Secret of the Painting

Many men would have killed to possess the painting--for Tom Calhoun knew it held a key to knowledge that would rock the scientific world!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy April 1957 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

"Hold it, buddy," this fellow said, coming along the bar toward me. "I want to talk to you."

The way he spoke set my teeth on edge. There was a whining, placating tone in his voice, but under this was a growl which indicated that if he had the chance, he would be glad to order me to stop and talk to him, instead of asking me. His clothes were expensive, but unpressed, and he was wearing them in a way that I didn't like. There was another thing about him that I liked even less--the slight bulge under his left armpit.

All in all there was only one thing that I liked about him--the way his lower jaw stuck out ahead of the rest of his face. It was a perfect target for a left jab.

"You're Luke Shaw, ain't you?" he asked.

"I am. And so what?" He looked me over carefully after I spoke. A faint flicker of grudging respect appeared on his face as his gaze crossed my shoulders. He measured me for a hidden gun, which he didn't find because I wasn't wearing it. He liked this. It made his job safer, if not easier.

"Look, Luke, I'm not trying to stir up any trouble." The whining tone was back in his voice. "I just wanted to know--you work for Tom Calhoun, eh?"

I felt my back hair begin to raise as he mentioned Tom's name. So far as I knew--and it was my business to know--Tom Calhoun didn't have an enemy on Earth. He had me on his payroll for two reasons, the first being that I was the best friend he ever had, with the possible exception of Ann Briscoe, his laboratory assistant, the second reason being that he knew he could trust me right down to his last chip. Sometimes it gets important to have one guy you can really trust. My job was to shoo away all curiosity seekers, who would invade his lab by the scores just to get a glimpse of the great scientist, thus making certain that Tom got all the privacy he wanted, which was about all there was of this article. Also if the commies should come prying around, I was supposed to meet them and roll out the carpet edged in black. They had and I had.

Long Jaw didn't look like a commie, though in my experiences these birds never look like what they are but always like something else. The thing that makes them commies is inside, where it can't be seen, never outside.

"Whatever you've got on your mind, get it off," I said. As I spoke a couple of new customers came into the little saloon and lined up at the back bar. Ned Kenro, owner of the place and my good friend, went back to serve them.

"How would you like to make a couple of thousand bucks for yourself?"

His question staggered me. Two thousand dollars was a lot of money. "What do I have to do for it?" I asked.

"Give me the key to the back door of Calhoun's laboratory," Long Jaw said. As he spoke he watched my face. What he saw there, made him realize he had said too much. He reached for the gun inside his coat.

He was fast, I'll give him credit for that. But not fast enough.

Smack! My left jab caught him on the end of his protruding jaw, right on the button. He got his feet tangled up with the bar rail and went over backward. The gun, a nasty looking little .38, flew out of his hand. I reached to pick it up. This movement probably saved my life.

A beer bottle came down across the left side of my head and struck my shoulder a numbing blow. As I went to the floor, the whole saloon seemed to turn upside down. Dazed, I tried to sit up and bring my eyes into focus. I couldn't see very well but what little I saw, I didn't like. The two joes who had lined up at the bar were coming toward me. They didn't intend to kiss me.

I turned around to look for the gun that Long Jaw had dropped. It was under the edge of the bar, out of reach. I tried to get to my feet. My legs had rubber in them. Meantime Long Jaw's two pals kept coming toward me.

Then the first one stopped coming. A stout length of hickory billy came over the bar and went home against the skull of the first one with a crack that was completely satisfying to me. I knew who was on the other end of that billy: Ned Kenro! Never in the years had he owned this little saloon, had he had to hit a man twice.

Nor did he have to hit this one the second time. The guy's eyes turned upward into his skull as if he was trying to look inside his cranium and see what had landed on his noggin. While he was trying to do this, he fell flat.

I got the gun into my fingers. My eyes were back into focus. There had been two men. The second one had seen Ned go into action with the billy and he had also seen me get possession of the gun. He changed his mind and headed for the rear exit, fast. Ned Kenro vaulted over the bar and helped me to my feet.

"You hurt, Luke?" His round face beamed with concern.

"Not much, thanks to you."

"Don't mention it. Glad to do the same for a friend any day." He hesitated, his delicacy preventing him from intruding into what might be a private fight. "But would you mind telling me what this is all about? Watch it, Luke!" Ned's voice grew tight with alarm.