The Houses of Iszm

IX

Sun, Earth, the Moon: an archipelago of bright round islands, after a long passage through a dark sea. Sun drifted off to one side, Moon slipped away to the other. Earth expanded ahead: gray, green, tan, white, blue—full of clouds and winds, sunburn, frosts, draughts, chills and dusts, the navel of the universe, the depot, terminal, clearing-house, which the outer races visited as provincials.

It was at midnight when the hull of the Andrei Simic touched Earth. The generators sang down out of inaudibility, down through shrillness, through treble, tenor, baritone, bass, and once more out of hearing.

The passengers waiting in the saloon, with the Anderviews like holes in a jaw from which teeth had been pulled. Everyone was taut and apprehensive, sitting forward in their seats or standing stiffly.

The pumps hissed, adjusting to the outer atmosphere. Lights glared in through the ports. The entrance clanged open; there was a murmur of voices, Captain Dorristy ushered in a tall man with blunt, intelligent features, cropped hair and dark-brown skin.

“This is Detective Inspector Kirdy of the Special Squad,” said Dorristy. “He will investigate the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Anderview. Please give him your cooperation; we’ll all be at liberty the sooner.”

No one spoke. The Iszic stood like statues of ice to one side. In deference to Earth convention they wore trousers and capes. Their attitude conveyed suspicion, distrust, as if even on Earth they felt impelled to protect their secrets.

Three subordinate detectives entered the room, stared around curiously, and the tautness in the room increased.

Inspector Kirdy spoke in a pleasant voice, “I’ll delay you as little as possible. I’d like to speak to Mr. Omon Bozhd.”

Omon Bozhd inspected Kirdy through the viewer, which he now carried, but Detective Inspector Kirdy’s right shoulder blazed into no banner of various lights; he had never visited Iszm; he had never ventured past Moon.

Omon Bozhd stepped forward. “I am Omon Bozhd.”

Kirdy took him to the captain’s cabin. Ten minutes passed. An assistant appeared in the door. “Mr. Aile Farr.”

Farr rose to his feet and followed the assistant from the saloon.

Kirdy and Omon Bozhd faced each other, a study in contrasts: the latter pale, austere, aquiline; the other dark, warm, blunt.

Kirdy said to Farr, “I’d like you to listen to Mr. Bozhd’s story, tell me what you think of it.” He turned to the Iszic. “Would you be kind enough to repeat your statement?”

“In essence,” said Omon Bozhd, “the situation is this. Even before leaving Jhespiano I had reason to suspect that the Anderviews were planning harm to Farr Sainh. I communicated my suspicions to my friends.”

“The other Iszic gentlemen?” asked Kirdy. “Exactly. With their help I installed an inspection-cell in the Anderviews’ cabin. My fears were justified. They returned to their cabin, and here they themselves were killed. In my cabin I witnessed the occurrence. Farr Sainh of course had no part in the matter. He was—and is—completely innocent.”

They scrutinized Farr. Farr scowled. Was he so obviously ingenuous, so undiscerning?

Omon Bozhd turned a fraction of his eyes back to Kirdy. “Farr as I say, was innocent. But I considered it wise to have him confined away from further danger, so I falsely accused him. Farr Sainh, understandably, refused to cooperate, and forestalled me. My accusation was arousing no conviction in Captain Dorristy, so I withdrew it.”

Kirdy turned to Farr. “What do you say to all this, Mr. Farr? Do you still believe Mr. Bozhd to be the murderer?”

Farr struggled with his anger. “No,” he said between his teeth. “His story is so—so utterly fantastic that I suppose it’s the truth.” He looked at Omon Bozhd. “Why don’t you talk? You say you saw the whole thing. Who did the killing?”

Omon Bozhd swung his viewer. “I have glanced over your laws of criminal procedure. My accusation would carry no great weight, the authorities would need corroborative evidence. That evidence exists. If and when you find it my statement becomes unnecessary, or at best supplementary.”

Kirdy turned to his assistant. “Take skin-scrapings, breath and perspiration samples of all the passengers.”

After the samples were collected, Kirdy stepped into the saloon and made a statement. “I will question you separately. Those who so desire will be allowed to give their evidence with the cephaloscope as an adjunct, and these responses will naturally take on more weight. I remind you that cephaloscope evidence can not be introduced in court to prove guilt—only to prove innocence. The cephaloscope at worst can only fail to eliminate you from the suspects. I remind you further that refusal to use the cephaloscope is not only a privilege and a right, but considered by many a moral duty. Hence those who prefer to give evidence without cephaloscope verification incur no prejudice. Use of the instrument is optional with you.”

The interrogations lasted three hours. First to be queried were the Iszic. They left the saloon one at a time, returning with identical expressions of bored patience. The Codain were interviewed next, then the Monagi, then the various other non-Earthers, and then Farr. Kirdy indicated the cephaloscope. “Use of the instrument is at your option.”

Farr was in a bad humor. “No,” he said. “I despise the contraption, you take my evidence as I give it or not at all.”

Kirdy nodded politely. “Very well, Mr. Farr.” He consulted his notes. “You first met the Anderviews at Jhespiano, on Iszm?”

“Yes.” Farr described the circumstances.

“You had never seen them before?”

“Never.”

“I understand that during your visit to Iszm you witnessed a tree-raid.”

Farr described the event and his subsequent adventures. Kirdy asked one or two questions, then allowed Farr to return to the saloon.

One at a time the remaining Earthers were interrogated: Ralf and Willeran, the Wlewskas, the young students, until only Paul Bengston, the gray-haired sanitary engineer remained. Kirdy accompanied the students back to the saloon. “So far,” he said, “either the cephaloscope or other evidence has cleared everyone I have interviewed. The other evidence consisting principally of the fact that the breath components of no one I have interviewed match the film detected on the wrist-band worn by Mrs. Anderview.”

Everyone in the room stirred. Eyes wandered to Paul Bengston, who went white and red by turns. “Will you come with me, sir?”

He rose, took short steps forward, looked left and right, then preceded Kirdy into the captain’s cabin.

Five minutes passed. Kirdy’s assistant appeared in the lounge. “We are sorry to have kept you waiting. You are all at liberty to debark.”

There was talk around the lounge—a sputter and hum. Farr sat silent. A pressure began to build up inside him: anger, frustration, humiliation. The pressure grew and finally burst up, to flood his mind with fury. He jumped to his feet, strode across the lounge, and climbed the steps to the captain’s cabin.

Kirdy’s assistant stopped him. “Excuse me, Mr. Farr. I don’t think you’d better interrupt.”

“I don’t care what you think,” snapped Farr. He yanked at the door. It was locked. He rapped. Captain Dorristy slid it open a foot and pushed his square face out. “Well? What’s the trouble?”

Farr put his hand on Dorristy’s chest, pushed him back, thrust open the door, and stepped inside. Dorristy started a punch for Farr’s face. Farr would have welcomed it as an excuse to strike back, to smash, to hurt. But one of the assistants stepped between.

Kirdy stood facing Paul Bengston. He turned his head. “Yes, Mr. Farr?”

Dorristy, seething, muttering, red in the face, stood back.

Farr said, “This man—he’s guilty?”

Kirdy nodded. “The evidence is conclusive.”

Farr looked at Bengston. His face blurred and swam and seemed to alter, as if by trick photography, with the candor and mild good humor becoming deceit and cruelty and callousness. Farr wondered how he could have been deceived. He bent a little forward. Paul Bengston met his eyes with defiance and dislike.

“Why?” he asked. “Why did all this happen?”

Bengston made no answer.

“I’ve got to know,” said Farr. “Why?”

Still no answer.

Farr swallowed his pride. “Why?” he asked humbly, “won’t you please tell me?”

Paul Bengston shrugged, laughed foolishly.

Farr pled with him. “Is it something I know? Something I’ve seen? Something I own?”

An emotion close to hysteria seemed to grip Bengston. He said, “I just don’t like the way your hair is combed.” And he laughed till the tears came.

Kirdy said grimly, “I haven’t got any better from him.”

“What could be his motive?” asked Farr plaintively. “His reason? Why would the Anderviews want to kill me?”

“If I find out I’ll let you know,” said Kirdy. “Meanwhile—where can I get in touch with you?”

Farr considered. There was something he had to do… It would come to him, but in the meantime! “I’m going to Los Angeles. I’ll be at the Imperador Hotel.”

“Fool,” said Bengston under his breath.

Farr took a half-step forward. “Easy, Mr. Farr,” said Kirdy.

Farr turned away.

“I’ll let you know,” said Kirdy.

Farr looked at Dorristy. Dorristy said, “Never mind. Don’t bother to apologize.”