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  Lewis took a shot in the dark, said, "That doesn't smell like embalming fluid."

  Johnson said, "It's a new type. We add the masking perfumes later."

  "You just get these filled?" asked Lewis.

  "No, these were delivered last week," said Johnson. "We've left them here because we don't have a better place to store them." He smiled at Lewis, but the eyes remained cold, watchful. "Why this interest?"

  "Call it professional curiosity," said Lewis. He went to the rear door, unlatched it and locked the latch in the open position, stepped outside, closed the door. He could see the tanks plainly through the window. He came back into the hallway.

  He's still lying to me, thought Lewis. But it's all so very plausible. He said, "I'm going to give your place a thorough search."

  "But why?" protested Johnson.

  "For no good reason at all," said Lewis. "If you want, I'll go out and get a warrant." He started to brush past Johnson, was stopped by a strong hand on his shoulder, something hard pressing into his side. He looked down, saw a flat automatic menacing him.

  "I regret this," said Johnson. "Believe me, I do."

  "You're going to regret it more," said Lewis. "I have your place watched front and back and the office knows where I am.

  For the first time he saw a look of indecision on Johnson's face. "You're lying," said the mortician.

  "Come here," said Lewis. He stepped to the back door, looked up to the black window where Welch stood. The glow of the deputy's cigarette was plainly visible, an orange wash against the blackness. Johnson saw it, "Now let's go check the front," said Lewis.

  "No need," said Johnson. "I thought you were playing a lone hand." He paused. "You came in the backyard again and had a look in the window, didn't you?"

  "What do you think?" asked Lewis.

  "I should've anticipated that," said Johnson. "Perhaps I was too anxious to have things appear just as they were. You startled me coming in here at night like this."

  "You saw me come in the front?" asked Lewis.

  "Let us say that I was aware you were downstairs before the attendant told me," said Johnson. He gestured with his gun. "Let's go back to the office."

  Lewis led the way down the hall. At the foyer door he glanced back.

  "Turn around!" barked Johnson.

  But the one glance had been enough. The tanks were gone.

  "What was that humming sound?" asked Lewis.

  "Just keep moving," said Johnson.

  In the front office the mortician motioned Lewis to a chair. "What were you looking for?" asked Johnson. He slid into the chair behind his desk, rested his gun hand on the desk top.

  "I found what I was looking for," said Lewis.

  "And that is?"

  "Evidence to confirm my belief that this place should be taken apart brick by brick."

  Johnson smiled, hooked the telephone to him with his left hand, took off the receiver and rested it on the desk. "What's your office number?"

  Lewis told him.

  Johnson dialed, picked up the phone, said, "Hello, this is Lewis."

  Lewis came half out of the chair. His own voice was issuing from Johnson's mouth. The gun in the mortician's hand waved him back to the chair.

  "You got the dope on what I'm doing?" asked Johnson. He waited. "No. Nothing important. I'm just looking." Again he paused. "I'll tell you if I find anything," he said. He replaced the phone in its cradle.

  "Well?" said Lewis.

  Johnson's lips thinned. "This is incredible," he said. "A mere human—." He broke off, stared at Lewis, said, "My mistake was in telling you a plausible lie after that door was left open. I should have—He shrugged.

  "You couldn't hope to fool us forever," said Lewis.

  "I suppose not," said Johnson, "but reasoning tells me that there is still a chance." The gun suddenly came up, its muzzle pointing at Lewis. "It's a chance I have to take," said the mortician. The gun belched flame and Lewis was slammed back in his chair. Through a dimming haze, he saw Johnson put the gun to his own head, pull the trigger, slump across the desk. Then the haze around Lewis thickened, became the black nothing of unconsciousness.

  From a somewhere he could not identify Lewis became aware of himself. He was running through a black cave, chased by a monster with blazing eyes and arms like an octopus. The monster kept shouting, "A mere human! A mere human! A mere human!" with a voice that echoed as though projected into a rain barrel. Then, above the voice of the monster, Lewis heard water dripping in a quick even cadence. At the same time he saw the mouth of the cave, a round bright area. The bright area grew larger, larger, became the white wall of a hospital room and a window with sunshine outside. Lewis turned his head, saw a metal tank like the ones in the mortuary.

  A voice said, "That brought him around."

  Vertigo swept over Lewis and for a moment he fought it. A white-clad figure swam into his field of vision, resolved itself into a county hospital intern whom Lewis recognized. The intern held a black oxygen mask.

  The sound of the dripping water was louder now and then he realized that it was a wristwatch. He turned toward the sound, saw Sheriff Czernak straighten from a position close to his head. Czernak's Slavic face broke into a grin. "Boy, you gave us a scare," he said.

  Lewis swallowed, found his voice. "What—"

  "You know, you are lucky you're a freak," said Czernak. "Your heart being on the right side's the only thing saved you. That and the fact that Joe heard the shots."

  The intern came around beside the sheriff. "The bullet nicked an edge of your lung and took a little piece out of a rib at the back," said the intern. "You must've been bom lucky."

  "Johnson?" said Lewis.

  "Deader'n a mackerel," said Czernak. "You feel strong enough to tell us what happened? Joe's story don't make sense. What's with these tanks of embalming fluid?"

  Lewis thought about his encounter with the mortician. Nothing about it made sense. He said, "Embalming fluid comes in sixteen-ounce bottles."

  "We got those three tanks from the hallway," said Czernak, "but I don't know what we're doing with them."

  "From the hall?" Lewis remembered his last look at the empty hall before Johnson had ordered him to turn around. He tried to push himself up, felt pain knife through his chest. The intern pushed him gently back to the pillow. "Here now, none of that," he said. "You just stay flat on your back."

  "What was in the tanks?" whispered Lewis.

  "The lab here says it's embalming fluid," said the sheriff. "What's so special about it?"

  Lewis remembered the acrid odor of the spray Johnson had released from the tank valve. "Does the lab still have some of that fluid?" he asked. "I'd like to smell it."

  "I'll get it," said the intern. "Don't let him sit up. It could start a hemorrhage." He went out the door.

  "Where were the tanks when you found them?" asked Lewis.

  "Down by the back door," said Czemak. "Where you said they were. Why?"

  "I don't really know yet," said Lewis. "But I've something I wish you'd do. Take a—"

  The door opened and the intern entered, a test tube in his hand. "This is the stuff," he said. He passed the tube under Lewis's nose. It gave off a musklike sweet aroma. It was not what he had smelled at the tanks. That explains why the tanks disappeared, he thought. Somebody switched them. But what was in the others? He looked up at the intern, said, "Thanks."

  "You were sayin' something," said the sheriff.

  "Yes," said Lewis. "Take a crew over to that mortuary, John, and rip out the wall behind where you found those tanks and take up the floor under that spot."

  "What're we supposed to find?" asked Czemak.

  "Damned if I know," said Lewis, "but it sure should be interesting. Those tanks kept disappearing and reappearing every time I turned my back. I want to know why."

  "Look, Welby, we've got to have something solid to go on," said the sheriff. "People are running around that mortuary like crazy, saying it's bad business an'
what all."

  "I'd say this was good for business," said Lewis, a brief smile forming on his lips. His face sobered. "Don't you think it's enough that somebody tried to kill one of your men and then committed suicide?"

  The sheriff scratched his head. "I guess so, Welby. You sure you can't give me anything more'n just your hunch?"

  "You know as much about this as I do," said Lewis. "By the way, where's Johnson's body?"

  "They're fixin' it up for burial," said Czernak. "Welby, I really should have more'n just your say so. The D.A. will scream if I get too heavy-handed."

  "You're still the sheriff," said Lewis.

  "Well, can't you even tell me why Johnson killed himself?"

  "Say he was mentally unbalanced," said Lewis. "And John, here's something else. Get Doc Bellarmine to do the autopsy on Johnson and tell him to go over that body with a magnifying glass."

  "Why?"

  "It was something he said about mere humans," said Lewis.

  "Askin' me to stick my neck out like this," said Czernak.

  "Will you do it?" asked Lewis.

  "Sure I'll do it!" exploded Czernak. "But I don't like it!" He jammed his hat onto his head, strode out of the room.

  The intern turned to follow.

  Lewis said, "What time is it?"

  The intern stopped, glanced at his wristwatch. "Almost five." He looked at Lewis. "We've had you under sedatives since you came out of the operating room."

  "Five a.m. or five p.m.?" asked Lewis.

  "Five p.m.," said the intern.

  "Was I a tough job?" asked Lewis.

  "It was a clean wound," said the intern. "You take it easy now. It's almost chow time. I'll see that you're served in the first round and then I'll have the nurse bring you a sedative. You need your rest."

  "How long am I going to be chained to this bed?" asked Lewis.

  "We'll discuss that later," said the intern. "You really shouldn't be talking." He turned away, went out the door.

  Lewis turned his head away, saw that someone had left a stack of magazines on his bed stand. The top magazine had slipped down, exposing the cover. It was done in garish colors— a bug-eyed monster chasing a scantily clad female. Lewis was reminded of his nightmare. A mere human... A mere human. The words kept turning over in his mind. What was it about Johnson that brought up the idea of a freak? he wondered.

  A student nurse brought in his tray, cranked up his bed and helped him eat. Presently, a nurse came in with a hypo, shot him in the arm. He drifted off to sleep with the mind full of questions still unanswered.

  "He's awake now," said a female voice. Lewis heard a door open, looked up to see Czernak followed by Joe Welch. It was daylight outside, raining. The two men wore damp raincoats, which they took off and draped over chairs.

  Lewis smiled at Welch. "Thanks for having good ears, Joe," he said.

  Welch grinned. "I opened the window when I saw you come out the back door," he said. "I thought maybe you was going to holler something up to me. Then when you went right back inside, I thought that was funny; so I left the window partly open or I'd never've heard a thing."

  Czernak pulled a chair up beside Lewis's bed, sat down. Welch took a chair at the foot.

  Lewis turned his head toward the sheriff. "Is the D.A. screaming yet?"

  "No," said Czernak. "He got caught out in that rainstorm the other day and he's home with the flu. Besides, I'm still sheriff of this county." He patted the bed. "How you feeling, boy?"

  "I'm afraid I'm gonna live," said Lewis.

  "You better," said Welch. "We got a new relief radio gal who saw your picture in the files an' says she wants to meet you. She's a wow."

  "Tell her to wait for me," said Lewis. He looked at the sheriff. "What'd you find?"

  "I don't get it, Welby," said Czemak. "Right behind where them tanks was there was this brick wall covered with plaster. We took away the plaster and there's all these wires, see."

  "What kind of wires?"

  "That's just it, Keeler's old man is a jeweler and Keeler says this wire is silver. It's kind of a screen like, criss-crossed every which way."

  "What were they hooked up to?"

  "To nothing we could find," said Czemak. He looked at Welch. "Ain't that right?"

  "Nothing there but this wire," said Welch.

  "What did you do with it?" asked Lewis.

  "Nothing," said Czernak. "We just left like it was and took pictures."

  "Anything under the floor?"

  Czernak's face brightened. "Boy, we sure hit the jackpot there!" He bent his head and peered closely at Lewis. "How'd you know we'd find something under there?"

  "I just knew those tanks kept appearing out of nowhere," said Lewis. "What was under there?"

  Czernak straightened. "Well, a whole section of the hall floor was an elevator and down below there was this big room. It stretched from under the hall to clear under the embalming room and there was a section of the embalming room floor where a bunch of tiles come up in one piece and there was a trapdoor and a stairway. Hell! It was just like one of them horror movies!"

  "What was down there?"

  "A buncha machinery," said Czernak.

  "What kind?"

  "I dunno." Czernak shook his head, glanced at Welch.

  "Craziest stuff I ever saw," said Welch. He shrugged.

  "Doc Bellarmine came down and had a look at it after the autopsy last night," said Czernak. "He said he'd be in to see you this morning."

  "Did he say anything about the autopsy?" asked Lewis.

  "Not to me," said Czernak.

  Welch hitched his chair closer to the foot of the bed, rested an arm on the rail. "He told me it was something about the autopsy made him come down to have a look at the mortuary," he said. "He didn't say what it was, though."

  "What about the mortuary staff?" asked Lewis. "Did they say anything about the secret room?"

  "They swear they never even knew it was there," said Czernak. "We took 'em all into custody anyway, all except Tule and his wife."

  "Tule?"

  "Yeah, the other partner. His wife was a licensed mortician, too. Ain't been seen since the night you were shot. The staff says that Johnson, Tule and the wife was always locking doors around the building for no good reason at all."

  "What did this machinery look like?"

  "Part of it was just an elevator for that section of floor. The other stuff was hooked up to a bunch of pipes coming down from the embalming table upstairs. There was this big—." Czernak stopped as the door opened.

  Dr. Bellarmine's cynical face peered into the room. His eyes swept over the occupants; he entered, closed the door behind him. "The patient's feeling better, I see," he said. "For a while there I thought this would be a job for me in my official capacity."

  "This guy'll outlive all of us," said Welch.

  "He probably will at that," said the doctor. He glanced down at Lewis. "Feel like a little conversation?"

  "Just a minute, Doc," said Lewis. He turned to Czernak. "John, I have one more favor," he said. "Could you get one of those tanks of embalming fluid to a welding shop and have it cut open with a burner. I want to know how it's made inside."

  "No, you don't," said Czernak. "I'm not leavin' here without some kind of an explanation."

  "And I don't have an explanation," said Lewis. "All the pieces aren't together yet. I'm tied to this bed when I should be out working on this thing. I've ten thousand questions I want answered and no way of answering them."

  "Don't excite yourself," said Bellarmine.

  "Yeah, Welby, take it easy," said Czernak. "It's just that I'm about ready to pop with frustration. Nothing makes sense here. This guy tries to kill you for no apparent reason and then commits suicide. It seems to be because you wanted to look inside them tanks, but they're just embalming fluid. I don't get it."

  "Would you have those tanks cut open for me?" asked Lewis.

  "O.K., O.K." Czernak hoisted himself to his feet. Welch also arose.
"Come on, Joe," said the sheriff. "We're nothin' but a couple of leg men for Sherlock here. Let's take them—"

  "John, I'm sorry," said Lewis. "It's just that I can't—"

  "I know you can't do it yourself now," said Czernak. "That's why I'm doing it. You're the best man I got, Welby; so I'm countin' on you to put this together. Me, I gave up when I saw that machinery." He left the room, muttering, followed by Welch, who stopped at the door, winked at Lewis.

  Bellarmine waited until the door closed, sat down on the foot of the bed. "How'd you get onto them?" he asked.

  Lewis ignored the question. "What'd you find in that autopsy?" he asked.

  The surgeon frowned. "I thought you were nuts when the sheriff told me what you wanted," he said. "Any fool could see Johnson died of a gunshot wound in the head. But I guessed you had a reason; so I did my cutting carefully and it was a lucky thing I did."

  "Why?"

  "Well, this is the kind of case an autopsy surgeon sloughs off sometimes. Visible wound. Obvious cause. I could've missed it. The guy looked to be normal."

  "Missed what?"

  "His heart, for one thing. It had an extra layer of muscles in the cardiac sheath. I experimented with them and near dropped my knife. They work like that automatic sealing device they put in airplane fuel tanks. Puncture the heart and this muscle layer seals the hole until the heart's healed."

  "Damn!" said Lewis.

  "This guy was like that all over," said Bellarmine. "For a long time doctors have looked at the human body with the wish they could redesign certain things to better specifications. Johnson looked like our wish had come true. Fewer vertebrae with better articulation. Pigment veins into the pupil of the eye which could only be some kind of filter to—"

  "That's it!" Lewis slapped the bed with the palm of his hand. "There was something freakish about him and I couldn't focus on it. The pupils of his eyes changed color. I can remember seeing it and—"

  "You didn't see anything," said Bellarmine. "His pelvic floor was broader and distributed the weight more evenly to the legs. The feet had larger bones and more central distribution of weight over the arch. There was an interlaced membranous support for the viscera. His circulatory system had sphincter valves at strategic points to control bleeding. This Johnson may have looked human on the outside, but inside he was superhuman."