shells from fourteen-inch guns against him from the sea. He knows all that."

Schaaf ran his fingers through his beard. "Shoot der works," he said harassedly.

"The President received a letter from him telling what his demands are going to be. Other governments have got similar letters. He's fighting the whole world, and he knows it. What weapons has he got?"

"Darkness," said Schaaf bitterly, "and storms, and a total lack of humanity."

"And we have all the other weapons. Where can he defend himself, with the weapons he has, if we do locate him?"

Schaaf scratched his chin, underneath his beard.

"Wherefer he is. Tell me, Hines."

"If he's on an island," said Hines, "he can't be attacked by an army. If he can blind any ship within twenty or thirty miles by making all the atmosphere--not only the Heaviside Layer--opaque to light, no ship can navigate to that island. And if he cuts the darkness on the rest of the world, he can make a storm that will sink any ship or wreck any aircraft in the world."

"He is on an island!" said Schaaf instantly.

"Of course he is on an island! But where?"

* * * * *

"He gave himself away," said Hines grimly. "He talked to his assassins, in Brooklyn, just fourteen hours before the darkness went on. And he wouldn't trust anybody else to work an affair the size of this, so he's at his darkness plant. At most he's not more than twelve hours from New York. More probably only ten. And the last eleven of those hours were night hours, and there are no night-flying passenger air lines out of the metropolitan district now. He traveled by train or boat or motor car. Averaging, he's not more than four hundred miles from New York if he made the longest part of his journey by train or car. He's probably not less than two hundred, for reasons of discretion. Here's a map. Draw the two circles--two hundred miles and four hundred miles away. We can block off the land between the circles. He isn't there. We can block off the area where there are no islands. If he needs to make a storm, he'll want to be on an island, not a steamer."

Schaaf looked at the area that was left.

"Der Maine coast!"

"Of course," said Hines. "And now remember he wants an island well out at sea so storms can sweep clear around it, and one that's fairly isolated, so he could have built his plant without attracting attention."

Schaaf scrutinized the map with painstaking care.

"Hm. This little speck looks promising, Hines."

Hines said grimly, "The police of all New England have been questioning fishermen. I mentioned that island especially. Only one man has been near it recently. He was ordered off by guards who told him a rich man had bought it and was making a summer home on it. And so I've checked up, and it hasn't been sold, and the present owner knows nothing about guards there. And also, it isn't a rum-runner's rendezvous. What does that add up to?"

"Plenty!" said Schaaf exuberantly. "I take off der hat. I make der grand salaam! Now we go there and haff a _Schrecklichkeit_ party; wait until night, because we do not want to haff him start a storm. And we line up der Nafy, and they take der sights, and there is a signal, and _bam_, _pow_, _biff_, and he is blooey! Blown off der map!"

Hines looked at Schaaf. And for the first time Schaaf saw how pale his friend was. His face was like a mask. He reached over his desk and tossed Schaaf a little envelope.

"I was to be married to-day," said Hines steadily. "Preston's men tried to kidnap Kathryn this morning, just as they tried to blow the two of us to bits. We beat the assassins, and Kathryn, thanks to you, Schaaf, escaped the trap that was set for her. We've been busy ever since. She wrote the account for the extra edition of the Star. We postponed our wedding as a matter of course."

Schaaf said suddenly, "Gott! Hines, you look like der deffil!"

"You blocked one attempt to kidnap Kathryn," repeated Hines evenly. "She went to the office of the Star. And another attempt was made three hours ago. The one thing she didn't expect was another attempt to kidnap her, made in exactly the same fashion as the first. This time it succeeded. Kathryn's disappeared. And I had a telegram from his man, sent from here in New York, saying that he's taking her direct to his headquarters. So she'll be killed if we kill Preston."

Hines moistened his lips and said with difficulty, "The--thing--that makes it bad is that we were to have been married to-day."