She’d be there.
And another body appeared in the back yard, which meant probability line d was taking over. No doubt the third corpse, at the same time, had vanished from the morgue. Gallegher almost felt sorry for Mahoney.
The wild talents settled down. Apparently the irresistible outburst came only at the beginning, some three hours or more after the initial treatment. After that, the ability could be turned on or off at will. Gallegher was no longer impelled to burst into song, but he found he could sing, and sing well, when he wished. Likewise, Grandpa had a fine sense of mathematics when he chose to use it.
Finally, at five o’clock in the morning, Mahoney arrived with two officers, arrested Gallegher, and carried him off to jail.
He was incommunicado for three days.
Persson, the attorney, came on the evening of the third day armed with writs of habeas corpus and foul language. He sprang Gallegher, somehow — perhaps on his reputation. Later, in the air-taxi, he threw up his hands and howled complaints.
“What kind of a case is this? Political pressure, legal tangles — it’s crazy! Corpses appearing in your back yard — seven of them already — and vanishing from the morgue. What’s behind it, Gallegher?”
“I’m not sure. You…uh…you’re acting as my attorney?”
“Obviously.” The taxi skimmed precariously past a skyscraper.
“The check—” Gallegher hazarded. “Your grandfather gave it to me. Oh, he gave me a message, too. He said he’d treated Rufus Hellwig along the lines you’d suggested, and collected the fee. I can’t feel that I’ve earned any part of my retainer, yet, though. Letting you stay in jail for three days! But I was up against powerful political pull. Had to pull plenty of wires myself.”
So that was it. Grandpa, of course, had acquired Gallegher’s mathematical talent, and knew all about the mental hookup and how it worked. He’d treated Hellwig — successfully, it seemed. At least, they were in the chips now. But would that be enough?
Gallegher explained as much as he dared. Persson shook his head.
“The time machine’s behind it, you say? Well, you’ve got to turn it off somehow. Stop those corpses from coming through.”
“I can’t even smash it,” Gallegher confessed. “I tried, but it’s in a state of stasis. Completely out of this poral-spatial sector. I don’t know how long that’ll last. It’s set to bring back my own corpse — and it’ll keep doing that.”
“So. All right. I’ll do my best. Anyway, you’re a free man now. But I can’t guarantee anything unless you eliminate those incessant corpses of yours, Mr. Gallegher. I get out here. See you tomorrow. At my office, at noon? Good.”
Gallegher shook hands and directed the cabman to his own place. An unpleasant surprise awaited him. It was Cantrell who opened the door.
The man’s narrow, pale face twitched into a smile. “Evening,” he said pleasantly, stepping back. “Come in, Gallegher.”
“I am in. What are you doing here?”
“Visiting. Visiting your grandfather.” Gallegher glanced around the laboratory. “Where is he?”
“I dunno. See for yourself.”
Sensing danger of some kind, the scientist began to search. He found Grandpa eating pretzels in the kitchen, and feeding the Lybblas. The old man evaded his gaze. “O.K.,” Gallegher said, “let’s have it.”
“’Twasn’t my fault. Cantrell said he’d turn over the heat ray to the police if I didn’t do what he wanted. I knew that’d be your finish—”
“What’s been happening?”
“Now take it easy. I got it all worked out. It can’t do any harm—”
“What? What?”
“Cantrell’s been making me use the machine on him,” Grandpa confessed. “He peeked through the window when I treated Hellwig and figured out the answer. He threatened to get you convicted unless I gave him some extra talents.”
“Whose?”
“Oh — Gulliver, Morleyson, Kottman. Denys, St. Malory—”
“That’s enough,” Gallegher said weakly. “The greatest technicians of the age, that’s all! And their knowledge in Cantrell’s brain! How did he wangle ’em into it?”
“Fast talking. He didn’t let on what he wanted. Made up some cock-and-bull story — He got your mathematical talent, too. Through me.”
“That’s just fine,” Gallegher said, looking grim. “What the devil is he up to?”
“ He wants to conquer the world,” the fattest Lybbla said sadly. “Oh, don’t let him do it. We want to conquer the world.”
“Not quite that,” Grandpa said, “But bad enough. He’s got the same knowledge we have now — enough to build another mental hookup. And he’s taking the stratoliner to Europe in an hour.”
“This means trouble,” Gallegher said. “Yeah, I know. I’m commencing to feel Cantrell’s just a mite unscrupulous. He’s the one responsible for your being kept in jail the last few days.”
Cantrell opened the door and looked in. “There’s a new corpse in the garden. It just appeared. We won’t bother about it new, though. I’ll be leaving shortly. Any word from Van Decker?”
“Van Decker!” Gallegher gulped. “You haven’t got him—”
The man with the world’s highest I.Q.! “Not yet,” Cantrell smiled. “I tried to get in touch with him for days, and he vised me only this morning. I was afraid I’d miss him. But he said he’d be over tonight.” Cantrell glanced at his watch. “Hope he’s on time. Stratoliners won’t wait.”
“Just a minute,” Gallegher said, moving forward. “I’d like to know your plans, Cantrell.”
“He’s going to conquer the world!” one of the Lybbla’s piped.
Cantrell sent an amused look downward. “It’s not too fantastic, at that,” he admitted. “I’m completely amoral, luckily, so I can take full advantage of this opportunity. The talents of the world’s greatest minds — they’ll come in handy. I’ll be a success in almost anything. I mean anything,” he added, winking.
“Dictator complex,” Grandpa scowled. “Not yet,” Cantrell told him. “Some day, maybe. Give me time. I’m pretty much of a superman already, you know.”
Gallegher said, “You can’t—”
“No? Don’t forget I’ve got that heat ray of yours.”
“Yeah,” the scientist said, “and those corpses in the back yard — my own corpses — were all killed with a heat ray. You’re the only guy who has one, so far. Apparently you’re ticketed to kill me, eventually.”
“Eventually is better than now, isn’t it?” Cantrell asked softly.
Gallegher didn’t answer. The other man went on.
“I’ve skimmed the cream from the best minds on the East Coast, and now I’ll do the same thing to Europe. Anything can happen.”
One of the Lybblas began to cry bitterly, seeing his plan of world conquest shattered.
The doorbell sang. Grandpa, at Cantrell’s nod, went out, to return with a squat, beaknosed man wearing a busy red beard. “Ha!” he bellowed. “I am here! Not late, I trust? Good.”
“Dr. Van Decker?”
“Who else?” the redbeard shouted. “Now hurry, hurry, hurry. I am a busy man. This experiment of yours; as you explained it on the visor, it will not work, but I am willing to try. Projecting one’s astral is foolishness.” Grandpa nudged Gallegher. “Cantrell told him that was the idea,” he muttered.
“Yeah? Listen, we can’t—”
“Take it easy,” Grandpa said, and one eye closed in a significant wink. “I got your talents now, son. I thought of the answer. See if you can. I used your math. Sh-h-h!” There was no time for more. Cantrell shepherded them all into the laboratory. Gallegher, scowling and biting his lip, pondered the problem. He couldn’t let Cantrell get away with this. But, on the other hand, Grandpa had said it was all right — that everything was under control.