Time Thieves

outside. The sirens died slowly, mournful as they wound down into silence to be replaced by the voices of half a dozen men. Orders were shouted; confirmations were called back. Feet sounded on the bricks. “Up this way!” someone shouted. Distantly, feet found the iron rungs of the old, black fire escape.
        
        The triplets were all on the main floor now, desperately looking for him.
        
        “Mr. Mullion, the police will be here shortly, and they'll arrest you. We have a way out; they won't find us. But you'll have to stay here and be trapped, if you won't help us.”
        
        The police had reached the door at the top of the fire escape and were considering unlatching it.
        
        Pete remembered the speed with which that damaged mechanical man had disappeared from the street, earlier in the evening. Too, he remembered how the stranger under the willow tree had vanished so rapidly that night only weeks ago, when he had returned home from his first period of forgetfulness. He had been hoping that the arrival of the police would scare the triplets off. Now he saw that they would stay through the last moment. They were superior machines with superior abilities, many of which they had not, surely, yet displayed.
        
        During one of his quiet dashes along a short, box-walled passageway, as he eluded the triplets, he came to a point where the cement floor sank in all directions to a large, heavy wire drainage grill set over a sewer opening in the floor. All the stock was perched on metal bar frames an inch or two above the cement to let the water drain beneath.
        
        In the second floor loft, the police had gotten the door open and had reached the head of the stairs. They played the beams of three powerful flashlights on the maze of the lower level. They looked unhappy at the prospect of coming down. They called out, waited for a reply, then called out again.
        
        Pete knelt by the wire grill and lifted it out of place. Beyond, the storm drain was easily large enough to accommodate a man. He wondered if it harbored rats and roaches. Then he decided that rats and roaches could be no less pleasant than remaining here to be discovered by the police or the triplets. The former would recommend that he be locked up in some asylum; the latter might just take it in their heads to murder him. Painlessly, of course; they had promised that much.
        
        He laid the grill aside and dropped into the drain. The tile was only damp; no rats or roaches either visible or audible. He reached overhead and replaced the grill. It made a bit of noise sliding in place, but he could do nothing about that.
        
        He had not considered how dark it would be. His fears seemed to drink the darkness and bloom with its nourishment. Although he would have a hard enough time seeing what he was about, he knew the mechanical triplets would see very well in the dark, too well to make it an even battle.
        
        Overhead, someone shouted. The police? Or the triplets?
        
        He heard voices and the shuffle of feet near the drain.
        
        A revolver boomed in the closed warehouse, echoing from the corrugated walls.
        
        Fingers felt along the drainage grill; he could see them, searching for a hold.
        
        He turned, peered into the stinking blackness of the storm drain, bent to avoid any ceiling projections, and hurried forward, giving the rats plenty of warning if they were there.
        

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    IX
        
        
        He was thankful for the recent balmy weather which had given the city clear skies for several days. The runnels were dry, or nearly so, and they presented no hazard more nerve-wracking than occasional patches of slick, wet mud. He fell on a few of these, skinning both knees and both elbows. His clothes were damp in many places and smeared with a rich, black soil; chewing gum wrappers stuck to his trousers; his face was filthy; the left sleeve of his shirt was torn from cuff to elbow. He didn't curse once. Nor did he wish he was out of that place and under an open sky, for all these bothersome details were far more desirable than capture.
        
        His eyes had somewhat adjusted to the gloom, though he could see very little, no more than a few feet. There was no sign of movement behind, no light to show the triplets the way.
        
        He began to walk