“How do you feel?” I said.
“Wizard, just wizard,” he said. When he enunciated the z’s he grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t empty that bucket, boy.”
When I got back to the living room, Myshkin and Siegman were sharing the couch, with the newspaper accounts of the robbery between them, jabbering away like old fraternity brothers at a twenty years’ reunion. Harriet was listening to them with the interested frown I’d seen appear when discussion grew too recondite for her to follow. I knew very well what they were talking about. It surprised me.
I delivered Harriet’s drink, but even my anticipation for the experiment didn’t keep me from joining them.
They were looking over the page of photographs of criminals who had been tagged as worthy of consideration in a job of such magnitude and murderous skill, and Myshkin was nodding and working his eyebrows up and down to manifest admiration.
“A fine conclusion, my dear Doctor,” said Myshkin, “but how did you come to it? Surely not just because Boris used one or two medical terms?”
“Naturally, the medical terms struck me immediately,” said Siegman, “but that was only the beginning. They were part of a whole outburst filled with archaic and obscure words like popinjay, and administering a bastinado. They poured out of him almost involuntarily. Obviously he’d been reading medical tracts and who knows what else, but it was astonishing the way words seemed to stick to him.”
“Very discerning,” said Myshkin.
“Then take the note he left Gladys on the back of the blueprint,” said Siegman. “First, the repetition of darling all through it—after just a few minutes of Gladys’ being with him. That influence seemed unmistakable. But if it was so clear a derivation, what about his use of words like characters and ice? All right, characters may be fairly general, but when it appeared with a rather professional underworld word like ice, it was worth thinking about.”
“I agree,” Myshkin nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Well, then Boris showed up with his gunman. As far as tracing the evolution of his vocabulary went, that fitted perfectly. But it raised the much more perplexing question: where did Boris get him?”
“Now I see,” said Myshkin. “This coincidental factor of the robbery so close to my home, and the additional fillip of the criminals disappearing right in the neighborhood—that’s what made you curious to check these photographs in the newspaper?”
“Yes.”
“You thought there might be a connection between Boris’ gunman and the vanished crooks?”
“Yes.”
“But now that you’ve looked through this rogue’s gallery and failed at finding one who resembles Boris’ gunman, you’re at an impasse?”
“Not necessarily,” said Siegman. “The gallery is only guesswork. What if the actual criminals were a small-time gang, and this is their first big splash? There could be plenty of other reasons. It would be ridiculous to assume the gang can only be made up from among these men.”
“Did I say so?” said Myshkin. “I’m only trying to see what you think.” He picked up the drink I’d brought him and sipped it with murmurs of approval.
“How does it hit you?” said Siegman.
“The drink, or what you said?” asked Myshkin. The drink is splendid.”
“You don’t think there’s anything in what I said?” said Siegman.
“I consider it,” said Myshkin, “an altogether praiseworthy display of ratiocinative talent, but how did you ever get past the question you call ‘perplexing,’ and which I find completely stultifying—where did Boris get a gunman? Instead of examining it with a little perspective, you’re off involving Boris with gangsters. That’s about as intelligent as Nulty’s profound suspicions that I’m mixed up in the robbery.”
“What do you know about Nulty’s suspicions?” I broke in.
“Please Henry, one at a time,” said Myshkin. “It’s no mystery.”
“What do you mean by perspective?” said Siegman.
“Simply that you’re forgetting our own very special position—I might say predicament. We know about Boris; I made him; you’ve grown accustomed to him and to the idea of him; for us he’s real. But how could he—after all, he’s a one-toot tall chicken-man!—how could he possibly get together with any outside people, let alone a killer presumably from a gang being hunted by regiments of police, and get him to act as his henchman?”
At this Siegman turned to me with a badly puzzled look and got one just like it in return. “Just a minute, Myshkin,” he said. “Whether or not Boris’ henchman has anything to do with this gang, he nevertheless is Boris’ Henchman, isn’t he? So obviously he did get together with at least one person, right?”
“Wrong,” said Myshkin.
“Wrong?” said Siegman.
“Wrong,” said Myshkin. “The way to tackle this problem is to begin with the premise that Boris’ getting together with outside people is just about impossible. It does violence to credibility. Try to figure out a circumstance, or a set of circumstances, that could account for such a thing.”
“Are you serious?” I said.
“Of course,” said Myshkin impatiently. “I’m trying to show you what this gunman business really is, but if you won’t think clearly—”
“But we saw Boris together with his henchman,” I said.
“Don’t be confused by what you saw,” said Myshkin.
“I won’t.” I said. “Not even by what you say. And what’s more, not even by what I didn’t see.”
“Please, Henry, you’re a terrible bore when you speak this way.”
“I apologize. I’ve been brought up to think the old muddled way—when I see something that’s hard to explain, I look for an explanation instead of telling myself I didn’t see it. I think more now of Siegman’s ideas about the importance of Boris’ vocabulary than I did at first—”
“Will you listen to me?” Myshkin interrupted.
“As soon as I’ve told you what I want to hear,” I said. “Now, the first time I saw Boris, he told me he was looking for an ally. He thought maybe I’d do, but I turned out a disappointment. So that even if we hadn’t seen Boris’ gunman, and established beyond any doubt that he has gotten together with someone on the outside, the idea itself would still not be impossible to accept, though it might be more difficult. Well, we know it’s so. The question is how? And I think the answer is tied up with the strange way you managed to escape from the hospital. I’m sold on the invisibility angle.”
“How sickening,” said Myshkin, turning to his drink.
“It was your idea originally,” I said.
“But I didn’t actually mean I believed, in invisibility!” said Myshkin. “It was just my way of saying it was so mysterious I couldn’t even propose an alternative explanation. However, I know there must be one—”
“I know,” I said. “It was a good theory as long as it didn’t mean anything to us. Now that I can back it up, document it—”
“Nonsense,” said Myshkin flatly. “Henry, you’re wasting—”
“So you see,” I went on, “if what I say is true, it goes a long way toward explaining the arrangement between Boris and his henchmen. If we could get used to the idea, so could others—and if Boris’ research had provided—”
“Boris’ research?”
“I’m not saying it has to be his idea alone,” I went on. “I’m not at all sure you weren’t working on something like this yourself. Maybe you got it from the notes on the walls—anyway, I do know that you’re well aware of invisibility as a factor in this case, and I can back it up.”
“Enough,” said Myshkin. “Let’s hear it.”
“First,” I said, “I know you were in the downstairs room all the time I was there with Nulty.”
“I was?” said Myshkin.
“Otherwise you couldn’t po
ssibly have known a thing about Nulty’s theory. He didn’t mention it the first time until after you’d been taken away. The only other time he spoke about it was downstairs after you’d supposedly flown the coop—if a word like coop is permissible under the circumstances.”
“Henry, you’re wrong,” said Myshkin. “I was up on the roof—I heard it all through the chimney. I took it for granted you knew the chimney was how I’d escaped. I don’t see why you should find this so unacceptable an idea.”
“That brings up reason number two,” I said. “Your clothes moved when no one was supposedly in that room.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Myshkin.
“You wouldn’t want me to believe the clothes had moved by themselves, would you?” I said.
Myshkin looked at me intently. “Henry, you’re not fooling? On my word, this is of utmost importance.”
“I guessed as much myself,” I said.
“Not the way you mean it!” Myshkin snapped. “Now tell me about those clothes, or you won’t get another word out of me! Where did you find them?”
“Just where you left them,” I said. “Near the pile of boxes against the wall.”
“That’s not where I left them,” said Myshkin quietly.
I gave him a big friendly grin. “I see what you’re after,” I said.
“Please go on,” said Myshkin. “I won’t interrupt again.”
“The clothes were in plain view when Nulty and I came in,” I said. “He kicked the bundle aside during his search. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized them, but I couldn’t say anything either. When I went out with Nulty and came back alone a moment later, I noticed the clothes had moved again. That told me there was something in the room worth thinking about.”
Myshkin nodded. “You’re right, Henry.” he said softly, and he picked up his drink and drained it. “But you refused to make it logical for yourself. Do you really think I’d leave the clothes lying around where anyone could see them? Do you think I didn’t consider the strong possibility of Nulty’s coming downstairs? Believe me, Henry, I took no chances. The instant I got down there, I stuffed the bundle into a carton, turned the carton upside down, piled some others on it, and half a minute later I was working my way up the chimney. When I got up on the roof, I could see the cops outside in front of the house. If they hadn’t been there maybe I’d have beat it immediately—as it was, I listened in on what was happening I knew Nulty was a ridiculous figure the first time I saw him, so your conversation didn’t really interest me much. But when you all went out and Nulty waited below for you, I congratulated myself—because if the cops lay their hands on me again there’ll be no escape next time… no Boris to work a wonder. Boris got me out once, but that was part of a trap,” Myshkin concluded. “I sensed it all along. What you’ve told me now confirms it.”
“What about the clothes?” I said.
“That’s it,” said Myshkin. “They were the trap.”
“Well, of course,” said Siegman, “I wouldn’t want to be caught dead in your clothes, but that isn’t what you mean, is it?”
Myshkin looked at him, at me, finally at Harriet, but for a moment he said nothing. I would have given a lot for a look inside that wild head of his. “You say you went back to the room again without Nulty?” he asked me. “Why was that?”
“I wanted to tell you we’d be here.”
“And where was Nulty?”
“I locked him out. I took him to the door, closed it and went back.”
Myshkin nodded. “And saw that the clothes had moved again,” he sighed.
“How calmly you say that,” I said.
“Why not?” said Myshkin. “We’re almost at the end of it. With a little luck, before tonight’s over…” He let it land there. “Didn’t Nulty recognize my clothes?” he asked.
“He was biding his time,” I said, “hoping to catch me—and maybe you, too. It didn’t do him much good. I just felt foolish.”
“You mean Nulty followed you back in a second time? Please, Henry, save your impatience for women! First you tell me you locked him out! Now you say he followed you in!”
“He had a key,” I said. “I didn’t know about it.”
“A key to my place?”
“Yes, he returned it to me—said he’d found it outside the door in the yellow dust.”
“May I see it?”
I gave it to him.
“Poor Boris,” he murmured. “This key has been missing ever since the rebellion started. It must have meant a lot to him—the open sesame when the proper time arrived—and then to have his first grand attempt blow up in his silly little face! How sure he was of himself. You know, Henry, sometimes I feel almost affection for him. I’d have kept him as a pet if he hadn’t turned out such a monster.” Myshkin sat there chuckling good naturedly.
“Do you know I love these conversations with you?” I said. “Not that the conversation itself is enjoyable. The kick comes later when I trace all your devious bypaths and tunnels—”
“Tunnels?” said Myshkin. “What a strange way to put it.”
“—And interruptions,” I went on. “The walrus and the carpenter would have loved you. They’d only have had to ask you a question you didn’t care to answer, and automatically that would be the time for you to talk of many things—not only sealing wax and cabbages, but newspaper photographs, detectives, missing keys, monstrous pets—and when things got dull, a long scholarly dissertation on the interior meaningless of meaninglessness. Nevertheless I’ll try once more.”
Siegman got up. “I don’t know which of you makes me more sick,” he said, “but I know the cure. Call me in the morning and let me know who won.”
“A pox upon your pointed head,” said Myshkin tenderly.
“I was counting on sleeping at your place tonight, Al,” I said.
“What’s wrong with my place?” said Myshkin.
“Your place is Grand Central Station,” I said. “By the way, Nulty probably has a duplicate of this key.”
“Come over when you’re ready,” said Siegman, and Harriet rose to accompany him to the door.
“That’s absolutely against the law!” said Myshkin.
“Why don’t you go down to Police Headquarters and complain?” I said. “By the way, not that I mean to harass you with my foolish fancies about invisibility—you’ll notice I haven’t pursued the question of how clothes could move by themselves—but how do you find it so easy to run around the city in a pair of pajamas and a hospital robe? Don’t you attract any attention? Or doesn’t anyone ever see you?”
Myshkin looked at me pityingly. “Downtown I had no trouble,” he said. “Uptown I’ve been using a cab. He’s still downstairs waiting. Take a look from the window.”
“You say that as if you feel sorry for me,” I said.
“I do,” said Myshkin. “I’m dead broke. You’ll have to pay him.”
“Thanks,” I said. “How big a bill did you figure on running up before you told me about it?”
It didn’t seem to me there was anything in my remark to warrant the look that came over his face. He had risen from the couch, jabbing the air with a pointed finger. I turned around.
Harriet had backed into the room. A step behind her came Siegman, retreating slowly, with his hands raised. Beyond him, as they followed, I could see the heads and shoulders of two men. Then Harriet and Siegman moved apart, disclosing between Siegman and the two men—our own daring and intrepid Boris!
He was dressed just as we had seen him before, except that under his checkered cap there were huge green goggles that obscured half his face. The men with him resembled his previous companions only in that they seemed fully as sinister and prepared to do Boris’ bidding. One of them had a sawed-off shotgun resting in the crook of his arm, the other cradled a sub-machine gun. The one with the shotgun wore a brown
suede windbreaker and army trousers, while the gent with the sub-machine gun was nattily attired in the customary pearl gray Fedora, matching gloves, and pinstripe suit. One thing all, including Boris had in common—spots and stains of green and orange in several places on their clothes. It made me think of the colored lights that had shone through the towels in Myshkin’s place. The green stains were the color of oxidized copper one sees on old installations; the orange was quite apparently rust.
“Long time no see,” said Boris.
“Long time no look. Big Chief Gum Drop,” Myshkin laughed. “Is not my fault if Chief no able to follow tracks plain as nose on face! How do you like that, Henry?” Myshkin howled. “Now he’s an Indian!”
Siegman turned and said in a quavering voice, “For God’s sake, Myshkin, control yourself!”
But Myshkin was having another spasm. “Look at Boris! Is not him extremely paleface?”
“Screamingly funny,” said Boris, trying to keep the squeak out of his voice. “A man could die laughing from a joke like that.”
“Oh,” said Myshkin, disappointed. “What happened to the Indian? I thought it was really an inspiration—” he leaned forward and regarded Boris with a cruel smile on his face. “—because you were so ideally equipped to supply your own feathers!”
The Mad Scientist Megapack Page 16
