The Collection (105 page)

"Do you know if Cole knew your mother would not be
there tonight?"

"I don't believe--Wait. Yes, he did. I forget just how
it came into the conversation when I was talking with Mr. Cole, but I did
mention my aunt's being sick. He'd met her. And I think I said Mother was
staying with her a few nights."

"Was anything said about the ladder in your
yard?"

"He asked if we were having the house painted, so I
imagine he saw it lying there. It wasn't mentioned specifically."

"And tonight--what time did you last see your
father?"

"When he said good-night at about ten o'clock and went
up to bed. I finished a book I was reading and went upstairs about an hour
later. I must have gone right to sleep because it seemed as though I'd been
asleep a long time when I heard the phone ringing and went to answer it."

"You heard nothing until--I mean, you heard nothing
from the time your father went to sleep at ten until you were wakened by the
phone--which would have been at a quarter to eleven?"

"Not a sound."

"Did your father usually lock the door of his
room?"

"Never. There was a bolt on the door, but he'd never used
it that I know of."

Chief Randall nodded. "Then Cole must have bolted the
door before he went back down the ladder," he said. "Is there
anything you can add, Miss Roth?"

Jeanette hesitated. "No," she said. "Nothing
that I can think of." She turned and smiled, faintly, at me. "Except
that I want you to take good care of Brian."

"We'll do that," Randall told her. He raised his
voice, "Wheeler!" The big detective opened the door and Randall
said, "Take Miss Roth home now. Then take up duty at Forty-five University
Lane--that's where Carter here lives. Outside. Jack Sebastian'll be inside with
him. If the two of you let anything happen to him--God help you!"

A Window Is Opened

Pulling
the car to the curb half a block from my place, Jack said, "That looks
like Wheeler in a car up ahead, but I'm not taking any chances. Wait
here."

He got out and walked briskly to the car ahead. I noticed
that he walked with his hand in his right coat pocket. He leaned into the car
and talked a moment, then came back.

"It's Wheeler," he said, "and he's got a
good spot there. He can watch both windows of your room, and he has a good view
of the whole front of the place besides."

"How about the back?" I asked him.

"There's a bolt on the back door. Cole would have trouble
getting in that way. Besides, we'll both be in your place and your door will be
locked. If he could get into the house, he's got two more hurdles to take--your
door and me."

"And don't forget me."

"That's the hurdle he wants to take. Come on. I'll leave
you with Wheeler while I case the joint inside before I take you in."

We walked up to Wheeler's car and I got in beside him.
"Besides looking around in my place," I told Jack, "you might
take a look in the basement. If he got in while we were gone, and is hiding out
anywhere but in my place, it would be there. Probably up at the front
end."

"I'll check it. But why would he be there?"

"He knows that part of the place. Mr. Chandler, the
owner, turned over the front section of the basement to me for some experiments
that Dr. Roth and I were doing on our own time. We were working with rats down
there--an extension of some experiments we started at the university lab, but
wanted to keep separate. So Alister Cole's been down there."

"And if he wanted to lay for you someplace, that might
be it?"

"It's possible. He'd figure I'd be coming down there
sooner or later."

"Okay, but I'll get you into your apartment first,
then go down there."

He went inside and I saw the lights in my place go on. Five
minutes later he came out to the car. "Clean as a whistle," he said.

"Wait till I get my stuff from my own car and we'll go
in."

He went to his own car half a block back and returned with
a suitcase. We went into the house and into my place.

"You're safe here," he said. "Lock me out
now, and when I come back, don't let me in until you hear and recognize my
voice."

"How about a complicated knock? Three shorts and a
long."

He looked at me and saw I was grinning. He shook his finger
at me. "Listen, pal," he said, "this is dead serious. There's a
madman out to kill you, and he might be cleverer than you think. You can't
take anything for granted until he's caught."

"I'll be good," I told him.

"I've got more at stake on this than you have,"
he said, "because if he kills you, you're only dead. But me, I'll be out
of a job. Now let's hear that door lock when I go out in the hall."

I locked it after him, and started to pick up the chessmen
from the floor. The Siamese blinked at me from her perch on the mantel. I
tickled her under the chin.

"Hi, Beautiful," I said. "How'd you like all
the excitement?"

She closed her eyes, as all cats do when they're having
their chins chucked, and didn't answer me.

I leaned closer and whispered, "Cheer up, Beautiful.
We're in the money, almost. You can have a silken cushion and only the best
grades of calves' liver."

I finished picking up the chessmen and went over to the window.
Looking out diagonally to the front, I could see the car that Wheeler was
sitting in. I made a motion with my hand, and got an answering motion from the
car.

I pulled down the shades in both rooms and was examining
them to make sure that one couldn't see in from the outside when there was a
tap at the door. I walked over and let Jack back in after he'd spoken to me.

"Nothing
down there but some guinea pig cages and what look like mazes. The cages are
all empty."

"They're rat cages," I told him. "And the
things that look like mazes, strangely enough, are mazes. That's a sizable
suitcase you brought. Planning to move in on me?"

He sat down in my most comfortable chair. "Only
suitcase I had. It isn't very full. I brought an extra suit, by the way, but
it's not for me. It's for Alister Cole."

"Huh? A suit for--"

"Strait jacket. Picked it up at Headquarters, just in
case. Listen, pal, you got any idea what it means to take a maniac? We'll take
him alive, if we can, but we'll have to crease him or sap him, and I'll want
some way of holding him down after he comes to." He shuddered a little.
"I handled one of them once. Rather, I helped handle one. It took four of
us, and the other three guys were huskier than I am. And it wasn't any
picnic."

"You're making me very happy," I told him.
"Did you by any chance pick up an extra gun for me?"

"Can you shoot one? Ever handled one?"

I said, "You pull the trigger, don't you?"

"That's what I mean. That's why I didn't get you one.
Look, if this loonie isn't caught, and he makes a clean getaway, I'll tell you
what I'll do. I'll get you a permit for a gun, help you pick one out, and take
you down to the police range and teach you how to use it. Because I won't be
able to stay with you forever."

"Fine," I said. "I'd feel happier with one
right away, though."

"Brian, people who don't know guns, who aren't expert
with them, are better off without them. Safer. I'll bet if Alister Cole hadn't
had a gun tonight, he'd have got you."

"How do you figure that?"

"Simple. He looked in the window and saw me playing
chess with you. If he'd had only the shiv, he'd have hidden somewhere until
after I'd left and given you time to get to sleep. Then he'd have come in your
window--and that would have been that. But since he had a gun, he took a chance
with it. Not knowing how to squeeze a trigger without moving his sights, he
overshoots. And, I hope, ends his chances of getting you."

I nodded, slowly. "You've got a point," I
admitted. "All right, I'll wait and learn it right, if you don't get
Alister. Want to finish that game of chess?" I glanced toward Beautiful,
now sound asleep, but still perched where she could overlook the game. "I
promise you that Beautiful won't kibitz."

"Too late," Jack said. "It's after three.
How long have you had that cat, Brian?"

"You should remember. You were with me when I bought
her. Four years ago, wasn't it? Funny how a pet gets to mean so much to you. I
wouldn't sell her for anything on earth."

Jack wrinkled his nose. "A dog, now, I could
understand. They're some company to a guy."

Moving my hand in a deprecating gesture, I laughed at him.
"That's because you're not used to such intelligent and aesthetic company.
Next to women, cats are the most beautiful things on earth, and we rate women
higher only because we're prejudiced. Besides, women talk back and cats don't.
I'd have gone nuts the last few months if I hadn't had Beautiful to talk to.
I've been working twelve to fourteen hours a day, and--that reminds me. I'd
better get some sleep. How about you?"

"Not sleepy yet, but don't let me stop you. I'll go in
the other room and read. What have you got that might give me some dope on
Alister Cole. Got any good books on abnormal psychology?"

"Not a lot. That's out of our line here. We don't have
courses in the abnormal brand. We work with fundamentals, mostly. Oh, I've got
a couple of general books. Try that
Outline of Abnormal Psychology
on
the top shelf, the blue jacket. It's pretty elementary, I guess, but it's as
far as you'll cover in a few hours reading anyway."

I started undressing while Jack got the book and skimmed
the table of contents. "This looks okay," he said. "Chapters on
dementia praecox, paranoia, waking hypnosis--Never heard of that. Is it
common?"

"Certainly," I told him. "We've tried it.
It's not really part of abnormal psychology at all, although it can be used in
treatment of mental troubles. We've subjected whole classes--with their
consent, of course--to experiments in automatic writing while under suggestion
in waking state amnesia. That's what I used for my senior thesis for my B.A. If
you want to read up on what's probably wrong with Alister Cole, read the
chapter on paranoia and paranoid conditions, and maybe the chapter on
schizophrenia--that's dementia praecox. I'd bet on straight paranoia in Cole's
case, but it could be schiz."

I hung my clothes over the chair and started to pull on my
pajamas.

"According to Jeanette," Jack said, "Dr.
Roth thought Cole might have a touch of schizophrenia. But you bet on paranoia.
What's the difference?"

I sighed. "All right, I'll tell you. Paranoia is the
more uncommon of the two disorders, and it's harder to spot. Especially if a
subject is tied up in knots and won't talk about himself. A man suffering from
paranoia builds up an air-tight system of reasoning about some false belief or
peculiar set of ideas. He sticks to these delusions, and you can't convince him
he's wrong in what he thinks. But if his particular delusion doesn't show, you
can't spot him, because otherwise he seems normal.

"A schizophrenic, on the other hand, may have paranoid
ideas, but they're poorly systematized, and he's likely to show other symptoms
that he's off-balance. He may have ideas that other people are always talking
about him, or trying to do him harm, and he's subjected to incoherence,
rambling, untidiness, apathy--all sorts of symptoms. Cole didn't show any of
them."

"A paranoiac, then, could pretty well hide what was
wrong with him," Jack said, "as long as no one spotted the particular
subject he was hipped on?"

"Some of them do. Though if we'd been specialists, I
think we'd have spotted Cole quickly. But listen. Hadn't you better get some
sleep too?"

"Go ahead and pound your ear. I'll take a nap if I get
tired. Here goes the light."

He turned it out and went into the next room. He left the
door ajar, but I found that if I turned over and faced the wall, the little
light that came in didn't bother me.

Beautiful, the cat, jumped down from the mantel and came
over to sleep on my feet, as she always does. I reached down and petted her
soft warm fur a moment, then I lay back on the pillow and quit thinking. I
slept.

A sound woke me--the sound of a window opening slowly.

Death to Rats

With me, as with most people, dreams are forgotten within
the first few seconds after waking. I remember the one I was just having,
though, because of the tie-up it had with the sound that wakened me.

My dream had changed that slow upward scrape of the window
into the scrape of claws on cement, the cement of the basement. There in the
little front room of the basement, Dr. Roth was standing with his hand on the
latch of a rat cage, and a monstrous cat with the markings of a Siamese was
scraping her claws on the floor, gathering her feet under her to spring. It was
Beautiful, my cat, and yet it wasn't. She was almost as large as a lion. Her
eyes glowed like the headlights of a car.