Astounding Science Fiction (British Edition), April 1944 — page 50: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

48 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “The answer’s still ‘yeah.’ What can I do for you?” “You can accept this summons,” said the cop. He gave Gallegher a folded paper. The maze of intricate legal phraseology made little sense to Galleger. “Who’s Dell Hopper?” he asked. “I never heard of him.” “It’s not my pie,’ the officer grunted. “T’ve served the summons; that’s as far as I go.” He went out. Gallegher peered at the paper. It told him little. Finally, for lack of something better to do, he televised an attorney, got in touch with the bureau of legal records, and found the name of MHopper’s lawyer, a man named Trench. A corporation lawyer at that. Trench had a battery of secretaries to take calls, but by dint of threats, curses and pleas Gallegher got through to the great man himself. On the telescreen Trench showed as a gray, thin, dry man with a clipped mus- tache. His voice was file-sharp. “Mr. Gallegher? Yes?” “Look,” Gallegher said, “I just had a summons served on me.” **Ah, you have it then. Good.” “What do you mean, good? I haven’t the least idea what this is all about.” “Indeed,” Trench said skeptically. ‘“Per- haps I can refresh your memory. My client, who is soft-hearted, is not prosecuting you for slander, threat or bodily harm, or as- sault and battery. He just wants his money back—or else value received.” Gallegher closed his eyes and shuddered. “H-he does? I. ..ah... did I slander him?” “You called him,” said Trench, referring to a bulky file, ‘a duck-footed cockroach, a foul-smelling Neanderthaler, and either a dirty cow or a dirty cao. Both are terms of opprobrium. You also kicked him.” “When was this?” Gallegher whispered. “Three days ago.” ““And—you mentioned money?” “A thousand credits, which he paid you on account.” : “On account of what?” ‘““A commission you were to undertake for him. I was not acquainted with the exact details. In any case, you not only failed to fulfill the comission, but you re- fused to return the money.” “Oh. Who is Hopper, anyway?” “Hopper Enterprises, Inc-——Dell Hopper, entrepreneur and impresario. However, I think you know all this. I will see you in court, Mr. Gallegher. And, if you'll forgive me, I’m rather busy. I have a case to prose- cute today, and I rather think the defendant will get a long prison sentence.” “What did he do?” Gallegher asked weakly. “Simple case of assault and battery,” Trench said. “Good-by.” His face faded from the screen. Gal- legher clapped a hand to his forehead and screamed for beer. He went to his desk, sucking at the plastibulb with its built-in refrigerant, and thoughtfully examined his mail. Nothing there. No. clue. A thousand credits— He had no recollec- tion of getting them. But the cash book might show— It did. Under dates of several weeks back, it said: Rec’d D. H.—com.—on acc’t—c1000 Rec’d J. W»—com.—on acc’t—c1500 Rec’d Fatty—com.—on acc’t—c800. Thirty-three hundred credits! And the bank book had no record of that sum. It showed -merely a withdrawal of seven hundred credits, leaving about fifteen still on hand. Gallegher moaned and searched his desk again. Under a blotter he found an en- velope he had previously overlooked. It contained stock certificates—both common and preferred—for something called De- vices Unlimited. A covering letter acknow- ledged receipt of four thousand credits, in return for which payment stock had been issued to Mr. Galloway Gallegher, as ordered— “Murder,” Gallegher said. He gulped beer, his mind swirling. Trouble was piling up in triplicate. D. H.—Dell Hopper—had paid him a thousand credits to do some- thing or other. Someone whose initials were J. W. had given his fifteen hundred credits for a similar purpose. And Fatty, the cheap- skate, had paid only eight hundred credits on account. “Why? Only Gallegher’s mad subconscious knew. That brainy personality had deftly arranged the deals, collected the dough, depleted Gallegher’s personal bank account—clean- ing it out—and buying stock in Devices Unlimited. Ha! Gallegher used the televisor again. Pre- sently he beamed his broker. “Arnie?” Ccomiclboooks.c©