I didn’t ask why he mentioned yellow powder; the answer was spectacularly apparent the moment I put his glasses on. Every yellow speck of dust, every minute particle, even those hitherto invisible, was turned into a tiny blazing phosphorescent point of light. I passed the glasses to Siegman. He held them before his own spectacles with casual interest, surprise, then with deliberation, but he returned them to Myshkin without comment.
“You see,” Myshkin smiled at me, “they’re supremely useful in tracking. As I’ve discovered since I got them—in fact, only in these past few hours—Boris and the others of his crew leave a very fine trail of specks of yellow powder wherever they go—shedding, you might say. That I have Boris to thank for all this—another instance where one of his plans had an opposite effect. These glasses were delivered to me, as I told you,” and Myshkin smiled again very broadly, “at the hospital with instructions to wear them so that I’d be able to see signs, arrows and markings that were otherwise invisible.” At this Myshkin finally allowed himself to laugh a little. “I’m sorry, Henry,” he said. “I keep thinking about you and your invisibility theory.”
“Yes,” I said. “I notice you avoided the question by remarking merely that the glasses were delivered to you.”
“Absolutely,” said Myshkin. “Furthermore, in a very true sense, they were invisibly delivered. But, you know, invisibility is sometimes simply a matter of size. Take Boris. He’s very quick and he’s cautious. He can get around a good deal without being observed at all. And why? Because most of us never look down where Boris is, except by accident. If he were even smaller, he wouldn’t have to be either so swift or so careful to stay unnoticed—or as you call it, invisible. And now I really have to go out. When I come back we’ll go downstairs and I’ll show you what I mean.”
“Mean about what?” I said.
“That bundle of clothes Boris carefully transported here,” said Myshkin. “You remember I told you it wasn’t where it was supposed to be at the hospital? You know why, don’t you? It had moved. On my word, it will have to be carefully deloused.”
He rose and walked over to the work table. “It may take a quart of this stuff to do it.”
He meant the test tube of green compound which he suddenly pulled out of a rack that held at least twenty like it. To Siegman’s profound interest, Myshkin began emptying its contents into three small capsules. “You know what I have here in my hand?” he said, as he capped them.
“What?” I said.
“Three minute bombs,” said Myshkin. “It’s astonishing how volatile the compound is. Smash one of these capsules and instantly you have an invisible cloud of finely suspended particles covering easily one hundred cubic feet. All it takes is one particle to do the trick. Now, listen. Henry, I’m leaving the rest of it here just in case Boris shows up with some friends while I’m out.” Siegman was slowly edging toward Myshkin. I knew he was thinking this was his chance. Here was both the compound and Myshkin, thoroughly available for capture. But before he could move against Myshkin, Siegman had to be sure he had the compound. I stopped him by reaching out for the test tube after which I gave him a look that made it perfectly plain I’d empty the works if he touched Myshkin.
“How many of Boris’ friends were you expecting?” said Siegman.
“Well,” said Myshkin, watching me play with the test tube but not catching what was going on, “since there were six statuettes, there were probably six original models. We’ve seen three already. I think this time we’ll see the other three.”
“It seems to me,” said Siegman, “you’re much more specific than soothsayers ordinarily are.”
“It requires a thorough understanding of Boris’ simple imagination,” said Myshkin, pocketing his capsules. First he came with one. No good. So, he came with two; obviously that was no good either. The logical progression is three. Furthermore, he has three left.” Myshkin started for the door. “Therefore, I expect Boris to show up with three—unless, of course,” he added, “he expects Gladys to be here. But frankly I don’t think he’s equipped to understand that business at all.”
Siegman followed him while he kept an eye on me. I began tilting the test-tube. Siegman stopped following.
In the light of what later happened, it was to be greatly regretted that during this interval—while Myshkin was discussing paradoxes, compounds and moving clothes—the distracting influence of Siegman’s double-crossing plan prevented most of these tantalizing subjects from being more than lightly touched. Siegman’s interest had been in getting the formula, then Myshkin. For him the conversation had merely been a lull in his maneuvering, and he was now to commit a final, and serious injury. For Myshkin mentioned something else that enormously merited fuller discussion and never got it.
It was in response to Siegman’s last stalling question: “Equipped to understand what business?”
“My dear Doctor,” said Myshkin, “didn’t you see him when he crows? Haven’t I told you Gladys stands for something?—that she symbolizes a pure and very powerful quality? You must not for a moment forget that Boris is the equivalent of a rooster, and here, of course, we have another flawlessly pure symbol. These two fascinate each other. It is absolutely the meeting of two great natural forces, both profoundly moved and awed by the power of this mutual attraction. But you see, in the end the effect is paradox, because—petrified as he is by the experience—Boris turns and flees.”
Myshkin added, “I’ll see you later,” and down the stairs he leaped two at a time, opened the front door and was gone.
“I suppose we can leave now,” said Siegman.
“What makes you think so?” I said.
“Let’s not go through it again, Henry,” said Siegman. “I said I’d be satisfied if we could get our hands on the compound. Now I think we’d better let the police take over.”
I said. “Myshkin said he’d take care of the police.”
“Poor Myshkin,” said Siegman. “He’s crazier than I thought, but there’s a mind buried somewhere under his criminal tendencies.”
“You know,” I said, “I can hardly hope that this comes as a shock to you, but I still disagree with large amounts of what you say.”
Siegman’s undoubtedly wise rejoinder was lost to posterity because the doorbell rang. For an instant we both were thinking hard, and when Siegman said, “I think I’d better go down and answer it,” I knew he had figured it out the way I had. Of all the people who could conceivably be seeking entrance to Myshkin’s house at this time of night, the only one who’d be likely to ring the doorbell was Nulty, the detective.
So I followed Siegman, a step behind him, and since we had both logically deduced that Nulty was ringing the bell, it turned out to be the last two people on Earth we expected to see—Harriet and Roscoe. Their cab had just completed turning about. As it came by again, the cabbie slowed up to lean out and see what manner of being it might be that opened a door in this part of town, at this time of night, to two such people as Harriet and Roscoe—because Roscoe, drunker than ever, was still wearing Harriet’s star-studded robe, as well as the huge, ice-packed bath-towel on his head. He swayed from side to side like a monument responding to the stress of the wind, and from his beard came a deep bass, rumbling series of complaints concerning starvation, famine and worse.
Apparently Roscoe was hungry, but no hungrier than I was for the sight of Harriet. It overwhelmed everything else I felt—surprise, impatience, irritation—and all I said was: “Harriet, come in.”
“Thank you, Henry,” she said, and stood aside for Roscoe.
He staggered in heavily, clutching his heart, and leaned against a wall puffing like a switch engine. “Food,” he groaned, “I needs must have provisions to further my quest. The seven lean years are upon us and the populace marches on the granaries. Hand me the torch, comrade! On to the palace!” At this he shook his head and the ice cubes in the towel rattled vio
lently.
“Better let him sit down,” said Harriet. Siegman and I steered Roscoe to the bottom stair where we gently lowered him.
“Thank you, sir,” said Roscoe. “Your orders call for a zigzag course. Between ten and twelve knots.”
“I’d say he was on his last legs if I hadn’t seen him on his last legs before these,” said Siegman.
Harriet said, “See if the gold is all right. It’s inside the curtain, tied around his middle.”
We opened Roscoe’s robe and there it was. Siegman untied the curtain and spread it open on the floor. The six gold statuettes were in it intact.
“Harriet, what is this all about?” I said.
“Gladys,” said Harriet simply, “She got away from Roscoe. I couldn’t stop her. She’s heading here, she thinks.”
“That’s bad,” I said.
“Wait,” said Harriet. “She’s with that man—his name is Suddsy.”
“But how—” I began.
“Wait,” said Harriet. “The elevator boy wouldn’t take me down. Gladys told him we had kidnapped her. When I finally ran down the stairs, I found her with Suddsy, getting ready to go off with him. It seems he’d read this address in the newspapers, but had forgotten it. When Gladys said she knew it, they joined forces.”
“That’s very bad,” I said.
“Wait,” said Harriet, “she thinks the address here is 200 Tubicle Forks.”
“That’s better,” I said.
“You’re not waiting,” said Harriet. “The elevator operator went off with them.”
“What?” I said, and looked to Siegman.
Siegman shrugged. “I diagnosed him as a type among elevator operators.”
“So you see,” said Harriet, “it wouldn’t be too bad if it were Gladys or Suddsy alone—but if that boy puts together what they know, they may be here any minute.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“Wait,” said Harriet. “This man Suddsy was saying he knew some very dangerous people who might be interested in a gold hunt. First he was driving downtown and pick them up.”
“Oh,” I said quietly. “That really isn’t very good, is it?”
“No,” said Harriet, “and that’s why I came. I was afraid to stay at home alone.”
“No,” I said. “You didn’t want me to be here alone.”
“How do you know?” she said.
“Because a girl like you isn’t afraid,” I said.
“What do you know about a girl like me?” she said.
“I know I’m nuts about her,” I said, and after I’d kissed her I said, “I now pronounce it reciprocal.”
“More, much more,” said Harriet.
“Far be it from me to take away anyone’s grounds for kissing,” said Siegman, “but I think Suddsy’s dangerous friends are delusions of grandeur. Furthermore, with that elevator operator in on the deal no outsiders have a chance. That boy’s out to make his fortune tonight—this will probably cost him six months in a sanatorium before he’s allowed visitors…”
But I wasn’t listening very hard, I was standing there, because looking down the corridor, I had seen the downstairs room open and Boris come out. No one else had seen him yet, though he was making no particular secret of his presence. I stood there motionless, trying to think how and when Boris had been able to get into the house. The chimney was an obvious and simple answer, but it wasn’t much good, because just then one of Boris’s henchmen leaned out of the doorway. Harriet saw him and uttered a little gasp.
Siegman took a step forward to see what Harriet was looking at, and as he came between Boris and me, I reached out for the front door and opened it.
A second gunman came in from the street. This one looked as familiar as the first; statuettes of both were to be found among the half-dozen in the curtain on the floor; plus the three we had met before, these two made five—which left one more to go. With the side of my arm I brushed the pocket in which safely reposed, I fervently expected, Myshkin’s sealed test-tube of compound.
Somehow it felt good, but because Harriet was clutching my other arm, I was tortured with anxiety for her safety. But I had gone along believing in Myshkin, and now I would have to go along to the end.
“Come in here, my friends,” said Boris, indicating the room with a sweeping gesture, and that something that was small and resplendently silvery in his hand glittered as it moved. “Let’s not congregate at the foot of a stairs like housewives discussing the superintendent’s immoral life…” but the curtain had caught his eye.
He came part way down the corridor to have a look at it. When he saw the gold figures in it, he did not seem surprised. “Not quarreling over the spoils, are you?” he remarked, and then suddenly he caught sight of Roscoe reclining on the stairs.
“Who or what is this?” said Boris, staring at what was very likely the largest human being he had ever seen. He sounded oddly respectful. “An astrologer? Is this another trick of Myshkin’s? This time instead of Gladys he sends a magician?”
From Boris’ first words Roscoe had turned his head and looked through the stair railing without seeing anything. Then, as the high, piping voice continued to emanate apparently from the floor, Roscoe grunted and heaved until he was close enough to the railing to see Boris. Slowly a benign smile began spreading over his features. It grew to ecclesiastical proportions. “That voice,” he murmured. “How it has haunted me! What visions and vapors it brings to mind! Does it indeed speak of Gladys? Then she’s coming!”
“It won’t work, my mountainous friend,” said Boris. “That treacherous tomato isn’t here, nor will she be.”
“But I say she will!” Roscoe boomed. “And I am the wizard!”
“I say bah!” cried Boris, stamping a little foot. “I defy you!” He turned his furious gaze on us. His two goons hadn’t made a sound or a move. One stood at the front door, behind us; the other waited at the entrance to the downstairs room. If I’d had any idea of physical resistance, the hand that each had in a pocket, where it made a patently overlarge bulge, was a sober deterrent. “Get into that room, all of you,” said Boris, and to the gangster behind us, “Take that along.” He pointed to the statuettes, and I noticed that his hand manipulated the gleaming object in it before the gunman moved.
We were at such close quarters that he was forced to brush by me. This was the first and sole instance of actual contact between any of us and any of Boris’ companions, which was unfortunate because later there was no one with whom I could compare the sensation of that momentary touch—of something soft and light and delicate.
I didn’t think about it then because the gunman who’d gathered up the curtain had then tried to lift it—and couldn’t. He tried again. This time he got the curtain about two inches off the floor before he had to let it drop. It was incredible. The gold was heavy, but Myshkin had carried it around with him in a cardboard box, and even the incapacitated Roscoe, despite vast groanings, had transported it without being particularly aware that it was on his person. I had been looking from the gunman to Boris, watching how his fingers had not stopped moving until he said, in a voice that he tried to keep low, but which broke on him nevertheless: “All right, let it go. Lieutenant, you take it.” The gunman glided silently out of the way and flattened himself against the wall. I gathered the curtain, picked it up and let it swing in my hand.
“Don’t get any ideas,” said Boris, managing a little smile. “Some boys are better at some things than others. Mine are good at shooting. Now let’s get into this room.”
I led the way, and Harriet, holding my free hand, followed. Behind her Roscoe came stumbling along, with Siegman pushing him valiantly from the rear. Then came Boris, and finally the two gunmen, one of whom closed the door. Inside, at the far end of the room, near the forge, stood number three of Boris’ henchmen for the evening. The face and clothes tallied
with the sixth statuette.
So Myshkin had been right about them so far. Now what I had to do was get them close together, then see if Myshkin had been right about everything.
* * * *
“Isn’t this cozy?” said Boris.
“Listen, Myshkin—” said Siegman.
“Who are you calling Myshkin?” Boris demanded.
“You,” said Siegman. “I know there’s no such thing as you, and I don’t care how strong the illusion of you is, but it’s not strong enough to make me doubt that I’m talking directly to its perpetrator.”
“What utter nonsensical kind of nonsense is this?” cried Boris.
“Listen to me, Myshkin,” Siegman went on undeterred. “I know something about forensic medicine. If you give yourself up now you can plead insanity with spectacular success. Don’t add any more crimes to your already imposing list.”
“Possibly,” said Boris, “you are again attempting to hypnotize me?”
“You see,” said Siegman, turning to me with a smile.
“He thinks you’re Myshkin,” I said to Boris. “He thinks you, as Myshkin, are trying to get us out of the way so you can make off with the gold.”
“Gold?” said Boris distantly. “What is gold to me? A mere substance for a few basic experiments. As for Myshkin,” he went on, “at this moment I could hardly wish anyone a worse fate than to be in Myshkin’s shoes, including Myshkin.”
“What do you mean by that?” I said.
“Finally, in reference to that imposing list,” Boris went on, ignoring me, “I say it is to the everlasting shame of this government that even though he will undoubtedly be dealt with harshly, it will be for comparatively trivial offenses. His truly depraved crimes have been against my people. But, I have done what I can,” Boris concluded with resignation, “and now I must turn it over to others, for ultimate disposition.”
“Boris,” I said, “you and I have always gotten along—”
“Keep your hand out of your pocket,” Boris interrupted me coldly. “You—” he said. It was the only way be addressed his henchmen, I’d noticed; this time he meant the one near the forge. “Come here. Keep a close watch on these people.” To me he added, “It won’t be for long. On my word, I mean no harm. Presently we shall hear a commotion in the street, after which I expect the police will not be long in hot-footing it here. Then, my friends, comes my final farewell, and I am off to seek a way through this hostile world to my own kind.”
The Mad Scientist Megapack Page 19
