The Murderer Invisible

by Philip Wylie

  The status of the three people in the old Mortland farmhouse had not changed. The invisible rose had been the single trophy of their labor. For weeks there had stood on a central table a large glass aquarium. Neither Baxter nor Daryl had been connected with its existence or informed of its purpose. It was three quarters full of water which had been brought from the sea. Carpenter had screened off one corner of the laboratory in order to prevent being interrupted by them—or in order to prevent them from seeing what he was doing. Baxter had spent his time making elaborate chemical analyses.

  The arrival and assembly of the aquarium had taxed their united strength—it was almost cubical, of thick glass and nearly four feet on a side. Carpenter had vouchsafed no explanation. Their curiosity had been restrained. It stood there day after day, motionless and clear. The habitual routine carried on. Baxter bending over his clinking and often evil-smelling test tubes. Carpenter’s shock of hair protruding occasionally above the edge of the screen. Daryl’s regular period of washing apparatus, of dusting and sweeping.

  It went on for the most part without conversation. The scientist would boom a few brief syllables to his assistant. Or Baxter would smile at Daryl and hand her a bottle—“An alkaline rinse, a good bath, and then sterilize it—and you can have an extra piece of pie for dessert.”

  A variety of packages, boxes and crates arrived intermittently by mail and freight. Sometimes Carpenter opened them himself in private. Often Baxter lent a hand to the procedure. Daryl brought the mail every day in the afternoon. There was very rarely a letter for her. Baxter’s communications were nearly as scant. Carpenter’s letters were for the most part business communications from the numerous firms through which he purchased the material for his work.

  The rest was monotony—an incessant monotony in which each member had a regular groove. It was the aquarium which violently interrupted this daily schedule.

  Daryl was polishing the outside of the thick glass walls, a task she had performed daily since its arrival. As she worked her eyes idly penetrated the dim water and from the flat bottom of white sand she noticed a small stream of bubbles rise to the surface. A second ascending chain of bubbles attracted her interest. The thought to which it gave rise caused her flesh to prickle. She moved her hand back and forth across the front of the glass and the gesticulation was rewarded presently by a rippling which crossed the surface of the apparently empty tank.

  Her reasoning was validated. She agitated her hand more rapidly. The ripples increased, dancing along the edge of the water and becoming finally a continuous splashing. Remembering the consternation her discovery of the stone had caused Carpenter, she now glanced at him, but he was out of sight behind his screen—evidently hard at work. Baxter, however, looked up and she beckoned to him—cautioning him at the same time by laying a finger on her lips.

  He rose and walked quietly to her side. “Something?” he asked, smiling.

  She nodded and repeated the motion of her hand. Ripples reappeared on the surface of the aquarium. Baxter’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He helped her disturb whatever creature lay in the water. His curiosity concerning the nature of the thing was rapidly aroused. And in a moment he did something which demonstrated patently not only his cool nerve but the recklessness which accompanied it. He drew a chair quietly up to the table, rolled his sleeve to his armpit, climbed up beside the glass tank and plunged his hand into the water.

  Daryl tried to stop him—shaking her head, imploring with her eyes—but he merely smiled at this pantomime and continued to fish with his bare hand in the water. The girl’s alarm increased rapidly. She did not wish Carpenter to hear them. She was afraid of the thing that Baxter might encounter. Her attention was concentrated on his face which was tense with expectancy. And suddenly her fears were realized.

  Baxter’s mouth opened wide. His breath rushed from his lungs. His arm stabbed deeper into the water until his shoulder was submerged. His other hand grasped the edge of the tank. The arm under water was moving slowly toward the bottom. It was knotted with straining muscles—he was exerting every ounce of his strength. Slowly, agonizingly, he fought a silent duel with the creature in the tank. Daryl, realizing that he was trying to get his arm out and could not, climbed quickly onto the table, grasped his shoulder, and lent her strength to his. A dark cloud issued slowly from the arm under water—blood. They could see nothing. They dared to make no unnecessary sound. This slow, taut, terrible encounter stretched out over long seconds. Baxter began to breathe heavily. But now, inch by inch, he lifted himself.

  His shoulder emerged, then his upper arm. He caught a breath and whispered hoarsely, “Get a knife!”

  She jumped from the table. In doing so, she saw that Carpenter had come quietly from his corner and was watching them. Her blood ran ice cold. Nevertheless, with Baxter’s desperate demand still uppermost in her mind, she brought a large and very sharp knife to him.

  He let his body drop below the edge of the tank which now became a fulcrum. His temples were ridged with veins, his face was dark red. He made no outcry. With the hand that was free he commenced to slash downward around his imprisoned arm. The water was clouded with a crimson murk so that the direction and effect of the slashes could not be seen. And then, with a gradually increased speed, he withdrew his arm. Blood immediately commenced to leak from it in a score of places. At that instant he caught sight of Carpenter.

  The scientist’s face was impassive, yet its very absence of expression was more menacing than any contortion of rage. For some time he did not speak. Daryl began to wipe Baxter’s arm with a sterile cloth which she brought from a cabinet. Carpenter did not move his gaze from his assistant.

  At last his voice issued, deep, impersonal. “Did you kill it?”

  “I don’t believe so.” The girl was astonished at the meticulous tranquillity with which Baxter spoke. He seemed to be insensible to the pain he must be suffering.

  “But you damaged it.”

  “I cut off a tentacle or two.”

  With those words, she realized what had been in the water. An octopus.

  Carpenter swayed on his feét. “That specimen was the finest I could buy. I wanted a large invertebrate. I secured one. And you have had the idiotic audacity to—” his repressed indignation choked him—“to fish barehanded for it.”

  “I shall replace it.”

  Carpenter grunted. “And will you also—make it invisible?”

  “Sorry, Carpenter. I’m the sort of damn fool that investigates the unknown without either preparation or forethought.”

  “Evidently. And suppose instead my little glass pond had been inhabited by a four-foot crocodile—a barracuda—an electric eel—eh?”

  “The octopus was unpleasant enough, thanks.”

  “Unpleasant? My dear man, you have no imagination. You perceive the progress I have made. Think a moment. The fungus. The rose. The devilfish. We have reached the invertebrates. Think beyond. Let us conceive—” his eyes glittered—a film of moisture gathered on his upper lip—“let us conceive an invisible cobra. Dropped into a room filled with people for whom you have a certain animosity. Unpleasant—you fail to think in a very high scale of unpleasantness. The octopus is harmless by comparison. Suppose we let loose a hungry tiger that is invisible. People on the street are knocked down—they scream—great rents are burst open in them—the—”

  Baxter smiled. “I think I gather the idea from that much. There is no need of enlarging it.”

  Carpenter nodded. He seemed on the point of going back to his work when suddenly he turned upon them and roared at the top of his mighty voice. “Get out! Get out of here both of you. Fools! Meddlers! Morons! Idiots! Get out of here before I set the world creeping with blind malignance in self-defense. Get out!”

  Baxter had led Daryl to the door. It slammed behind them, choking back the thunder of his abuse.

  She began to cry. Mrs. Treadle glanced up from her work, caught sight of Baxter’s arm and fled up stairs. With the han
d that had not been harmed he began to stroke her hair.

  “Don’t cry, darling. It was pretty tough—but it’s all right.”

  “I-I-I’m afraid he’ll come out and kill you.”

  “It wouldn’t be a cinch,” Baxter answered. His voice was gentle but his lips had straightened.

  She put her head on his shoulder. “I thought you were going into—into—that aquarium.”

  “So did I. For a minute. That pet of his isn’t meant for the lap.”

  She exhaled tremulously. “I’m not much good, I guess. We’d better get your arm fixed. It may be poisoned.”

  Baxter looked at it. Blood still oozed from numerous little circular patches where the cups of the tentacles had drawn it out. Weakly she ran up stairs and returned with iodine and a roll of bandages. He sat on one of the kitchen chairs while she painted the wounds and bound them up. While she worked she glanced furtively at the iron door. Behind it was silence. When she had finished, Baxter said, “Let’s go outside.”

  They walked together to the side of the river. The ground was still too damp for sitting, but they found a ledge of rock which had been dried by the sun. Side by side they sat upon it. Baxter looked at the girl for a long time. His mind weighed the future, sought to interpret the values of the present.

  At last he spoke. “We’ll call this a council of war. From now on, I don’t think Carpenter can be relied upon to go ahead with his work and disregard ourselves. I know a little about men. And he was too calm, much too calm watching me in that tank.”

  Daryl realized that Carpenter had not come to Baxter’s assistance. The thought startled her. “I didn’t notice at the time—”

  “But now you do. He let you and me fight his fish without lifting a finger. Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Baxter shrugged. “It was a pretty big animal. Filled most of that devilish tank. Might easily have done me in. He didn’t stop it either because he didn’t need me any longer—or because he was waiting to see how the battle went. It’s possible that if I had lost any more ground, he’d have jumped into the fray. I kept expecting one of those damned tentacles to reach out and go around my neck. I—”

  Daryl began to cry again. For the second time he lent her the close comfort of embrace. “Don’t let it unstring you. Worse things than that have happened to me—although none more unusual, I’ll admit. The point is—I’m still here and sound of wind and limb. What we have to consider is whether to remain here and wait for the next step—they seem to get progressively less happy—or to jog along after leaving a bug in the ear of the police.”

  “I don’t think I could stay.”

  “Perhaps Carpenter won’t want us any more. Perhaps he will make other plans about us.”

  “What do you think?”

  Baxter scowled at the river. “Me? Well—if you weren’t here, to be frank, I’d never dream of decamping. Somebody ought really to trail Carpenter along and be sure he doesn’t get too far.”

  “He already has.”

  “The fish? I’m not sure. It’s an invertebrate. His longest and most difficult step will be to get beyond such fairly simple beasties. If he ever does—well—a good scientist will be more useful to the public cause—always providing he turns on the public—than all the detectives alive. So far, you know, he hasn’t done anything that’s legally wrong. He’s also done an infinite amount that’s most interesting. Today’s episode may be merely accidental. He may not have leaped to the rescue because he was stupefied—”

  “You don’t believe that!”

  “No,” Baxter said. At that instant his ear caught the sound of approaching footsteps. He removed his arm from the girl’s shoulders and stood up. Daryl turned and glimpsed a form through the trees.

  “He’s coming.”

  Baxter’s eyes flickered. “Yes. For heaven’s sakes!”

  CHAPTER 3

  A SKELETON AT LARGE

  Carpenter picked his way through the underbrush to the place where they waited. He bobbed his head in their direction, smiled with nervous amiability, and said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but after you left I thought that things were in a somewhat perturbed state. I would like to straighten them out if I can.”

  “Glad to talk them over,” Baxter murmured.

  Carpenter stroked his thin nose and peered under his spectacles at the girl. He cleared his throat. “I’m a pretty irritable person. My repressions are always too tardy.” He turned his head toward Baxter. “When I saw what you were doing this morning, I was vexed. It cost me considerable trouble to get that specimen. When it caught you, I was dumbfounded. I should have acted. I am glad you escaped with no more unhappy experience than a tussle above water. If you had toppled in, I would surely have smashed the tank and fought the thing on the floor.”

  “I was about to suggest it.”

  Carpenter reflected. “My point is, however, that I have alarmed both of you. Particularly Miss Carpenter. Moreover, I scarcely contributed toward assuaging that alarm by my attitude after the incident was ended. I apologize.”

  His sincerity seemed evident. His meekness surprised them. They had expected any other mood—even a mood which would have carried immediate threat. Baxter answered at once.

  “Quite all right, Carpenter. I realize how you felt. It was, I may say, a monumental fragment of damn foolishness and I hereby put it on the records as such.”

  “That is true.” Baxter smiled at this impartiality. “You should not venture too far into the unknown until your imagination has provided for as many possibilities as can be foreseen. If you had prodded my octopus with a pole—I would have been more prone to condone your curiosity.”

  “I thought it might be a fish.”

  “I wish it had been.”

  “Why?” Daryl asked.

  “Because a fish represents a higher order than the octopus or giant squid.”

  “Oh.”

  There was no doubt of Carpenter’s earnestness—but neither Baxter nor Daryl could be certain whether it sprang from some obscure and hitherto undetected corner of his true character or was merely the fruit of his needs and design. He seemed almost human, certainly sorry and obviously troubled. Nevertheless they took his words with inward questioning.

  He hunted out a clear spot on the rock ledge and sat upon it, averting his head somewhat from them and talking with a slow gravity. “You, Miss Carpenter—” and they both noticed that he was addressing her formally once more—“came here by accident. I was happy to avail myself of your services. You, Baxter, by invitation and with at least some foreknowledge of the conditions that would obtain here. I needed your expert assistance. But wherever human beings are gathered together we must expect human conditions to intervene—even if those people are united by a purely scientific cause.

  “I have touched upon the motives which lie behind my work but not, I am afraid, with that dispassionate thoroughness which I owe to you both. It is my intention to do so now. It is fifteen years since I left off what we may consider my formal education. I was thirty then. In all that time I had been unable to make a friend, unable even to find a peaceful place among my fellows. I attribute that partly to my appearance and disposition—and partly to the stupidity of humanity. The brain is applauded, the triumphs of science are valued, yet no one really is interested in the people who posess those brains and produce those triumphs unless they are covered with a superficial veneer which makes a vain and fatuous day to day contact desirable.

  “Pursued as I have been by ridicule instead of approbation, I sought to enter a new field—finance—and wrest from men the respect I felt was my due. I succeeded only in giving form to a malicious and determined hatred which brought about my eventual downfall. I will ignore my own feelings which resulted from that defeat. They were sufficient, I may say, to fill me with an absolute intention—the intention to win for myself the respect, the power, the mundane effectiveness which had so long been denied. Brains, funds, knowledge were at my di
sposal. In selecting my method for accomplishing this normal ambition, I may have been somewhat romantic, somewhat imaginative.

  “I am determined to acquire a certain prestige, to rectify certain social wrongs and to punish certain individuals by carrying the experiments you have witnessed to their ultimate conclusion—namely—producing in myself the state you have witnessed in the fungus, the rose and the—the creature in the aquarium.”

  He paused and looked at them. They had listened attentively. Baxter now spoke in the same meditative monotone which Carpenter had used. “You appreciate, I presume, the thoughts to which your purpose gives rise?”

  Carpenter nodded. “I do. And I cannot expand my plans at this time much more than I have. You refer of course to the possible harm which an—an invisible man might do. If such a man concentrated his power for harm on persons who, beyond the pale of the law, were still mulcting the public, crushing the weak, wrecking the body politic of the land—”

  Daryl interrupted him. “But how can any man take it upon himself to judge another?”

  “Such persons as I may disturb from their improper functions will not be judged by a man but by science, by facts.”

  “What do you mean by disturb?”

  Carpenter smiled. “Frighten, mostly. Certainly not harm physically. Is that adequate?”

  “It relieves me a little.”

  “That is understandable. Your imagination has run away with it. Perhaps I have goaded it myself—talking of invisible cobras, invisible tigers. I regret that.” He sighed. “I am a humanitarian. I believe two things primarily. First, a man is important only to himself. The world depends on no single man. It never did. A man can produce nothing that will be of perpetual value to himself, on the other hand. His best work will remain for the masses. Hence, while his importance is confined to himself while he lives, his use is only for the world.

  “He is of no use to himself—except as his actions feed his ephemeral importance. There is an immediate derived idea from that concept. No human gain is made until every man has gained by it. Progress depends on the masses. A few men are far beyond them always—and the more rapidly they insist upon their advances, that is to say, the more speedily the world adopts their superior ideas, the faster we evolve. My discovery will become the means of making my personal contribution to the swifer evolution of man.