The Greatest Science Fiction Works of Philip K. Dick. Филип Дик

      Loyce stiffened. His heart stopped beating. "Bait? What do you mean?"

      "To draw you out. Make you declare yourself. So they'd know who was under control—and who had escaped."

      Loyce recoiled with horror. "Then they expected failures! They anticipated—" He broke off. "They were ready with a trap."

      "And you showed yourself. You reacted. You made yourself known." The Commissioner abruptly moved toward the door. "Come along, Loyce. There's a lot to do. We must get moving. There's no time to waste."

      Loyce started slowly to his feet, numbed. "And the man. Who was the man? I never saw him before. He wasn't a local man. He was a stranger. All muddy and dirty, his face cut, slashed—"

      There was a strange look on the Commissioner's face as he answered. "Maybe," he said softly, "you'll understand that, too. Come along with me, Mr. Loyce." He held the door open, his eyes gleaming. Loyce caught a glimpse of the street in front of the police station. Policemen, a platform of some sort. A telephone pole—and a rope! "Right this way," the Commissioner said, smiling coldly.

      *****

      As the sun set, the vice-president of the Oak Grove Merchants' Bank came up out of the vault, threw the heavy time locks, put on his hat and coat, and hurried outside onto the sidewalk. Only a few people were there, hurrying home to dinner.

      "Good night," the guard said, locking the door after him.

      "Good night," Clarence Mason murmured. He started along the street toward his car. He was tired. He had been working all day down in the vault, examining the lay-out of the safety deposit boxes to see if there was room for another tier. He was glad to be finished.

      At the corner he halted. The street lights had not yet come on. The street was dim. Everything was vague. He looked around—and froze.

      From the telephone pole in front of the police station, something large and shapeless hung. It moved a little with the wind.

      What the hell was it?

      Mason approached it warily. He wanted to get home. He was tired and hungry. He thought of his wife, his kids, a hot meal on the dinner table. But there was something about the dark bundle, something ominous and ugly. The light was bad; he couldn't tell what it was. Yet it drew him on, made him move closer for a better look. The shapeless thing made him uneasy. He was frightened by it. Frightened—and fascinated.

      And the strange part was that nobody else seemed to notice it.