Their entrance created quite a stir. “This one,” the guard said, jerking a thumb at Reggie, “got out. Do you want to talk to him before I take him back to his cell?”
Dr. Livingstone glanced at Jonathan with raised eyebrows. His expression clearly indicated that his first impression of Reggie had been right.
Jonathan’s expression was a mixture of embarrassment, anger and disgust.
“This young man is not an inmate,” he said to the guard. With a cold look at Reggie, he added, “but in my professional opinion he should be.”
“Not an inmate!” the guard said incredulously. He looked at Reggie and shook his head. “Somebody’s screwy then and it isn’t me.”
“You may go now,” Dr. Livingstone said firmly.
The guard looked at Reggie again, shook his head and shrugged. He left, clearly unconvinced in regard to Reggie’s mental status.
Fortunately, Jonathan said coldly, when the guard had gone, “We are leaving now, Reggie. If we stayed longer I should probably have difficulty in getting you out.”
He picked up his hat angrily.
“Come along,” he Snapped, striding toward the door.
Reggie followed him moodily. He was thinking what a choice story this would make when retold by Jonathan for Alice’s benefit.
Dr. Livingstone followed Jonathan to the door of his office.
“Then you agree with me, Dr. Sloan,” he said, “that our patient is suffering from dementia praecox?”
“Absolutely!” Jonathan spoke crisply. “That is my unqualified opinion.”
Reggie glanced at the little man who thought he was a fried apple. “So that’s what wrong with him, eh?”
“That is our opinion,” Jonathan said stiffly. “What is yours?” he added, as a sarcastic afterthought.
Reggie swallowed in embarrassment.
“Why, gosh,” he said, “I don’t—”
He stopped speaking as something suddenly tinkled sharply in his skull. It was the darndest sensation! As if a tiny hammer had tapped against the inside of his head.
“Your diagnosis is incorrect,” he said firmly. He was startled by the resonant authoritative tone of his voice, but he was more startled by the fact he was advancing an opinion at all. “It is not, as you falsely presume, dementia praecox; rather the patient’s attitude is an acute manifestation of schizophrenia. If you will observe the following symptoms and keep in mind what Hegel wrote on this subject, I will substantiate my diagnosis to your complete approval.”
REGGIE listened in growing disbelief to the words that were flowing from his mouth. He knew nothing of psychology and psychiatry, yet he was glibly expounding the most abstruse and learned tenets of those sciences as if he’d studied them since birth. He rattled on, completely unconscious of what he was saying, but piling conclusion on conclusion while the doctors listened in amazement and admiration that grew with each sentence he uttered.
Reggie reached his climax. With brilliant forensic ability he proved point after point of his premise and finally glided into his peroration, concluding with a few pithy remarks about the role of psychiatric study in the planning of a world peace.
With that he paused for breath.
Dr. Livingstone removed his eyeglasses solemnly. He turned to his colleagues. There was a stunned look on his face.
“I am convinced,” he said slowly, his voice quivering with emotion, “that we have been wrong. Absolutely wrong! Our young friend has shown us, beyond the slightest possibility of doubt, that our diagnosis was incorrect.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled savants.
Jonathan was staring at Reggie in speechless anger.
“Now just a minute,” he finally blurted. “I happen to know that this young nit-wit knows nothing about psychology.”
“Dr. Sloan!” Dr. Livingstone spoke sternly. “I can’t imagine what prompts you to make such a ridiculous accusation. If you have ears you must know better.” He turned impressively and placed his hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “I, for one, admit to being in the presence of a master. My boy, where did you take your degree?”
Reggie blinked dazedly. The peculiar sensation that had followed the tinkling sound in his head was fading. He put his hand slowly to his head and his fingers touched a light object resting on the back of his skull.
The thinking cap!
Could that have accounted for this brilliant demonstration?
“Oh, let’s go,” Jonathan said irritably. “We’re late already.”
Dr. Livingstone followed Reggie to the porch, practically hanging on his arm.
“You will drop in again, won’t you?” he pleaded. “I can’t tell you much as I would like to discuss the science of psychology with you.”
“Why, sure,” Reggie said awkwardly. “That ought to be great sport.”
He disengaged himself from the doctor’s reverent clutch and climbed into the car alongside Jonathan.
As they drove out the gate of the asylum, Jonathan cleared his throat “Where did you pick up that mumbo-jumbo about psychology?” he demanded.
Reggie shook his head wonderingly. “I wish I knew,” he said.
CHAPTER II
THE drive to the Montmacy estate was completed in stony silence. Jonathan wore an uneasy frown on his severe features and he occasionally glanced at Reggie with a peculiar look in his eye.
Reggie, for one of the few times in his life, was busy with his own thoughts. The baffling incident at the asylum was occupying all his attention. There was no explanation for the suddenly acquired erudition that had enabled him to astound the doctors with his knowledge of the hair-splitting terms and thoughts of modern psychology. He hadn’t the slightest idea how the thing had happened.
There was, however, the matter of the thinking cap. He put his hand cautiously to his head to assure himself that it was still in place. It was.
Nothing made any particular sense so he decided to try and forget the whole business. This was a typical reaction. With a shrug he consigned the incident to the darkest oblivion.
They reached the Montmacy home half an hour later. It was a low rambling structure, buttressed with stone gables, and it stood solidly against the red glow of the afternoon sun. Several acres of wooded fields surrounded the house, and the winding drive that led to the wide front porch twisted through natural archways formed by stately sycamores.
Alice met them on the porch. She greeted Jonathan warmly, but when she turned to Reggie there was a shocked expression on her face.
“Reggie!” she cried. “I invited you down tomorrow.”
“I’ve been trying to make him realize how awkward this will be,” Jonathan said sternly.
“Can’t I just sleep in the stable tonight?” Reggie said.
“Of course not,” Alice said. She was a very pretty girl with dark hair and deep, clear blue eyes. Now there was a worried little frown on her face. “You know how Father is,” she said. “He’s simply furious if anyone disturbs his Saturday night salons.”
“Why can’t I just lurk about the pantry until it’s all over?” Reggie suggested hopefully.
“That’s impossible,” Alice said. “Daddy insists that all the guests participate. I just have a feeling this is going to be terrible.” She turned impulsively to Jonathan and put her hand on his arm. “I know I can count on you, Jonathan.”
“Thank you,” he said. He obviously was deeply moved.
“You’ll have to see that everything goes smoothly.”
“You may rely on me, Alice.” Reggie was beginning to feel left out of things.
“I’ll help too,” he said.
“Oh, Reggie,” Alice said helplessly. “I don’t know what I’ll do with you.” She adjusted her skirt nervously. “We might as well go in now. The guests are with Father in the library.”
Reggie meekly followed Alice and Jonathan into the big home, down a long corridor and into Professor Thaddeus Montmacy’s high-ceilinged, book-lined library.
&n
bsp; THE professor himself came forward to meet them. He was a small, well-preserved man of about sixty. His hair was white, but there was no suggestion of age in his sharp features and keen, piercing eyes. Professor Montmacy was practically a national institution. His discoveries in sociology, economics, physics, chemistry and a dozen other fields were prolific bequests to the betterment of the world. Universities vied with one another to heap honors on his well-shaped head, and Washington kept him in constant service as an unofficial adviser to half a dozen important departments.
In spite of these many wonderful characteristics, Professor Montmacy was human enough to possess an unbridled temper, a razor-sharp tongue, and the firm belief that he was the only person in the world who appreciated what he had done for mankind.
He greeted Jonathan warmly.
“Glad to have you down, my boy.” His cordial tone admitted Jonathan to the distinguished company present and welcomed him as a guest at the same time.
He turned to Reggie and the warm light in his eye chilled.
“You!” he said.
“Hiya, Prof,” Reggie said, hoping to establish a warm comradely relationship. “How’s the big brain these days?”
Professor Montmacy knew Reggie, which was an unfortunate thing for Reggie. He shared the majority opinion of Reggie, which unfortunately wasn’t high.
“I am well, thank you,” he said.
The professor then introduced Jonathan to the others present. He also introduced Reggie, not because he wanted to, but because there were certain canons of polite behavior which he couldn’t ignore.
Reggie found himself shaking hands with Major Lionhead, the military author, a tall, beetle-browed man with huge brown eyes and a bushy beard. Later he met Dr. Adams, the Viennese surgeon, who was a stocky chap with ribboned eyeglasses and a neat mustache which constituted the only hair on his head. His skull was a bald, gleaming dome about the shape of a billiard ball.
“I thought I shot you into a side pocket last night,” Reggie said, chuckling. He nudged the doctor in the ribs. “Get it?”
Doctor Adams looked at him distastefully.
“I am afraid, sir, that I do,” he said, moving away.
Reggie realized too late that the doctor was probably very sensitive about his baldness. He resolved to keep his mouth tightly shut from that point on.
The last man he met was Jeremy Taylor, the industrial airplane designer. Mr. Taylor was a pale, tired-looking man in his late fifties who looked as If twenty hours’ sleep would set him on his feet again. He had a cigarette burning in his thin fingers, from which he took quick, nervous pulls. He was an intelligent-looking man, but a very tired one, in Reggie’s opinion.
He acknowledged the introduction without any particular enthusiasm and retired to a corner of the room to light another cigarette.
This maneuver left Reggie stranded in the middle of the room directly in the cross channel of a highly erudite conversation which the professor was carrying on with Major Lionhead and Jonathan.
The subject under discussion seemed to be the relative merits of the military methods of Frederick the Great and Napoleon.
“Frederick the Great,” Major Lionhead stated emphatically, “was the greatest tactical commander of all time. There has never been anything yet developed as effective as his oblique attack in turning the right or left wing of an opposing force.”
AN IMPRESSIVE silence followed this remark and Major Lionhead moved his gaze slowly about the room as if daring anyone to advance a contradiction.
Professor Montmacy frowned thoughtfully.
“Generalizations are always unreliable,” he said, in his thin, precise voice. “I think you will find, if you consult the record, that Frederick’s method of attack failed when it was put to the test in opposition to Napoleon.”
“I doubt if you can substantiate that statement,” Major Lionhead said, smiling gravely.
“I don’t happen to have the exact facts at my finger tips,” Professor Montmacy said, “but I feel reasonably certain that I am correct. I am not in the habit of being wrong, you know.”
He turned to Jonathan.
“Perhaps you can help, my boy. I forget the exact time and place, but I’m certain there was a battle in which the tactics of Frederick the Great were completely nullified by Napoleon.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Jonathan said awkwardly; “but I’m inclined to agree with the major.”
“Bah!” snapped the professor. Major Lionhead smiled slowly, revealing an amazing mouthful of gold-capped teeth. He seemed quite pleased with his victory over the professor. His eye happened to meet Reggie’s.
“Perhaps your memory is better than my kind host’s,” he said graciously. “Me?” Reggie said blankly.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the professor said irritably, “let’s not descend to the ridiculous. He wouldn’t know the difference between a Thompson machine gun and a bow and arrow.”
“I think you’re being unfair to the young man,” Major Lionhead said expansively. He patted Reggie on the shoulder with patronizing kindness. “What is your opinion of this interesting point? Do you agree with me or with Professor Montmacy?”
“I agree emphatically with the professor,” Reggie said flatly.
He heard the words issuing from his mouth in a sort of trance. They had simply popped out of their own volition. He was the most surprised person in the room; and that was saying a lot. All were regarding him with expressions that ranged from surprise to sheer amazement.
Major Lionhead studied him with speculative eyes. He was obviously weighing the mettle of this new opponent, and from the expression of happy anticipation that slowly spread over his face, it was apparent that he did not expect any serious trouble.
“So?” he said slowly. “You do not agree with me? Perhaps you would be kind enough to explain your position.”
REGGIE felt a curious tinkling sound in his head. The tiny hammer was tapping again at the inside of his skull. He had experienced the same sensation at the asylum when he had been questioned about psychology.
Something completely alien to his own intelligence seemed to take command of his mind; the vocal cords in his throat were suddenly acting on their own.
“You are completely and inexcusably wrong, Major Lionhead,” he heard himself saying with cold authority. “At the battle of Austerlitz, the Czar, Alexander, attempted an oblique attack patterned exactly after the plans of Frederick the Great. Napoleon out-maneuvered the forces of the Czar, launched a counter frontal attack and, if you will recall your elementary military history, completely smashed the Czar’s center and scored the most brilliant and decisive victor of his entire career.”
Reggie paused and glanced at the major with a quiet smile on his lips.
“That Rattle, as you may recall, was fought on the second of October, eighteen hundred and five, and it is considered by military historians the most perfect land battle ever executed. Is there anything else needed, Major, to establish my point?”
Major Lionhead’s discomfiture was apparent as he stroked his beard and frowned at the floor.
“I had forgotten Austerlitz,” he muttered. “You were right, Professor. I am forced to admit that now.”
“Of course I was right,” the professor said. He regarded Reggie with reluctant admiration. “You seem to have a fair grasp of military history.
I’ll confess you surprised me.”
Reggie smiled feebly and said nothing. He had surprised himself. In fact, he had astounded, amazed and completely shocked himself.
Major Lionhead coughed himself back into the conversation.
“Tell me, have you read von Clauswitz on infantry maneuvers?” he asked Reggie.
The bell tinkled again in Reggie’s head and the hammer started tapping.
“Von Clauswitz? Naturally. A good man in a dull sort of way. Most of his conclusions have been disproven in the last twenty years, but I dare say he is still interesting to students.”
The w
ords snapped out with an assumption of arbitrary authority that was devastating. Major Lionhead stroked his beard and retired to a corner of the room to lick his wounds.
Reggie wondered what the devil was happening to him. Never in his life had he read a book of military history. Nothing could have been more out of character; but here he was spouting a stream of facts and theory that knocked an eminent authority like Major Lionhead gasping on the ropes.
It was all damned queer!
He couldn’t figure it out at all. But from the admiring expression on Alice’s face he realized that he wasn’t hurting himself one bit in that particular quarter.
She crossed the room to his side and took his arm impulsively.
“Why, you’re wonderful, Reggie!” she said. “I had no idea that you were such a student.”
Reggie smiled feebly. “Didn’t you?”
Jonathan regarded him with distinct annoyance.
“Some people make a habit of memorizing a few obscure facts and parading them as evidence of deep intelligence,” he said sulkily.
“That isn’t fair, Jonathan,” Alice said. There was a spot of color in her cheeks as she faced him directly. “Reggie didn’t parade his information. He waited until he was asked for an opinion before he said a word.”
“That’s right,” her father said. “Very becoming modesty, I must say.”
REGGIE was thinking of that very angle of his suddenly and mysteriously acquired erudition. The information seemed to be lying dormant in his brain and he, himself, was completely unaware of its existence; but when a question was asked him, the little bell started tinkling, and out popped the answer, complete, authoritative and brilliant.
That was fine, he thought, as long as someone asked him the questions. Without that stimulus his brain was as blank as it had been the previous twenty-six years of his life. And that was pretty darn blank.
The only solution he could figure out for the baffling problem was that the invisible thinking cap which he had acquired at the asylum was responsible for his new powers. And what an idea that was!
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 224
