"Are all your grandfather's belongings still in the house?" asked the scientist.
"Yes, everything just as he left it; that is, except his dog and a parrot. They are temporarily in charge of a widow down the road here."
The scientist looked at Dr. Ballard quickly. "What sort of dog is it?" he inquired.
"A St. Bernard, I think," replied Dr. Ballard wonderingly.
"Do you happen to have a glove or something that you know your grandfather wore?"
"I have a glove, yes."
From the debris which littered the floor of the house, a well worn glove was recovered.
"Now, the dog, please," commanded the scientist.
A short walk along the country road brought them to a house, and here they stopped. The St. Bernard, a shaggy, handsome, boisterous old chap, with wise eyes, was led out in leash. The Thinking Machine thrust the glove forward, and the dog sniffed at it. After a moment he sank down on his haunches, and with head thrust forward and upward, whined softly. It was the call of the brute soul to its master.
The Thinking Machine patted the heavy-coated head, and with the glove still in his hand made as if to go away. Again came the whine, but the dog sank down on the floor, with his head between his forepaws, regarding him intently. For ten minutes the scientist sought to coax the animal to follow him, but still he lay motionless.
"I don't mind keepin' that dog here; but that parrot is powerful noisy," said the woman after a moment. She had been standing by watching the scientist curiously. "There ain't no peace in the house."
"Noisy-how?" asked Dr. Ballard.
"He swears, and sings and whistles, and does 'rithmetic all day long," the woman explained. "It nearly drives me distracted."
"Does arithmetic?" inquired The Thinking Machine.
"Yes," replied the woman, "and he swears just terrible. It's almost like havin' a man about the house. There he goes now."
From another room came a sudden, squawking burst of profanity, followed instantly by a whistle, which caused the dog on the floor to prick up his ears.
"Does the parrot talk well?" asked the scientist.
"Just like a human bein'," replied the woman, "an' just about as sensible as some I've seen. I don't mind his whistling, if only he wouldn't swear so, and do all his figgerin' out loud."
For a minute or more the scientist stood staring down at the dog in deep thought. Gradually there came some subtle change in his expression. Dr. Ballard was watching him closely.
"I think perhaps it would be a good idea for me to keep the parrot for a few days," suggested the scientist finally. He turned to the woman. "Just what sort of arithmetic does the bird do?"
"All kinds," she answered promptly. "He does all the multiplication table. But he ain't very good in subtraction."
"I shouldn't be surprised," commented The Thinking Machine. "I'll take the bird for a few days, doctor, if you don't mind."
And so it came to pass that when The Thinking Machine returned to his apartments he was accompanied by as noisy and vociferous a companion as one would care to have.
Martha, the aged servant, viewed him with horror as he entered. "The perfessor do be gettin' old," she muttered. "I suppose there'll be a cat next."
Two days later Dr. Ballard was called to the telephone. The Thinking Machine was at the other end of the wire.
"Take two men whom you can trust and go down to your grandfather's place," instructed the scientist curtly. "Take picks, shovels, a compass, and a long tape line. Stand on the front steps facing east. To your right will be an apple tree some distance off that lot on the adjoining property. Go to that apple tree. A boulder is at its foot. Measure from the edge of that stone twenty-six feet due north by the compass, and from that point fourteen feet due west. You will find your money there. Then please have some one come and take this bird away. If you don't, I'll wring its neck. It's the most blasphemous creature I ever heard. Good bye."
Dr. Ballard slipped the catch on the suit case and turned it upside down on the laboratory table. It was packed-literally packed-with United States bonds. The Thinking Machine fingered them idly.
"And there is this too," said Dr. Ballard.
He lifted a stout sack from the floor, cut the string, and spilled out its contents beside the bonds. It was gold-thousands and thousands of dollars. Dr. Ballard was frankly excited about it; The Thinking Machine accepted it as he accepted all material things.
"How much is there of it?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know," replied Dr. Ballard.
"And how did you find it?"
"As you directed-twenty-six feet north from the boulder, and fourteen feet west from that point."
"I knew that, of course," snapped The Thinking Machine; "but how was it hidden?"
"It's rather peculiar," explained Dr. Ballard. "Fourteen feet brought the man who had measured it to the edge of an old, dried up well, twelve or fifteen feet deep. Not expecting any such thing, he tumbled into it. In his efforts to get out he stepped upon a stone which protruded from one side. That fell out, and revealed the wooden box, which contained all this."
"In other words," said the scientist, "the money was hidden in such a manner that it would in time have come to be buried twelve or fifteen feet below the surface, because the well, being dry, would ultimately, of course, have been filled in."
Dr. Ballard had been listening only hazily. His hands had been plowing in and out of the heap of gold. The Thinking Machine regarded him with something like contempt about his thin-lipped mouth.
"How-how did you ever do it?" asked Dr. Ballard at last.
"I am surprised that you want to know," remarked The Thinking Machine cuttingly. "You know how I reached the conclusion that the money was not hidden either in the house or lot. The plain logic of the thing told me that, even before the search you had made demonstrated it. You saw how logic narrowed down the search, and you saw my experiment with the dog. That was purely an experiment. I wanted to see the instinct of the animal. Would it lead him anywhere?-perhaps to the spot where the money had been hidden? It did not.
"But the parrot? That was another matter. It just happens that once before I had an interesting experience with a bird-a cockatoo which figured in a sleep walking case-and naturally was interested in this bird. Now, what were the circumstances in this case? Here was a bird that talked exceptionally well, yet that bird had been living for five years alone with an old man. It is a fact that, no matter how well a parrot may talk, it will forget in the course of time, unless there is some one around it who talks. This old man was the only person near this bird; therefore, from the fact that the bird talks, we know that the old man talked; from the fact that the bird repeated the multiplication table, we know that the old man repeated it; from the fact that the bird whistles, we know that the old man whistled, perhaps to the dog. And in the course of five years under these circumstances, a bird would have come to that point where it would repeat only the words or sounds that the old man used.
"All this shows too that the old man talked to himself. Most people who live alone a great deal do that. Then came a question as to whether at any time the old man had ever repeated the secret of the hiding place within the hearing of the bird-not once but many times, because it takes a parrot a long time to learn phrases. When we know the vindictiveness which lay behind the old man's actions in hiding the money, when we know how the thing preyed on his mind, coupled with the fact that he talked to himself, and was not wholly sound mentally, we can imagine him doddering about the place alone, repeating the very thing of which he had made so great a secret. Thus, the bird learned it, but learned it disjointedly, not connectedly; so when I brought the parrot here, my idea was to know by personal observation what the bird said that didn't connect-that is, that had no obvious meaning, I hoped to get a clue which would result, just as the clue I did get did result.
"The bird's trick of repeating the multiplication table means nothing except it shows the strange workings of an unbalanced mind. And yet, there is one exception to this. In a disjointed sort of way, the bird knows all the multiplication tables to ten, except one. For instance-listen!"
The Thinking Machine crept stealthily to a door and opened it softly a few inches. From somewhere out there came the screeching of the parrot. For several minutes they listened in silence. There was a flood of profanity, a shrill whistle or two, then the squawking voice ran off into a monotone.
"Six times one are six, six time two are twelve, six times three are eighteen, six times four are twenty-four-and add two."
"That's it," explained the scientist, as he closed the door. " 'Six times four are twenty-four-and add two.' That's the one table the bird doesn't know. The thing is incoherent, except as applied to a peculiar method of remembering a number. That number is twenty-six. On one occasion I heard the bird repeat a dozen times, 'Twenty-six feet to the polar star.' That could mean nothing except the direction of the twenty-six feet-due north. One of the first things I noticed the bird saying was something about fourteen feet to the setting sun-or due west. When set down with the twenty-six, I could readily see that I had something to go on.
"But where was the starting point? Again, logic. There was no tree or stone inside the lot, except the apple tree which your workmen cut down, and that was more than twenty-six feet from the boundary of the lot in all directions. There was one tree in the adjoining lot, an apple tree with a boulder at its foot. I knew that by observation. And there was no other tree, I knew also, within several hundred feet; therefore, that tree, or boulder rather, as a starting point-not the tree so much as the boulder, because the tree might be cut down, or would in time decay. The chances are the stone would have been allowed to remain there indefinitely. Naturally your grandfather would measure from a prominent point-the boulder. That is all. I gave you the figures. You know the rest."
For a minute or more, Dr. Ballard stared at him blankly. "How was it you knew," he asked, "that the directions should have been first twenty-six feet north, then fourteen feet west, instead of first fourteen west, and then twenty-six feet north?"
"I didn't know," replied The Thinking Machine. "If you had failed to find the money by those directions, I should merely have reversed the order."
Half an hour later Dr. Ballard went away, carrying the money and the parrot in its cage. The bird cursed The Thinking Machine roundly, as Dr. Ballard went down the steps.