Astounding Stories, April, 1931. Various
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CHAPTER III
Tugh, the Cripple
The portals of this mystery had swung wide to receive us. The tumbling events which menaced all our world of 1935 were upon us now. A maelstrom. A torrent in the midst of which we were caught up like tiny bits of cork and whirled away.
But we thought we understood the mystery. We believed we were acting for the best. What we did was no doubt ill-considered; but the human mind is so far from omniscient! And this thing was so strange!
Alten said, "You have a right to be overwrought, Mistress Mary Atwood. But this thing is as strange to us as it is to you. I called that iron monster a Robot. But it does not belong to our age: if it does I have never seen one such as you describe. And traveling through Time – "
He smiled down at her. "That is not a commonplace everyday occurrence to us, I assure you. The difference is that in this world of ours we can understand – or at least explain – these things as being scientific. And so they have not the terror of the supernatural."
Mary was calmer now. She returned his smile. "I realize that; or at least I am trying to realize it."
What a level-headed girl was this! I touched her arm. "You are very wonderful – "
Alten brushed me away. "Let's try and reduce it to rationality. The cage was – is, I should say, since of course it still exists – that cage is a Time-traveling vehicle. It is traveling back and forth through Time, operated by a Robot. Call it that. A pseudo-human monster fashioned of metal in the guise of a man."
Even Alten had to force himself to speak calmly, as he gazed from one to the other of us. "It came, no doubt from some future age, where half-human mechanisms are common, and Time-traveling is known. That cage probably does not travel in Space, but only in Time. In the future – somewhere – the Space of that house on Patton Place may be the laboratory of a famous scientist. And in the past – in the year 1777 – that same Space was the garden of Mistress Atwood's home. So much is obvious. But why – "
"Why," Larry burst out, "did that iron monster stop in 1777 and abduct this girl?"
"And why," I intercepted, "did it stop here in 1935?" I gazed at Mary. "And it told you it would return?"
"Yes."
Alten was pondering. "There must be some connection, of course… Mistress Mary, had you never seen this cage before?"
"No."
"Nor anything like it? Was anything like that known to your Time?"
"No. Oh, I cannot truly say that. Some people believe in phantoms, omens and witchcraft. There was in Salem, in the Massachusetts Colony, not so many years ago – "
"I don't mean that. I mean Time-traveling."
"There were soothsayers and fortune-tellers, and necromancers with crystals to gaze into the future."
"We still have them," Alten smiled. "You see, we don't know much more than you do about this thing."
I said, "Did you have any enemy? Anyone who wished you harm?"
She thought a moment. "No – yes, there was one." She shuddered at the memory. "A man – a cripple – a horribly repulsive man of about one score and ten years. He lives down near the Battery." She paused.
"Tell us about him," Larry urged.
She nodded. "But what could he have to do with this? He is horribly deformed. Thin, bent legs, a body like a cask and a bulging forehead with goggling eyes. My Lord Howe's officers say he is very intelligent and very learned. Loyal to the King, too. There was a munitions plot in the Bermudas, and this cripple and Lord Howe were concerned in it. But Father likes the fellow and says that in reality he wishes our cause well. He is rich.
"But you don't want to hear all this. He – he made love to me, and I repulsed him. There was a scene with Father, and Father had our lackeys throw him out. That was a year ago. He cursed horribly. He vowed then that some day he – he would have me; and get revenge on Father. But he has kept away. I have not seen him for a twelvemonth."
We were silent. I chanced to glance at Alten, and a strange look was on his face.
He said abruptly, "What is this cripple's name, Mistress Mary?"
"Tugh. He is known to all the city as Tugh. Just that. I never heard any Christian name."
Alten rose sharply to his feet. "A cripple named Tugh?"
"Yes," she affirmed wonderingly. "Does it mean anything to you?"
Alten swung on me. "What is the number of that house on Patton Place? Did you happen to notice?"
I had, and wondering I told him.
"Just a minute," he said. "I want to use the phone."
He came back to us in a moment: his face was very solemn. "That house on Patton Place is owned by a man named Tugh! I just called a reporter friend; he remembers a certain case: he confirmed what I thought. Mistress Mary, did this Tugh in your Time ever consult doctors, trying to have his crippled body made whole?"
"Why, of course he did. I have heard that many times. But his crippled, deformed body cannot be cured."
Alten checked Larry and me when we would have broken in with astonished questions. He said:
"Don't ask me what it means; I don't know. But I think that this cripple – this Tugh – has lived both in 1777 and 1935, and is traveling between them in this Time-traveling cage. And perhaps he is the human master of that Robot."
Alten made a vehement gesture. "But we'd better not theorize; it's too fantastic. Here is the story of Tugh in our Time. He came to me some three years ago; in 1932, I think. He offered any price if I could cure his crippled body. All the New York medical fraternity knew him. He seemed sane, but obsessed with the idea that he must have a body like other men. Like Faust, who, as an old man, paid the price of his soul to become youthful, he wanted to have the beautiful body of a young man."
Alten was speaking vehemently. My thoughts ran ahead of his words; I could imagine with grewsome fancy so many things. A cripple, traveling to different ages seeking to be cured. Desiring a different body…
Alten was saying, "This fellow Tugh lived alone in that house on Patton Place. He was all you say of him, Mistress Mary. Hideously repulsive. A sinister personality. About thirty years old.
"And, in 1932, he got mixed up with a girl who had a somewhat dubious reputation herself. A dancer, a frequenter of night-clubs, as they used to be called. Her name was Doris Johns – something like that. She evidently thought she could get money out of Tugh. Whatever it was, there was a big uproar. The girl had him arrested, saying that he had assaulted her. The police had quite a time with the cripple."
Larry and I remembered a few of the details of it now, though neither of us had been in New York at the time.
Alten went on: "Tugh fought with the police. Went berserk. I imagine they handled him pretty roughly. In the Magistrate's Court he made another scene, and fought with the court attendants. With ungovernable rage he screamed vituperatives, and was carried kicking, biting and snarling from the court-room. He threatened some wild weird revenge upon all the city officials – even upon the city itself."
"Nice sort of chap," Larry commented.
But Alten did not smile. "The Magistrate could only hold him for contempt of Court. The girl had absolutely no evidence to support her accusation of assault. Tugh was finally dismissed. A week later he murdered the girl.
"The details are unimportant; but he did it. The police had him trapped in his house; had the house surrounded – this same one on Patton Place – but when they burst in to take him, he had inexplicably vanished. He was never heard from again."
Alten continued to regard us with grim, solemn face. "Never heard from – until to-night. And now we hear of him. How he vanished, with the police guarding every exit to that house – well, it's obvious, isn't it? He went into another Time-world. Back to 1777, doubtless."
Mary Atwood gave a little cry. "I had forgotten