The Mad Scientist Megapack

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Suppose I now tell you how I came to those decisions?”

  “Will it add up?” I said dryly.

  “I hope so, Henry, for your sake,” Myshkin said soberly. “You see, it was all trial and error. Take this formula I found. I took it at face value and worked at it for a few days, with no results. Then I had occasion to go to the darkroom again. I found what was essentially another version of the formula written beside the original. The only differences were some re-arranged symbols and changes of measure. So I tried the new version. Maybe if I hadn’t dropped it I still wouldn’t know what it could do—but once I knew, I concluded that the original version had been in error. Furthermore, it showed that at any rate I wasn’t being completely misled, because here I’d come up with something that really had a function! Do you agree that until then, at least, I was thinking along logical lines?”

  “I agree.” I said.

  “Good,” said Myshkin, “Then I had that experience with the formula turning the machine’s cover green, and another with the silk one I bought. And meanwhile, having found one error, I looked more carefully for others. They were there—just a few—based mostly on calculations of mine that they’d bawled up. That was when I began to wonder if it was possible that the green of the walls had anything to do with it—maybe it had manifested itself psychologically. All right?”

  “All right,” I said.

  “Fine! I took the box I’d gotten to carry Boris and lined it with green velvet. I put Boris inside. The reaction was wonderful. He seemed to go into a deep fog. His reflexes slowed up and the resistance I’d sometimes sensed in him seemed to disappear. I took him to the darkroom, questioned him, watched the answers he wrote. I made him copy things. Then I took him home and tried him again on the same stuff. Of course I was right, but it was a pretty hollow triumph. I realized that whatever information I’d gotten from Boris in that darkroom was not only questionable, but almost certainly full of mistakes. It was a bad blow, but there was some compensation—they were being hampered by this thing probably more than I was. And that’s the way things were until the green apparently stopped affecting them recently. Does that answer you?”

  “How do you know it stopped?” I said.

  “For one thing, the green cover hasn’t been effective, as you’ve had occasion to see. For another, last night when I carried Boris to the darkroom, neither the box nor the walls produced their former reaction. He tried to fake it but it was impossible; he really couldn’t appreciate what it used to do to him. The answers he wrote for me were cockeyed, but clearly a purposeful cockeyed, and he distorted his handwriting far beyond any previous instance.”

  “I see,” I said. “Do you remember saying that if you’d had some of the formula handy when Boris and his gunman were here, things might have ended differently? I asked you why, and you said: ‘The color, for one.’ But now you say that the color doesn’t work anymore. How do you go about adding that one up?”

  “…I said it apparently doesn’t work,” Myshkin said slowly. “Boris isn’t like the rest of them, you know. He’s the only—”

  “Is it by accident you haven’t told us what this yellow powder is?” Siegman suddenly broke in.

  “…No?” said Myshkin. “I thought I told Henry.”

  “Not this Henry,” I said.

  “I give you my—”

  “Just give me your answer,” Siegman broke in. “What is it?”

  Myshkin shrugged and said, “Exploded egg.”

  “Exploded egg?” said Siegman, looking at me.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I said.

  “Nothing very mysterious,” said Myshkin, dourly. “Sometimes my egg experiments would blow up. The resultant dust, the residue, the suspension of particles—call it what you like—for some reason had a pronounced glutinous, adhesive quality.”

  I said, “Boris called it the powdered ashes of his friends.”

  “Mmmm,” Myshkin nodded. “Poetic and not altogether untrue.”

  “Then how did—”

  “Exactly! How did the powder get on Miss Hopper? You noticed she used the same word—explosion? Was there really an explosion of some sort? What did Boris do to produce it?”

  “Maybe he learned how to explode eggs,” I said.

  “He’s known how for a long time,” Myshkin sighed. “But it wasn’t an egg. Egg explosions go off with a loud pop like a paper bag. And they don’t flash gold or anything else. No light at all; just a cloud of particles.”

  I nodded. “So you were popping eggs this morning?”

  “You mean the powder on my clothes? As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “You had nothing better to do?”

  “…What are you driving at now?” Myshkin asked, frowning.

  “What about the blood the police found on you?”

  “That was my blood. I fell.”

  “On your hatchet or your knife?”

  “I fell running after some of Boris’ friends in the lots—and the knife and hatchet weren’t mine. I found them in one of their hide-outs under the pier. I don’t mind admitting I used them, either. Don’t look at me like that, my dear fellow. It isn’t a question of being humane, you know.”

  There was a pause, and Harriet said: “As soon as you gentlemen are ready?” We’d almost forgotten the girls. They’d sat quietly on a crate and listened, but they were strangers in a strange land.

  “Al, what time is it?” I said.

  He was leaning over the work-table, thumbing through a small notebook of Myshkin’s that had been lying open near the test-tube rack. Except for his sudden question about the yellow powder and his short-lived interest in Myshkin’s answer, it was impossible to tell if he had followed or understood the rest of it. He turned another page, nodded to himself, and then looked at his watch.

  “Eight-twenty-four,” he said.

  “Really, Mr. Myshkin,” said Harriet, “if it’ll take much longer I think perhaps we can postpone it.”

  “It’ll only take a minute after it’s ready,” Myshkin said.

  “Please try to hurry,” said Harriet. “I don’t think Gladys is feeling well.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Gladys blinked. “Is something supposed to be the matter with me?”

  “Darling, your eyes look so bright?” Harriet frowned and looked to Siegman. “Almost feverish, wouldn’t you say?”

  “But darling, I feel just wonderful!” said Gladys.

  “Oh, darling, I wish you could see what your eyes look like,” said Harriet. “Darling, they’re so far away?”

  “Darling,” Gladys smiled distantly, “I was just day-dreaming.”

  “You were breathing so heavily a moment ago, darling.”

  “…Was I, darling?”

  “Yes, darling. And you clutched my arm.”

  “Stop right there, girls,” Siegman said dryly. “She says she feels fine and she looks fine. Pulse normal, breathing regular, and no coat on her tongue.”

  “But you haven’t even looked at her tongue!” said Harriet.

  “I saw it every time she said darling,” Siegman said. “Listen, Myshkin, this compound’s as ready as it’ll ever be. I’m getting anxious to see what you’ll say when it doesn’t work.”

  “Mr. Myshkin, is that true?” said Harriet.

  “My dear Miss Hopper,” Myshkin smiled gently, “I give you my word I’m not wasting your time. I don’t know why Doctor Siegman suspects me of such pointless chicanery, but perhaps he—”

  Siegman said impatiently: “You know what this compound is?”

  “What goes into it, you mean?” Myshkin asked. “Certainly I know. You’ve been reading my notes, so you know too. It’s just a green liquid, isn’t it? You don’t mean it’s something that has a name? Is that it?”

  Siegman studied his face. “No, not all of it.”

/>   “You mean part of it?”

  “Stop playing, Myshkin.”

  “Let’s everybody stop playing,” I said. “Al, what is it?”

  Siegman turned to me and shrugged. “I don’t know what it is or what it’s supposed to be, but it’s got chlorophyll for a base. C-fifty-five, H-seventy-two, O-five, N-four, Mg. What are called complex esters; soluble in ether, alcohol, etcetera, but not in water. There’s a lot of other stuff here, some to give it color, some to make it bubble, and more that doesn’t mean much to me, but the main thing is that it has the pyrrole nucleus. You find the same thing in hematin.”

  “What’s hematin?” I said.

  “The red coloring matter of the blood. It’s formed by the decomposition of hemoglobin.”

  “Is it important?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Gentlemen, please!” Myshkin said softly. “Let’s not get lost.” His eyes wandered along the work table but he wasn’t interested in anything there, not even in the tube of green liquid that he picked up and held before him. “The problem is a concrete one,” he nodded. “Will this do what I said it will, or won’t it? Miss Hopper, may I have the coat, please? Just put it down here. Thank you.”

  Harriet laid the coat across the back of the armchair and Myshkin took one of his grimy towels and spilled some of the green liquid on it. He was still nodding to himself, and Siegman openly scowled at me.

  “You don’t think it’s dangerous, do you?” I said to Siegman.

  “I hope so,” Myshkin murmured. “I hope so…”

  “And what the hell are you talking about?” I said.

  “…Hmmmmm? Weren’t you talking to me?”

  “What is this?” I said. “Isn’t anyone here talking to anyone else? Ever since Harriet got back you’ve all been taking turns at wandering off to a private dreamland. I could understand what happened to Harriet, but then Siegman caught it, then Gladys, and now you, Myshkin. Hasn’t anyone else noticed it? If this is a mass daze, why can’t I get in on it?”

  “You’ve been in one for years,” said Siegman.

  “Myshkin, what did that last crack of yours mean?” I demanded.

  “It meant he’s going to destroy the coat,” said Siegman.

  “Oh!” Gladys gasped, “Mr. Myshkin, is there any chance—”

  Myshkin gave her a slight, re-assuring smile. He spilled a little more of his compound on the towel, blew on it and then leaned over the armchair. As he began to rub one of the coat lapels, we silently gathered around. The instant the towel touched the yellow powder stains it was clear that Myshkin’s promise would be kept. In fact, the surprising ease of the process made his deliberate operations seem quite unnecessary. I moved around to the back of the chair where I could see something of Myshkin’s face. He was thinking about something again and his lips were moving. I shook my head and gave up.

  “What’re you shaking your head about?” asked Siegman.

  “About every other minute,” I said.

  “Mr. Myshkin, you’re a darling,” Gladys breathed.

  “Let’s wait and see what he is,” said Siegman.

  “He thinks your coat’s made of hemoglobin,” I said.

  “Oh, but it isn’t,” said Gladys. “It’s all wool.”

  “Shhhh!” Myshkin said suddenly. “—Listen!”

  We all froze to attention. I listened and listened.

  “All I hear is the sink,” I said.

  “It takes a drip to know one,” said Siegman.

  “Gentlemen,” Myshkin said softly, “perhaps now you can see what I meant about this compound being dangerous. Observe its effects. On the one hand, as Henry so astutely commented, we’ve all manifested an occasional trance-like state…” He paused to listen again for a moment and then sighed, “…While on the other, we find a remarkable hostility among us. Isn’t it odd for such friends as we to be at each other’s throats like this?”

  “Not for such friends as we,” said Siegman. “What do you keep listening for? Are you expecting someone? Is that what this stall is all about?”

  “He’s waiting for Boris to come back,” I said. “He’s got some kind of theory about his compound that he wants to try.”

  “Without me,” said Siegman. “He’s through with the coat—”

  “Sit down, Doctor,” said Myshkin. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  The way Myshkin said it, it didn’t mean anything… until we saw that the compound had been replaced in his hand by a gun. He’d pulled it out from under the armchair, not pointing it at anyone, but then the real shock came.

  It was the black automatic I’d seen in the gunman’s hand.

  Harriet and Gladys let out a united gasp and held their breaths.

  “…Myshkin,” I said, “listen to me. Don’t—”

  “Be quiet, Henry,” Myshkin said wearily. “If you’d listened as carefully as I have until now, you’d understand. Ladies, you have nothing to fear, on my word. Doctor, I asked you to sit down.”

  Siegman regarded him steadily “I’m still leaving,” he said. “I want to see if you’re crazy enough to use that gun.”

  “Desperate is a better word,” said Myshkin.

  Siegman took a step. As he did so, Myshkin raised the gun to his own temple.

  “If anyone leaves I’ll kill myself,” he said quietly.

  I counted ten drops of water in the sink and five more falling from my forehead to my cheeks.

  “Myshkin, put the gun down,” I said. “We’ll stay.”

  “Give me your word.”

  I nodded.

  Siegman said, “I had no idea, believe me…”

  “I know,” Myshkin said brokenly. He stood there nodding to himself shivering in his sleazy hospital robe, suddenly so pathetic a figure that it was as if a mask had fallen—only with Myshkin one couldn’t quite be sure whether it had fallen off or on. “…I’ve had to keep things from you. I admit it. But I never dreamed Boris could turn up with an armed killer… and why you should think I’d be trying to keep you here if I were expecting him back… to expose you to such fearful—”

  Off went the doorbell again.

  “Boris!” I said.

  “Police!” said Myshkin. He ran to the threshold and picked up the bundle of his clothes. “Remember what I told you to say!” he croaked. He brought the gun up. “If there’s any double-cross. I swear they won’t take me alive!” Then, scarcely making a sound, he vaulted down the stairs.

  I waited until the door to the lower room closed on him and went down. The bell had rung a couple of more times before I opened the front door. There was Nulty—the detective who specialized in theories that stank a little.

  “Hello lieutenant.” he said warmly “Everything okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Why?”

  “Supposed to be females screaming or something, hah?”

  I looked past him and saw two cops with rifles waiting idly a few yards away.

  “Just in fun.” I grinned.

  “I never have any fun,” said Nulty. “Why is that, I often wonder?” He came in with a small, mournful smile of gratitude, like a man accepting charity. “I heard about your visitors,” he said and gave me a playful poke in the stomach, and before I could say a word he was climbing the stairs.

  There was nothing to do but follow him up and introduce him to the girls. He bowed to them and threw Siegman a friendly nod. “Remind me, Doctor. I’ve a message for you,” he murmured, and turned to ask me: “Not interfering with a party, am I? Special occasion of some kind?”

  “Neither,” I said. “We just happen to be here.”

  “Oh,” said Nulty, looking pleased.

  “I thought the police had left this area?” I said.

  “Well, not entirely,” said Nulty. His eyes had been traveling from the moment he
’d entered, except for brief stopovers on Gladys, but now it became apparent that he had found two additional points of interest. One of these was the work table where Myshkin had recently brewed his green potion. The other was the towels I had used to shade the light when Myshkin first returned; they were lying under the sink where Myshkin must have tossed them after replacing the bulb the gunman had smashed, and the remains of that bulb were plainly visible in the folds of the towels. Nulty kept looking at it with a baffled smile, as if there was a joke here that required a little thinking.

  “We tried to dim—” I began, but he cut me off.

  “Don’t,” he said mildly. “Just tell me why you’re here.”

  “I’m going through Myshkin’s effects,” I said.

  “And making experiments with test tubes?”

  “That’s cleaning fluid.”

  Nulty’s eyebrows eloquently indicated humorous doubt.

  “Would you like a demonstration?” I said.

  “Oh, no,” said Nulty. “It might work—then what becomes of my theory?” He clasped hands and cracked his knuckles. “I only dropped in to see about the screaming one of the cops said came from here. We’ve more or less finished our search, but the neighborhood’s still under light surveillance. Well, good night,” he finished, and turned to go.

  “Then you haven’t caught anyone?” Siegman asked suddenly.

  “Not a sign,” said Nulty, heading for the door, but when he reached it he stopped. “Amazing, really. Every shred of evidence we’ve collected points to one conclusion—whoever was responsible for the robbery never left this immediate vicinity. But the only people we’ve come across all day, aside from watchmen and so on, are you nice people—and we know none of you was here at the actual time of the robbery…” He paused, and added diffidently, “Well, maybe we don’t know about all of you but it seems likely. Now take you. Miss De Winter—where were you at seven-thirty this morning, may I ask?”

  There was a moment of silence before Gladys lifted her gaze from the floor and said, “I distinctly heard my name spoken. Don’t tell me I day-dreamed that?”