Read Manly Wade Wellman - Chapbook 02 for Free Online Page B

           Thus
shaded from the befuddling glow, he felt his head wash clear again. Maybe he
wouldn’t be thinking at too great a disadvantage, after all.

           CHAPTER V The Escape
     
     
                TIME
passed. Stover slept, then awakened. His door was
being opened. A man in uniform entered. Congreve? No, this was a sturdy, dark
fellow with a tray of dishes, plainly a jailor of some sort. Two pale eyes,
strange in that swarthy face, looked at Stover.
                 “What
are you doing down there?” demanded the jailer. “Here, the chief thought you
might like some rations.” Stover rose. He felt no more intoxication. “What time
is it, approximately?” he asked.
                “Evening. Past sundown. I’m going off duty in five minutes,” The
jailer set the tray on the bed.
                 Stover,
then, had slept for hours, £nd it was dark once more. “Wait,” he said. “I want
to talk to you.” What he really wanted was a chance to study the jailer’s face,
for inspiration had come to him; but the chance was short.
                “Against orders,” he was told. “I’ve
got to push along.”
                 And
the man left. But not before Stover had seen that he had a face somewhat like
his own—big, straight nose, square jaw, bright blue
eyes. The difference was in complexion— black hair and brown skin. And
complexion could be changed.
                 First
Stover inspected the contents of the tray. Most of the food was synthetic—meat
paste, acid drink, a salad of cellophanelike sheets of roughage. What
interested him most was a hunk of butter substitute. Sitting down beside the
tray, Stover again produced the pencil from his belt-pouch.
                 With
his strong fingers he split the wood and extracted the soft, crumbly lead.
Breaking the black stick in two, he rubbed the two bits together over the
butter. The sooty powder fell thickly, and Stover mixed it in with a fork,
producing a wad of gleaming oily-black substance. Quickly he rubbed this into
his blond hair, smoothing out its curls and plastering them to his skull. The tray, which was of shiny metal, served as a mirror. He
looked about as dark-haired as the jailer.
                 “So
far so good,” he approved, and again overhauled the food-stuffs. The cup of
acid drink seemed most promising. Once more he explored his pouch. It yielded
two cigarettes. Splitting these, he dropped the shreds of tobacco into the cup.
Judicious stirring and mixing provided him with a coffee-brown liquid. He made
tests on the back of his hand, deepened the tint with the last of his powdered
pencil-lead. Finally he doffed his stylish golden garments.
                 With
palmful after palmful of the makeshift dye, he stained his big body and limbs,
using the tray as a mirror while he darkened his face and neck as well. His
hands and feet were also treated. Now he appeared as a naked, swarthy personage
with strangely pale eyes who was not too different from the jailer.
                 He
waited some time longer, to be sure that enough time had passed to insure the
fellow being well off duty. Then he sprang to the door, beating on it with his
fists.
                 “Help! Help!” he roared. “I’m penned up! Prisoner’s
escaping!”
                 Answering
commotion sounded outside. Then a harsh voice:
                 “What’s
the racket in there, Stover?”
                 “Stover’s
gone,” he made gruff reply. “When I brought him his food, he jumped on me,
knocked me out and took my clothes. He got away!”
                 “Oh,
it’s Dellis?” The door was quickly unlocked and opened.
                Remembering
that the jailor he impersonated had not matched his inches, Stover crouched on
the floor. The shifting light of the joy-lamp helped his