The Thinking Machine Collected Stories Part 80

"Of course if you've made up your mind to do it," he said irritably, "I don't see what can be done." There was a trace of irony in his voice, a coldness which brought Varick around a little. "Just how is it going to happen?"

"I shall be murdered-stabbed in the back-by a man whom I don't know," Varick rushed on desperately.

"Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate," commented the scientist. "Tell me something about it. But here--" He arose and went into his laboratory. After a moment he returned and handed a gla.s.s of some effervescent liquid to Varick, who gulped it down. "Take a minute to pull yourself together," instructed the scientist.

He resumed his seat and sat silent with his long, slender fingers pressed tip to tip. Gradually Varick recovered. It was a fierce fight for the mastery of emotion.

"Now," directed The Thinking Machine at last, "tell me about it."

Varick told just what happened lucidly enough, and The Thinking Machine listened with polite interest. Once or twice he turned and looked at his visitor.

"Do you believe in any psychic force?" Varick asked once.

"I don't disbelieve in anything until I have proven that it cannot be," was the answer. "The G.o.d who hung a sun up there has done other things which we will never understand." There was a little pause, then: "How did you meet this man, Adhem Singh?"

"I have been interested for years in the psychic, the occult, the things we don't understand," Varick replied. "I have a comfortable fortune, no occupation, no dependents and made this a sort of hobby. I have studied it superficially all over the world. I met Adhem Singh in India ten years ago, afterwards in England where he went through Oxford with some financial a.s.sistance from me, and later here. Two years ago he convinced me that there was something in crystal gazing-call it telepathy, self hypnotism, sub-conscious mental action-what you will. Since then the science, I can call it nothing else, has guided me in every important act of my life."

"Through Adhem Singh?"

"Yes."

"And under a pledge of secrecy, I imagine-that is secrecy as to the nature of his revelations?"

"Yes."

"Any taint of insanity in your family?"

Varick wondered whether the question was in the nature of insolent reproof, or was a request for information. He construed it as the latter.

"No," he answered. "Never a touch of it."

"How often have you consulted Mr. Singh?"

"Many times. There have been occasions when he would tell me nothing because, he explained, the crystal told him nothing. There have been other times when he advised me correctly. He has never given me bad advice even in intricate stock operations, therefore I have been compelled to believe him in all things."

"You were never able to see anything yourself in the crystal until this vision of death, last Tuesday night you say?"

"That was the first."

"How do you know the murder is to take place at any given time-that is next week, as you say?"

"That is the information Adhem Singh gave me," was the reply. "He can read the visions-they mean more to him than--"

"In other words, he makes it a profession?" interrupted the scientist.

"Yes."

"Go on."

"The horror of the thing impressed me so-both of us-that he has at my request twice invoked the vision since that night. He, like you, wanted to know when it would happen. There is a calendar by weeks in my study; that is, only one week is shown on it at a time. The last time the vision appeared he noted this calendar. The week was that beginning next Sunday, the 21st of this month. The only conclusion we could reach was it would happen during that week."

The Thinking Machine arose and paced back and forth across the room deeply thoughtful. At last he stopped before his visitor.

"It's perfectly amazing," he commented emphatically. "It approaches nearer to the unbelievable than anything I have ever heard of."

Varick's response was a look that was almost grateful.

"You believe it impossible then?" he asked, eagerly.

"Nothing is impossible," declared the other aggressively. "Now, Mr. Varick, you are firmly convinced that what you saw was prophetic? That you will die in that manner, in that place?"

"I can't believe anything else-I can't," was the response.

"And you have no idea of the ident.i.ty of the murderer-to-be, if I may use that phrase?"

"Not the slightest. The figure was wholly unfamiliar to me."

"And you know-you know-that the room you saw in the crystal was yours?"

"I know that absolutely. Rugs, furniture, mantel, books, everything was mine."

The Thinking Machine was again silent for a time.

"In that event," he said at last, "the affair is perfectly simple. Will you place yourself in my hands and obey my directions implicitly?"

"Yes." There was an eager, hopeful note in Varick's voice now.

"I am going to try to disarrange the affairs of Fate a little bit," explained the scientist gravely. "I don't know what will happen but it will be interesting to try to throw the inevitable, the pre-ordained I might say, out of gear, won't it?"

With a quizzical, grim expression about his thin lips The Thinking Machine went to the telephone in an adjoining room and called some one. Varick heard neither the name nor what was said, merely the mumble of the irritable voice. He glanced up as the scientist returned.

"Have you any servants-a valet for instance?" asked the scientist.

"Yes, I have an aged servant, a valet, but he is now in France, I gave him a little vacation. I really don't need one now as I live in an apartment house-almost a hotel."

"I don't suppose you happen to have three or four thousand dollars in your pocket?"

"No, not so much as that," was the puzzled reply. "If it's your fee--"

"I never accept fees," interrupted the scientist. "I interest myself in affairs like these because I like them. They are good mental exercise. Please draw a cheque for, say four thousand dollars, to Hutchinson Hatch."

"Who is he?" asked Varick. There was no reply. The cheque was drawn and handed over without further comment.

It was fifteen or twenty minutes later that a cab pulled up in front of the house. Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, and another man whom he introduced as Philip Byrne were ushered in. As Hatch shook hands with Varick The Thinking Machine compared them mentally. They were relatively of the same size and he bobbed his head as if satisfied.

"Now, Mr. Hatch," he instructed, "take this cheque and get it cashed immediately, then return here. Not a word to anybody."

Hatch went out and Byrne discussed politics with Varick until he returned with the money. The Thinking Machine thrust the bills into Byrne's hand and he counted it, afterward stowing it away in a pocket.