There were three officers on duty at the museum. They had been sent there as a guard detail and they had brought in a radio so they could listen to the police calls. They had the radio in a room on the first floor, so it would not disturb Rocks.
At nine o'clock one of them came stumbling downstairs. His face was ashen. "Hell's broken loose," he said tersely. "It's coming in over the radio. Come on upstairs if you want to listen. You might as well forget that language now."
Over and over again the announcer was droning. "Calling all cars—Calling all cars—Drop everything and be on the alert. Tragedy in burlesque showhouse. Over three hundred people dead. Cause of death not known. Manager went in to investigate sudden silence. Found audience and cast of show dead. Bodies livid color, as if they had been burned. Clothing falls to ashes when touched. Sergeant Kennedy of the homicide division suggests there is a definite connection between the death of these people and the death of the two Asian Museum archeologists last night. Be on the alert. Take over main intersections and prevent panic. Story already broken in general radio news flash. Cordon being thrown around the theater area. All special details canceled, all squad cars call your stations for definite orders—Be on the alert—Calling all cars—"
Death was walking through Chicago, a horrible, incredible form of death.
Rocks Malone stood without moving, listening to the operator repeat his message. He could scarcely conceive the meaning of the words. "Over three hundred people dead—" Dim pictures flashed to his mind. Out of nowhere, out of nothingness, silence had come. Three hundred people had died. Before they knew what struck them, death had washed over them. Millions of microscopic needles had plunged through their bodies, points of agonizing pain. Then death—
Jerkily, the telephone rang. One of the officers grabbed it. He listened, said "Okay," huskily, and turned to his fellows.
"Station calling. We're to report back there immediately for emergency duty. They're calling us off here. Come on."
The radio was still droning as they went out.
The telephone rang again. It was Penny this time.
"I'm coming down there," she said, "I'm scared. I'm coming down there with you."