Status Quo Part 8

"Not necessarily," the other said impatiently. "He is here to find out more about it. Evidently Peking and Moscow have heard just enough to make them nervous."

Larry said, "You have anything more, Hans?"

"I'm afraid that's about it."

"All right," Larry said. He added absently, "Thanks, Hans."

"Thank me some day with deeds, not with words," the German chuckled.

Larry Woolford looked at his watch and grimaced. He was either going to get going now or forget about doing any fishing in Florida this afternoon.

Grudgingly, he dialed the phone company's Personal Service and said to the impossibly cheerful blonde who answered, "Where can I find Professor Peter Voss who teaches over at the University in Baltimore? I don't want to talk with him, just want to know where he'll be an hour from now."

While waiting for his information, he dressed, deciding inwardly that he hated his job, the department in which he was employed, the Boss and Greater Washington. On top of that, he hated himself. He'd already been taken off this a.s.signment, why couldn't he leave it lay?

The blonde rang him back. Professor Peter Voss was at home. He had no cla.s.ses today. She gave him the address.

Larry Woolford raised his car from his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine suburb and headed northwest at a high level for the old Baltimore section of the city.

The Professor's house, he noted, was of an earlier day and located on the opposite side of Paterson Park from Elwood avenue, the street on which Susan Self and her father had resided. That didn't necessarily hold significance, the park was a large one and the Professor's section a well-to-do neighborhood, while Self's was just short of a slum these days.

He brought his car down to street level, and parked before the scholar's three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, it was identical to every other house in the block; Larry wondered vaguely how anybody ever managed to find his own place when it was very dark out.

There was an old-fashioned bell at the side of the entrance and Larry Woolford pushed it. There was no identification screen in the door, evidently the inhabitants had to open up to see who was calling, a tiring ch.o.r.e if you were on the far side of the house and the caller nothing more than a salesman.

It was obviously the Professor himself who answered.

He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and with age-old slippers on his stockingless feet. He evidently hadn't bothered to shave this morning and he held a dog-earred pamphlet in his right hand, his forefinger tucked in it to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, gold-rimmed gla.s.ses through which he blinked at Larry Woolford questioningly, without speaking.

Professor Peter Voss was a man in his mid fifties, and, on the face of it, couldn't care less right now about his physical appearance.

A weird, Larry decided immediately. He wondered at the University, one of the nation's best, keeping on such a figure.

"Professor Voss?" he said. "Lawrence Woolford." He brought forth his identification.

The Professor blinked down at it. "I see," he said. "Won't you come in?"

The house was old, all right. From the outside, quite acceptable, but the interior boasted few of the latest amenities which made all the difference in modern existence. Larry was taken back by the fact that the phone which he spotted in the _entrada_ hadn't even a screen-an old model for speaking only.

The Professor noticed his glance and said dryly, "The advantages of combining television and telephone have never seemed valid to me. In my own home, I feel free to relax, as you can observe. Had I a screen on my phone, it would be necessary for me to maintain the same appearance as I must on the streets or before my cla.s.ses."

Larry cleared his throat without saying anything. This was a weird one, all right.

The living room was comfortable in a blatantly primitive way. Three or four paintings on the walls which were probably originals, Larry decided, and should have been in museums. Not an abstract among them. A Grant Wood, a Marin, and that over there could only be a Grandma Moses. The sort of things you might keep in your private den, but hardly to be seen as culture symbols.

The chairs were large, of leather, and comfortable and probably belonged to the period before the Second War. Peter Voss, evidently, was little short of an exhibitionist.

The Professor took up a battered humidor. "Cigar?" he said. "Manila. Hard to get these days."

A cigar? Good grief, the man would be offering him a chaw of tobacco next.

"Thanks, no," Larry said. "I smoke a pipe."

"I see," the Professor said, lighting his stogie. "Do you really like a pipe? Personally, I've always thought the cigar by far the most satisfactory method of taking tobacco."

What can you say to a question like that? Larry ignored it, as though it was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked cigarettes in the privacy of his den.

A habit which was on the proletarian side and not consistent with his status level.

He said, to get things under way, "Professor Voss, what is an intuitive scientist?"

The Professor exhaled blue smoke, shook out the old-time kitchen match with which he'd lit it, and tossed the matchstick into an ashtray.

"Intuitive scientist?"

"You once called Ernest Self a great intuitive scientist."

"Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he doing these days?"

Larry said wryly, "That's what I came to ask you about."

The Professor was puzzled. "I'm afraid you came to the wrong place, Mr.

Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest for quite a time. Why?"

"Some of his researches seem to have taken him rather far afield.

Actually, I know practically nothing about him. I wonder if you could fill me in a bit."

Peter Voss looked at the ash on the end of his cigar. "I really don't know the man that well. He lives across the park. Why don't-"

"He's disappeared," Larry said.

The Professor blinked. "I see," he said. "And in view of the fact that you are a security officer, I a.s.sume under strange circ.u.mstances." Larry Woolford said nothing and the Professor sank back into his chair and pursed his lips. "I can't really tell you much. I became interested in Self two or three years ago when gathering materials for a paper on the inadequate manner in which our country rewards its inventors."

Larry said, "I've heard about his suit against the government."

The Professor became more animated. "Ha!" he snorted. "One example among many. Self is not alone. Our culture is such that the genius is smothered.

The great contributors to our society are ignored, or worse."

Larry Woolford was feeling his way. Now he said mildly, "I was under the impression that American free enterprise gave the individual the best opportunity to prove himself and that if he had it on the ball he'd get to the top."

"Were you really?" the Professor said snappishly. "And did you know that Edison died a comparatively poor man with an estate somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? An amount that might sound like a good deal to you or me, but, when you consider his contributions, shockingly little. Did you know that Eli Whitney realized little, if anything, from the cotton gin? Or that McCormick didn't invent the reaper but gained it in a dubious court victory? Or take Robert G.o.ddard, one of the best examples of modern times. He developed the basics of rocket technology-gyroscopic stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling motors, landing devices. He died in 1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes of records that proved priceless. What did he get out of his researches?

Nothing. It was fifteen years later that his widow won her suit against the government for patent infringements!"

[Ill.u.s.tration.]

Larry held up a hand. "Really," he said. "My interest is in Ernest Self."

The Professor relaxed. "Sorry. I'm afraid I get carried away. Self, to get back to your original question, is a great intuitive scientist.

Unfortunately for him, society being what it is today, he fits into few grooves. Our educational system was little more than an irritation to him and consequently he holds no degrees. Needless to say, this interfered with his gaining employment with the universities and the large corporations which dominate our country's research, not to mention governmental agencies.