Durant scrutinized him, and his men and the Picked Guard regarded Schaeffer coldly and with distaste. Durant smoked reflectively; Schaeffer smoked with enjoyment. The two men gazed at each other in a silence that went on for a considerable time.
Then Durant said: “I understand you’re doing good work in your office, Schaeffer. Congratulations.”
Schaeffer smiled, and answered: “Thank you, Colonel. Of course, it was too bad that Potter eluded my men when they went to arrest him. Somebody must have given him a warning.”
Durant closed one eye against the smoke of his cigarette. “Yes, too bad,” he murmured. “By the way, his last pamphlets about the FBHS were particularly disturbing. Worst of all, thousands of them were not recovered, so we must deduce that the people in Philadelphia picked them up and made off with them. He must have set up his printing press in the neighborhood somewhere, for the pamphlets are still being printed and are being found daily in every shop and factory and on doorsteps. Can’t you put on extra men, or something? Potter must be found.”
He waited, smoking idly, but so alert that he began to sweat. Schaeffer’s cigar, in spite of its volume of smoke, was apparently giving him trouble. He brought out a packet of paper matches. He lit one; it went out. He lit another; it went out. He lit a third, and he applied it to his cigar. But the cigar was still not giving satisfaction. He thrust his hand, muttering, into his pocket, and produced a metal lighter. He beamed sheepishly at Durant, and said: “I always forget I have this thing! Stupid of me, isn’t it?”
Durant laughed, idly rubbed his right ear. Schaeffer smoked a moment, looked at his cigar, rubbed his left ear abstractedly. Schaeffer became grave. “Perhaps Mr. Sheridan would have done better about Potter, though I’ve done my best. He’s a wily customer.”
“But Sheridan was a traitor, himself,” said Durant, trying to control his nervous agitation. “He was probably behind Potter all the time.”
Schaeffer inclined his head. “If the colonel thinks so, perhaps the colonel is right. The colonel’s opinion won’t be questioned by me.”
He sighed. He found he was having trouble with his eye. He took out his handkerchief, carefully folded it into a smooth wedge, and dabbed his eye four times.
Good, all good. But still, there was a possibility that the FBHS had all the signals of the Minute Men. Durant continued with the next test, wording it carefully and slowly.
“Our office, in spite of Potter, commends the work of your men. I know your difficulties. The work grows harder, instead of easier, for all of us. We never know from minute to minute what problems will arise, and the problems seem to be multiplying. Something must be done, after Democracy Day.”
Schaeffer was silent; his thick light brows drew together thoughtfully. He seemed to be considering. Durant waited, and now his agitation was so intense that his fingers involuntarily clenched.
Then Schaeffer said, as slowly as had Durant: “I agree with you, sir, that the problems seem to be multiplying. The crucial point, I believe, will be after Democracy Day, if the people do not respond as expected. The work grows harder, yes, but we are adequate to the task, I believe. Difficulties, yes. We can overcome them, however, for our whole future is at stake.”
The word signals had been changed only a day or two ago, as indicated in the Chief Magistrate’s letter. The FBHS could not have had them so soon, or have decoded them so rapidly. They were too involved.
Durant said: “The celebrations for Democracy Day are to be more elaborate than usual. We have every reason to believe that the people will respond satisfactorily.”
“I know they will,” replied Schaeffer, and he pitched his voice to a certain note of enthusiasm, and to a certain intonation. “The best celebration we’ve ever had, Colonel! My speech, which I’ve been preparing very carefully with my assistants, is, I hope, more than satisfactory.” He laughed boyishly, and struck the side of his right hand on the desk, three times.
Durant sighed, and smiled. Too many signals, too many signs and imperceptible shadings of voice, to be false. Durant became aware of the boredom of his men at these amiable exchanges. Even Sadler did not have these signals in their entirety. He had been alerted in the beginning, but Durant, after a quick glance, saw that he was slightly puzzled. However, Sadler would not have the more elaborate signals. They were reserved for a few leaders in the most vital fields.
A sensation of well-being and renewed hope came to Durant, though he was careful not to betray it. Morrow had refused to respond to any signals at all; it was very possible that he was working alone, if indeed he were working for the restoration of the Republic. If he were a Minute Man, or had any connections with Minute Men, there was also the possibility that he did not trust Durant.
Schaeffer was saying: “Has Dr. Healy been asked to make a speech?” A hangnail was bothering him; he rubbed it carefully.
Durant frowned, and waited. “Healy?”
“Why, yes. He usually makes a speech about the work of psychiatry in this Section, and he’s always reminded the people, on Democracy Day, of the wonderful results he and his bureau are getting by ‘raising up new young leaders to guide us into greater liberties and greater fulfilments.’ Of course, that was before the privileged children were forced into the Federal schools. I understand he is nursing a case of violent ulcers over this and other curtailments. You might want to placate him, Colonel, and let him make his usual speech and give his side of the question. That would assure the people that you wish to preserve the freedom of the press and fredom of speech, no matter how much you disagree with him.”
“An excellent idea,” said Durant, with heartiness, after he had followed the tortuous hint to its conclusion. “Grandon, put in a call for Dr. Healy and asked him to come to see me at once.”
Schaeffer stood up, smiling placidly. He shook hands with Durant, remarked on the bad weather, and left.
It was nearer half an hour later, instead of an hour, when Dr. Joseph Healy of the Public Psychiatric Department arrived. So Durant had very little time to assume a proper facial expression of despondency and doubt and defeat. He kept his expression while studying Dr. Healy, and made some mental notes.
Dr. Healy was not quite so dapper as before, and he had a distracted and harried air. His assurance and smirking benevolence were gone. His silvery-blond hair had definite gray streaks in it, his cold blue eyes had permanent lines of anxiety about them, and his smile was feeble if ingratiating. He had lost considerable weight, and was now very thin rather than slender. His grace had become abstracted fumbling; he sat down without the former dainty arrangement of his clothing; his delicate skin had lost its healthy flush and had become pasty. Durant felt intense satisfaction. If ever a man was chronically uncertain, that man was Dr. Healy.
In the meantime, the clever doctor was also studying Durant, and he was surprised and suddenly elated at Durant’s expression of melancholy and worry. Part of his old confidence came back. He lit a cigaret with something of his former assurance.
Durant sighed. “Dr. Healy, I’m a little discouraged. I called you to talk with you about your speech on Democracy Day, which I understand you make regularly. But I also wanted to consult with you about the state of Section 7, particularly this city. Dr. Healy,” he continued, leaning toward the other with a look of profound apprehension and disturbance, “I want you to be very frank with me. I’m in a quandary. Something’s going wrong. I confess that I didn’t quite realize the importance of what you said when we had our talk a long time ago, and though I still think you are incorrect about a number of things, I’d like a little advice and your opinion.” He frowned, spread out his hands helplessly. “I’ve done my best, but the Chief Magistrate has indicated some disapproval.”
Durant was pale enough, and strained enough, and his fingers shook authentically as he put his cigaret in his mouth. The trained doctor narrowly examined him, and was so enormously relieved that color returned to his face. An expert at dissimulation, himself, he was certain th
at he could detect it in others. His voice was purring and soothing as he began to make his subtle attack on this brutal military man who had caused him so much agony these past months.
He said: “Colonel, you’ve asked me to talk with you, frankly. When I last did so, in behalf of the State, you were furious. Forgive me, but I should dislike it very much if the colonel became furious again if I were candid. I’d do almost anything to avoid antagonizing the colonel.”
Durant deliberately thought of the desperate and violent days ahead, and so without acting he could induce a look of trouble and fear. He let his mind dwell on young Vossen and the evil that had been Sheridan, and his eyes became tired and sick. Dr. Healy, watching closely, saw all this, and his elation made his heart beat rapidly.
Durant said in a worn and half-smothered voice: “Be candid with me. I promise you, in the presence of my men, that I won’t take offense against you, though I might disagree.” He made a gesture of pleading. “You’ve carried out my orders, implicitly. I’ve never had to complain to you.” Now he was humble.
Dr. Healy’s tight body relaxed. He leaned back in his chair, and a measure of his old elegance, and his feeling that he was always in command of any situation, returned. He contemplated the ceiling reflectively.
“Thank you, Colonel. I have always cooperated with the Military to the best of my ability, and I’m happy that you are pleased.” He coughed. “You’ve mentioned that ‘something has gone wrong.’ I haven’t made any reports to you, sir, because I thought you’d take umbrage against me. But you’ve asked me to be frank.”
He took his eyes from the ceiling, and put on a look of serious regret. “Yes, Colonel, ‘something has gone wrong.’ I am a trained psychiatrist, and I know that the people are very restive these days, in Section 7. I know you have acted to the best of your ability, and have worked only in the interests of the State. Nevertheless—may I indeed be frank?—I think perhaps the colonel has moved too fast and too drastically. Perhaps events needed that, because of the new war effort. Nevertheless, the new indoctrinations of my Department, accelerated though they have been of necessity, have not been able to keep up with your directives. We have had to change our tactics too much, too abruptly, to keep pace with those directives.” He paused, to let an ominous note intrude into the atmosphere. “Colonel, I can only say this: in all my years with the Department, in this Section, I have never seen the people so dangerously restless and so full of hatred.”
He shook his head. “But perhaps you know all this, Colonel?”
“Only rumors!” cried Durant defensively. “Surely you don’t credit rumors, Doctor?”
Dr. Healy smiled, shook his head again. “They aren’t rumors, Colonel. I’ve seen burning barns, myself. I’ve heard the mutterings in war plants. I’ve seen distress of my good friends, the MASTS, who, though they’ve faithfully followed every directive, are broken-hearted. The farmers are extremely indignant. All these things have been brought to my attention. I’ve tried to appease the people, and our office has—brought in—many disturbed individuals, and we haven’t been able to do much to reorient them. The devoted men in our various bureaus throughout Section 7 feel that the colonel does not fully understand their problems. Many of them have had nervous breakdowns. I’ve treated them privately, and have tried to assure them that the colonel is acting only for the best. Sir,” and he leaned quickly toward Durant, “if matters are not soon alleviated, I can’t be responsible for what might happen.”
“Ambivalence?” pleaded Durant. “You told me all about that before. You think everybody has ambivalence?” he added artlessly.
At this absurd question, Dr. Healy smiled inwardly. The charging bull was only an animal, after all. Dr. Healy saw himself laughing with his dear friends tonight about this military brute, and promising them that things would soon change.
“It’s the Minute Men! I know it!” shouted Durant, striking his desk with his fist. “I thought we’d destroyed every last one of them! Have you found any, Doctor?”
“No, Colonel. Not one. I think we have indeed destroyed ‘every last one of them.’ I think that the people are emotionally disturbed and dangerously rebellious, not because they are being ‘led’ by anyone, but spontaneously. That is very grave.”
Durant thought of the secret societies set up by the farmers, the bureaucrats, the MASTS, societies doubtless well known to Dr. Healy, and doubtless inflamed by him, advised by him, and directed expertly by him—for revolution. It was not Durant’s intention to have Dr. Healy reassure his friends too much, or have them slacken in their efforts. He frowned in concentration, and Dr. Healy believed that concentration to be anxiety and dread.
Durant simulated despair and anger. “We’ve got to do something! I’ve discounted rumors, but there are some things I haven’t been able to explain. You’ve got to help me, Doctor. What do you suggest?”
Dr. Healy thought. He, too, was in a quandary. His friends were determined to overthrow the Military, and their friends, in all the other Sections, also had this determination. The Military must go, if The Democracy were to survive, and his friends must take over the State entirely, and crush the mob once and forever.
Durant waited, well understanding the doctor’s thought processes.
“Look,” he said urgently, “why not direct your speech at the people? I’m giving newspapers full freedom to report all the speeches. The people were pleased at my directive that the children of privileged groups are to be educated in the State schools. However, Doctor, it wasn’t my intention that the other children should abuse them and persecute and torment them, the way they have been doing all these months. I sympathize with the parents. I tried to do my best, for The Democracy. So I’ll publicly give my permission, on Democracy Day, for you to explain your position that the children of the privileged groups should be educated privately and exclusively, by trained specialists, in order that they may lead our nation in the future. You’re persuasive. You can do it.”
Dr. Healy regarded him steadily. Would this soothe his friends? Would this enrage the people further? No, it would not soothe his friends; they were too aroused. But it would enrage the people against the Military, which had changed its tactics. The people’s mounting wrath would be directed against this thick dolt of a soldier, and all the Military, and they would then be more amenable to ruthless discipline and control when their superiors seized the Government. His friends had done their work excellently; their spies and inciters had been trained by himself in subtle approaches and the exactly proper methods of influencing the rabble.
Now he was excited. A few weeks, perhaps! A little extra work and effort! And it would be done! He had been hopeful at times, but more often fearful. Now he knew that he could hope fully. Durant saw him changing moment by moment, becoming what he once had been, the brilliant and dominant man and leader.
He pretended to hesitate. “Well, Colonel, I can only assure you that I’ll do my best.” He pulled himself up in his chair, and assumed an expression of resolute courage. “I’ll prepare my speech and, in view of the fact that you have given me full permission to make a frank statement before the people, with full publication in the papers. I’ll be able to state my position. With respect for the Military, of course.”
Durant smiled widely and joyously. “Thank you, Doctor! Thank you!” He thrust his hand across the desk, and half rose. “I knew I could rely upon you!”
Dr. Healy shook that hand vigorously. You can certainly rely upon me; he thought, with exultation, and he mentally made a few other comments about Durant which would have shocked the ladies among his acquaintance, the poor ladies, once so charming and happy, and now so work-worn and shrewish since their servants had been removed.
“Well, boys,” said Durant to his men, after Dr. Healy had left. “It looks as if we’re getting somewhere!”
There was a silence, then young Grandon, with a sour look on his face, said with, however, the utmost deference: “And where does the colonel think he is
going? We thought you had no use for Healy, the slimy witch-doctor!”
The young man’s eyes were cold and venomous, and Durant was startled. “You’ve got to keep the civilians happy,” he suggested.
“Why?” asked Captain Edwards.
Durant shrugged. “Temporarily, anyway. Democracy Day is coming up. Everything must be fine and enthusiastic. You know, Unity! Duty! Sac-ri-fice!”
His remark did not stir a smile. Six pairs of eyes fixed themselves on him without kindliness.
It had been snowing heavily all day, and a gray blizzard whirled over the city. Sadler remarked that though it was only five o’clock it might be best for the colonel to start home before the roads were blocked. The four Army officers were to attend a pre-holiday affair, and would probably remain in the city overnight. Durant was very tired. He was eager to go back to the warm farmhouse, so he and the Picked Guards left the building.
He was getting into his car when a voice hailed him, and the bland, good-tempered face and figure of Karl Schaeffer loomed through the white gale. “I was about to leave a copy of my speech with you, Colonel. I’ve just finished it,” he said, unstrapping his suitcase. “I couldn’t send it, for it is very confidential.”
Durant was pleased to see him, but had no interest in the speech. He waved his hand, and shuddered in the cold. “You know what to do, Karl,” he said largely. “As for me, I’m going home to a fire and whisky, and a book. Besides, I want to see the pre-Democracy Day shows on the television set. I understand Margaret Stanley will be especially good. Give my holiday regards to Mr. Kirk.” He waved, and went toward his car. Then he heard Schaeffer say to Sadler: “Haven’t I seen you somewhere, Lieutenant? Before today, months ago?”