Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “There isn’t anything to tell,” he said moodily. He blew smoke around for a while and then he said, “I suppose you know I was rejected by the army.”

  “Hadn’t heard a thing about it,” I said. “People keep things from me. What’s the trouble?”

  “Bad heart,” Pointdexter said. “It’s all right if I take things easy, but it wouldn’t stand much excitement.” His face was bitter. “So I can sit around and grow old while everybody else is out fighting and dying for their country.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said. I couldn’t see just why it was bad, but after all, Pointdexter obviously looked at things differently than I did.

  “Too bad,” he muttered, staring at me. “You haven’t the faintest idea how damn bad it is. You can’t understand how I feel. They’ll probably grab you in a minute.”

  “Yes,” I said, running a finger about the inside of my collar, “I guess they will.”

  I lit a cigarette nervously. Hang it all, I’m ready to go when they call me, but I don’t sit around dwelling on the idea. There’s something morbid about getting up at an hour when the roosters are just turning over for another snooze. The mere thought brings out a nervous sweat on my forehead.

  “You’re healthy,” Pointdexter continued gloomily, “you’re just the kind they want. You’ll be able to get out with the rest of them and blow those devils to hell.” He laughed harshly. “But I’m only good for sitting around and reading communiques. God!” he cried suddenly, “it’s enough to drive a man out of his mind.”

  I suddenly realized what Pointdexter’s trouble was. With a truly brilliant flash of intuition I knew that he was brooding because he couldn’t get into the army. He had taken his rejection pretty seriously and he was letting it warp his entire existence. I felt pleased with myself for figuring this out.

  “Now look, old fellow,” I said, “you don’t want to let this thing ruin your life.” I waved my hand at the pile of ancient books and the bubbling beakers that were stinking up the room. “What’s the point in locking yourself away with this junk? You’ll ruin your health cooped up in this room. Dash it, it’s not right. What do you expect to get out of all this studying? You’re no kid in a University anymore. You’re liable to hurt yourself using your brain at your age. Leave that stuff to the youngsters who have the stamina and strength to stand it.”

  “Well,” Pointdexter said, “it takes my mind off myself. It helps me to forget. I feel that if the army doesn’t want me I’m no good to anyone and it doesn’t matter what I do with myself. So I am forsaking this modern life completely. My studies and experiments are following the line of thought that was developed in the Middle Ages. And in that line I’m making definite progress. I’ve come across some very fascinating information.”

  “That’s all very well,” I said, “but you can’t burn the candle at both ends. Why don’t you leave this stuff alone for a while and go out and get some fresh air?”

  Pointdexter looked at me strangely.

  “That seems to be your cure for everything,” he said dryly. “I can’t just walk out of here now. I’ve gone too far. I’ve got to see my experiments through.”

  “Well maybe I could help you,” I said, making a big gesture. “I took freshman chemistry at college. It’d probably all come back to me with a little practice. What the devil kind of experiments are you doing anyway?”

  POINDEXTER stood up and lit his dead pipe. His hand was trembling slightly as he tossed the match away with a quick nervous gesture.

  “Did you ever hear of the science of demonology?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, “and from the sound of the word I’ll make a quick guess that I wouldn’t be intrigued. Has it got something to do with demons?” Pointdexter smiled slowly.

  “Yes,” he murmured, “you might say that it has quite a lot to do with demons. There are many legends which today are derided as superstition, but which actually have a firm basis in fact. Take the common story of the werewolf.”

  “You take it,” I said, “and jolly well keep it.”

  Pointdexter picked up a heavy black book from his desk.

  “This interesting volume,” he said, “contains a complete and exhaustive summary of all of the common varieties of werewolves. Also it has a thorough presentation of the methods used to change people from their human form into the forms of beasts. There is a chart of all the charms to be used against these human beasts and also the means of restoring them to their human forms. Quite thorough, isn’t it?”

  I nodded thoughtfully, impressed in spite of myself. The book did seem to cover the ground pretty well. Of course, why such unpleasant ground had to be covered at all, was another question.

  “Seems to be quite complete,” I said. “Who wrote it?”

  “A mad monk in the twelfth century,” Pointdexter answered.

  “He must have been a jolly soul,” I muttered.

  Pointdexter smiled. “You don’t seem particularly impressed with my little hobby.”

  “Hang it all,” I said, “it’s all right for a hobby, but you shouldn’t go loony over a thing like this. Werewolves, I dare say, are fine enough in moderate doses but a steady diet can’t be good for a bloke.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference what happens to me,” he said morosely. “I have the feeling that my life is over anyway. If I could have died in the service of my country I should have been quite happy. But since I can’t do that nothing makes much difference. I’ll bury myself in these tomes of forgotten lore and if I gain an atom of peace and forgetfulness through my experiments I shall be well repaid.”

  “You’re just talking nonsense,” I said with considerable heat. “If you must shut yourself away and study why don’t you study something worthwhile? Music or art. What good will all this poking about in demonology do you? What would you do with a werewolf if you had one? I’ll be darned if I’d let you pass it off on me.”

  Pointdexter smiled slowly and opened the heavy book which he still held in his hands.

  “What would I do with a werewolf?” he murmured. “That’s an extremely interesting question.”

  “Your darn right it is,” I said triumphantly. “Never thought of that did you?”

  “Marmaduke,” Pointdexter said, “will you do me a favor?”

  “Righto. Anything you ask.”

  “Please go away.”

  “Righto,” I said. I figured it was the least I could do for the chap.

  “Thank you, Marmaduke,” he said with such relief in his voice that I was touched. I felt I’d taken a load off his mind.

  And so I went away.

  NOW the average chap might have figured at this point that his duty was done and with a clear conscience gone on about his own business. But there is sterner stuff in me, and I resolved to continue my good work.

  My first visit to Pointdexter had undoubtedly done much good but I decided that I would stick to the job until I had, so to speak, effected a complete recovery.

  But the best laid plans sometimes go wherever best laid plans go when they aren’t the best laid plans, and what with one thing and another I didn’t get around to see Pointdexter for several weeks.

  Mudkins answered my ring and he looked relieved to see me.

  “Won’t you please come in,” he said nervously.

  “Righto. How’s your Simon Legree these days?”

  I gave him my hat and stick and glanced without enthusiasm about the gloomy house.

  “Is he still pottering around in his room?”

  “Oh yes sir, and I am becoming very worried about his health,” Mudkins said. “He hasn’t left the house since that day you were here except for a few walks after dark.”

  “Ha!” I said, “that’s an encouraging sign. Nothing like a draft of night air to cure what ails you. Is he upstairs now?”

  Mudkins looked more worried than ever.

  “I—I don’t think so, sir. He didn’t return last night from his walk. He left the back door open and it wa
s still open this morning. And there’s no one in his room. The door, however, seems to be locked. I’ve called several times but he doesn’t answer. Really, sir, I don’t know quite what to make of it.

  “I’ll go up and have a look,” I said.

  I trotted up the stairs and knocked loudly on Pointdexter’s door. There was no answer. I tried the handle and the door gave when I applied a little weight. It wasn’t locked, just stuck.

  There was a light burning on the desk, but the rest of the room was in shadow. Obviously Pointdexter had left the light on, intending to return, but something had delayed him.

  I walked to the desk, picked up one of the heavy books and began leafing through it. I wondered if Pointdexter was still hopped up on that silly demonology business.

  There were several paragraphs underlined in heavy pencil, but as I started to read them, I heard a low growl from one of the darkened corners of the room.

  I jumped about six inches and the book fell from my hands. Turning around I saw two red eyes staring at me from the darkness. The growl sounded again. I am not a connoisseur of growls, but there was a certain cheery warmth lacking in this particular effort. In fact the growl could only be described as definitely antagonistic.

  “Nice doggy,” I said weakly.

  That was only a guess but it turned out to be a good one. For as I spoke the shadows moved and a huge bristling dog padded slowly from the corner and regarded me with large gleaming eyes. He was a big dog and his coat was a rough gray. There was something about his long flat head and the huge fangs visible in his open mouth that made me suddenly wish that I had come equipped with a suit of armor and an elephant gun.

  “Nice doggy,” I said again, as it made no move to approach, but continued to regard me solemnly.

  My composure returned somewhat. After all, a dog is a dog, and if one adopts an intelligent attitude toward them, there is nothing to be worried about.

  I wondered briefly how this big brute had gotten up here in Pointdexter’s room. Of course it was none of my business, but I still wondered. If Pointdexter wanted to keep a slavering creature like this in his rooms that was his privilege.

  Since Pointdexter obviously wasn’t home and since I had no desire to linger in the company of this solemn dog, I decided to leave at once.

  I left the room and went downstairs.

  Mudkins met me in the hall.

  “He’s not there, is he?”

  “Nope, he’s still A.W.O.L. But where did he get that big brute of a dog?” I asked.

  “Dog?” Mudkin’s voice was puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  I was opening my mouth to tell him when a voice from upstairs called my name. With some surprise I recognized the voice as Pointdexter’s.

  “Marmaduke,” he called again, “please come up, will you?”

  “There’s the Master now,” Mudkins said, smiling with relief. “He must have been up there all the time, because he couldn’t have come in without my knowing.”

  SO I went back upstairs. Pointdexter was standing in the door of his room. He was dressed as he had been the first time I saw him but he looked seedier than ever and his face was pale and drawn. There was a wild light in his eyes, which I noticed with alarm. Too much studying was telling on the chap, I felt.

  He took me by the arm and practically jerked me into his room. He closed the door quickly and locked it.

  I looked about the room cautiously.

  “Be careful,” I said, “there’s a big dog up here. I wouldn’t want to step on him. He didn’t look as if he had a tolerant mind.”

  But the dog was gone. I glanced everywhere but I didn’t see him. To tell the truth I was relieved.

  “You say you saw a dog here in my rooms?” Pointdexter asked. I noticed that he was staring at me strangely. I straightened my tie boldly. It was one of his but I felt I might bluff my way through if he made any charges. But he seemed concerned with other things.

  “Are you sure you saw a dog?” he asked again.

  “Well, I might have been mistaken,” I said. I thought for a minute, putting everything I had into it. Then I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t be mistaken. I did see a dog here.”

  “Really now,” Pointdexter said, laughing weakly, “that’s a rather wild story. Whom do you expect to believe that?”

  I thought this over and then I laughed too. The whole thing was perfectly silly. A big dog in Pointdexter’s room! How ridiculous!

  When I stopped laughing, I said, “But I did see the brute, you know.”

  Pointdexter twisted his hands together and began pacing.

  “I shouldn’t tell you this Marmaduke,” he said, “but—” he stopped pacing and faced me squarely. “There was a dog here.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. I felt relieved at having my opinion vindicated.

  “But it wasn’t an ordinary dog,” Pointdexter said, watching me closely.

  “I’ll say it wasn’t,” I said with considerable feeling. “If he were the norm for dogs they would never have crept into the hearts of man as they have done.”

  “I want to ask you something, Marmaduke,” Pointdexter said. “I want you to promise me never to mention seeing that dog here.”

  “Righto,” I said. “I’ll be very happy to forget that that particular dog ever existed.”

  “You see,” Pointdexter went on, “that dog is—er—a prize dog and I don’t want anyone to know about him until he’s ready for show. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Of course. No word shall pass my lips. But what class are you going to enter him in? Wolfhound?”

  Pointdexter winced and turned away from me.

  I was afraid that I had hurt his feelings.

  “Just a gag,” I said. “I’m sure he’s a fine dog, whatever his class.”

  I looked at my watch.

  “I’ve got to rim,” I said. “Big badminton match this afternoon. Wish me luck.”

  I stopped at the door.

  “How’s the black magic coming along?”

  Pointdexter turned to me and his face was in the shadow.

  “About as I expected,” he said. His voice sounded terribly tired and sad.

  Well, what could you expect? Study and research are fine things without a doubt, but they can become depressing.

  I left him then but, frankly, I was worried about the chap. Obviously his studies were doing him no good and he was ruining his health living in that airless, sunless room, breathing sulphur fumes all the day.

  I felt that I had done him a great deal of good, but the job wasn’t done yet. And I asked myself: Can you desert the bloke while he still needs you?

  Obviously I couldn’t.

  What to do? I stewed over this for some time. My badminton game suffered because of my concentration on this problem, but I was prepared to make any sacrifice.

  And finally, as the old brain got steaming on the job, I figured out what I would have to do.

  It was a very simple plan but, as far as I could see, it was foolproof. And that, after all, is what counted.

  Briefly, I reasoned, the cause of Pointdexter’s sad plight was his preoccupation with all of the paraphernalia that he had collected about him in his room.

  HAVING reached this conclusion after a week of grim thought, I proceeded to the next step. The solution to this dilemma was obviously to remove from Pointdexter these things which were ruining his health and glooming up his mind.

  That meant that a bit of the old stealth was in order. I would have to sneak into the chap’s room, cart away and destroy all of his books and chemical apparatus without his knowledge. That would take a bit of doing, I realized, but the results would be worth all of my labor.

  I wondered briefly how Pointdexter would take it. Well, there wouldn’t be much he could do about it. The thing would be done, would be a fait accompli, before he became aware of my little plan.

  I felt very pleased with this reasoning. And there was a certain Machi
avellian stealth required in the undertaking, that gratified me considerably.

  One morning, cheery and bright, I punched the bell at Pointdexter’s.

  Mudkins opened the door, invited me in, and looked at me with considerable surprise.

  “Whatever is the matter, sir?”

  I was wearing baggy disreputable clothes and a false mustache. I couldn’t just barge into this bit of larceny and housebreaking as Marmaduke van Milton, could I?

  “It’s all right, Mudkin,” I said. “This is just a disguise.”

  “Pardon sir, but what is that thing on your lip?”

  I reached up and discovered that my mustache had slipped up to a perpendicular position. Probably looked rather odd that way.

  “Ha, ha!” I laughed, “sharp old dog, aren’t you?”

  Mudkins seemed to shudder slightly. “Sorry, sir, but the word ‘dog’ has a most unhappy effect on me lately.”

  “Ah!” I said, “you’ve seen Pointdexter’s mastiff, I take it.”

  “Yes, I have, sir, and a most frightening animal it is. The Master keeps it locked in the room with him all the time. I am becoming desperately worried. There’s something going on here that isn’t just right. I know, sir. I’ve got eyes and ears.”

  “Tut, tut,” I said, “you’re letting your nerves get the best of you. Too much protein in your diet, probably. Is the mad genius at home?”

  “No, sir, he isn’t. He went out last night for his usual late walk and he hasn’t returned.”

  “Excellent,” I said.

  This was a choice bit of luck. My little job would have to be done while Pointdexter was away. I had dropped in on the chance that he might be out. But there was another little thing on my mind.

  “How about the dog?” I asked.

  “The dog is evidently with the Master. It is certainly not in the house.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m going up to Pointdexter’s room. Be a good chap and give me the high sign if he pops back in unexpectedly.”