The man sitting on the sofa faced the small group assembled in his suite. “Gentlemen,” he began slowly, “some of you already know that Duncan has decided not to run with me. That leaves us, at present, without a candidate. My friends, we’ve got to announce someone soon, someone as good as Duncan, and I say this despite the distressing discoveries about Duncan’s past that have unfortunately surfaced.”
Schneider spoke out. “It wasn’t easy to come up even with Duncan,” he said, “and let’s not kid ourselves … whom can we possibly get at this late date? Shellman is going to stay with his firm. I don’t think Frank can even be considered, given his miserable record as president of the university.”
“What about George?” a voice asked.
“George has just had another operation—the second in three months. He’s an obvious health risk.”
There was silence in the room. It was then that O’Flaherty spoke. “I think I have someone,” he said quietly. “What about Chauncey Gardiner?” All eyes turned to the man on the sofa who was drinking his coffee.
“Gardiner?” the man on the sofa said. “Chauncey Gardiner? We don’t really know anything about him, do we? Our people haven’t been able to find out one single blessed thing. And he certainly hasn’t been of any help: he hasn’t said a thing about himself ever since he moved in with the Rands four days ago….”
“Then I would like to state,” said O’Flaherty, “that this makes me think of Gardiner as an even better bet.”
“Why?” several men chorused.
O’Flaherty spoke easily: “What was the trouble with Duncan? With Frank and with Shellman, for that matter, and with so many of the others we’ve considered and have had to reject? The damn trouble was that they all had background, too much background! A man’s past cripples him: his background turns into a swamp and invites scrutiny!”
He waved his arms excitedly. “But just consider Gardiner. May I stress what you have just heard from a most authoritative voice: Gardiner has no background! And so he’s not and cannot be objectionable to anyone! He’s personable, well-spoken, and he comes across well on TV! And, as far as his thinking goes, he appears to be one of us. That’s all. It’s clear what he isn’t. Gardiner is our one chance.”
Schneider crushed out his cigar. “O’Flaherty just tapped something,” he said. “Something big. Hmmmm … Gardiner, Gardiner …”
A waiter entered with steaming pots of fresh coffee and the discussion continued.
Chance pushed his way through the throng of dancing couples toward the exit. In his eyes there lingered yet a faint, blurred image of the grand ballroom, of the trays of refreshments at the buffet, the multicolored flowers, brilliant bottles, rows upon rows of shining glasses on the table. He caught sight of EE as she was embraced by a tall, heavily decorated general. He passed through a blaze of photographers’ flash-guns as through a cloud. The image of all he had seen outside the garden faded.
Chance was bewildered. He reflected and saw the withered image of Chauncey Gardiner: it was cut by the stroke of a stick through a stagnant pool of rain water. His own image was gone as well.
He crossed the hall. Chilled air streamed in through an open window. Chance pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped out into the garden. Taut branches laden with fresh shoots, slender stems with tiny sprouting buds shot upward. The garden lay calm, still sunk in repose. Wisps of clouds floated by and left the moon polished. Now and then, boughs rustled and gently shook off their drops of water. A breeze fell upon the foliage and nestled under the cover of its moist leaves. Not a thought lifted itself from Chance’s brain. Peace filled his chest.
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