June.
But that was impossible. _Yesterday_ was the 15th of June. It was nota date one would forget--it was quarterly tax-return day.
He went back into the hall and picked up the telephone; he dialed forWeather Information, and got a well-modulated chant: "--and cooler,some showers. Barometric pressure thirty point zero four, rising ...United States Weather Bureau forecast for June 15th. Warm and sunny,with high around--"
He hung the phone up. June 15th.
"Holy heaven!" Burckhardt said prayerfully. Things were very oddindeed. He heard the ring of his wife's alarm and bounded up thestairs.
Mary Burckhardt was sitting upright in bed with the terrified,uncomprehending stare of someone just waking out of a nightmare.
"Oh!" she gasped, as her husband came in the room. "Darling, I justhad the most _terrible_ dream! It was like an explosion and--"
"Again?" Burckhardt asked, not very sympathetically. "Mary,something's funny! I _knew_ there was something wrong all dayyesterday and--"
He went on to tell her about the copper box that was the cellar, andthe odd mock-up someone had made of his boat. Mary looked astonished,then alarmed, then placatory and uneasy.
She said, "Dear, are you _sure_? Because I was cleaning that old trunkout just last week and I didn't notice anything."
"Positive!" said Guy Burckhardt. "I dragged it over to the wall tostep on it to put a new fuse in after we blew the lights out and--"
"After we what?" Mary was looking more than merely alarmed.
"After we blew the lights out. You know, when the switch at the headof the stairs stuck. I went down to the cellar and--"
Mary sat up in bed. "Guy, the switch didn't stick. I turned out thelights myself last night."
Burckhardt glared at his wife. "Now I _know_ you didn't! Come here andtake a look!"
He stalked out to the landing and dramatically pointed to the badswitch, the one that he had unscrewed and left hanging the nightbefore....
Only it wasn't. It was as it had always been. Unbelieving, Burckhardtpressed it and the lights sprang up in both halls.
* * * * *
Mary, looking pale and worried, left him to go down to the kitchen andstart breakfast. Burckhardt stood staring at the switch for a longtime. His mental processes were gone beyond the point of disbelief andshock; they simply were not functioning.
He shaved and dressed and ate his breakfast in a state of numbintrospection. Mary didn't disturb him; she was apprehensive andsoothing. She kissed him good-by as he hurried out to the bus withoutanother word.
Miss Mitkin, at the reception desk, greeted him with a yawn."Morning," she said drowsily. "Mr. Barth won't be in today."
Burckhardt started to say something, but checked himself. She wouldnot know that Barth hadn't been in yesterday, either, because she wastearing a June 14th pad off her calendar to make way for the "new"June 15th sheet.
He staggered to his own desk and stared unseeingly at the morning'smail. It had not even been opened yet, but he knew that the FactoryDistributors envelope contained an order for twenty thousand feet ofthe new acoustic tile, and the one from Finebeck & Sons was acomplaint.
After a long while, he forced himself to open them. They were.
By lunchtime, driven by a desperate sense of urgency, Burckhardt made MissMitkin take her lunch hour first--the June-fifteenth-that-was-yesterday,_he_ had gone first. She went, looking vaguely worried about his strainedinsistence, but it made no difference to Burckhardt's mood.
The phone rang and Burckhardt picked it up abstractedly. "ControChemicals Downtown, Burckhardt speaking."
The voice said, "This is Swanson," and stopped.
Burckhardt waited expectantly, but that was all. He said, "Hello?"
Again the pause. Then Swanson asked in sad resignation, "Stillnothing, eh?"
"Nothing what? Swanson, is there something you want? You came up to meyesterday and went through this routine. You--"
The voice crackled: "Burckhardt! Oh, my good heavens, _you remember_!Stay right there--I'll be down in half an hour!"
"What's this all about?"
"Never mind," the little man said exultantly. "Tell you about it whenI see you. Don't say any more over the phone--somebody may belistening. Just wait there. Say, hold on a minute. Will you be alonein the office?"
"Well, no. Miss Mitkin will probably--"
"Hell. Look, Burckhardt, where do you eat lunch? Is it good andnoisy?"
"Why, I suppose so. The Crystal Cafe. It's just about a block--"
"I know where it is. Meet you in half an hour!" And the receiverclicked.
* * * * *
The Crystal Cafe was no longer painted red, but the temperature wasstill up. And they had added piped-in music interspersed withcommercials. The advertisements were for Frosty-Flip, MarlinCigarettes--"They're sanitized," the announcer purred--and somethingcalled Choco-Bite candy bars that Burckhardt couldn't remember everhaving heard of before. But he heard more about them quickly enough.
While he was waiting for Swanson to show up, a girl in the cellophaneskirt of a nightclub cigarette vendor came through the restaurant witha tray of tiny scarlet-wrapped candies.
"Choco-Bites are _tangy_," she was murmuring as she came close to histable. "Choco-Bites are _tangier_ than tangy!"
Burckhardt, intent on watching for the strange little man who hadphoned him, paid little attention. But as she scattered a handful ofthe confections over the table next to his, smiling at the occupants,he caught a glimpse of her and turned to stare.
"Why, Miss Horn!" he said.
The girl dropped her tray of candies.
Burckhardt rose, concerned over the girl. "Is something wrong?"
But she fled.
The manager of the restaurant was staring suspiciously at Burckhardt,who sank back in his seat and tried to look inconspicuous. He hadn'tinsulted the girl! Maybe she was just a very strictly reared younglady, he thought--in spite of the long bare legs under the cellophaneskirt--and when he addressed her, she thought he was a masher.
Ridiculous idea. Burckhardt scowled uneasily and picked up his menu.
"Burckhardt!" It was a shrill whisper.
Burckhardt looked up over the top of his menu, startled. In the seatacross from him, the little man named Swanson was sitting, tenselypoised.
"Burckhardt!" the little man whispered again. "Let's get out of here!They're on to you now. If you want to stay alive, come on!"
There was no arguing with the man. Burckhardt gave the hoveringmanager a sick, apologetic smile and followed Swanson out. The littleman seemed to know where he was going. In the street, he clutchedBurckhardt by the elbow and hurried him off down the block.
"Did you see her?" he demanded. "That Horn woman, in the phone booth?She'll have them here in five minutes, believe me, so hurry it up!"
* * * * *
Although the street was full of people and cars, nobody was paying anyattention to Burckhardt and Swanson. The air had a nip in it--morelike October than June, Burckhardt thought, in spite of the weatherbureau. And he felt like a fool, following this mad little man downthe street, running away from some "them" toward--toward what? Thelittle man might be crazy, but he was afraid. And the fear wasinfectious.
"In here!" panted the little man.
It was another restaurant--more of a bar, really, and a sort ofsecond-rate place that Burckhardt had never patronized.
"Right straight through," Swanson whispered; and Burckhardt, like abiddable boy, side-stepped through the mass of tables to the far endof the restaurant.
It was "L"-shaped, with a front on two streets at right angles to eachother. They came out on the side street, Swanson staring coldly backat the question-looking cashier, and crossed to the opposite sidewalk.
They were under the marquee of a movie theater. Swanson's expressionbegan to relax.
"Lost them!" he crowed softly. "We're almost there."
&
nbsp; He stepped up to the window and bought two tickets. Burckhardt trailedhim in to the theater. It was a weekday matinee and the place wasalmost empty. From the screen came sounds of gunfire and horse'shoofs. A solitary usher, leaning against a bright brass rail, lookedbriefly at them and went back to staring boredly at the picture asSwanson led Burckhardt down a flight of carpeted marble steps.
They were in the lounge and it was empty. There was a door for men andone for ladies; and there was a third door, marked "MANAGER" in goldletters. Swanson listened at the door, and gently opened it and peeredinside.
"Okay," he said, gesturing.
Burckhardt followed him through an empty office, to another door--acloset, probably,