hundred and seven? Expires January seventh, 2163. Wonder what that ' T.T. Permit' means? But of course this is some sort of crazy card. Doesn't mean anything. How could it?"
"What are these printed sheets?" Paula said, taking them from Jan's hand and unfolding them. "Look at this!"
Together they read the heading. "Speech of January Stevens before the Society at their meeting of April 8, 1953."
"Why, Jan!" Paula exclaimed. "That's today!" Her eyes scanned the first few paragraphs. "And it's word for word the speech you just gave."
"I see it is," Jan said. "But it can't be. I didn't prepare my talk. I made it up as I went along, and there's just—" He looked at Paula wide - eyed. "There's nothing except the shorthand notes of the society's secretary. Mrs. Gregory the chairwoman said my speech would be taken down in shorthand and printed in the Society's quarterly bulletin!" He inspected the papers grimly. "I'm going to keep these," he said. "I'll give the police his wallet when they get here."
The door opened in the darkened room. Lights came on, revealing the room as a well-equipped modern scientific laboratory. Jan closed the door and locked it.
"I've got to conduct some tests on these papers Paula," he said, going over to a table holding several varnished cases. "No use waiting until morning. I couldn't sleep anyway, wondering about them."
He swung open the door on the front of one of the cases, bringing out an instrument resembling a box camera.
"This is one of the things I bought with the royalties from my book," he explained. "Its ' a commercial development of the Geiger Counter for telling the age of organic compounds. It tells their age by measuring their radio-activity."
He took a pair of headphones from the cabinet and placed them over his ears, plugging the cord into the camera-like box.
"Now," he said. "I take this lead plate to block off emanations from the table, then lay the papers on the lead." He did so, then placed the camera-like box lens down on the papers. "I plug it in now," he said. "Now whenever an atom explodes it makes a click in the earphones. I count the clicks for a minute."
He listened intently while Paula watched. Finally he took off the headphones and placed them over Paula's ears. She listened while he took a booklet from the cabinet and looked at tables.
"Paula," he said, his voice sounding queer. "According to the tables those papers are just two hundred and ten years old."
"Two hundred and ten?" Paula echoed. "But--but that would mean--"
Jan nodded. "It jibes with the expiration date on that card belonging to Fred Stone. It means that he came f r om the year 2163, two hundred and ten years in the future. That T. T. permit means time travel."
Paula took off the earphones.
"He came back in Time," Jan said, "carrying the printed copy of my speech about my book, to ask me questions about it. He was killed before he could ask those questions."
"Why?" Paula asked.
"I wish I knew," Jan said. "Was it to keep him from getting the answers t o questions he was going to ask --or was it to keep me from learning what questions he was going to ask?"
At the door a man had materialized out of thin air. Jan and Paula, their backs to the door, hadn't seen him. He cautiously unlocked the door and swung it open, then stood in the opening as though he had just entered.
"Put your hands up and get away from that bench," he said abruptly.
At the first sound of his voice Jan and Paula turned, startled. They stared at him and his pointed gun, their eyes widening.
"How did you get in?" Jan demanded. "That door was locked from the inside!"
"Never mind that," the man said. "Step away from that bench so I can get those papers."
Jan looked at the man keenly as he raised his hands and slowly moved away from the bench.
"You're a killer," he said. "I got a good look at you there in the auditorium."
The man grinned at him mirthlessly, then moved warily to the bench, pocketing the papers Jan had been
"What are these printed sheets?" Paula said, taking them from Jan's hand and unfolding them. "Look at this!"
Together they read the heading. "Speech of January Stevens before the Society at their meeting of April 8, 1953."
"Why, Jan!" Paula exclaimed. "That's today!" Her eyes scanned the first few paragraphs. "And it's word for word the speech you just gave."
"I see it is," Jan said. "But it can't be. I didn't prepare my talk. I made it up as I went along, and there's just—" He looked at Paula wide - eyed. "There's nothing except the shorthand notes of the society's secretary. Mrs. Gregory the chairwoman said my speech would be taken down in shorthand and printed in the Society's quarterly bulletin!" He inspected the papers grimly. "I'm going to keep these," he said. "I'll give the police his wallet when they get here."
The door opened in the darkened room. Lights came on, revealing the room as a well-equipped modern scientific laboratory. Jan closed the door and locked it.
"I've got to conduct some tests on these papers Paula," he said, going over to a table holding several varnished cases. "No use waiting until morning. I couldn't sleep anyway, wondering about them."
He swung open the door on the front of one of the cases, bringing out an instrument resembling a box camera.
"This is one of the things I bought with the royalties from my book," he explained. "Its ' a commercial development of the Geiger Counter for telling the age of organic compounds. It tells their age by measuring their radio-activity."
He took a pair of headphones from the cabinet and placed them over his ears, plugging the cord into the camera-like box.
"Now," he said. "I take this lead plate to block off emanations from the table, then lay the papers on the lead." He did so, then placed the camera-like box lens down on the papers. "I plug it in now," he said. "Now whenever an atom explodes it makes a click in the earphones. I count the clicks for a minute."
He listened intently while Paula watched. Finally he took off the headphones and placed them over Paula's ears. She listened while he took a booklet from the cabinet and looked at tables.
"Paula," he said, his voice sounding queer. "According to the tables those papers are just two hundred and ten years old."
"Two hundred and ten?" Paula echoed. "But--but that would mean--"
Jan nodded. "It jibes with the expiration date on that card belonging to Fred Stone. It means that he came f r om the year 2163, two hundred and ten years in the future. That T. T. permit means time travel."
Paula took off the earphones.
"He came back in Time," Jan said, "carrying the printed copy of my speech about my book, to ask me questions about it. He was killed before he could ask those questions."
"Why?" Paula asked.
"I wish I knew," Jan said. "Was it to keep him from getting the answers t o questions he was going to ask --or was it to keep me from learning what questions he was going to ask?"
At the door a man had materialized out of thin air. Jan and Paula, their backs to the door, hadn't seen him. He cautiously unlocked the door and swung it open, then stood in the opening as though he had just entered.
"Put your hands up and get away from that bench," he said abruptly.
At the first sound of his voice Jan and Paula turned, startled. They stared at him and his pointed gun, their eyes widening.
"How did you get in?" Jan demanded. "That door was locked from the inside!"
"Never mind that," the man said. "Step away from that bench so I can get those papers."
Jan looked at the man keenly as he raised his hands and slowly moved away from the bench.
"You're a killer," he said. "I got a good look at you there in the auditorium."
The man grinned at him mirthlessly, then moved warily to the bench, pocketing the papers Jan had been
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