Part 3 (1/2)
”Hi, Dad,” he said, with that apologetic smile of his. ”Sorry to bother you during office hours, but could I borrow fifty? Pay you back next week.”
I threw a phony scowl at him. ”Running short, eh? Have you been betting on the stickball teams again?”
He cast his eyes skyward, and raised the three fingers of his right hand. ”Scout's Honor, Dad, I spent it on a new turbine for my ElectroFord.” Then he lowered his hand and looked down from the upper regions. ”I really did. I forgot that I was supposed to take Mary Ellen out this evening. Car-happy, I guess. Can you advance the fifty?”
I threw away my phony scowl and gave him a smile. ”Sure, Stevie. How's Mary Ellen?”
”Swell. She's all excited about going to the Art Ball tonight--that's why I didn't want to disappoint her.”
”Slow up, son,” I told him, ”you've already made your pitch and been accepted. You'll get your fifty, so don't push it. Want to come down here and pick it up?”
”Can do. And have I told you that you'll be invited to the wedding?”
”Thanks, pal. Can I give the groom away?” It was a family joke that we'd kicked back and forth ever since he had met Mary Ellen, two years before.
”Sure thing. See you in a couple of hours. Bye, Dad.” He cut off, and I looked at the Duke.
”Sorry. Now, you were saying?”
”Perfectly all right.” He smiled. ”I have two of my own at home.
”At any rate, I was saying that the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard has become interested in this experiment of yours, so I was sent over to get all the first-hand information I can.
Frankly, I volunteered for the job; I was eager to come. There are plenty of skeptics at the Yard, I'll admit, but I'm not one of them.
If the thing's workable, I want to see it used in England.”
Here was another man who wasn't tied to the ”system.”
”D'you mind if I ask some questions?” he said.
”Go ahead, Your Grace. If I can't answer 'em, I'll say so.”
”Thanks. First off, I'll tell you what I _do_ know--get my own knowledge of the background straight, so to speak. Now, as I understand it, the courts have agreed--temporarily, at least--that any person convicted of certain types of crimes must undergo a psychiatric examination before sentencing. Right?”
”That's right.”
”Then, depending on the result of that examination, the magistrate of the court may sentence the offender to undertake psychiatric therapy instead of sending him to a penal inst.i.tution, such time in therapy not to exceed the maximum time of imprisonment originally provided for the offense under the law.
”His sentence is suspended, in other words, if he will agree to the therapy. If, after he is released by the psychiatrists, he behaves himself, he is not imprisoned. If he misbehaves, he must serve out the original sentence, plus any new sentence that may be imposed. Have I got it straight so far?”
”Perfectly.”
”As I understand it, you've had astounding success.” He looked, in spite of what he had said about skepticism, as though he thought the reports he'd heard were exaggerated.
”So far,” I said evenly, ”not a single one of our 'patients' has failed us.”
He looked amazed, but he didn't doubt me. ”And you've been in operation for how long?”
”A little over a year since the first case. But I think the record will stand the same way five, ten, fifty years from now.