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CHAPTER ONE

The Bet

Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen’s appearance was as strange as his name. He was thin with the thin shoulders of a student and his face was extremely pale. His eyes were the eyes of a man who studies little things. They were always half-closed in concentration. Although he wore thick glasses you could see that his eyes were blue. But his strangest feature was his abnormally large forehead, on top of which sat a crown of yellow hair. Together all these things gave him a bizarre, almost grotesque personality.

Professor Van Dusen’s family came from Germany. Many of his ancestors had been famous scientists; he was the logical result, the mastermind. And logic was his passion. He believed that two and two always equal four, except in unusual cases, when they may equal three or Five. He believed that all things that start must go somewhere, and he was able to concentrate all the mental force of his ancestors to solve any problem.

The public knew Van Dusen as The Thinking Machine and perhaps this phrase described him best of all. He spent all his time in his small laboratory where he invented brilliant theories that shocked scientists and had a profound effect on the world.

The Thinking Machine didn’t have many visitors. When people did come to see him they were usually scientists. Two of these men, Dr Charles Ransome and Alfred Fielding visited him one evening to discuss some theory (what it was exactly is of no importance).

“That is impossible,” said Dr Ransome.

“Nothing is impossible,” said The Thinking Machine. “The mind is master of all things. When science understands this, it will be a great day.”

“What about the airship?” asked Dr Ransome.

“That’s not impossible at all,” said The Thinking Machine. “It will be invented soon. I would do it myself, but unfortunately I’m too busy.”

Dr Ransome laughed.

“I’ve heard you say things like that before,” he said. “But they mean nothing. The mind may be master of the material world, but there are some problems that cannot be solved by thought alone.”

“Give me an example,” demanded The Thinking Machine.

Dr Ransome thought for a moment as he smoked.

“Well, what about the walls of a prison” he replied. “No man can escape from a cell just by thinking about it. If he could, there would be no prisoners.” He continued “Let’s imagine a case. A cell for prisoners who are condemned to death. These men will do anything to try to escape. Imagine you were in that cell. Could you escape?”

“Certainly,” said The Thinking Machine.

“Of course,” said Mr Fielding, “you could destroy the cell with an explosive. but if you are a prisoner inside the cell you can’t have that.”

“I don’t need an explosive,” said The Thinking Machine. “I would be just like any other prisoner and I would still be able to leave the cell.”

“You could escape only if you entered it with tools,” said Dr Ransome.

The Thinking Machine was visibly irritated.

“Lock me in any cell in any prison anywhere at any time, wearing only normal clothes, and I’ll escape in a week,” he declared. Dr Ransome was interested. Mr. Fielding lit a new cigar.

“You’re saying that you could escape from the cell just by thinking about it?” Ransome asked.

“I could get out.”

“Are you serious?”

“Certainly, I’m serious.”

Dr Ransome and Mr Fielding were silent for a long time.

“Would you like to try it?” asked Mr Fielding finally.

“Certainly,” said Professor Van Dusen. and added ironically, “I have done more ridiculous things than that to convince men of less important facts.”

Of course it was an absurd thing but they decided it at that moment.

“To begin now” said Dr Ransome.

“I’d prefer tomorrow,” said The Thinking Machine. “because.”

“No, now” said Mr Fielding. “You will be locked in a cell with no chance to communicate with friends. You will receive exactly the same attention as a real prisoner, a man condemned to death. Do you still agree to do it?”

“All right. Now, if you want,” said The Thinking Machine, and he stood up. “The death-cell in Chisholm Prison?”

“Fine.”

“And what will you wear?”

“Very little,” said The Thinking Machine. “Shoes, long socks, trousers and a shirt.”

“The guards will search you, of course.”

“They must treat me like any other prisoner,” said The Thinking Machine.

And so they made the arrangements. They had to obtain permission for the experiment but all three of them wore important men and everything was finalized with a few telephone calls. The prison governors could not understand why Professor Van Dusen wanted to do it. But one thing was certain. They had never had such an important prisoner.

The Thinking Machine dressed himself in the clothes that he was going to wear in prison, and called his housekeeper.

“Martha,” he said, “it is now twenty-seven minutes past nine. I am going away. One week from tonight at half-past nine, these gentlemen and one or two others will have dinner with me here. Remember Dr Ransome likes carrots.”

A driver took the three men to Chisholm Prison. The warden was waiting for them. He understood only that Professor Van Dusen was going to be his prisoner for one week. He was not a criminal, but he must be treated just like any other prisoner.

“Search him,” said Dr Ransome.

The guards searched The Thinking Machine but they didn’t find anything. The pockets of his trousers were empty and his shirt didn’t have any pockets. They took off his shoes and socks and looked inside them. Nothing.

Dr Ransome regarded Van Dusen’s weak body and his colorless face. He was suddenly sorry about his idea.

“Are you sure you want to do this” he asked.

“Would you believe me if I didn’t do it?” The Thinking Machine replied.

“No.”

“All right, I’ll do it.”

Ransome didn’t like the arrogance in Van Dusen’s voice. His sympathy for the man disappeared. He decided that the experiment was a good thing. It would teach The Thinking Machine a lesson.

“Will it be possible for him to communicate with anyone outside the prison” he asked.

“No It will be absolutely impossible,” said the warden. “He will not have anything to write with.”

“And the guards, will they send messages for him?”

“Not one word,” said the warden. “They will tell me anything he says and they will give me anything he gives them.”

“Good,” said Mr Fielding.

“Of course if he does not escape in a week,” said Dr Ransome, “and asks to leave, you will let him go?”

“I understand,” said the warden.

Then The Thinking Machine spoke.

“I have three requests,” he said, “I would like some toothpaste and also one five-dollar and two ten- dollar bills”

“Could he bribe your guards for twenty-five dollars?”

Not even for twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“In that case, give him the money,” said Mr Fielding.

“And what is the third request” asked Dr Ransome.

“Could somebody clean my shoes?”

The three men looked very surprised. This last request seemed completely absurd, but they agreed to it anyway. After this, they took The Thinking Machine to his cell. They walked down a long corridor and stopped at the third steel door.

“Here is Cell 13,” said the warden. “This is where condemned killers are kept. No one can leave it without my permission. No one in it can communicate with anyone outside. It is very near my office and I can hear any noise that comes from it.”

“Is this cell all right, gentlemen?” asked The Thinking Machine.

“Yes, it’s perfect,” replied Fielding and Ransome together.

The guard opened the door and The Thinking Machine walked into the dark room. No sooner was he inside than the warden closed the door and locked it with a double lock. Ransome heard a noise from inside the cell.

“What is that noise” he asked through the bars.

“Rats - the cell is full of rats,” replied The Thinking Machine.

The three men said goodnight and were turning to go when The Thinking Machine called:

“What time is it exactly, warden?”

“Seventeen minutes past eleven.”

“Thanks. I will see you all in your office at half-past eight one week from this evening,” said The Thinking Machine.

“And if you do not?”

“There is no possibility of that.”