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diff --git a/old/69606-0.txt b/old/69606-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ee00579..0000000 --- a/old/69606-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14282 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Weird Tales, Volume 1, Number 2, -April, 1923, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Weird Tales, Volume 1, Number 2, April, 1923 - The unique magazine - -Author: Various - -Editor: Edwin Baird - -Release Date: December 22, 2022 [eBook #69606] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Wouter Franssen and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WEIRD TALES, VOLUME 1, NUMBER -2, APRIL, 1923 *** - -Transcriber’s Note: Stories that were originally split over pages, -with adverts and/or other stories in between, have been recombined. - - - - - -[Illustration] - -Electricity Needs You - - -I WILL TRAIN YOU AT HOME - -Stop right here. This is YOUR opportunity! Electricity is calling you, -and the Electrical Business is in for a tremendous increase. But it needs -more trained men—at big pay. By my =Home Study Course= in =Practical= -Electricity I can train you for these positions. - -Earn $70 to $200 a Week - -You’ve always had a liking for Electricity and a hankering to do -electrical jobs. Now is the time to develop that talent; there’s big -money in it. Even if you don’t know anything at all about Electricity you -can quickly grasp it by my up-to-date, practical method of teaching. You -will find it intensely interesting and highly profitable. I’ve trained -and started hundreds of men in the Electrical Business, men who have made -big successes. YOU CAN ALSO - -Be a Big Paid ELECTRICAL EXPERT - -What are you doing to prepare yourself for a real success? At the rate -you are going where will you be in ten years from now? Have you the -specialized training that will put you on the road to success? Have you -ambition enough to =prepare= for success, and get it? - -You have the ambition and I will give you the training, so =get busy=. -I am offering you =success= and all that goes with it. Will you take -it? I’ll make you an ELECTRICAL EXPERT. I will train you as you should -be trained. I will give you the benefit of my advice and 20 years of -engineering experience and help you in every way to the biggest, possible -success. - -Valuable Book Free - -My book, “How to Become an Electrical Expert,” has started many a man on -the way to fortune. I will send a copy, free and prepaid, to every person -answering this advertisement. - -Act Now! - -Good intentions never get you anywhere. It is action, alone, that counts. -NOW IS THE TIME TO ACT. - - L. L. COOKE, Chief Engineer - - CHICAGO - ENGINEERING - WORKS - 2150 LAWRENCE AVENUE - Dept. 43-b, Chicago, U. S. A. - - * * * * * - -FREE! - -BIG ELECTRICAL OUTFIT - -A fine outfit of Electrical Tools, Instruments, Materials, etc., -absolutely FREE to every student. I will also send you FREE and fully -prepaid—Proof Lessons to show you how easily you can learn Electricity -and enter this splendid profession by my new, revised and original system -of Training by Mail. - -RADIO COURSE FREE - -Special newly-written wireless course worth $45.00 given away =free=. -Full particulars when you mail coupon below. - -Earn Money While Learning - -I give you something you can use _now_. Early in my _Home Study Course_ -I show you how to begin making money in Electricity, and help you get -started. No need to wait until the whole course is completed. Hundreds of -students have made several times the cost of their course in spare time -work while learning. - - CHIEF ENGINEER COOKE - Chicago Engineering Works - Dept. 43-b. 2150 Lawrence Av. - CHICAGO, ILL. - - _Dear Sir_: You may send me entirely free and fully prepaid, a - copy of your book, “How to Become an Electrical Expert,” and - particulars about your =Home Study Course in Electricity=, - - Name ____________________________________________________ - - Address _________________________________________________ - - City _______________________________ State ______________ - - - - -WEIRD TALES - -THE UNIQUE MAGAZINE - - -EDWIN BAIRD, Editor - -Published monthly by THE RURAL PUBLISHING CORPORATION, 325 N. Capitol -Ave., Indianapolis, Ind. Application made for entry as second-class -matter at the postoffice at Indianapolis, Indiana. Single copies, 25 -cents. Subscription, $3.00 a year in the United States; $3.50 in Canada. -The publishers are not responsible for manuscripts lost in transit. -Address all manuscripts and other editorial matters to WEIRD TALES, 354 -N. Clark St., Chicago, Ill. The contents of this magazine are fully -protected by copyright and publishers are cautioned against using the -same, either wholly or in part. - -Copyright, 1923, by The Rural Publishing Corporation. - - VOLUME 1 25 Cents NUMBER 2 - - - - -Contents for April, 1923 - - SIXTEEN THRILLING SHORT STORIES - TWO COMPLETE NOVELETTES - TWO TWO-PART STORIES - INTERESTING, ODD AND WEIRD HAPPENINGS - - - The Scar CARL RASMUS 7 - _A Thrilling Novelette._ - - Beyond the Door PAUL SUTER 23 - _A Short Story of Gripping Interest._ - - The Tortoise Shell Comb ROYLSTON MARKHAM 34 - _A Fantasy of a Mad Brain._ - - A Photographic Phantasm PAUL CRUMPLER 37 - - The Living Nightmare ANTON M. OLIVER 38 - _A Night in a House of Death._ - - The Incubus HAMILTON CRAIGIE 42 - _A Frightful Adventure in an Ancient Tomb._ - - The Bodymaster HAROLD WARD 49 - _An Amazing Novelette._ - - Jungle Death ARTEMUS CALLOWAY 70 - _A Story in Which Crocodiles and Voodooism Play the - Stellar Roles._ - - The Snake Fiend FARNSWORTH WRIGHT 75 - _A Tale of Diabolic Terror._ - - A Square of Canvas ANTHONY M. RUD 81 - _A Story of an Insane Artist._ - - The Affair of the Man in Scarlet JULIAN KILMAN 91 - _A Weird Story of the Thirteenth Century._ - - The Hideous Face VICTOR JOHNS 99 - _A Grim Tale of Frightful Revenge._ - - The Forty Jars RAY MCGILLIVRAY 105 - _A Strange Story of the Orient._ - - The Whispering Thing LAURIE MCCLINTOCK and CULPEPER CHUNN 116 - _A Two-part Novel of Death and Terror._ - - The Thing of a Thousand Shapes OTIS ADELBERT KLINE 139 - _The Concluding Chapters of a Weird Novel._ - - The Conquering Will TED OLSON 152 - _Do the Dead Return to Life?_ - - Six Feet of Willow CARROL F. MICHENER 157 - _The Strange Tale of a Yellow Man and His Beloved Reptile._ - - The Hall of the Dead FRANCIS D. GRIERSON 163 - _An Occult Story of Ancient Egypt._ - - The Parlor Cemetery C. E. HOWARD 169 - _A Grisly Satire._ - - Golden Glow HARRY IRVING SHUMWAY 173 - _A “Haunted House” Story with a Touch of Humor._ - - The Eyrie BY THE EDITOR 179 - - YOUNG & WARD, 168 N. Michigan Boulevard, Chicago, - Advertising Agents for WEIRD TALES - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Copy this sketch] - -FREE $80 Drafting Course - -There is such an urgent demand for practical, trained Draftsman that I -am making this special offer in order to enable deserving, ambitious and -bright men to get into this line of work. I will teach you to become a -Draftsmen and Designer, until you are drawing a salary up to $250.00 -a month. You need not pay me for my personal instruction or for the -complete set of instruments. - -Draftsman’s Pocket Rule Free—To Everyone Sending Sketch - -[Illustration: _Send above Sketch and Get This_ Ivorine Pocket Rule -_FREE_] - -To every person of 16 years or older sending a sketch I am going to -mail free and prepaid the Draftsman’s Ivorine Pocket rule shown here. -This will come entirely with my compliments. With it I will send a 6x9 -book on “Successful Draftsmanship.” If you are interested in becoming a -draftsman, if you think you have or may attain drafting ability, sit down -and copy this drawing, mailing it to me today, writing your name, and -your address and your age plainly on the sheet of paper containing the -drawing. There are no conditions requiring you to buy anything. You are -under no obligation in sending in your sketch. What I want to know is how -much you are interested in drawing and your sketch will tell me that. - -_Positions Paying Up to_ $250 and $300 per Month - -I am Chief Draftsman of the Engineers’ Equipment Co. and I know that -there are thousands of ambitious men who would like to better themselves, -make more money and secure faster advancement. Positions paying up to -$250 and $300 per month, which ought to be filled by skilled draftsmen, -are vacant. I want to find the men who with practical training and -personal assistance will be qualified to fill these positions. No man -can hope to share in the great coming prosperity in manufacturing and -building unless he is properly trained and is able to do first class -practical work. - -I know that this is the time to get ready. That is why I am making the -above offer. I can now take and train a limited number of students -personally and I will give those students a guarantee to give them by -mail practical drawing room training until they are placed in a permanent -position with a salary up to $250 and $300 per month. You should act -promptly on this offer because it is my belief that even though you start -now the great boom will be well on by the time you are ready to accept a -position as a skilled draftsman. So write to me at once. Enclose sketch -or not, as you choose, but find out about the opportunities ahead of you. -Let me send you the book “Successful Draftsmanship” telling how you may -take advantage of these opportunities by learning drafting at home. - -[Illustration: FREE - -this $25 Draftsman’s Working Outfit] - -These are regular working instruments—the kind I use myself. I give them -free to you if you enroll at once. Don’t delay. Send for full information -today. - -Mail Your Drawing at Once—_and Get an Ivorine Pocket Rule Absolutely_ -Free! - -Ambitious men interested in drafting hurry! Don’t wait! This is your -opportunity to get into this great profession. Accept the offer which -I am making now. Send in your sketch or request for free book and free -Ivorine Pocket Rule, - - Chief Draftsman, Engineers’ Equipment Co., - 1951 Lawrence Av. - Div. 13-94, Chicago - - * * * * * - -[Illustration] - -“Good-Bye—I’m Very Glad to Have Met You” - -But he _isn’t_ glad. He is smiling to hide his confusion. He would have -given anything to avoid the embarrassment, the discomfort he has just -experienced. _Every day_ people who are not used to good society make the -mistake that he is making. Do you know what it is? Can you point it out? - -He couldn’t know, of course, that he was going to meet his sister’s best -chum—and that she was going to introduce him to one of the most charming -young women he had ever seen. If he had known, he could have been -prepared. Instead of being ill at ease and embarrassed, he could have -been entirely calm and well poised. Instead of blustering and blundering -for all the world as though he had never spoken to a woman before, he -could have had a delightful little chat. - -And now, while they are turning to go, he realizes what a clumsy boor -he must seem to be—how ill-bred they must think him. How annoying these -little unexpected problems can be! How aggravating to be taken off one’s -guard! It must be a wonderful feeling to know exactly what to do and say -at all times, under all circumstances. - -“Goodbye, I’m very glad to have met you.” he says in an effort to cover -up his other blunders. Another blunder, though he doesn’t realize it! Any -well-bred person knows that he made a mistake, that he committed a social -error. It is just such little blunders as these that rob us of our poise -and dignity—and at moments when we need this poise and dignity more than -ever. - -What Was His Blunder? - -Do you know what his blunder was? Do you know why it was incorrect for -him to say “Goodbye, I’m very glad to have met you”? - -What would you say if you had been introduced to a woman and were leaving -her? What would you do if you encountered her again the next day? Would -you offer your hand in greeting, or would you wait until she gave the -first sign of recognition? - -Are You Sure of Yourself? - -If you received an invitation to a very important formal function -today, what would you do? Would you sit right down and acknowledge it -with thanks or regrets, or would you wait a few days? Would you know -exactly what is correct to wear to a formal evening function? Would you -be absolutely sure of avoiding embarrassment in the dining-room, the -drawing-room, when arriving and when leaving? - -Everyone knows that good manners make “good mixers.” If you always know -the right thing to do and say, no social door will be barred to you, you -will never feel out of place no matter where or with whom you happen to -be. - -Do you feel “alone” at a social gathering, or do you know how to make -yourself an integral part of the function—how to create conversation and -keep it flowing smoothly, how to make and acknowledge introductions, how -to ask for a dance if you are a man, how to accept it if you are a woman? - -Famous Book of Etiquette in Two Volumes, Sent Free for Five Days’ -Examination - -Here is your opportunity to read, study and examine the complete, -two-volume set of the Book of Etiquette absolutely without cost. For 5 -days you may keep the set and examine it at our expense. Read the chapter -on wedding etiquette, on the bride’s trousseau, on speech, on dancing. -Don’t miss the chapter called “Games and Sports” and be sure to read -about the origin of our social customs—why rice is thrown after the -bride, why black is the color of mourning, why a tea-cup is given to the -engaged girl. - -You be the judge. If you are not thoroughly delighted with the Book of -Etiquette, if you do now feel that a set should be in your home—in every -home—just return it to us and the examination will not have cost you -anything. But if you are delighted, as we know you will be, just send us -$3.50 in full payment—and the books are yours. - -Surely you are not going to miss this opportunity to examine the Book of -Etiquette free? We know you are going to clip and mail the coupon at once. - - NELSON DOUBLEDAY, Inc. - Dept. 1504 Garden City, New York - - FREE EXAMINATION COUPON - - NELSON DOUBLEDAY, Inc., - Dept. 1504, Garden City, New York. - - Without money in advance, or obligation on my part, send me the - Two-Volume set of the Book of Etiquette. Within 5 days I will - either return the books or send you $3.50 in full payment. It - is understood that I am not obligated to keep the books if I am - not delighted with them. - - Name ____________________________________________ - (Please write plainly) - - Address _________________________________________ - - □ Check this square if you want these books with the =beautiful - full-leather= binding at $5.00 with 5 days’ examination - privilege. - - Orders outside U. S. are payable $3.50 cash with order. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration] - -What Every Criminal Fears - -It’s easy enough to make a “getaway”—But - -What will he leave behind him? - -What will tell the police he has been there? - -Just one tiny finger print—and his game is up! He might as well leave his -name, address and photograph as leave a finger print at the scene of the -crime. - -He can change his name, he can change his appearance, but he can’t fool -the finger print expert. The tiny patterns on the tips of his fingers -are just the same now as on the day he was born. They cannot be changed. -There are no other prints like his in the world. - -That is why finger print identification has become one of the most -important phases of detective work. That is why its uses are being -increased every day. That is why ambitious men looking for jobs that -offer real opportunity prepare themselves to take up this fascinating -work. - -There are more jobs now than trained men to fill them. And with the rapid -growth of this science, new positions and offices are being created every -day. - -Be a Finger Print Expert - -Learn at Home—30 Minutes a Day - -30 minutes a day for a short time. That’s all that is necessary. You -need not give up your present occupation while studying this fascinating -profession. I am a finger print expert myself and I give you just the -kind of training that prepares you to be a finger print expert—that -assures you of a position. The finger print expert is always in demand. -More men are needed right now. Get into this big paying profession. - -FREE FINGER PRINT OUTFIT - -To those who enroll right now I am going to give absolutely free -a professional finger-print outfit—the kind that is used by all -finger-print experts. Besides, a valuable course in Secret Service -intelligence is given Free to all my students. This information in itself -is worth many times the cost of the complete course. But you get it Free. - -WRITE - -Write to me today. I will send you full information about this -fascinating big-paying profession. 30 minutes a day is all the time -necessary to master this profession. You get free the finger-print -outfit—Secret Service course is also free and you are guaranteed a -position as soon as you have finished this course. Send in the coupon. -Hurry. - - U. S. SCHOOL OF FINGER PRINTS - 7003 No. Clark St. Dept. 13-94 Chicago, Ill. - -Positions Guaranteed - -In what other line of work can you always be assured of a position? Here -is my offer to you. I GUARANTEE YOU A POSITION. As soon as you have -finished my course you have a position waiting for you. Get started right -now. Send in the coupon today. - - U. S. SCHOOL OF FINGER PRINTS, - Dept. 13-94, 7003 No. Clark St., Chicago, Ill. - - Without any obligations whatsoever please send me full - information about your “Guaranteed Position Offer—Free Finger - Print Outfit.” Also tell me how I can become a Finger Print - Expert. - - Name _________________________________ Age ____ - - Address _______________________________________ - - City ____________________________ State _______ - - - - -THE SCAR - -_A Thrilling Novelette_ - -By CARL RAMUS, M. D. - - -“Thanks for the lift, Edwards. Come in for a minute, won’t you?” - -“No. I was up nearly all last night, and must get some sleep.” - -“To be sure! But you’ve time for a nip before you go.” - -“Well—since you put it that way, and in these arid times——” - -“Good! Come along.” - -Dr. Herbert Carlson opened the door of his office on the first floor with -his latch key, snapped on the lights, and entered with his colleague, Dr. -Clark Edwards. Carlson hung up his overcoat and hat, and Edwards threw -his own over a chair, and then Carlson produced from an inner room a -bottle, two glasses, and a siphon of carbonic. - -“Like the good old days,” smiled Edwards, sipping his glass. “_How_ do -you get it?” - -“A voluntary donation from a grateful patient, a second steward on board -the—but that would be telling.” - -Edwards took another sip. “I wish I had one or two patients like that!” - -“You’re not likely to get them as long as you stick to _your_ specialty.” - -“I suppose not—Hello! What’s all that shouting for?” - -Both men listened. Newsboys were yelling an “Extra.” Carlson opened a -window, leaned far out, and drew up a paper. - -“Just another bank robbery. They’re so common now as to be hardly worth -mentioning.” - -“Exactly. Anything new in the Holden case?” - -“Let’s see.... O yes! Here it is: ‘Father of Ina Holden gets another -threatening letter.’” - -Edwards’ jaw set. “If I had my way,” he said, “every kidnapper would go -to the chair!” - -“I’ll go you one better. If I had _my_ way, they’d get the Georgia -treatment!” - -“What’s that?” - -“Lynching!” - -Edwards was silent. - -“The trouble is,” Carlson went on, “that we have too much legal red tape, -too much politics, too many lawyers, and too little real law.” - -“I suppose so,” said Edwards. “When we haven’t children of our own, it -takes some special circumstance to bring home to us the meaning of a -damnable crime like kidnapping. This Holden case brings it home to me.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Very much so. It has to do with an unusual surgical case, which I -believe was reported in the International Journal of Surgery or _The -London Lancet_ by Professor Meyerovitch.” - -“I don’t remember reading it. Please tell me about it.” - -“I will. It was when I was house surgeon at the Presbyterian Hospital in -Chicago. One night a child of seven was brought in with all the signs of -fulminating appendicitis. That child was Ina Holden.” - -“Ah!” - -“It was a private case of old Meyerovitch’s, and he decided on immediate -operation. Now Meyerovitch was one of the few really good surgeons who -wouldn’t use either the McBurney or Kamerer incision for appendicitis. He -just cut down over the trouble and through everything in one line.” - -“Fool!” - -“Most of us thought so then, but somehow Meyerovitch always got good -results—_always_.” - -“Pure accident.” - -“Perhaps so. But, anyhow, when little Ina was under the anaesthetic, -and Meyerovitch had his knife in one hand—his left, by the way—and was -testing the tension of the abdomen with the other hand, he said, ‘I will -need plenty of room here.’ And then he surprised us all by making a -reversed Senn incision.” - -“I don’t seem to remember that incision,” said Carlson, after a slight -pause. “What is it?” - -“An S-shaped incision devised by Nicholas Senn when he was Professor of -Surgery at Rush Medical College. You young fellows in New York don’t as a -rule know about that incision.” - -“But, Edwards, as I remember, Senn recommended the McBurney method in his -book.” - -“Yes, for appendicitis. He only used the S in neck operations. And so -when Meyerovitch used it on Ina Holden, it was the first time on record -for appendicitis, and probably the last.” - -“Most likely. And how did the case get along?” - -“Better than any of us expected. It was a drainage case, of course, and -took some time to dry up. But the wound finally healed perfectly, with no -suggestion of weakness, and left a large scar like a reversed S.” - -“Meyerovitch’s bull luck.” - -“Yes. I saw the child every day for more than a month and got much -attached to her. She wouldn’t let anyone else dress the wound, and after -she went home, the family often invited me to the house.” - -“They’re very rich, aren’t they?” - -“They are, now, but they weren’t then. Mr. Holden owned some manganese -land in California, and when the Western Pacific laid its tracks over a -corner of his property, he was a rich man.” - -The colleagues silently finished their illegal glasses. Then Edwards -looked at his watch and rose from his chair. - -“Good night, Herbert, and many thanks for the drink.” - -Carlson, alone, looked at a memorandum that his sister had left on his -desk. - -“Nothing more for tonight, thank God,” he thought with relief. - -He closed and fastened the windows, bolted the door, and was passing into -his bedroom, when the telephone rang. - -“Damn! Why didn’t I muffle it?” - -He put the receiver to his ear. - -“Well?” he said abruptly. - -“Doctor Carlson speaking?” - -“Yes.” - -“Can you come at once to a very sick case?” - -“I’m sorry, but I can’t. My car is out of order, and I’m not very well -myself tonight.” - -“But this case is extremely urgent, sir, and we don’t want anyone else -but you.” - -“Thank you, but——” - -“Please listen, Doctor. I’ll have a car for you in five minutes, and take -you home afterwards, if you’ll only come.” - -“Try another doctor first.” - -“We _have_ tried, but can’t find one of the only other two we have -confidence in. Money is no object. Please do reconsider, Doctor.” - -“Who recommended me to you? Do I know you?” - -“I do not know you personally. But you are highly recommended by the -Brooklyn Hospital. Once more let me say that your fee can be as large as -you like.” - -Carlson did not answer for a while. - -“All right, I’ll go,” he said at last. “What is it—a medical or surgical -case?” - -After a short silence, the voice replied: “Medical, I think. But you had -better come prepared to do whatever is necessary.” - -“Very well. I’ll be ready when you call for me.” - -Carlson placed his medical and surgical bags on the table, put on his -overcoat and hat, and sat down to wait. - -In less than five minutes he heard the _honk-honk_ of an automobile under -the window, and he picked up his two bags, snapped off the lights, and -went down to the waiting car, a large limousine. - -As Carlson emerged from the house, the chauffeur got out of his seat and -opened the car door. He wore a wide slouch hat, the brim of which hung -down and so shaded his face from the corner electric light that Carlson -could not make out his features. All he was sure of was a long heavy -moustache. The lower part of the man’s face was concealed in a muffler. -He opened the door and stood as if at attention. - -When Carlson was inside with his bags the man closed the door silently, -got into the driver’s seat, and the car was soon rushing up the street. -It turned at the second corner, and after that made so many sharp turns -among small and narrow and dark streets that Carlson began to feel -uncomfortable. - -At last they came to a long stretch of vacant lots, and went faster for -half a minute or so, and then slowed down again. The chauffeur sounded -three _honks_—one long and two short. Carlson bent forward and peered -ahead, but could see nothing. - -He did not like it at all, and he regretted that he had not brought his -revolver. He was wondering what he had got into, when, suddenly, the car -slowed down with a loud grinding of the brakes, and stopped with a jerk -that threw Carlson violently forward. - -A moment later both doors opened together, and he realized that masked -men stood on either side of the car, covering him with revolvers or -magazine pistols. - -Then came a few moments of the most eloquent silence that Carlson had -ever experienced. He said nothing and waited. - -“Don’t be afraid, Doc,” said a thick voice, obviously disguised. “Just do -as you are told and you’ll be O. K. But if you try any stunts—T. N. T. -for you. Do you get me?” - -“Yes. What do you want me to do?” - -“You’ll be told later. My partner’ll sit by you now, and I’ll sit facing -you. So——” - -They got inside and shut the doors, and the car started forward at high -speed. - -“Sorry, Doc, but we’ll have to blindfold you,” said the masked man. - -And then a heavy muffler was wound about his face. - - -_II_ - -As the car rushed on, Carlson sat still with his captors in a kind of -stupefied silence. Only that morning he had been wishing that his life -was more eventful, less commonplace. Well, here was adventure with a -vengeance. - -He was only twenty-seven and he had been two years in the city. The first -year and a half had been slow and discouraging, as often happens with -young doctors. But in the last six months patients had begun to come, in -steadily increasing numbers, until now he had about all he could handle. -He was five-feet-eleven, well-built and athletic. He had clear hazel eyes -with a very direct look, and thick and wavy brown hair, which was much -admired by his women patients. All this, with good and strong features -and a pleasant expression, made an ensemble which expressed health, -confidence and efficiency. - -And now what was he in for? It was hardly reassuring, especially when -blindfolded, to know that at least one gun was probably pointed at him -all the time, and that any involuntary move of his might bring a bullet -into his brain. - -Yet, for all that, he did not feel exactly fear; it was more like -strained interest, a burning curiosity to know where the adventure was to -lead. - -For a long time—or so it seemed—the car sped on what might have been an -isolated suburban road. Occasionally another car passed, going in the -opposite direction, but otherwise there were no other sounds than the -rolling of the limousine. - -At last they slowed down and turned off to the right, and from then on, -for perhaps five minutes, the car went slowly over rough ground, turning -so frequently that Carlson lost all idea of direction. - -Presently they were on a good road again, and once more traveled very -fast. More and more automobiles passed them, and they went slower and -slower, until Carlson knew they were in a town again. Once they had to -stop for a minute or two, as it seemed, at a crossing, and he distinctly -heard a policeman’s voice allowing them to make a turn to the left on a -side street. After that interruption they moved for the most part rapidly -for another five minutes or so, making several turns and passing many -machines, until they slowed down and came to a full stop. - -Carlson could hear people passing to and fro on the sidewalk, talking and -laughing. He sat still, careful not to make any movement that might alarm -his captors, feeling that their weapons were leveled at him. - -When at last the voices and footsteps had become almost inaudible, the -voice spoke again. - -“Now, Doc—no fooling.” - -He put his own slouch hat on Carlson’s head and drew the brim far down -over his face. Then he opened the door toward the curb stone and got out. - -“Come along, Doc, give me your hand.” - -Carlson took the hand and got out of the car. The man put his hand within -his arm and drew him across the sidewalk. Carlson heard the other man -open an iron gate, and close it again after they had passed through. A -few steps more, and another stop. - -He heard a key turning in a lock, and a door open, and he was led into -a warm room. The door _clicked_ after them. A woman’s harsh voice -impatiently exclaimed: - -“I thought you’d _never_ come.” - -“Shut up!” said Carlson’s guide. “Here’s the Doctor. Take him upstairs. -Step lively, will you! Keep right hold of my arm, Doc.” - -Carlson counted three flights of stairs, then he heard a key turned just -beyond the head of the stairway, and he was led into a room. - -“Shut the door!” - -It was done. - -“Now take off the blinder!” - -Carlson’s eyes blinked as the muffler was removed. But as soon as his -eyes got accustomed to the light, he realized that the room was only -dimly lighted. - -Two men and one woman, all masked, stood nearby. One of the men had come -with him in the car. The other was a huge man, a giant. The woman was -short and rather scrawny-looking, to judge from her hands and neck. - -“Now, Doc, a word with you alone,” said one of the men. “Come here!” - -He stepped into a small dressing room and Carlson followed. - -“Shut the door!” - -Carlson obeyed. - -“Now, here’s the proposition. We’ve got a sick woman on our hands—damned -sick! But she’s got in trouble with the law and the police are after her. -Get me?” - -“Yes. Go on.” - -“Well, that’s why she dasn’t go to a hospital, and that’s why we had to -get you. Get me?” - -“Go on.” - -“Very good! Now your job is just this: Look at her and find out what in -Hell is the matter with her, and write out a prescription—No! That won’t -do, either. Somebody might get on to it. You’ve got your medicines with -you, have you?” - -“I have some medicines in my bag.” - -“Good! You’ll give me the dope she needs, and then get out and away from -here as fast as you can and keep your mouth shut. You’ll be taken home -safe, and you’ll get your money all right. Do you get me?” - -“I understand.” - -“Good! Just one other thing. You can’t see her face, and there can’t be -any talking, not one word. You understand?” - -Carlson felt that the time had come for him to say something, and he said -it: - -“You damned fool! What kind of an examination do you think a doctor can -make if he can’t see his patient or hear her talk? Have you never been to -a doctor yourself?” - -The man hesitated, fingering his automatic. - -“Open that door!” he commanded, after a pause. Carlson did as he was told. - -“Teresa!” - -She appeared so quickly that Carlson was sure that she had been listening -behind the door. - -“The doctor will have to ask her a few questions, and she will have to -answer. Go and tell her. And tell her from me—that if she says anything -she doesn’t have to say—T. N. T. for her! Do you get me?” - -“All right, Boss, I’ll tell her.” - -She spoke with a cruel chuckle that all but made Carlson shudder. While -he waited for further orders from his captor, he tried to get a line on -the mystery he was involved in. But nothing came to him. Was the sick -woman he was about to visit a fugitive or a captive? Probably the latter; -and if so, why? - -He furtively inspected the dressing-room and its contents. It was richly -and beautifully furnished—like the large bedroom it adjoined, as far as -his very brief glance had discovered. It was on a corner and had two -windows, with curtains tightly drawn. At the end, farthest from the door -of entrance, was another door, standing half open and showing a glimpse -of a lavatory and bathtub. Nothing hopeful thus far. - -Then he noticed a small black box on the wall nearest the corner, with a -green cord leading from it and disappearing behind a screen. Not until -his anxious glance had shifted elsewhere did Carlson realize the possible -significance of that green cord. Surely, what else could it mean but a -telephone behind that screen! A _telephone_. - -The masked woman suddenly appeared at the door. - -“She’s ready for the doctor,” she snapped out viciously. - -Carlson looked at his masked companion for orders. - -“Go with her,” he said. “And don’t ask her no questions that are none of -your damned business! If you do, you’ll go out of this house in two or -three suit cases! Get me?” - -Carlson did not answer, and followed the woman to a darkened bedside. The -man also followed, and stood at the foot of the bed. - - -_III_ - -In the dim light of a shaded table-lamp Carlson saw a large double bed of -massive and antique construction. At the head was a high and projecting -portion of carved woodwork which overhung like a canopy. On the bed he -saw the outline of a human body through the coverings. - -The head showed a mass of thick dark-brown hair, unbound and falling -about the shoulders. The upper part of the face was hidden by a wide -bandage wound several times around the head. The arms were bare and lay -outside the coverlet. They were well rounded, and the hands were small -and beautiful. - -Carlson stood silently beside the bed at first, watching the patient’s -deep and rapid breathing, and assembling his professional manner. The -hand nearest him was trembling slightly. As he took it up, to feel the -pulse, the arm jerked and the whole body shook, as if under profound -nervous tension. A thrill of compassion and pity ran through him as he -held the trembling little hand. - -“Don’t be afraid, Madam,” he said rather huskily. “I’m the doctor. I want -to feel your pulse.” - -Instantly the trembling stopped and her fingers tightened about his. He -noted the pulse rate with his other hand, and found it rapid, about 120. -The hand and wrist were burning hot. - -He let go of the hand and took a thermometer from his vest pocket. After -shaking it down several times he placed it in her mouth and closed her -lips with his fingers, saying: - -“Hold it that way for five minutes, please.” - -Again he took her hand, pretending to count the pulse beats by his wrist -watch, but in reality thinking as hard as he could. The thermometer was -actually a one-minute thermometer, but he wished to gain as much time -as possible. When at last he took it from her mouth and held it to the -light it registered 105. Involuntarily he whistled. Here was a very sick -woman, indeed! - -“How long have you been sick?” - -“Three days.” The voice was soft, but deep and sweet. - -“Is your throat sore?” - -“No.” - -“Do you cough?” - -“No.” - -“Have you pain anywhere?” - -“I hardly know. I feel sick all over.” - -Carlson thought for a minute. Three days sick, and now a temperature of -105! About time for a skin eruption to begin to show, if it was one of -those diseases. He turned to the masked virago who stood beside him. - -“I must have more light,” he said abruptly. - -The woman hesitated and looked toward the man. - -“What about it?” she jerked out. - -“What’s the matter with this light?” the man snapped angrily. - -“Just that it isn’t enough for me, that’s all! She may have typhus or -smallpox—” - -“Hell!” The man jumped backward so quickly that he upset a small table -and chair. - -“Damn her!” screamed the woman, retreating to the wall. - -Carlson, being a doctor and often in contact with contagious and -loathsome diseases, had not counted on the terrifying effect of the word -“smallpox” on the criminals he was for the moment associated with. But he -instantly realized the advantage it gave him, and decided to capitalize -it to the limit in the mysterious woman’s interests. - -After a short but tense silence he said impressively: - -“Yes, it may be smallpox. But I cannot say for certain in this light.” - -The masked man waited a few uneasy seconds, then went to the chandelier -and raised a hand to the light key. - -“Teresa. See that the bandage is tight over her face before I turn on -more light.” His voice was surly. - -“I won’t touch her again if she has smallpox!” Teresa’s strident voice -shook. - -“Yes, you will, or I’ll brain you.” He took a step toward her. - -The woman muttered, but obeyed, though her hands shook as she fumbled -with the bandage. Crossing herself, she said with shaking voice: - -“All safe,” and stepped back again to the wall. The light was turned on, -and Carlson bent down to look more closely at his mysterious patient. - -A deep, feverish flush was over the arms, neck and the strip of forehead -above the bandage. But Carlson’s trained fingers could not feel even a -suggestion of the “shotty” feeling which goes with the first rash of -smallpox. - -“What do you make of it, Doc?” asked the man impatiently. - -“Highly suspicious, but I cannot tell certainly until I have finished -my examination. Madam, may I listen to your lungs and heart with my -stethoscope?” - -“Yes,” she faintly murmured. - -Carlson looked around at the man. - -“I am not in the habit of examining women in the presence of strange -men,” he said sharply. - -The man mumbled a curse and turned his back. Carlson then looked at the -masked woman. - -“Turn down the bedclothes and open her nightgown!” - -“Do it yourself! I won’t touch her again!” - -Carlson took his stethoscope from his pocket and bared the patient’s -chest. The nightgown was coarse and cheap, but the form within it was -rounded and beautiful. The sleeves of the garment had apparently been -roughly hacked off with scissors. - -Carlson’s examination of lungs and heart found absolutely nothing to -account for the very high fever. Then he thought of appendicitis or -peritonitis. - -“Now, please let me examine the abdomen for a moment.” - -She lay still while he delicately arranged the clothing. The light from -the chandelier showed obliquely, so that the lower part of the abdomen -was in the shadow cast by the rolled-down bedclothes. Carlson felt and -carefully sounded, but she gave no sign of pain or involuntary resistance. - -As his sensitive fingers passed over the place under which the appendix -is located, he felt something that broke the smoothness of the perfect -skin. It was a surgical scar. That fact alone should almost certainly -rule out a present attack of appendicitis! - -“So you have had appendicitis?” - -“Yes.” - -“It must have been a bad case—to judge from the size of the scar.” - -She did not answer, and he drew the covering a little lower and brought -the scar out of the shadow into full view. Then he started, and, -involuntarily, a gasp escaped him. - -The large surgical scar was in the form of _a perfect reversed letter S_. - - -_IV_ - -So much had happened to Carlson that night that his mental receiving -instrument was somewhat dulled, and did not immediately register the -momentous significance of what his eyes now saw. That curious scar—that -reversed S—symbol of the great Senn. Great God! _Now_ he remembered. -The only case on record in which that Senn S-incision had been made for -appendicitis was the case of Ina Holden. - -He heard the masked man muttering in angry impatience, and then his brain -began to work again. The Holden _child_. Edwards had spoken of her as -“little Ina.” - -Though the papers had been full of accounts of the Holden kidnapping case -for the last five days, he, Carlson, had read nothing but the headings, -and his impression from them and from Edwards’ talk was that Ina was a -small girl, quite a child. And yet this was a woman, or a well-grown girl -of 16 or 17 at the least. He looked up at her bandaged face. - -“How long ago did you have this operation?” - -“I—when I was a child.” - -“How long ago was that?” - -“About eight or nine years ago.” - -“Ah——” - -“You’re takin’ a hell of a long time, doc. Has she got smallpox?” The man -still stood with his back to the foot of the bed, but Carlson realized -that he could not temporize much longer. - -“Just about a minute more and I can tell you,” he said, as nonchalantly -as he could say the words. - -How could he get rid of the kidnappers and telephone for the police? Then -came an idea—a wild, forlorn hope; but he would try it. - -“I will have to examine her throat,” he said, with professional voice. - -He walked to the table where his medical bags were and took out a -circular mirror with an aperture in the center, a small electric bulb, -and a black elastic band with a buckle in it. Next, he detached a -connecting-plug from a cell battery in the bottom of the bag, being -careful to conceal the battery from the gimletlike eyes of the two men -and the woman. With the plug hidden in his hand he crushed the two -contactors together. - -Then he adjusted the elastic band and mirror to his forehead, connected -the two wires with the small bulb on the head mirror and deliberately -unscrewed the bulb from the table lamp. He drew a deep breath; then -quickly inserted the crushed battery plug into the lamp socket. - -_Flash!_ The room was in complete darkness. Carlson had short-circuited -the current and fulminated the fuse, probably for the whole house. - -“Damn it!” he exclaimed, ostentatiously. “What am I going to do now?” - -Almost instantly the beam of a pocket flashlight came from the hand of -the “boss.” - -“Take this, doc,” he said, holding it toward Carlson. - -He took it, asked the girl to open her mouth, and looked within. - -“No good at all. I _must_ have the electric light. Where is the fuse box?” - -The “boss” looked at Teresa. - -“It’s in the cellar with the meter,” she said. - -“Go down and put in a new fuse.” - -“I don’t know how. You’ll have to come with me.” - -The man hesitated. He glared at Carlson through his mask, and at the sick -girl on the bed, and then at the giant near the door. - -“Tony!” - -“Huh?” - -“Come here!” - -The giant slouched nearer. - -“Where’s your flash-light?” - -He produced it. - -“Good! Now stay right here till we come back. If the doctor tries to -leave this room, or if he talks to the girl—you know what to do.” - -Tony grunted, and showed a magazine pistol in his other hand. The other -man and Teresa left the room. The man slammed the door and locked it on -the outside. - -Carlson felt almost overcome by a feeling of powerlessness and despair. -He and the girl were alone with the giant Tony, who sat stolidly by a -table in the center of the room, flash-light in one hand, the automatic -pistol in the other. His narrow, piglike eyes gleamed through the mask -and seemed never to relax their sinister gaze. - -Carlson’s plan was completely frustrated by the baleful presence of this -Frankenstein Monster. - -Suddenly he heard the blindfolded girl give a sob, and he saw her -shoulders trembling. At the sound of that despairing sob a new impulse to -action surged through him. Her only hope lay in him. He would not fail -her. He would save her or die in the trying. - -He took her nearest and burning hand in both of his. - -“There, there. Everything will be all right.” - -As her fingers gripped his convulsively, a horrible snarling sound, as -from an angry hippopotamus, came from Tony. Carlson disengaged the girl’s -hand and faced the giant. - -“Tony!” he said commandingly. - -“Huh?” - -“Help me to fix up this head light of mine. Bend those points out -straight—so!” - -Carlson had seen some remarkable demonstrations in hypnotism in Zurich, -and he had been told by Professor Jung that he had exceptional personal -power in that line, if he chose to develop it. He remembered that advice -now, and he was trying it on Tony. - -The giant hesitated, but at last obeyed the imperative and hypnotic voice -of the young doctor. He laid the pistol and flash-light on the table, -but just within reach of his hand, and then held out one hand for the -electric plug. - -“There—twist them out again, right there,” said Carlson in a slow, -monotonous voice. As he spoke, his other hand closed over a heavy glass -paper weight that lay at the farther end of the table. Tony put the plug -on the table and bent his face over it. - -Carlson felt that he could soon have Tony completely under his own -hypnotic power. But time was too precious to wait for that. The “boss” -might return any minute. There was only one thing to do, and Carlson did -it. - -He raised the paper weight slowly, and just beyond Tony’s field of vision -and then—he brought it down on the giant’s head with all the force he -could put into the blow. - -Tony dropped the electric plug and swayed to one side, only slightly -stunned by a blow that would have fractured the skull of another man. But -before he could recover, Carlson dealt him a second, and then a third -blow, the last on the angle of the jaw. - -Tony crumpled up and fell face downward across the table. But Carlson, to -make sure, gave him a final and terrible blow, which seemed to give back -a crushing sound. - - -_V_ - -He rushed to the door and bolted it; then back to the bedside. - -“Are you Ina Holden?” - -“Yes!” - -“Then get out of bed instantly. I’m going to save you.” - -As she started up, he seized her in his arms, lifted her out bodily, and -plumped her into the nearest upholstered chair. - -“Take off that bandage as quickly as you can!” - -He flew back to the huge bed and began dragging it toward the door. It -was heavy as a safe, and incredibly hard to move. Suddenly it became -easier, and to his amazement he saw that the girl was helping him. When -they had placed it so that the head completely blocked the door, Carlson -ran to Tony. - -“Help me drag this carcass against the foot of the bed. Take the feet—so! -That will brace the bed better. Now take this pistol. You know how to use -it?” - -“O, yes!” - -“Fine! Watch that beast while I telephone the police. If he moves, shoot -him.” - -Carlson rushed into the smaller room, kicking two small chairs out of his -way and looked behind the screen. Praise be to God! It _was_ a telephone. -He jerked the receiver to his ear and began jiggling the instrument -frantically. After a few interminable seconds came the blessed words: - -“Number, please?” - -“Listen, operator—this is a case of life and death. First take down this -number—Cartwright 872.... Yes.... No! No!!—for God’s sake don’t _call_ -it. _This_ is it. Now listen. Have you got this number written down?” - -“Yes, sir, but—” - -“Listen, I tell you!” - -“I am listening!” - -“Ina Holden is a prisoner in this house, with telephone Cartwright 872. -Do you know who Ina Holden is?” - -“You mean the kidnapped girl?” - -“Yes. Now get me police headquarters at once. Then, while I am talking -with them, you look up Cartwright 872 and phone the police station -nearest this place. _Quick_, for God’s sake!” - -Another agonizing wait; then— - -“Police headquarters speaking.” - -“Ina Holden is in a house with phone number Cartwright 872. Mark it down.” - -He heard the voice of the officer dictating “Cartwright 872. Ina Holden.” -Then, “What else, sir?” - -“There are at least four armed men in the house, and one woman.” - -“Where is the house?” - -“I don’t know. I’m a prisoner with her myself. Send enough men at once to -surround the house. Look it up in the numerical index.” - -Carlson could hear the officer giving rapid orders, and, more faintly, -their repetition being shouted out through the station. - -“All right, sir. We’ve located the house, and it will take us about -twenty minutes to get to you. I’m sending out a general alarm, and maybe -some of our men out there can arrive sooner. How are you fixed?” - -“I knocked out one of the men. I and the girl are barricaded in a third -floor back room, and we’ll try to hold out until your men come.” - -“Good! Stay at the ’phone as long as you can and keep me informed to the -last possible moment. Good luck to you!” - -“I’ll put the girl at the ’phone, and stand guard myself. Ina!” - -“Yes, doctor.” She came in quickly, the pistol in her hand. - -“Please sit down here and hold the ’phone. The police are on the wire. -I’ll call out to you how things go, and you report to them. Has Tony -moved?” - -“No. He doesn’t seem to breathe.” - -Carlson left Ina at the ’phone and went to Tony. He lay absolutely still, -just as they had placed him at the foot of the bed. Carlson tore off the -mask and turned the face around and listened with his ear to the month. -Not a sound! Then he used his stethoscope over the heart. Silence! Tony -was dead! - -Carlson picked up Tony’s automatic, turned off the light plug in the -large bed room, and went back to Ina. She was at her post, her elbows on -the little table, the receiver at her ear. She looked up at him with a -grave smile. - -“The police have been asking me a lot of questions. How about the man in -the next room?” - -“Dead. I’m sorry I killed him, but there was nothing else to do. Anyway,” -said Carlson, “it makes our work easier. We won’t have to watch him, and -his body will help hold the door a little longer.” - -He looked quickly around the room. - -“And now for our plan of defense until the police come. The barricade -in the bedroom may hold till then. But, if it doesn’t then we will have -to barricade ourselves again in here. We ought to be able to hold out -easily.” - -And then Carlson began dragging furniture from the bedroom into the -dressing room until the latter was nearly full. - -“I guess that’ll be enough,” he said. “They’re taking a long time fixing -that fuse, but they can’t be too long for us.” He stood beside Ina once -more, having done all that could be done for the present. - -“Yes,” she said slowly, “and their bungling delay probably means our -salvation. Anyhow, there’s nothing for it but to wait—for what is to -come.” - -Carlson had been looking at Ina Holden while they were talking, and he -thought he had never seen a more charming girl. Her thick dark hair was -unloosed and uncombed and fell over her shoulders. She was clad only in -the coarse, sleeveless, night garment, which showed beautifully rounded -arms to the shoulders. Her feet were bare. Her eyes were a pure and -brilliant blue, shining under heavy but well arched brows. Her features -were almost faultless, but the strong jaw and firm though adorable lips -expressed unusual force and will power for a woman. A woman worth going -through hell for—Carlson thought grimly. - -Her face, neck and arms were deeply suffused as with the flush of high -fever. But her manner and movements were not those of a very sick person. -Carlson was puzzled. - -“I confess I don’t know what to make of your fever,” he said frankly. - -She half smiled as she replied: - -“Of course. I should have thought of that before. It isn’t a _real_ -fever, but what the Italians call an _impressione_.” - -“What’s that?” - -“An effect of a shock.” - -“But no mere shock can cause actual fever!” - -“That’s what many doctors have said. But the fact is that it _does_ -with me. I was always that way. There’s something abnormal in my -constitution. I can even bring on a fever by willing it. I’m ashamed to -say that when I was a child I would sometimes play sick in that way in -order to get what I wanted. But I hadn’t done it for so long that I’d -almost forgotten about it—until this horrible thing happened, and then I -remembered and tried it. But they wouldn’t call a doctor for three days, -not until they got badly scared and thought I might die on their hands. -And that is why they brought _you_ here.” - -“I never heard of such a case before,” said Carlson. “Never! To be sure, -there are a few cases on record where the heart and pulse rate were -under the control of the will to some extent; but certainly _not_ the -temperature.” - -He then asked: “How does it happen that the kidnappers have a house like -this?” - -“This house belongs to a wealthy family named Carriello. They are -traveling in Europe, and have left the house in charge of an Italian and -his wife.” - -“The woman Teresa?” - -“Yes. The two are black-handers, and their gang figured that the police -would never suspect that I might be hidden in such a place.” - -Suddenly the lights flashed out. The fuse was repaired at last. The -kidnappers would be at the door in a few moments! - -Carlson gripped Tony’s automatic a little harder, and his left hand fell -almost involuntarily on the girl’s shoulder. They waited thus, tensely, -hardly breathing, and with quickened heart-beats, until they heard -footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Then Carlson drew a deep breath, and -whispered: - -“They are coming now—but don’t be afraid.” - -She said nothing, but raised both her hands and clasped them over his for -a moment. - -He stepped softly into the darkened bedroom, just as a key turned in the -lock. The knob was turned, the door tried—then shaken. There was a short -silence. Then, from the “boss:” - -“Open the door, you fool!” - -Carlson was silent. - -“Tony!” - -Silence. - -“Tony! What the hell’s the matter with you?” - -Silence. - -A whispered consultation outside the door. Then: - -“Tony! Doctor! Open that door or, by God! I’ll——” - -More whispering, then a short silence. - -“Doctor!” - -Silence. - -Whispering again; then footsteps running down the stairs; then another -and longer silence. Carlson put his ear as near as he could to the door. -Soon he heard the footsteps returning, but they stopped at the second -floor. A voice called faintly from below: - -“I can’t find anything but a hatchet.” - -Smothered cursing told that the “boss” was still on the other side of the -door. Then he also seemed to run down stairs. Presently Carlson heard -hammering or pounding, far below, and at last a crushing and crumbling -sound, as if something heavy had given way. _What_ were the scoundrels -doing? - -Then footsteps again, coming up the stairs, but more slowly this time. -And as they came, there was an occasional bumping sound, as if they were -carrying some bulky object which now and then struck the walls or stairs. - -When they were opposite the door, something heavy hit the floor. Then, -once more, the sullen voice of the “boss.” - -“Listen, Doc! I don’t know what you’ve done to Tony, and what’s more I -don’t give a damn, if you open the door now.” - -Silence. Carlson thought he could hear their heavy breathing. As a -psychologist he knew that his own silence, and that of Tony, had a horror -about it that was telling severely, even on their hardened nerves. - -“This is your last chance, Doc! If you open the door now, you can go, and -take your fee, and be damned. But if you won’t open, I’m going to break -down the door, and then—you’ll leave here in a coupla suit cases. Do you -get me?” - -Silence! After about a quarter of a minute, the “boss” said: - -“Now then! All together!” - -Carlson braced himself. But suddenly the woman screamed, “Stop!” - -“Shut up! You—” - -“I won’t. Listen!” And though she spoke lower, Carlson could hear her say -something about the doctor and Tony’s pistol! - -“I know that,” muttered the man, “but we’ve got to risk it!” - -Another voice, Carlson thought that of the man who sat beside him in the -auto, half whispered: - -“Wait, Boss! I don’t like this! What did the doc do to big Tony? I -wouldn’t go into that room again if you killed me! I’ve lost my nerve, -let’s chuck this job and make a getaway!” - -“No, I won’t! and none of you won’t by God! We’ve gone too far to go -back. We’ll win together, or go to the Chair together! I’ll shoot the -first—” - -“But—” - -“Take that, will you, and shut up!” a blow, a fall, and a groan, as if -from the level of the floor. - -A few seconds of dead silence, then the voice of the “boss”: - -“Now, get together and smash that door!” - -More shuffling of feet and the dragging of something heavy, then the -muffled voice of the woman: - -“Maybe he found the phone—” - -“Quick! Bust in that door!” - -Carlson held his breath. - -_CRASH!_ - -A terrific blow, as of from a battering ram, shook and shivered the -strong oak door. But door and bolt still held. Carlson knew from the -impact of the blow that some ponderous solid object had been driven -against the door. And he know also that a few more such blows would -shatter it, leaving only the bed and an overturned chiffonier and Tony’s -body as a barricade. - -So he quickly began dragging more chairs, tables and what not into the -small dressing-room. - -_CRASH!_ The door fell inward against the head of the massive bed. - -Carlson dragged a davenport into the little room, and then closed its -door, locking and bolting it. - -_CRASH!_ - -The devastating sound that followed told that the heavy overhanging -canopy of the bed had fallen inward. Carlson kept steadily working away -barricading the second door. - -“Thank God _this_ door opens outward!” he said to Ina. She was still at -her post at the telephone. - -“Hello!” she said calmly. “They have just smashed in the outer door -and are climbing in over the ruins of the bed and furniture. We have -retreated into a smaller room, and the doctor is piling furniture against -it—” She looked at Carlson. - -“The police want to know how long we can hold out!” - -“Perhaps another five minutes.” - -“Five minutes more—what?... O, I hope so!” - -_CRASH!_ This time on the inner door. It held perfectly! - -“They are attacking our inner door, Inspector—you heard it?” - -_CRASH!_ A panel cracked, all the way down. - -_CRASH!_ The panel flew in splinters. One splinter struck the girl in the -face, making a small wound on the forehead, and blood trickled down into -her eyes, but she did nothing more than to wipe it off with the back of -her right hand. - -Carlson readjusted the shifting barricade, and glanced at Ina. - -“You are hurt!” - -“It’s nothing.” - -“Into the bathroom, quickly!” - -_CRASH!_ Another panel cracked! - -She got up calmly, and wiped the blood out of her eyes again with the -handkerchief Carlson pressed against her face; then, his arm around her, -she walked into the bathroom. - -Carlson forced Ina into a chair and knelt beside her, indifferent to -everything now but the bleeding cut on her face. - -“Let me look at it!” - -“It’s nothing at all, I tell you! Go back and attend to the door. We must -barricade ourselves in here in another minute.” - -_CRASH!_ The center of the door fell inward against the barricade. As -Carlson ran to pick up a heavy chair for the bathroom defense, a hand and -pistol came through the breach in the door and a shot rang out. He felt a -stinging pain in his side, but kept on with his work. Before he realized -it, Ina was in the room again, dragging another chair into the bathroom. - -The barricade crumbled still more, and another shot was aimed at Carlson, -but did not hit him. Ina deliberately crossed the little room to the -telephone and turned off the light. - -“They won’t shoot _me_—not yet, anyway,” she said. - -The barricade fell to pieces. There was not a moment to lose. Carlson and -Ina rushed into the bathroom and locked and bolted the door and began -stacking the chairs and tables and one small chiffonier against the door. - -Carlson felt blood soaking his clothing. He and Ina crouched together in -one corner. He held Tony’s pistol in his right hand, and both of Ina’s -hands in his left. - -“Listen, Ina! When they force this door, I will try to pick them off one -by one. If I fall, be ready to snatch the pistol and shoot carefully. -Don’t waste a shot! The police should be here any moment.” - -_CRASH!_ The lock and bolt snapped, and the door itself was pressed -inward several inches, but rebounded by the pressure of the barricade. - -_CRASH!_ This time the door yielded more than a foot, and in the opening -Carlson could see a man’s form. He fired, and a shriek followed. Four or -five shots were aimed at Carlson, but did not reach him in his protected -corner angle. Suddenly a voice yelled from the outer room: - -“The Cops! They’re around the house!” - -“Damnation! Get the Girl, at all costs!” - -When the next rush brought a man into view Carlson fired, and he knew by -the scream that he had hit once more. The pistol dropped from his hand, -and his body swayed. But the girl realized everything in an instant. -Quick as thought she snatched up the pistol with her right hand as she -knelt beside him, and her other arm went around him. - -At that instant a perfect fusillade of shooting sounded from the outer -room, followed by screams, yelling and groaning. Then a masked man with -a pistol in his hand bounded wildly into the half-opened door of the -bathroom. But Ina fired from their darkened corner before he saw them, -and he fell backward among the debris. - -Carlson felt everything growing dark. - -“Ina?” - -“Yes, dear; we’ve won the fight!” - -His head sank against her breast, just as two policemen appeared in the -doorway. - -She dropped the pistol and put both arms about him. - - -_VI_ - -“Miss Holden?” asked one of the officers, turning his bull’s-eye lantern -on them. - -She did not answer, but looked long and tensely at Carlson’s white -unconscious face. Then she pressed a kiss on his forehead. - -“He saved me!” she said, looking up at the officers. “I owe everything to -him. Please send for a surgeon and have him taken to my home immediately.” - -“The police surgeon will be here in a moment, Miss Holden. Let us take -him into another room.” - -As they took him from her arms they saw that her garment was soaked with -his blood. - -“Who is he?” asked the lieutenant. - -“I don’t know. He was brought here by the kidnappers when I seemed to be -very sick. We had no time for anything but defense.” - -The lieutenant took off his overcoat and placed it over Ina’s shoulders, -and then they both followed the two officers who carried the unconscious -Carlson out through the wreck of the dressing-room and larger bedroom. - -And what a scene of ruin and blood! They had to pick their way through -masses of broken furniture. One masked dead man lay just outside the -bathroom—the man Ina had shot. Another man, his mask torn off, sat -propped up against an overturned chiffonier on the floor of the large -bedroom. He was groaning and trying to wring his manacled hands, as two -officers knelt beside him and searched his pockets. - -The mammoth carcass of Tony lay where Carlson and Ina had first dragged -it, but it was now half covered by the mattress and debris of the bed. At -least a dozen policemen in the rooms. The woman Teresa stood sniveling in -a corner, unmasked and handcuffed. - -But there was a sudden silence as Ina Holden appeared, her face bloody, -her feet bare, and her form covered by the officer’s overcoat. All -eyes were fixed on the girl, whose name and picture had been in every -newspaper from Maine to California for the last five days. - -They carried Carlson through the devastated rooms, into another room and -laid him on a bed. The police surgeon arrived at almost the same moment. -After a glance at the unconscious man on the bed, the surgeon said: - -“But where is the _girl_?” - -“I am Ina Holden,” she said quickly, “but never mind _me_. Look at _him_!” - -“Who is he?” - -“The man who saved me. They shot him just before the police came.” - -The surgeon quickly tore open the blood-soaked shirt and found the bullet -wound in the right side. He listened a moment to his heart; then looked -up gravely. - -“Very serious! There seems to be severe hemorrhage into the pleura. He -must be rushed to the nearest hospital for immediate operation.” - -“Doctor,” asked Ina, with shaking voice. “Is he—will he recover?” - -“I am sorry to say, Miss Holden, the chances are against him. Quick, -boys! The stretcher. One of you telephone Mercy Hospital to have the -operating-room ready.” - -And then another man burst like a whirlwind into the room—a large, -bearded man of about fifty—a man of commanding presence, before whom -everyone made way. - -“Ina!—my Girl!—” - -Slowly Ina turned her eyes from Carlson and looked at her father. Then -she stood up and held out her arms, and was gathered into his embrace. - -“Father, dear!” she panted, as soon as his joyful greetings would allow; -“Listen! I am all right. But that man lying there saved my life. If he -had not come—” - -“Yes, my girl! Go on!” - -“He was shot defending me before the police could get here. And now—he -may be—_dying_!—” Her voice broke. - -Two men entered with a stretcher, just as the surgeon gave Carlson a -hypodermic of some powerful heart stimulant. Deftly they moved him from -bed to stretcher. Mr. Holden drew the surgeon aside and they exchanged a -few earnest words. - -“We’ll do our best, sir, that’s all I can say. Good night, sir! Good -night, Miss Holden!” He hurried down stairs after the stretcher. - -“Where’s the telephone?” said Holden. - -Ina took him to it, and then he called the hospital and several famous -surgeons, telling them that the man who had saved his daughter must be -saved! _Must be saved!_ - -“What is it, Lieutenant?” - -“I have found his name, sir. It’s on his surgical bag. He is Dr. Herbert -Carlson of New York.” - -“Thank you very much! Please find his ’phone number and I will call his -wife and tell her what we are doing for him.” - -As her father was calling Carlson’s telephone number, Ina listened with -strained attention. His _wife_! Somehow, it had never occurred to her -that he might be married! - -“Hello! Is this Dr. Carlson’s residence?... Yes, yes, I know he’s -not there now. May I speak with his wife?... What’s that?... _Not_ -married?... O, I beg your pardon! His sister?—yourself? Thank you! Now -listen to me, please!...” - -Ina did not try to analyze her feelings when her father’s words at the -telephone seemed to prove that Carlson was unmarried. But then she -suddenly remembered, as with a stab at her heart, what the police surgeon -had said! Yes: As her father had ordered, He _must_ be saved! Nothing -else mattered! - -At 2:53 A. M. the telephone at the Holden residence rang for at least -the hundredth time that fateful night. The butler had instructions not -to call Mr. Holden except for communications from the police or the -hospital. Ina and her mother, in Ina’s bedroom, heard the muffled buzzer -in the study below, and looked at each other anxiously. Ina snatched up -the extension receiver at her bedside and listened. - -“Hospital speaking. I have a message for Mr. Holden.” - -It was the second message from the hospital. The first had told the -hopeful news that Dr. Carlson had been successfully operated on, that -hemorrhage had been checked, and that his heart had responded to -stimulants. Mr. Holden, at his desk, lifted the receiver. - -“Mr. Holden speaking. Quick! What’s your message?” - -“Dr. Carlson slept until five minutes ago. Then he woke up suddenly and -asked: ‘Is Ina all right?’ We told him that Miss Holden was safe at home, -and he said: ‘Thank God!’ and went to sleep again.” - -[Illustration] - - -Thrillers Make Audiences Warm - -It has been discovered that thrilling mystery or “spook” plays, of which -there have been an unusual number lately, have a tendency to increase -the temperature of those who witness them. Prof. Edward F. Miller of -the Massachusetts Institute of Technology conducted a number of tests -among various audiences and found this to be true. His assertions were -substantiated by Chicago theatre managers, one of whom said: - -“The excitement created by mystery plays starts the blood to circulating -so quickly that heightened temperature is the result. I notice that -the theatre warms up at the end of the first act, when the play is an -exciting one. We have to watch the temperature of our theatres more -closely when a play, that is exciting or has a great emotional appeal is -being given.” - -The owner of a motion picture theatre disagreed with this, but said that -a comedy film always means a rising temperature. - -“Five minutes of laughing,” he said, “will send the thermometer up, -unless provision is made to keep the temperature the same. The reactions -of each audience are identical, and we know when an audience is going -to laugh more than usual, and so I push the button on the thermostat -that throws in more cool, washed air, and the audience does not feel the -effect of the heat-producing laughter. Normally, there is a complete -change of air every three minutes, but when the piece is particularly -funny it is changed oftener. There is real activity when the theatre -patron laughs, but when other emotions are aroused he sits quietly, and -no excess energy is created.” - - - - -_Creeping Horror Lurked_ - -Beyond the Door - -An Unusual Story - -By PAUL SUTER - - -“You haven’t told me yet how it happened,” I said to Mrs. Malkin. - -She set her lips and eyed me, sharply. - -“Didn’t you talk with the coroner, sir?” - -“Yes, of course,” I admitted; “but as I understand you found my uncle, I -thought——” - -“Well, I wouldn’t care to say anything about it,” she interrupted, with -decision. - -This housekeeper of my uncle’s was somewhat taller than I, and much -heavier—two physical preponderances which afford any woman possessing -them an advantage over the inferior male. She appeared a subject for -diplomacy rather than argument. - -Noting her ample jaw, her breadth of cheek, the unsentimental glint of -her eye, I decided on conciliation. I placed a chair for her, there in my -Uncle Godfrey’s study, and dropped into another, myself. - -“At least, before we go over the other parts of the house, suppose we -rest a little,” I suggested, in my most unctuous manner. “The place -rather gets on one’s nerves—don’t you think so?” - -It was sheer luck—I claim no credit for it. My chance reflection found -the weak spot in her fortifications. She replied to it with an undoubted -smack of satisfaction: - -“It’s more than seven years that I’ve been doing for Mr. Sarston, sir: -Bringing him his meals regular as clockwork, keeping the house clean—as -clean as he’d let me—and sleeping at my own home, o’ nights; and in all -that time I’ve said, over and over, there ain’t a house in New York the -equal of this for queerness.” - -“Nor anywhere else,” I encouraged her, with a laugh; and her confidences -opened another notch: - -“You’re likely right in that, too, sir. As I’ve said to poor Mr. Sarston, -many a time, ‘It’s all well enough,’ says I, ‘to have bugs for a hobby. -You can afford it; and being a bachelor and by yourself, you don’t have -to consider other people’s likes and dislikes. And it’s all well enough -if you want to,’ says I, ‘to keep thousands and thousands o’ them in -cabinets, all over the place, the way you do. But when it comes to -pinnin’ them on the walls in regular armies,’ I says, ‘and on the ceiling -of your own study; and even on different parts of the furniture, so that -a body don’t know what awful thing she’s agoin’ to find under her hand -of a sudden when she does the dusting; why, then,’ I says to him, ‘it’s -drivin’ a decent woman too far.’” - -“And did he never try to reform his ways when you told him that?” I -asked, smiling. - -“To be frank with you, Mr. Robinson, when I talked like that to him, he -generally raised my pay. And what was a body to do then?” - -“I can’t see how Lucy Lawton stood the place as long as she did,” I -observed, watching Mrs. Malkin’s red face very closely. - -She swallowed the bait, and leaned forward, hands on knees. - -“Poor girl, it got on her nerves. But she was the quiet kind. You never -saw her, sir?” - -I shook my head. - -“One of them slim, faded girls, with light hair, and hardly a word to say -for herself. I don’t believe she got to know the next-door neighbor in -the whole year she lived with your uncle. She was an orphan, wasn’t she, -sir?” - -“Yes,” I said. “Godfrey Sarston and I were her only living relatives. -That was why she came from Australia to stay with him, after her father’s -death.” - -Mrs. Malkin nodded. I was hoping that, by putting a check on my -eagerness, I could lead her on to a number of things I greatly desired -to know. Up to the time I had induced the housekeeper to show me through -this strange house of my Uncle Godfrey’s, the whole affair had been a -mystery of lips which closed and faces which were averted at my approach. -Even the coroner seemed unwilling to tell me just how my uncle had died. - - * * * * * - -“Did you understand she was going to live with him, sir?” asked Mrs. -Malkin, looking hard at me. - -I confined myself to a nod. - -“Well, so did I. Yet, after a year, back she went.” - -“She went suddenly?” I suggested. - -“So suddenly that I never knew a thing about it till after she was gone. -I came to do my chores one day, and she was here. I came the next, and -she had started back to Australia. That’s how sudden she went.” - -“They must have had a falling-out,” I conjectured. “I suppose it was -because of the house.” - -“Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t.” - -“You know of other reasons?” - -“I have eyes in my head,” she said. “But I’m not going to talk about it. -Shall we be getting on now, sir?” - -I tried another lead: - -“I hadn’t seen my uncle in five years, you know. He seemed terribly -changed. He was not an old man, by any means, yet when I saw him at the -funeral—” I paused, expectantly. - -To my relief, she responded readily: - -“He looked that way for the last few months, especially the last week. I -spoke to him about it, two days before—before it happened, sir—and told -him he’d do well to see the doctor again. But he cut me off short. My -sister took sick the same day, and I was called out of town. The next -time I saw him, he was—” - -She paused, and then went on, sobbing: - -“To think of him lyin’ there in that awful place, and callin’ and callin’ -for me, as I know he must, and me not around to hear him!” - -As she stopped again, suddenly, and threw a suspicious glance at me, I -hastened to insert a matter-of-fact question: - -“Did he appear ill on that last day?” - -“Not so much ill, as——” - -“Yes?” I prompted. - -She was silent a long time, while I waited, afraid that some word of mine -had brought back her former attitude of hostility. Then she seemed to -make up her mind. - -“I oughtn’t to say another word. I’ve said too much, already. But you’ve -been liberal with me, sir, and I know somethin’ you’ve a right to be -told, which I’m thinkin’ no one else is agoin’ to tell you. Look at the -bottom of his study door a minute, sir.” - -I followed her direction. What I saw led me to drop to my hands and -knees, the better to examine it. - -“Why should he put a rubber strip on the bottom of his door?” I asked, -getting up. - -She replied with another enigmatical suggestion: - -“Look at these, if you will, sir. You’ll remember that he slept in this -study. That was his bed, over there in the alcove.” - -“Bolts!” I exclaimed. And I reinforced sight with touch by shooting one -of them back and forth a few times. “Double bolts on the inside of his -bedroom door! An upstairs room, at that. What was the idea?” - -Mrs. Malkin portentously shook her head and sighed, as one unburdening -her mind. - -“Only this can I say, sir: He was afraid of something—_terribly_ afraid, -sir. Something that came in the night.” - -“What was it?” I demanded. - -“I don’t know, sir.” - -“It was in the night that—it happened?” I asked. - -She nodded; then, as if the prologue were over, as if she had prepared my -mind sufficiently, she produced something from under her apron. She must -have been holding it there all the time. - -“It’s his diary, sir. It was lying here on the floor. I saved it for you, -before the police could get their hands on it.” - -I opened the little book. One of the sheets near the back was crumpled, -and I glanced at it, idly. What I read there impelled me to slap the -covers shut again. - -“Did you read this?” I demanded. - -She met my gaze, frankly. - -“I looked into it, sir, just as you did—only just _looked_ into it. Not -for worlds would I do even that again!” - -“I noticed some reference here to a slab in the cellar. What slab is -that?” - -“It covers an old, dried-up well, sir.” - -“Will you show it to me?” - -“You can find it for yourself, sir, if you wish. I’m not goin’ down -there,” she said, decidedly. - -“Ah, well, I’ve seen enough for today,” I told her. “I’ll take the diary -back to my hotel and read it.” - - * * * * * - -I did not return to my hotel, however. In my one brief glance into the -little book, I had seen something which had bitten into my soul; only a -few words, but they had brought me very near to that queer, solitary man -who had been my uncle. - -I dismissed Mrs. Malkin, and remained in the study. There was the fitting -place to read the diary he had left behind him. - -His personality lingered like a vapor in that study. I settled into his -deep morris chair, and turned it to catch the light from the single, -narrow window—the light, doubtless, by which he had written much of his -work on entomology. - -That same struggling illumination played shadowy tricks with hosts of -wall-crucified insects, which seemed engaged in a united effort to crawl -upward in sinuous lines. Some of their number, impaled to the ceiling -itself, peered quiveringly down on the aspiring multitude. The whole -house, with its crisp dead, rustling in any vagrant breeze, brought back -to my mind the hand that had pinned them, one by one, on wall and ceiling -and furniture. A kindly hand, I reflected, though eccentric; one not to -be turned aside from its single hobby. - -When quiet, peering Uncle Godfrey went, there passed out another of -those scientific enthusiasts, whose passion for exact truth in some one -direction has extended the bounds of human knowledge. Could not his -unquestioned merits have been balanced against his sin? Was it necessary -to even-handed justice that he die face-to-face with Horror, struggling -with the thing he most feared? I ponder the question still, though his -body—strangely bruised—has been long at rest. - -The entries in the little book began with the fifteenth of June. -Everything before that date had been torn out. There, in the room where -it had been written, I read my Uncle Godfrey’s diary. - - “It is done. I am trembling so that the words will hardly form - under my pen, but my mind is collected. My course was for the - best. Suppose I had married her? She would have been unwilling - to live in this house. At the outset, her wishes would have - come between me and my work, and that would have been only the - beginning. - - “As a married man, I could not have concentrated properly, - I could not have surrounded myself with the atmosphere - indispensable to the writing of my book. My scientific message - would never have been delivered. As it is, though my heart is - sore, I shall stifle these memories in work. - - “I wish I had been more gentle with her, especially when she - sank to her knees before me, tonight. She kissed my hand. I - should not have repulsed her so roughly. In particular, my - words could have been better chosen. I said to her, bitterly: - ‘Get up, and don’t nuzzle my hand like a dog.’ She rose, - without a word, and left me. How was I to know that, within an - hour—— - - “I am largely to blame. Yet, had I taken any other course - afterward than the one I did, the authorities would have - misunderstood.” - -Again, there followed a space from which the sheets had been torn; but -from the sixteenth of July, all the pages were intact. Something had come -over the writing, too. It was still precise and clear—my Uncle Godfrey’s -characteristic hand—but the letters were less firm. As the entries -approached the end, this difference became still more marked. - -Here follows, then, the whole of his story; or as much of it as will -ever be known. I shall let his words speak for him, without further -interruption: - - “My nerves are becoming more seriously affected. If certain - annoyances do not shortly cease, I shall be obliged to procure - medical advice. To be more specific, I find myself, at times, - obsessed by an almost uncontrollable desire to descend to the - cellar and lift the slab over the old well. - - “I never have yielded to the impulse, but it has persisted - for minutes together with such intensity that I have had to - put work aside, and literally hold myself down in my chair. - This insane desire comes only in the dead of night, when its - disquieting effect is heightened by the various noises peculiar - to house. - - “For instance, there often is a draft of air along the - hallways, which causes a rustling among the specimens impaled - on the walls. Lately, too, there have been other nocturnal - sounds, strongly suggestive of the busy clamor of rats and - mice. This calls for investigation. I have been at considerable - expense to make the house proof against rodents, which might - destroy some of my best specimens. If some structural defect - has opened a way for them, the situation must be corrected at - once.” - - “July 17th. The foundations and cellar were examined today by a - workman. He states positively that there is no place of ingress - for rodents. He contented himself with looking at the slab over - the old well, without lifting it.” - - “July 19th. While I was sitting in this chair, late last night, - writing, the impulse to descend to the cellar suddenly came - upon me with tremendous insistence. I yielded—which, perhaps, - was as well. For at least I satisfied myself that the disquiet - which possesses me has no external cause. - - “The long journey through the hallways was difficult. Several - times, I was keenly aware of the same sounds (perhaps I should - say, the same IMPRESSIONS of sounds) that I had erroneously - laid to rats. I am convinced now that they are mere symptoms - of my nervous condition. Further indications of this came in - the fact that, as I opened the cellar door, the small noises - abruptly ceased. There was no final scamper of tiny footfalls - to suggest rats disturbed at their occupations. - - “Indeed, I was conscious of a certain impression of expectant - silence—as if the thing behind the noises, whatever it was, had - paused to watch me enter its domain. Throughout my time in - the cellar, I seemed surrounded by this same atmosphere. Sheer - ‘nerves,’ of course. - - “In the main, I held myself well under control. As I was about - to leave the cellar, however, I unguardedly glanced back over - my shoulder at the stone slab covering the old well. At that, a - violent tremor came over me, and, losing all command, I rushed - back up the cellar stairs, thence to this study. My nerves are - playing me sorry tricks.” - - “July 30th. For more than a week, all has been well. The tone - of my nerves seems distinctly better. Mrs. Malkin, who has - remarked several times lately upon my paleness, expressed the - conviction this afternoon that I am nearly my old self again. - This is encouraging. I was beginning to fear that the severe - strain of the past few months had left an indelible mark upon - me. With continued health, I shall be able to finish my book by - spring.” - - “July 31st. Mrs. Malkin remained rather late tonight in - connection with some item of housework, and it was quite dark - when I returned to my study from bolting the street door after - her. The blackness of the upper hall, which the former owner - of the house inexplicably failed to wire for electricity, was - profound. As I came to the top of the second flight of stairs, - something clutched at my foot, and, for an instant, almost - pulled me back. I freed myself and ran to the study.” - - “August 3rd. Again the awful insistence. I sit here, with this - diary upon my knee, and it seems that fingers of iron are - tearing at me. I WILL NOT go! My nerves may be utterly unstrung - again (I fear they are), but I am still their master.” - - “August 4th. I did not yield, last night. After a bitter - struggle, which must have lasted nearly an hour, the desire to - go to the cellar suddenly departed. I must not give in at any - time.” - - “August 5th. Tonight, the rat noises (I shall call them that - for want of a more appropriate term) are very noticeable. I - went to the length of unbolting my door and stepping into the - hallway to listen. After a few minutes, I seemed to be aware of - something large and gray watching me from the darkness at the - end of the passage. This is a bizarre statement, of course, but - it exactly describes my impression. I withdrew hastily into the - study, and bolted the door. - - “Now that my nervous condition is so palpably affecting the - optic nerve, I must not much longer delay seeing a specialist. - But—how much shall I tell him?” - - “August 8th. Several times, tonight, while sitting here at my - work, I have seemed to hear soft footsteps in the passage. - ‘Nerves’ again, of course, or else some new trick of the wind - among the specimens on the walls.” - - “August 9th. By my watch it is four o’clock in the morning. My - mind is made up to record the experience I have passed through. - Calmness may come that way. - - “Feeling rather fatigued last night, from the strain of a - weary day of research, I retired early. My sleep was more - refreshing than usual, as it is likely to be when one is - genuinely tired. I awakened, however (it must have been about - an hour ago), with a start of tremendous violence. - - “There was moonlight in the room. My nerves were ‘on edge’, - but, for a moment, I saw nothing unusual. Then, glancing toward - the door, I perceived what appeared to be thin, white fingers, - thrust under it—exactly as if some one outside the door were - trying to attract my attention in that manner. I rose and - turned on the light, but the fingers were gone. - - “Needless to say, I did not open the door. I write the - occurrence down, just as it took place, or as it seemed; but I - can not trust myself to comment upon it.” - - “August 10th. Have fastened heavy rubber strips on the bottom - of my bedroom door.” - - “August 15th. All quiet, for several nights. I am hoping that - the rubber strips, being something definite and tangible, have - had a salutary effect upon my nerves. Perhaps I shall not need - to see a doctor.” - - “August 17th. Once more, I have been aroused from sleep. The - interruptions seem to come always at the same hour—about three - o’clock in the morning. I had been dreaming of the well in the - cellar—the same dream, over and over—everything black except - the slab, and a figure with bowed head and averted face sitting - there. Also, I had vague dreams about a dog. Can it be that my - last words to her have impressed that on my mind? I must pull - myself together. In particular, I must not, under any pressure, - yield, and visit the cellar after nightfall.” - - “August 18th. Am feeling much more hopeful. Mrs. Malkin - remarked on it, while serving dinner. This improvement is due - largely to a consultation I have had with Dr. Sartwell, the - distinguished specialist in nervous diseases. I went into full - details with him, excepting certain reservations. He scouted - the idea that my experiences could be other than purely mental. - - “When he recommended a change of scene (which I had been - expecting), I told him positively that it was out of the - question. He said then that, with the aid of a tonic and an - occasional sleeping draft, I am likely to progress well enough - at home. This is distinctly encouraging. I erred in not going - to him at the start. Without doubt, most, if not all, of my - hallucinations could have been averted. - - “I have been suffering a needless penalty from my nerves for - an action I took solely in the interests of science. I have no - disposition to tolerate it further. From today, I shall report - regularly to Dr. Sartwell.” - - “August 19th. Used the sleeping draft last night, with - gratifying results. The doctor says I must repeat the dose for - several nights, until my nerves are well under control again.” - - “August 21st. All well. It seems that I have found the way - out—a very simple and prosaic way. I might have avoided much - needless annoyance by seeking expert advice at the beginning. - Before retiring, last night, I unbolted my study door and took - a turn up and down the passage. I felt no trepidation. The - place was as it used to be, before these fancies assailed me. - A visit to the cellar after nightfall will be the test for - my complete recovery, but I am not yet quite ready for that. - Patience!” - - “August 22nd. I have just read yesterday’s entry, thinking to - steady myself. It is cheerful—almost gay; and there are other - entries like it in preceding pages. I am a mouse, in the grip - of a cat. Let me have freedom for ever so short a time, and I - begin to rejoice at my escape. Then the paw descends again. - - “It is four in the morning—the usual hour. I retired rather - late, last night, after administering the draft. Instead of the - dreamless sleep, which heretofore has followed the use of the - drug, the slumber into which I fell was punctuated by recurrent - visions of the slab, with the bowed figure upon it. Also, I had - one poignant dream in which the dog was involved. - - “At length, I awakened, and reached mechanically for the light - switch beside my bed. When my hand encountered nothing, I - suddenly realized the truth. I was standing in my study, with - my other hand upon the doorknob. It required only a moment, of - course, to find the light and switch it on. I saw then that the - bolt had been drawn back. - - “The door was quite unlocked. My awakening must have - interrupted me in the very act of opening it. I could hear - something moving restlessly in the passage outside the door.” - - “August 23rd. I must beware of sleeping at night. Without - confiding the fact to Dr. Sartwell, I have begun to take the - drug in the daytime. At first, Mrs. Malkin’s views on the - subject were pronounced, but my explanation of ‘doctor’s - orders’ has silenced her. I am awake for breakfast and supper, - and sleep in the hours between. She is leaving me, each - evening, a cold lunch to be eaten at midnight.” - - “August 26th. Several times, I have caught myself nodding in my - chair. The last time, I am sure that, on arousing, I perceived - the rubber strip under the door bend inward, as if something - were pushing it from the other side. I must not, under any - circumstances, permit myself to fall asleep.” - - “September 2nd. Mrs. Malkin is to be away, because of her - sister’s illness. I can not help dreading her absence. Though - she is here only in the daytime, even that companionship is - very welcome.” - - “September 3rd. Let me put this into writing. The mere labor of - composition has a soothing influence upon me. God knows, I need - such an influence now, as never before! - - “In spite of all my watchfulness, I feel asleep, tonight—across - my bed. I must have been utterly exhausted. The dream I had was - the one about the dog. I was patting the creature’s head, over - and over. - - “I awoke, at least, to find myself in darkness, and in a - standing position. There was a suggestion of chill and - earthiness in the air. While I was drowsily trying to get my - bearings, I became aware that something was nuzzling my hand, - as a dog might do. - - “Still saturated with my dream, I was not greatly astonished. I - extended my hand, to pat the dog’s head. That brought me to my - senses. I was standing in the cellar. - - “THE THING BEFORE ME WAS NOT A DOG! - - “I can not tell how I fled back up the cellar stairs. I know, - however, that, as I turned, the slab was visible, in spite of - the darkness, with something sitting upon it. All the way up - the stairs, hands snatched at my feet.” - -This entry seemed to finish the diary, for blank pages followed it; but I -remembered the crumpled sheet, near the back of the book. It was partly -torn out, as if a hand had clutched it, convulsively. The writing on it, -too, was markedly in contrast to the precise, albeit nervous penmanship -of even the last entry I had perused. I was forced to hold the scrawl up -to the light to decipher it. This is what I read: - - “My hand keeps on writing, in spite of myself. What is this? I - do not wish to write, but it compels me. Yes, yes, I will tell - the truth, I will tell the truth.” - -A heavy blot followed, partly covering the writing. With difficulty, I -made it out: - - “The guilt is mine—mine, only. I loved her too well, yet I was - unwilling to marry, though she entreated me on her knees—though - she kissed my hand. I told her my scientific work came first. - She did it, herself. I was not expecting that—I swear I was - not expecting it. But I was afraid the authorities would - misunderstand. So I took what seemed the best course. She had - no friends here who would inquire. - - “It is waiting outside me door. I FEEL it. It compels me, - through my thoughts. My hand keeps on writing. I must not fall - asleep. I must think only of what I am writing. I must——” - -Then came the words I had seen when Mrs. Malkin had handed me the book. -They were written very large. In places, the pen had dug through the -paper. Though they were scrawled, I read them at a glance: - - “Not the slab in the cellar! Not that! Oh, my God, anything but - that! Anything——” - -By what strange compulsion was the hand forced to write down what was in -the brain; even to the ultimate thoughts; even to those final words? - - * * * * * - -The gray light from outside, slanting down through two dull little -windows, sank into the sodden hole near the inner wall. The coroner and I -stood in the cellar, but not too near the hole. - -A small, demonstrative, dark man—the chief of detectives—stood a little -apart from us, his eyes intent, his natural animation suppressed. We were -watching the stooped shoulders of a police constable, who was angling in -the well. - -“See anything, Walters?” inquired the detective, raspingly. - -The policeman shook his head. - -The little man turned his questioning to me. - -“You’re quite sure?” he demanded. - -“Ask the coroner. He saw the diary,” I told him. - -“I’m afraid there can be no doubt,” the coroner confirmed, in his heavy, -tired voice. - -He was an old man, with lack-lustre eyes. It had seemed best to me, on -the whole, that he should read my uncle’s diary. His position entitled -him to all the available facts. What we were seeking in the well might -especially concern him. - -He looked at me opaquely now, while the policeman bent double again. Then -he spoke—like one who reluctantly and at last does his duty. He nodded -toward the slab of gray stone, which lay in the shadow to the left of the -well. - -“It doesn’t seem very heavy, does it?” he suggested, in an undertone. - -I shook my head. “Still, it’s stone,” I demurred. “A man would have to be -rather strong to lift it.” - -“To lift it—yes.” He glanced about the cellar. “Ah, I forgot,” he said, -abruptly. “It is in my office, as part of the evidence.” He went on, half -to himself: “A man—even though not very strong—could take a stick—for -instance, the stick that is now in my office—and prop up the slab. If he -wished to look into the well,” he whispered. - -The policeman interrupted, straightening again with a groan, and laying -his electric torch beside the well. - -“It’s breaking my back,” he complained. “There’s dirt down there. It -seems loose, but I can’t get through it. Somebody’ll have to go down.” - -The detective cut in: - -“I’m lighter than you, Walters.” - -“I’m not afraid, sir.” - -“I didn’t say you were,” the little man snapped. “There’s nothing down -there, anyway—though we’ll have to prove that, I suppose.” He glanced -truculently at me, but went on talking to the constable: “Rig the rope -around me, and don’t bungle the knot. I’ve no intention of falling into -the place.” - -“There _is_ something there,” whispered the coroner, slowly, to me. His -eyes left the little detective and the policeman, carefully tying and -testing knots, and turned again to the square slab of stone. - -“Suppose—while a man was looking into that hole—with the stone propped -up—he should accidentally knock the prop away?” He was still whispering. - -“A stone so light that he could prop it up wouldn’t be heavy enough to -kill him,” I objected. - -“No.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Not to _kill_ him—to _paralyze_ -him—if it struck the spine in a certain way. To render him helpless, -but not unconscious. The _post mortem_ would disclose that, through the -bruises on the body.” - -The policeman and the detective had adjusted the knots to their -satisfaction. They were bickering now as to the details of the descent. - -“Would that cause death?” I whispered. - -“You must remember that the housekeeper was absent for two days. In two -days, even that pressure——” He stared at me hard, to make sure that I -understood——“with the head down——” - -Again the policeman interrupted: - -“I’ll stand at the well, if you gentlemen will grab the rope behind me. -It won’t be much of a pull. I’ll take the brunt of it.” - -We let the little man down, with the electric torch strapped to his -waist, and some sort of implement—a trowel or a small spade—in his hand. -It seemed a long time before his voice, curiously hollow, directed us to -stop. The hole must have been deep. - -We braced ourselves. I was second, the coroner, last. The policeman -relieved his strain somewhat by snagging the rope against the edge of the -well, but I marveled, nevertheless, at the ease with which he held the -weight. Very little of it came to me. - -A noise like muffled scratching reached us from below. Occasionally, the -rope shook and shifted slightly at the edge of the hole. At last, the -detective’s hollow voice spoke. - -“What does he say?” the coroner demanded. - -The policeman turned his square, dogged face toward us. - -“I think he’s found something,” he explained. - -The rope jerked and shifted again. Some sort of struggle seemed to be -going on below. The weight suddenly increased, and as suddenly lessened, -as if something had been grasped, then had managed to elude the grasp and -slip away. I could catch the detective’s rapid breathing now; also the -sound of inarticulate speech in his hollow voice. - -The next words I caught came more clearly. They were a command to pull -up. At the same moment, the weight on the rope grew heavier, and remained -so. - -The policeman’s big shoulders began straining, rhythmically. - -“All together,” he directed. “Take it easy. Pull when I do.” - -Slowly, the rope passed through our hands. With each fresh grip that -we took, a small section of it dropped to the floor behind us. I began -to feel the strain. I could tell from the coroner’s labored breathing -that he felt it more, being an old man. The policeman, however, seemed -untiring. - -The rope tightened, suddenly, and there was an ejaculation from -below—just below. Still holding fast, the policeman contrived to stoop -over and look. He translated the ejaculation for us. - -“Let down a little. He’s stuck with it against the side.” - -We slackened the rope, until the detective’s voice gave us the word -again. - -The rhythmic tugging continued. Something dark appeared, quite abruptly, -at the top of the hole. My nerves leapt in spite of me, but it was merely -the top of the detective’s head—his dark hair. Something white came -next—his pale face, with staring eyes. Then his shoulders, bowed forward, -the better to support what was in his arms. Then—— - -I looked away; but, as he laid his burden down at the side of the well, -the detective whispered to us: - -“He had her covered up with dirt—covered up....” - -He began to laugh—a little, high cackle, like a child’s—until the coroner -took him by the shoulders and deliberately shook him. Then the policeman -led him out of the cellar. - - * * * * * - -It was not then, but afterward, that I put my question to the coroner. - -“Tell me,” I demanded. “People pass there at all hours. Why didn’t my -uncle call for help?” - -“I have thought of that,” he replied. “I believe he did call. I think, -probably, he screamed. But his head was down, and he couldn’t raise it. -His screams must have been swallowed up in the well.” - -“You are sure he didn’t murder her?” He had given me that assurance -before, but I wished it again. - -“Almost sure,” he declared. “Though it was on his account, undoubtedly, -that she killed herself. Few of us are punished as accurately for our -sins as he was.” - - * * * * * - -One should be thankful, even for crumbs of comfort. I am thankful. - -But there are times when my uncle’s face rises before me. After all, we -were the same blood; our sympathies had much in common; under any given -circumstances, our thoughts and feelings must have been largely the -same. I seem to see him in that final death march along the unlighted -passageway—obeying an imperative summons—going on, step by step—down the -stairway to the first floor, down the cellar stairs—at last, lifting the -slab. - -I try not to think of the final expiation. Yet _was_ it final? I wonder. -Did the last Door of all, when it opened, find him willing to pass -through? Or was Something waiting beyond that Door? - - -Murderous Sheik Flees to Forest - -After attempting to kill a woman who scorned his attentions, Mohammed -Ben Asmen, a Moroccan sheik, fled to the Argenteuil Forest near Paris -and there defied the efforts of the police to capture him. When the -sheik first saw the beautiful Mme. Sophie Bolle he was smitten, and he -followed her to her home and demanded that she leave her husband and flee -with him. She ordered him away, whereon he attempted to kill her. He -was frightened away, but returned and again tried to slay her. Then the -police were called, but he eluded them in the forest. - - - - -_The Tortoise Shell Comb_ - -The Fantasy of a Mad Brain - -By ROYLSTON MARKHAM - - -“Well, the ghosts of the men hung at Is-Sur-Tille have company. For -myself, I wouldn’t even want a photograph of the place. No, sir, not -me. I can remember it without that. That’s why they’ve put me in this -hospital with all these crazy people. Yet a tortoise shell comb is as -good an alibi as any.... - -“What? Ghosts? No sir, of course not; I don’t believe in ’em, not on -_this_ side of the Atlantic ... who ever told you _I_ believed in ghosts. - -“The hospital intern?... If they’d kept me ’round that chateau in the -woods at Is-Sur-Tille, it might ’a’ been different. It had a queer story -about it, that chateau. That’s what set _me_ off; that and the fact that -I never did like Captain Bott. - -“He was hardboiled, that guy was. No, sir; he didn’t own that French -chateau, although at one time he acted as though he thought he did.... -I’m coming to that. - -“Over there the frogs said the original owner of the place, in his youth, -had fallen madly in love with a young girl and married her. He must ’a’ -been crazy about her all right because, according to their story, he -often was seen combing her hair—yes, sir, the French folks are like that; -that’s romance—combing her long red hair as it hung over the back of her -chair, touching the floor. - -“I particularly remember that they said her hair was long, very long, -and red, like copper is red in candle light. After a year, she died, -suddenly, of heart disease—‘killed by love itself,’ one of the frogs -said; that’s romance, and he, her husband, the owner of that chateau -there in the woods at Is-Sur-Tille, left that part of the country on the -very day of her funeral. The place, probably, is there yet, like it was -when I saw it, late in the summer of 1918. - -“The house was set back from the road among the trees. It looked, then, -as though it had been deserted for a long time. Most of the furniture had -been removed from it, except in one room—I’m coming to that—and the gate -leading into the yard had fallen open on one rusty hinge. Grass filled -the paths; and you couldn’t tell the flowerbeds from the lawns except by -the weeds. - -“Nobody had used the place, even in wartime, until our outfit was -billeted at Is-Sur-Tille. That ghost story of a dead bride begging some -one to comb her hair had kept the Frenchies off the place. But Captain -Bott was a hard-boiled guy. - -“We went into the house late one afternoon, Captain Bott and me. He led -the way into the kitchen and through the first floor into a large hall, -where the stairs went up to the floor above. Dust was over everything. -The only room in the house that looked at all as though it had been -occupied in years was that bedroom upstairs where, they had told us, the -bride had slept and died. We recognized it because it was the only room -in the house where the door was shut. - -“We opened it—that is, Captain Bott did—and went in. I stood in the -doorway until he swore at me and ordered me to follow him in. The room -smelled moldy. It smelled dead. It was a fine room for a ghost. It was -dark in there, but gradually my eyes got accustomed to the gloom enough -to make out that there was a bed in it. On the captain’s orders, I went -to the window to open it for light, but I had to break the rusty hinges -of the outside shutters before I could loosen them. - -“At the court martial inquiry they wouldn’t believe me when I said that -was the only reason I went into the room, and on the captain’s orders. - -“The room was on the north side of the house and the sun was setting, so -opening the window didn’t help much. There was pillows and a mattress and -sheets—yellow sheets, yellow with age—on the bed. The chairs seemed all -in confusion. There was another door in the room, probably leading to a -closet. It was closed. - -“Captain Bott went over and felt of the mattress and patted the -pillows—the pillows on which they had said the bride’s head, nestled in -its mass of copper-colored hair, had rested when she died. Captain Bott -was hard-boiled, like I just said. He didn’t believe in ghosts. - -“He said it was the best shakedown he’d seen in weeks. - -“‘I’ll damned soon get a good night’s rest,’ he said. - -“And he ordered me to go for some candles and his stuff; and, when I got -back, I was to clear the place up. I went. I was glad to go. But I hated -like hell to return.” - - * * * * * - -“When I did get back into the house, it was twilight and, inside, as dark -as a black cat’s belly. Downstairs, in the kitchen, I lighted one of the -candles and held it before me in one hand, the other being occupied with -the captain’s luggage. Then I went through the first floor into the large -hall where the stairs went up to the floor above. - -“In the light of my candle at the landing I saw that the door into the -bedroom was closed again, as it had been the only room in the house -where the door was shut when we first went up there together—the captain -who didn’t believe in ghosts and I, who did, over there.... No sir, of -course not; I _don’t_ believe in ’em, not on _this_ side of the Atlantic. -But, in the woods, at Is-Sur-Tille at night, that’s different. - -“And it must be worse, since they hung those men there ... and with -Captain Bott who thought the bed of a dead bride was a handsome billet. -He was sure hard-boiled, that guy. I hated him for it. - -“When I left him to go for the candles, that door had been open. When -I returned, it was closed. I didn’t like to open it again. But he was -alone there in the dark in that bedroom. I knew that if I waited for him -to come to open the door, stumbling across chairs and things, he sure -would cuss me out—that’s the hell of being a private and a servant to an -officer; no white man likes it—so, finally, I opened the door, with the -hand which held the candle. - -“Everything seemed as before, but so quiet. My ears were straining for -sound like they used to do at the sudden cessation of barrage-firing. But -I heard nothing, nothing at all. And the place smelled moldy. It smelled -dead. It was a fine room for a ghost. I thought of it then. - -“And, as I stepped across the threshold, I noticed that that other door -in the room, probably that of a closet, was open. It had been closed. -I thought perhaps that the captain had opened it while I was gone. It -wasn’t so dark when I left him as when I returned, and maybe he would ’a’ -been snooping around a bit, out of curiosity, perhaps. _I’m_ not curious -like that. But Captain Bott was hard-boiled. And he didn’t believe in -ghosts.... - -“All these things I’m telling you about what I saw and thought and felt, -they wouldn’t hardly listen to at the court martial inquiry.... - -“I don’t know how long it was from the time I lighted the candle in the -kitchen downstairs until I stood with it in the doorway of the bedroom -of the dead bride. Not very long, probably, because the melting candle -grease was just beginning to run hot onto my fingers when I turned to -glance toward the bed, wondering why the captain had kept so damned -quiet. It wasn’t like him. - -“And there he was, lying across the bed on his back, the tips of his -shoes just touching the floor. Asleep? No. I don’t know how I knew he -wasn’t asleep ... the court martial inquiry kept asking me that.... - -“But I saw he had something wound round his neck, something that glinted -in the candle light like the braid of a woman’s copper-red hair. And his -hands were above his head. One of them clutched a tortoise-shell comb. I -knew he wasn’t asleep. I knew he was _dead_!... - -“How I knew, I couldn’t tell you nor any damned court martial inquiry on -earth. God knows they drove me crazy enough asking me that and what else -I saw.... - -“Didn’t I see nothing else? No, but I thought I _heard_ or _felt_ -something move near that black hole where that other door opened yawning -into a closet. My candle went out—maybe it was only the night wind from -the window—and I dropped it. I dropped the bundle of things belonging -to Captain Bott. I crossed the threshold. I went down the stairs in the -dark, running. - -“I fell at the bottom. I remember that.... And I told the court martial -inquiry so; ’twas about the only thing those smug guys believed that I -told them.... But I was on my feet and out of that house before I knew I -had fallen....” - - * * * * * - -“Ha! I can see it! You, too, think I’m soft-boiled.... So did the court -martial inquiry. That’s why they sent me here, among these crazy people. -But say, Buddy, don’t believe what the hospital interne tells you. He’s -crazy, like the rest of ’em. He’s as hard-boiled, too, as Captain Bott -was. And _that_ guy was so hard-boiled he didn’t believe in French ghost -stories.” - - * * * * * - -“That nut you just talked with tells his story to anyone who will -listen,” the interne remarked casually, as we returned to the office of -the commandant of the Army and Navy Insane Asylum. “Probably you think -you’ve heard a crackin’ good ghost story, but what you really heard was -the confession of a crazy murderer who ought to have been the third on -the gallows at Is-Sur-Tille.” - -“Isn’t there a haunted chateau at Is-Sur-Tille, and didn’t the officer he -tells about die in the bedroom there?” - -“_Oui, mais certainement!_ as the frogs have it. If that chateau isn’t -haunted, it ought to be. There’s a story in the village of the bride’s -death there. And Captain Bott died there all right enough. But that thing -they found twined around his neck ‘like the braid of a woman’s copper-red -hair’ was, in fact, real copper—copper wire stolen from a lineman’s kit. -It might _look_ like hair to a crazy man.” - -“But that comb?” I persisted. “What about that tortoise-shell comb?” - -“That? Oh, the nut stole that, too. It belonged to one of the girls of -the town whom the private knew before the captain beat his time with -her.” - - - - -_A Photographic Phantasm_ - -_By Paul Crumpler, M. D._ - - -I have always believed that there is a simple and natural explanation for -all seemingly supernatural happenings; but I recently had occasion to -question this belief. - -I cannot doubt my own personal knowledge, nor can I deny what my own eyes -have seen, therefore, I cannot dismiss it as a figment of imagination. -The facts are as follows: - -There is a rural section near me into which I frequently make visits in -the practice of my profession as a physician. The people are a quaint, -simple and kindly sort, honest, unsophisticated. - -I was called, not long ago, to see a little girl in this neighborhood -and found her very ill and with a poor chance for recovery. She was the -younger of two children of a very intelligent farmer and his wife, the -latter, however, having a rather nervous temperament. I had treated the -woman before the little girl was born, and, although she, too, was above -the average in intelligence in her neighborhood, she was a person who -would be classed medically as a neurasthenic. - -Realizing the seriousness of her child’s sickness, she was becoming -very nervous, so much so that I found it necessary to leave her some -sedatives. She was worrying a great deal because she did not have a -picture of the little girl. It seemed that the family had planned on -several occasions to have a group picture made in the village, but each -time something had prevented their doing so. This, she informed me, was -preying on her mind and accentuating her grief. - -The child died and I heard nothing more from the family until about two -months later. This time my call was to the mother. I found her in a state -of hysteria bordering almost on insanity. She was holding a number of -photographs to her breast, and alternately laughing and crying; it was -impossible to get any coherency into her actions. - -Her husband, however, told me that just before he sent for me, the Rural -Mail Carrier had delivered the photographs which had been taken of -himself, his wife and the remaining little girl about six weeks after the -death of their child. - -After much persuasion we were able to get the photographs from her and -after glancing at them we saw the cause of her hysteria. THE DEAD CHILD -WAS PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE GROUP ALMOST AS PLAINLY AS THE OTHERS. - -She was sitting on her mother’s lap, and on her feet were the little -white shoes which had been bought after her death to satisfy the mother, -who did not want to bury the child in the old and ragged pair which were -all she had. She was dressed exactly as when she was buried, wearing the -dress that the mother had made for her to wear when the family group was -to be photographed. - -Did this phenomenon happen by mental telepathy from the mother to the -camera? The mother had grieved unusually and her mind was entirely filled -with thoughts of her child. If the explanation is not to be had from this -line of reasoning, I am unable to solve it. - -The picture is there, and also the photographer to verify the truth of -this. The picture shows two children and the mother and father. The -photographer is ready to swear that only one child was visible to his eye -when he made the negative. - - - - -_One “Creepy” Night in a House of Death_ - -The Living Nightmare - -By ANTON M. OLIVER - - -“You mean to tell me,” demanded Jim Brown, “that those people left town -and expect you to stay in that house alone tonight?” - -“Why, yes,” said MacMillen, preparing to leave. “They’ve gone to Virginia -and will be back Thursday, when the funeral will take place.” - -“And they left the body lying in the living-room?” - -“Of course. Where did you expect them to leave it—on the porch?” - -“And you are going to sleep in that house alone—with the corpse?” - -“Yes. What of it? There’s nothing to be afraid of.” - -Taking his hat and coat, MacMillen departed. - -“Pleasant dreams!” called Brown, as the door slammed behind him. - -The night was cold and the atmosphere was clear and “hard.” The snow -crackled under his feet as he walked. - -“Silly idea,” he muttered; but he couldn’t help wondering why the -Mitchells, with whom he made his home, had left the house on the same day -that Mrs. Mitchell’s grandmother had passed away. - -In his mind he went over Mrs. Mitchell’s explanation. She had told him -that they were going to Wheeling, the deceased lady’s old home, where -a sister lived, and would remain there until the funeral. And she had -asked, “You are not afraid to stay here alone, are you?” - -No, of course, he was not afraid; but it was strange that they should -leave the corpse in his charge and depart. - -Then it came to him. Funny he hadn’t thought of it before. The Mitchells -must be superstitious. They probably had some silly notion about a house -being haunted while a corpse was in it, or something of that sort. That -must be it. But how ridiculous! - -Still, the Mitchells were a little queer anyway, reflected Mac, as he -turned up the ice-covered path of the Mitchell residence. - -It stood, surrounded by high buildings and stores, in a section of town -which in days gone by had been the very heart of the city’s social life. -It was one of the largest and oldest homes in the city. And now it was an -outcast, so to say, among the monuments to industry and progress. Built -years ago by the husband of the woman who now lay dead within its walls, -it was in a style of architecture long since abandoned. Everything about -it was high and narrow—the building itself, the windows and doors, the -porch columns, and the roof high up among the tree branches. - -Mac walked unhesitatingly toward the big dark house. But, somehow, the -formidable brick walls that always looked so inviting seemed cold and -inhospitable tonight. Strange shadows were playing in the windows. - -He looked up at his own window. He didn’t exactly fancy the idea of going -past the room where lay the dead woman, he admitted to himself, but he -certainly was not afraid. Not he! - -With grim resolution, he thrust the key, which he had taken from his -pocket while coming up the walk, into the lock of the front door. The -huge, glass-paneled door squeaked as he did so, and he was almost -startled by his own reflection in the shining glass. He turned the key in -its lock and threw the door wide open with unnecessary vigor. - -A hot wave of air greeted him. The house was warm, surprisingly so, -considering that it had been unoccupied all day. His heart, for some -unexplainable reason, was beating rather fast as he entered the dark hall. - -He turned sharply to the left and reached for the electric light switch. -His hand had often turned that switch, had often found it instantly -in the dark; but tonight he had to feel for it. He turned it once, -twice—three times—_but the hall remained dark_. - -The dark suddenly seemed to give him almost physical pain. Listening -acutely, he tried to account for this. Why were the lights out? The -street lights were on, and there was light in several of the homes he -had passed. He stood motionless. There was no sound. The dark house was -buried in deathlike silence. - -Then, with nerve-shattering suddenness, came a sound as real as that of -his heart, which was beating so that the blood was throbbing in his ears. -He whirled to face it, but, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. -With clenched teeth and damp forehead, Mac stood motionless. Then it came -again—a sound like the distant scream of a siren. - -Gradually he collected his senses, and reason took the place of -bewilderment. He reached for his matches, and, striking one, he stepped -over to the gas chandelier, turned the valve, and presently a blue flame -leaped high from the lamp, which had not been adjusted for months. - -With somewhat trembling hands, he turned the air adjustment, then the -gas, until finally the familiar yellow light illuminated the hallway. -Then he again heard the noise—this time a little louder and _nearer_. - -His decision to investigate suddenly left him. He stood motionless, -unable to move, for he not only _heard_—he also _felt_! Then, with a -sudden resolve, he stepped swiftly to his room, which was on the same -floor and adjoined the library. - -The light from the hall cast a long, distorted shadow on the floor before -him. It was so still now that the silence surged in his ears. Lighting -his own gas lamp, he locked and bolted his door. His pipe lay on the -dresser, and he lit it nervously. Then he looked at himself in the mirror. - -“How ridiculous!” he said, half aloud, with a forced laugh. Then he began -slowly to undress. - -All was quiet and peaceful here in his own room. How foolish to let -himself get so excited. The lights had probably gone out all over the -city since he had entered the house, and, as for that noise, it was -probably outdoors somewhere and in his mind he had associated it with the -perfectly harmless corpse lying in the next room. - -“Darn Brown!” he murmured. “He got me all wrought up over nothing with -his kidding.” - -And, having finished undressing he retired, leaving his light on full, -however. In spite of the fact that his own explanation of the origin of -the strange sounds had, in a measure, satisfied him, he lay awake for a -considerable length of time. - -He was drifting off on the first soft currents of sleep when he suddenly -sat up with a jerk. He had heard a noise! - -His lamp was flickering weirdly and he could hear its faint -singing—barely audible—yet it seemed to his ears like the mighty rush -of steam from a boiler, for his ears were strained to hear a different -sound, a sound he _must_ hear again, the source of which he _must_ locate. - -His body began to ache from sitting rigidly in one position. Still all -was silent. - -Suddenly, with a sense of being jerked to consciousness, he again heard -the noise, like the shriek of a siren. It seemed distant, yet close. His -heart labored so hard that he could feel its beat all through his body. -The shriek continued for several moments, and then all was silent again. - -He wanted to rise, but he could not. - -He was not afraid, he told himself,—and yet.... - -Suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps—steps that seemed to come from -the interior of the wall, pass through his room and die away gradually. -Holding his breath, he listened. - -The big clock in the front room struck the hour of midnight. He counted -each beat as it rang through the house. He was wide awake now. The white -curtains seemed to glimmer like sunlit snow, and the clock chimes, in the -deathly silence, sounded like those of a mighty tower clock. - -As the last note died away, Mac suddenly remembered that _the clock had -been stopped by Mrs. Mitchell_ as a mark of respect to her, who, in the -adjoining room, was awaiting burial. - - * * * * * - -A sudden feeling of relief came over Mac. It was clear now; somebody had -come back, Mr. Mitchell perhaps. That explained everything. - -Confidently, Mac got out of bed and, unlocking his door, stepped into -the hall. How different everything looked, how natural and homelike! The -light that had had such a ghost-like appearance, a short time ago, seemed -friendly and quite natural now. At the foot of the stair Mac stopped and -called. He called louder and louder, but all remained silent. Suddenly, -for some inexplicable reason, he approached the door of the room next to -his, seized the doorknob resolutely and, with a sudden push, swung the -door open. The rays of the gas light in the hall fell directly into the -room, and what they revealed sent a cold shudder of horror through him. -Before him stood two _empty pedestals_. The body had disappeared! - -Turning violently, he almost ran to the front door and pulled it open. -An icy gust of wind hit his thinly clad body. For several moments he -stood breathing the cold night air, then, with a sudden determination, he -slammed the big oak door shut. - -As the door slammed, there came a sharp report, like the snapping of a -wire, followed by a thunder and crashing and wailing. The electric light -came on, and the same footsteps that had sounded through the house before -came closer and closer. He felt a sharp pain, like the thrust of a knife, -between his shoulder blades.... And then he fell in a swoon. - - * * * * * - -Weeks passed before Mac was well again. Excessive exposure had brought -on pneumonia. As soon as he recovered he summoned me to the hospital and -begged me to find a new lodging for him and remove his belongings from -the Mitchell home. - -I tried in vain to explain that he had misunderstood Mrs. Mitchell -regarding the disposal of the corpse, for they had taken the body with -them for burial in Wheeling, and it was not in the house at any time -after their departure. But Mac was resolute. He listened indulgently, -patiently, then, laying his white, hot hand upon my shoulder, he looked -earnestly into my eyes, and with a voice that carried conviction he said: - -“I know what I felt in that room that night. It had a _hold_ on me, and -it is waiting for me, and I am not going back!” - -Mac is well again now, and one can see him at the club most any night. -But whenever anybody starts to speak of the Hereafter he rises and -hurriedly leaves the room. - - -Has “Tut’s” Tomb Really Been Found? - -The opening of King Tutankhamen’s tomb, with its attendant world-wide -publicity, has brought upon the head of Lord Carnarvon and his brother -Egyptologists a good deal of sharp censure. Prof. W. A. Hammond, dean -of Cornell University, deeply deplores the motive “that leads men -like Lord Carnarvon to show such utter irreverence for dead men’s -bones.” Other critics declare that the Englishman and his party waxed -over-enthusiastic, and that their discovery, after all, wasn’t as -important as they thought it was. - -“The Twentieth century,” said Prof. Hammond, addressing his class in -philosophy, “shows too little reverence. How would you like it if, 3,000 -years from now, the Saracens had superseded our civilization and had -broken into George Washington’s tomb at Mount Vernon? How would you like -it if Abraham Lincoln’s bones were carried off to Constantinople and -placed on display in a Saracen museum? Yet that is precisely what Lord -Carnarvon now is doing, while the scientific world applauds. What we -need is more conservative scientific investigation, coupled with more -reverence for departed human life.” - -Meanwhile, Senor Schiaparelli of Turin, Italy’s greatest Egyptologist, -makes the assertion that the tomb is not really Tutankhamen’s, but is -merely a storehouse of precious objects, placed there either by the -jealous successor of the dead king or saved from destruction by his -partisans. This Italian archaeologist—and he is supported by Réne Ple -of the Louvre and Georges Benedite of the University of Paris—believes -that “Tut’s” tomb was destroyed by his successor, Armais; and he points -out that the tombs of Rameses III and Rameses IX, when opened, disclosed -vastly more wealth and luxury, although “Tut’s” reign is known to have -been of greater splendor. - -Prof. Roger W. Rogers of Drew Theological Seminary, an authority on -archaeology, says that the jewels and ornaments found in the tomb are -stolen goods, hidden there by native priests, who took them from some -wealthy corpse. It was the custom of the priests in ancient times to -remove valuable articles from a tomb they feared would be looted and hide -them elsewhere. - - - - -_A Man’s Frightful Adventure in an Ancient Tomb_ - -The INCUBUS - -_By_ HAMILTON CRAIGIE - - -Fear beset Gerald Marston at the very moment of his entry into the -chamber—an intense, gripping horror which laid an icy hand upon his -forehead and fingers of a damp coldness about his heart. - -It was as if one invisible from within had reached forth to make him -prisoner to its atmosphere, which, heightened physically by the slimy -walls, the velvet darkness, and the ceaseless, slow dripping of liquid -upon stone, chilled his soul with a nameless foreboding, a daunting -menace of unutterable dread. - -And yet that Something, as he told himself, was behind him—his victim, -the man whom he had killed. - -Even now It walked, rather, upon the surface of the oily night, felt, -but unseen, driving him forward inexorably, pitilessly—so that now he -stood in the entrance to this lesser blackness, his huge bulk shaking in -an anguish of uncertainty but one degree removed from the panic which -had ridden him until, at length, distraught and near to madness, he had -stumbled into this subterranean oubliette in his frantic flight. - -It seemed a week since he, together with Professor Pillsbury, had -descended into this whispering labyrinth of tombs—long galleries of -Aztec construction vying in completeness with the catacombs of early -Rome—sinuous corridors crossing and re-crossing in a maze of underground -warrens of apparently interminable extent. - -It had been the Professor himself, an archaeologist whose devotion to -his calling amounted almost to an obsession, who had suggested the -exploration—nay, insisted on it—nor had he, in his singleness of purpose, -remembered that it had been Marston, his friend, who had, as it were, -with a very triumph of casualness, implanted in his mind the first tiny -seed of suggestion. - -Scarcely a month before Marston had felicitated his friend upon the -latter’s engagement to Lucille Westley, beautiful and imperious, but -there had been death in his heart. Perhaps, however, he had fancied, with -the perverted hope which had grown in his heart like a green and pallid -flame of lust, that, given his chance, he might have possessed this -incomparable creature for his own. - -And so, like a destroying fire, his obsession had mounted until, with -the cunning of his twisted brain, he had evolved a plan, or, rather, -deep within his consciousness, had spawned a thought: foul, slimy, -furtive—even to himself half-born—an abortion, in truth, and yet.... - - * * * * * - -As they had passed from the clean sunlight into the Stygian darkness of -the cavern, somehow, unbidden, there had arisen in Marston’s mind an echo -of the classroom—a fugitive whisper which, he could have sworn, took on -suddenly the form and substance of mocking speech: “_Facilis decensus -Averni_,” it whispered in his ear, as in a dim current of the whispering -wind. - -Marston had brought with him a ball of stout twine as a necessary -precaution in threading the uncharted deeps of the underground corridors. -This he had knotted firmly in a clove hitch (for Marston had been a -sailor). There could have been no fear of its working loose, and less -danger of its fraying out against the rough walls of the passageways, -since at all times it would be loosely held. Like a thin snake, it spread -itself behind them, and like a snake.... - -The accident had been impossible to foresee. He had _known_ that it could -not happen; and yet.... - -The Professor, leading the way with lantern held well aloft, had -exclaimed aloud at the vivid beauty of a stalactite in his path, adjacent -to a broad, deep ledge some three feet in height. - -“Ah, Gerald!” he had cried. “It is _alive_—it writhes with motion—observe -how it has grown, layer upon layer of smooth perfection! And the ledge—a -perfect replica of an ancient sarcophagus! Look—” - -But he was destined never to complete the speech. - -For with the words he stumbled—a bight of the line snaked out to coil -around his ankle—tottered, even as from behind him something moved, -flashed, descended upon his head—something cold and hard. He fell, with a -sodden crash, face downward in the mold. - -And with his fall the lantern crashed to the floor of the cavern, -sputtered a moment feebly in a brief spark of life, and then died -abruptly. And at the feet of Marston that which had been sentient, alive, -now lay still and motionless in the dust. - -Marston stood for a moment, with groping fingers extended into the void -about him; his head sang, his eyes blurred. The velvet black became -suddenly, as it were, endowed with life and movement, mysterious, -whispering. Near at hand there sounded abruptly a horrible, fetid -panting—a gross intake of whistling breath which, in a sudden, -overmastering panic, he did not recognize as his own labored breathing. - -“God!” he cried, insanely, and then, in panic-struck terror at the sound -of his voice, fell silent and stood shivering like a frightened horse. - -With fumbling fingers he felt in his pockets and produced a box of -matches, finally, after many attempts, lighting one which he held -tremblingly above his head. He did not glance at the figure at his feet, -but over and beyond it, where his shadow, monstrous and grotesque, seemed -flung headforemost into a shallow niche, within which there rested a flat -slab of rock perhaps three feet in height. - -To his distorted imagination the sudden suggestion seemed filled with -a vague menace—as if the brooding shadow of death had reached forth to -touch, to summon, to beckon with an imperious, chill finger there in that -stifling abode of changeless dark. - -Abruptly, as the quick flame ate downward to his finger-tips, he made -a short, backward step—stumbled—and the box fell from his nerveless -hand, the match winked out, and at one stride the dominion of the dark -enveloped him. - -He bent swiftly, with frantic fingers searching in the mold, scratching, -clawing in a fever of anxiety. - -He found—nothing. Then, as if impelled from behind by an inexorable -Force, he began to ran, stumbling, falling, bruising himself against the -sharp, unseen angles of the passageway along which he fled.... - -Time had merged into an eternity of physical pain and mental torture, -of corroding fear which left him in a sweat of agony as he fared onward -in his blundering flight. The sense of direction which in the pitch -blackness renders the familiar outlines of one’s very bed-chamber -strangely distorted—this had become confused in his first headlong rush -away from the scene of that which was branded upon his heart in letters -of fire. - -Now, in his warped and twisted brain the germ of a thought grew, -expanded, flowered abruptly in an insane cacophony of sound. - -A laugh, reedy, discordant, cackling echoed in his ears, beginning in a -low chuckle, then rising all about him in a furious stridor of sound. It -was as if the demons of the place were welcoming him to their midst as -one worthy of their company. - -Again he fell prone, groveling in the mold in an ecstasy of terror at the -unrecognizable mouthings which issued from his throat. But even as his -insanity peopled the void about him with shapes of terror, in especial -the hideous Shape which he knew even now followed him, he got somehow -to his feet, arose, and lurched headlong into a recess in the rocky -corridor, which would have been familiar could he have but beheld it even -in the brief flaring of a match. - -It was then that he heard the ceaseless, slow dripping that smote -him afresh with an indescribable, crawling fear, beside which his -previous insane panic had been as nothing. For a moment he heard also a -gibbering—a squeaking, a rustle which with his coming ceased abruptly -in a faint shadow of sound. For the moment, he could have sworn that a -slinking, furtive, Something, unbelievably swift, had brushed past his -leg, touched him lightly as with the faint, fugitive contact of a dead, -wind-blown leaf. - -That slow, continuous dripping—too well he knew its meaning, or thought -that he did. And in the same breath he became aware of the place in -which he stood—_recognized_ it for what it was even in the enveloping -blackness. - -At any other time he would have known that measured dripping for what -it was: the curiously suggestive rhythm of the stalactite’s slow -_drip-drip_, like the sluggish dripping of blood. - -In his headlong flight, cleaving an unimagined depth of Cimmerian -darkness, through which it seemed he was breathing the oily tide of a dim -nightmare of viscid flood, all sense of direction had been completely -lost. - -Now, as he stood, within this fearsome catacomb, of a sudden he stumbled, -knelt, put forward a groping hand, and then recoiled with a windy -shriek—as his shaking fingers encountered _the clammy surface of a human -face_! - - * * * * * - -He had returned, willy nilly, as it seemed, to the body of his victim. It -was the face of Pillsbury, cold, clammy, silent, unresponsive. - -Doomed! He was doomed, then, to kneel there, in that groping blackness of -this frightful charnel—alone, yet prisoner to that silent figure—forever -to hear that ceaseless dripping, regular as the beating of a heart, of -a heart that was stilled forever, yet strangely pulsing in its slow -_drip-drip_—inexorable, insistent, ever louder, as it seemed—rising in a -veritable thunder against the low-hung curtain of the dark. - -Trembling, urging his will by the severest effort he had ever known, in a -sudden lucid interval he passed an exploring hand over the rigid outlines -of the body, which lay, as upon a bier, on a sort of rocky shelf, -perhaps three feet in height, just level with his shoulders as he bent -before it. But it had not been there before! When he had left it in his -overmastering panic _it had been lying, face downward in the mold_! - -But it did not occur to him to question its position; the strange -significance of the fact affected him not at all, for, curiously enough, -with the contact there came a measure of reassurance: the Thing which -had been Pillsbury, his friend—the Thing which he had left behind—had not -been following him; it had existed merely in his coward imagination. Or, -if it had hunted him through the maze of corridors, it was now returned -to its chosen resting-place. There it was, under his hand! - -It was absurd to think that he had been followed, for dead men did not -walk, save in dreams, and he had returned to prove that it lay where he -had left it, silent, cold, incapable of movement without volition. - -On his hands and knees, his questing fingers, tracing the rigid outline -of the limbs, came suddenly upon a length of line, knotted about the -ankle. _Ah!_ - -Feverishly he felt about him in the blackness, clawing forward on hands -and knees. Yes, the line ran clear, unbroken, _away_ from the niche. He -was saved! - -In his sudden revulsion, he gave way to primitive emotion—he chuckled, -moaned, cried, wept, laughed in a horrible travesty of mirth. - -Like a drowning man, he seized upon it with clutching fingers as if -by some sudden magic he might be drawn, on the instant, out of this -labyrinth of black terror which was eating into his soul with the -corroding bite of an acid. For at the other end of that thin thread lay -sunlight and life and liberty. He held that within his shaking grasp -which was in truth a life-line, a tenuous yet certain means of safety, -of escape from a death, the grisly face of which had but a moment before -leered at him out of the tomblike depths. - -In his eagerness to be gone, he straightened from his kneeling posture -with a convulsive movement, his fingers holding the line, jerked it -violently, and, before he could rise, there came a rustle, a thud, and -a suffocating weight descended upon his back. As he fell, face downward -in the mold, he squeaked like a rat as, out of the dark, two hands went -round his neck and clawlike talons encircled his throat. - -Curiously alive they seemed, and yet—with his own hand he had accounted -for that life. It was not possible—no, it could not be!—it was -unthinkable.... - -For a space he lay, inert, passive, but, notwithstanding his terror, his -fingers still clutching the line, spread out before him in the blackness. -Presently, when his panic had somewhat abated, when he found that he was -still alive, unharmed, by slow stages of tremendous effort he rose to his -knees, tottering under the Incubus upon his back. - -Now that he knew what it was, after an interval he attempted to disengage -the fingers about his neck, but he could not. He found that grip rigid, -unyielding. Like a bar of iron, it resisted his utmost efforts. - -It was as if a Will, implacable, inexorable, had informed those stiffened -talons with purpose; it was as if the last sentient effort of an -Intelligence had, by some supernatural quality, _bequeathed_ to those -fingers a message, a command to be performed. _Rigor mortis_—that was -it—the unbreakable hold of those implacable fingers: Pillsbury’s vengeful -fingers, reaching out, even after death, in a dreadful cincture of doom! - -But Marston rose slowly to his feet, staggering, swaying beneath that -frightful burden whose fingers wrenched by a superhuman effort from his -neck, bit into his shoulders like hooks of steel. - -“God!” he mumbled, again, in an unconscious travesty—a hideous burlesque -of supplication. - -It _was_ the end, then. Weakened as he was, his nerves a jangle of -discordant wires, his mind a chaos of bemused and frantic thought, he -stood, helpless, swaying, foredone, beaten, trapped by the insensate clay -of his own making. - -No longer a man but a beast, his brain wiped free of every thought but -the blind, unreasoning impulse to live, like an animal he drew, from some -unsuspected physical reservoir within him, the strength to proceed. - -Tottering, swaying, he reverted to the brute, and, with the dumb, inhuman -impulsion of the brute, roweling even his apelike strength to superhuman -effort, he continued to advance, falling at times, and rising as with the -last spent effort of a runner at the tape, yet somehow going on and on, -feeling his way along that thin thread whose other end, miles distant, -centuries away, stretched into the ether of Heaven! - -In a nightmare of suffocating blackness, shot through at times with the -red fires of the Pit, he fared onward, and now he saw, with a sudden, -agonized return to the perception of the human, that those fires were all -about him. They were Eyes, venomous, hateful, red with the lust of unholy -anticipation.... - -He heard about him the slither of gaunt bodies, the patter of innumerable -feet—rats they were, but of an unconscionable size, huge and voracious, -such as infested this underground kingdom of the dead. - -While he moved he knew that they would not attack him. While he lived, -even without movement, he believed that he was safe. - -But why had they refrained from that which he had given them to feast -upon, the Thing which even now flapped about him, the inanimate yet -strangely animate shell which he had transformed at a stroke from life -to death, its legs striking against his as he moved, as if to urge him -onward, rowel him forward as in a race with death? - -The sounds that he had heard, the squeaks, the gibbers—as of ghouls -disturbed at a ghastly rendezvous—could there have been any significance -in these? Somewhere he had heard of drunken miners, asleep in the deep -levels of coal, brought to a sudden, horrid awakening by cold lips -nuzzling cheek or neck, but his brain considered this dully, if at all. - -An odd hallucination began to possess him; dimly he dreamed that his -dreadful burden was alive, but unconscious, insentient. But he knew that -it was an hallucination. - -He would make no immediate effort to rid himself of the Thing he -carried—not now, at any rate. When he became stronger he would bury it, -hide it. Years might pass—perhaps a chance party might discover in one -of the innumerable corridors a moldering skeleton—but the body of his -guilt would be a _corpus delicti_—there could be no conviction without -evidence, and no murder without a victim produced as of due process of -law. - -But in a moment it seemed this thought gave place to the overmastering -panic terror of escape. Instinct alone held him to his course. If there -had been light one might have seen the foam which gathered on his lips, -the glassy stare of his eyes. - -Again he fell, and this time he fancied that the narrowing circle had -drawn nearer. Even to his dulled brain he was aware of an intelligent -rapacity in those burning eyes, an anticipation which sprang from -_knowledge_. - -Somehow, once more, he rose upright, after a multiplied agony of -straining effort, but he felt, deep within his consciousness, that he was -but a puppet in the hands of a ruthless fate, doomed to wander forever -under his detestable load. - -Of a sudden, also, an illumination, like a fiery sword, cut through the -dulled functioning of his intelligence: the beast that was Marston reeled -with the suggestion that penetrated the surface of his physical coma. - -What if the line he followed led, not into the clean brightness of the -outer air, but, by some frightful mischance, still farther into the womb -of the hills, deeper and deeper into oblivion, down and down into the -uttermost hell of one’s imagining? - -In the flux and reflux of images which had taken the place of coherent -thought he saw all this, he felt it to be a possibility, and with the -terror of the brute he strove once more to rid himself of this insensate -tyrant, this incubus which rode him, roweling his sides with grotesquely -dangling feet, spurring him on in a mad welter of fear and pain from -which he could not escape. - -But it was useless. Try as he would, he could not disengage that grip of -steel, and thewed mightily as he was, he found that every last ounce of -his great strength was needed to go on. He was just weak enough to render -futile any effort to dislodge those clinging fingers, and just strong -enough to continue his progress, like a mole in the dark—and that was all. - -He must go on and on until flesh and blood could endure no more, the -victim of his own contriving, the veritable bond-slave of his passionate -soul. And when at length he should fall, no more to rise, then would -come, not swift oblivion, but death, indeed, lingering, horrible, -unthinkable, even for a beast.... - - * * * * * - -Time had ceased, feeling had ceased; thought remained only in the faint -spark which glowed somewhere within him, flickering now, glowing at the -core of his being even as about him there narrowed the fell circle of the -blazing eyes. - -_Slap—slap—shuffle—slap...._ With the infinite slowness of exhaustion, -his feet moved, dragged, went forward, while ever at his back those other -lifeless feet rose and fell in a grotesque travesty of life, of movement, -spurring forward his all but fainting soul. - -Dimly he perceived that the floor upon which he moved had taken an upward -trend; he felt the line go suddenly taut; then, abruptly, before him, -for a single instant, a pale glimmer flickered and died as from dim -leagues of distance. - -Summoning the last remnant of his strength, he began to run, or thought -that he did, but in reality he moved by inches, and by inches the faint -glimmer grew, expanded, broadened to a luminous grayness. - -Stumbling, slipping, swaying from side to side, the sight of that pale -shadow of the day intoxicated him with a feverish exultation, despite the -weakness which seemed to dissolve his being to water. He was saved. - -By a last, titanic effort, a tremendous wrenching of the will, he fell -rather than staggered into the outer air—beheld, with lack-lustre eyes, -the ring of faces about him, all staring eyes and white lips and working -faces. - -Then he sank abruptly to his knees as eager hands relieved him of his -burden. He heard voices, meaningless, yet filled with meaning.... - -He fell instantaneously down a long stairway to the deep, enveloping -mercy of unconsciousness. - - * * * * * - -Presently, after a timeless interval, he opened his eyes, and then closed -them again, blinking owlishly at the strong sunlight. He heard a voice, -incoherent, babbling, which, after a moment, he recognized as his own: - -“The stalactite—it was the stalactite that killed him, I tell you.... It -was an accident—an _accident_....” - -He rolled his eyes wildly from right to left; and at what he saw a -strangled, mad cry of sudden comprehension—of understanding—issued from -his throat ere the thick veil of a retributive insanity descended upon -him forever: - -“_The rats_ ... knew....” - -Before him, his face death-white, his hands scarred from the rough -stone up which he had clawed to the rocky shelf, a clean bandage about -his forehead, was the face of Pillsbury. In that brief instant, like a -lightning flash, illumination seared into the brain of Marston, and, by -its very white-hot intensity, shriveled it to the dust of a gibbering -madness: - -The drunken sleep of the miners.... - -The nibbling of the rats.... Pillsbury’s awakening to consciousness.... -His instinctive, _upward_ effort to escape to the ledge from which, with -the half-conscious, and then wholly conscious grip that would not be -denied, he had fallen upon Marston.... - -Potential murderer that he was, Marston himself, by a poetic irony of -justice, had been the unwitting savior of his intended victim! - - -More About the Egyptians - -The recent discovery of King Tutankhamen’s tomb has created a very -general interest in that most fascinating science, Egyptology. The -authorities tell us that there is in existence a drawing which shows the -Princess Sedel and Prince Nereb of the Fourth Dynasty, which began about -4748 B. C. - -The laws of the ancient Egyptians were codified, and while most of these -are lost, yet it is known that the administration of justice was well -organized. Efforts were made to discover the offenders, the case set -forth in writing, the defendant permitted to state his case, witnesses -were called and judges considered the matter. No pleading was allowed, as -the Egyptians considered that eloquence, by affecting the emotions, might -be detrimental to justice. - -Murder was punishable by death; so also was perjury. For treachery the -punishment was loss of the tongue; for forgery, the right hand was cut -off. Noblemen and high officials found guilty of a crime were bound as a -matter of honor to commit suicide. One document, relating to a court of -special inquiry, states: “They found him guilty. They sent him back to -his own house. He took his own life.” - -All citizens were registered, the name, address and occupation being duly -reported. A full description of the person was added for identification -when deeds were drawn up: “Panouthes, aged about forty-five, of middle -size, dark complexion and handsome figure, bald, round-faced and straight -nosed.” - -Perhaps one of the strangest details of the Egyptian penal law was their -method of dealing with robbers. All professional thieves sent in their -names to the Arch-thief, and always informed him of the goods stolen, -giving details. If, therefore, a robbery took place, the victim at once -lodged a complaint with this chief of the thieves, stating the nature and -value of the missing objects, and the time of the theft. The articles -could thus be identified, and after paying one-quarter the value the -owner received them back uninjured. - - J. K. - - - - -_An Amazing Novelette Filled With Weird Happenings_ - -_The_ BODYMASTER - -_By_ Harold Ward - - -_Foreword_ - -_Perhaps I have been suffering from an hallucination. Possibly during the -weary months that I was lost to family and friends I was wandering about -the country, my brain in the ferment which afterward developed into the -attack of brain fever from which I have just recovered._ - -_Yet the maggots of madness inside my skull could not have created all -that I have seen. The proof of my sincerity lies in the fact that within -these pages I have confessed complicity in crimes for which the law -can hang me if it so desires. I am willing to admit that to the man of -science my tale bristles with errors—errors of interpretation, but not of -fact—for I am a detective, not a scientist._ - -_Did such a man as The Bodymaster really exist? Or was it only the -writhing of my tortured imagination which transformed Doctor Darius -Lessman, theologist and philanthropist, into a fiend incarnate? His lair -is gone. A pile of charred ruins now occupies the place where it stood. -Its inmates died with it. The Bodymaster is no more. But is he really -dead?_ - -_Time alone will tell. The records of the police department of the City -of New York will bear out my story up to a certain point. From there on -the affair is a puzzle to me. It is from this that the reader must draw -his own deductions. I can give only the facts._ - - -_CHAPTER I._ - -Through the thick tangle of underbrush and trees, which surrounded Doctor -Darius Lessman’s private sanitarium just outside the city of New York, -dashed a young man, coatless, hatless, his shirt and trousers torn to -shreds by the thorns and brambles. - -With blood streaming from a hundred scratches on his face and hands, -he presented a savage, almost inhuman, aspect as he leaped before the -automobile rapidly coming down the smooth asphalt pavement. - -His face was drawn, haggard, contorted; and the snow-white hair, which -crowned his youthful face, was matted and unkempt. His eyes bulged from -their sockets like those of a maniac as he glared at the oncoming machine. - -The afternoon, which was just drawing to a close, had been unusually hot; -the storm, hovering over the countryside, filled the air with a strange -foreboding—an unusual degree of sultriness. The sky was dull save when an -occasional flash of lightning tore through the lowering heavens. Not a -breath of wind. Not the rustle of a leaf. Yet the teeth of the man in the -roadway rattled like castanets, and upon his clammy brow the cold sweat -of terror stood out in beads. - -The driver of the big machine brought it to a stop with a sharp grinding -of brakes. As he caught a glimpse of the ghastly face of the man before -him he involuntarily hunched his body back further into his seat. - -“What the hell!” he exclaimed. - -The other leaped to the side of the machine and fumbled clumsily—his -fingers shaking like those of a man with the palsy—at the catch of the -door. - -“Quick!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “He—the Bodymaster—is after me! Get me to -the police station. I must—Oh, my God! I _must_ tell my story before he -seizes me again!” - -He managed to open the door and stumble into the machine. The driver -turned to him. - -“All right, old man,” he said in the soothing tone that one uses in -addressing a lunatic. “We’ll get you there in a jiffy. Are you from -the big house up yonder?” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the -sanitarium. - -An involuntary shudder ran through the young man. His eyes dilated. He -shrank away from the motorist. - -“My God! Not there! Not there again!” he implored. “Please don’t take me -back to that den! You think that I’m a madman. I can see that you do. -I’m sane—as sane as you. But heavens knows why—after the hell I’ve been -through!” - -He turned to the driver and grasped him by the arm. - -“Give her the gas!” he exclaimed. “Can’t you see that I’m doomed? But no. -You know nothing of the Bodymaster and the strange hold he has over his -subjects. He is after me—he, the Bodymaster! It is to save others from -the same fate that I must tell what I know!” - -With a sudden bound he leaped forward, his eyes wild, his hair in a -tousled mass, his hands stretched out, the fingers clawing wildly, his -whole body quivering. Then he dropped to the floor of the machine as if -hurled by unseen hands. - -“He is _here_! _The Bodymaster is here!_” he shrieked. “Drive—for the -love of God, dr——” - -The words ended in a dull, throaty gurgle as he writhed upon the floor of -the machine at the other’s feet. The driver, bewildered by the strange -scene, threw in the clutch, and the machine dashed madly down the -pavement. - -The young man was on his back now, his knees drawn up, his face ghastly -and twisted, his eyes bulging, his fingers clawing as if unseen hands -were gripping at his throat. His mouth was open—gaping as he fought for -breath. - -With a wild yell of terror, the driver leaped from the machine. The -automobile swerved, skidded—then hurled its weight against a nearby tree. - -Summoning his courage, he rose to his feet from the side of the road, -where his fall had thrown him among the brush and brambles, and -approached the wreck. - -In the bottom of the car the stranger lay dead! - -_And upon his white throat were the black marks of fingers!_ - - -_CHAPTER II._ - -John Duncan was arrested, charged with the murder of the unknown young -man. - -He had no defense. The evidence was all against him. The body of the -stranger had been found in his damaged car. Death was the result of -strangulation. The marks of fingers were upon the dead man’s throat. - -The defendant admitted that the deceased had been alive when he entered -the machine. And the story he told was so strange, so unbelievable, that -even his own attorney scoffed at it. How, then, could a judge believe his -tale? - -Doctor Darius Lessman was called upon to testify at the preliminary -hearing. Tall, gaunt, saturnine, his raven hair, slightly tinged with -gray, brushed back from his high forehead, he looked the student, the man -of research, and as such he impressed the jury. - -Carefully, painstakingly, he made an examination of the body. To the best -of his knowledge and belief, he testified, he had never seen the man in -life. How he chanced to be wandering about the grounds of the Lessman -sanitarium he did not know. He added to the already favorable opinion -formed of him by the judge and jury by asking that he be allowed to pay -the funeral expenses of the ragged stranger. - -One man alone believed the tale told by John Duncan. He was Patrick -Casey, captain in command of the homicide squad of the Metropolitan -Police Department. - -The alleged murder had happened outside of Casey’s jurisdiction; but the -captain chanced to be present at the hearing. Immediately afterward he -sought an interview with the defendant. - -For a second time he heard the story, questioned Duncan closely and, -at the close of his visit, advised the accused to retain the private -inquiry agency of which I am the head. He even interested himself to the -extent of calling me up, telling me of what he had done and asking that I -take the case as a personal favor to him. - -John Duncan, being a wealthy man, accepted the policeman’s advice. And -thus I became a figure in what I am forced to believe was the strangest -series of happenings that ever fell to mortal man. - -I admit that I am ashamed of the part fate forced me to play. The reader -will probably term me either a fool or a lunatic. I am certain that I am -not a fool. As for being a lunatic—as I have stated in my foreword, I do -not know. But I digress. - -Three days later, armed with letters of introduction from some of the -most celebrated alienists in the city, all vouching for my character and -ability, I applied to Doctor Darius Lessman for a position as attendant. - -I secured the position. - - * * * * * - -An uncanny, eerie, ghost-like place, this sanitarium of Doctor Lessman’s. - -My first glimpse of it recalled to mind a description I had read -somewhere of a ruined castle “from whose tall black windows came no ray -of light and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the -moonlit sky.” It had been built—some half century before—for a mad-house. -Its owner, a better physician than a business man, had lost his all -before its completion, and it had fallen badly into decay when Lessman -purchased it. - -It stood in the midst of an arid thicket of oaks, cedars and stunted -pines. Lessman, evidently, had done little to improve the place or its -surroundings save to finish that part that had been left uncompleted by -the former owner, and year after year it had grown more gloomy and less -habitable. The state highway ran a scant half mile away, crowded on both -sides by the stunted forest, a macadamized driveway which wound about -through the trees, leading to the house. The nearest habitation was -several miles away. - -How such a place could be approved by the state as a hospital for -the cure of nervous disorders has always been a question to me. Yet -investigation proved that Lessman had a state license, although to the -best of my knowledge his institution had no patients, nor did it seek -them. It was a sanitarium in name only. - -In my character of a man seeking employment, I thought it best to walk -the last lap of the journey. Dismissing my chauffeur at the edge of the -forest, lest some one from the house discover my means of transportation, -I sent him home and trudged down the pathway toward the ancient pile. - -_I must digress long enough to state that this was the last time I was -seen until I made my reappearance months afterward, to all appearances a -raving maniac. Naturally, after several weeks had passed and nothing was -heard from me, my family and friends commenced an investigation. Doctor -Lessman was able to prove to them that I had never reached his place, in -spite of the statement made by Hopkins, the chauffeur. The latter was -arrested and would probably have been held for my murder had it not been -for my timely reappearance. But more of this later._ - -I approached the great door, studded with iron nails and set in a -doorway of massive brick and stone. There was no sign of a bell, and I -was finally forced to resort to my knuckles to hammer a tattoo on the -weather-beaten panel. - -I had almost decided to try the door in the rear, when I heard the -approach of a heavy step. There came a sound of rattling chains and the -clanking of massive bolts. Then a key was turned with a grating noise, -and the big door swung back. - -Something told me to flee; but I shook off the feeling as unworthy a man -of my profession and stood my ground. Had I but obeyed that impulse Had I -but obeyed that impulse I would have been a happier man today! - -Doctor Lessman, clad in a faded bathrobe, his forefinger between the -pages of the volume he had been reading, greeted me. For an instant his -gaze traveled over me from head to foot, then went past me as if seeking -my means of approach. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he took -my letters of introduction and read them carefully, questioning me on -several points. - -With a gesture of his slender hand he invited me to enter—_the lair of -the Bodymaster_! - - -_CHAPTER III._ - -What better proof that I was not insane during those horrible months -than that during my rational periods I kept a diary? Fragmentary though -it is, showing as it does the awful strain under which I was placed, the -detective instinct must have been uppermost at all times. - -I remember nothing of writing it. Yet here it is in my own handwriting. -Evidently so deeply impressed upon my subconscious mind must have been -my mission—the fact that I was there to save an innocent man from the -gallows—that, like a man in his sleep, I wrote, not knowing that I -did, obsessed with the one idea—to preserve the evidence which I was -accumulating against Darius Lessman. Why he did not destroy the diary -I do not know. Possibly I had it too well hidden. Or he may not have -thought it worth while, believing that I would never escape. - - -THE DIARY. - -“The ragged stranger was right. Lessman _is_ a Bodymaster. Already he -holds me in his power. My body is his to do with as he wills. Those -into whose hands this writing may fall will probably think me demented, -for the human mind declines to believe that which it can not understand. -And while I am under his uncanny power I may do some act—commit some -deed—which, under happier circumstances, would fill me with loathing. -Do not judge me too harshly. Remember that Lessman’s is the will which -forces me.” - - -ANOTHER ENTRY IN THE DIARY. - -“Last night I killed a man. Of this I am almost certain. I, a man sworn -to avenge crime and to track down criminals, have the brand of Cain -upon my brow. My hands are dripping with blood. I should be in a cell -in murderers’ row, waiting for an avenging law to hang me, instead of -breathing the air of freedom. But am I free? No! A thousand times no! I -am as much a prisoner as I would be behind the bars of a felon’s cage. - -“As one watches a motion picture thrown upon the silver screen, I see -myself with Meta by my side.... We cross a darkened thoroughfare.... -The details are fragmentary—occasional. I know that we are near a -house. A window is open. We enter. At her command, I approach the safe -placed in the wall. It seems to open to my touch.... Meta is holding a -flashlight—And yet it is not Meta! It is another—a girl, fair-haired, -sweet of face—yet her will is the will of Meta. Meta’s is the driving -force behind her actions, just as my body is driven onward by the iron -will of the Bodymaster.... - -“Some one is approaching. We step behind the curtain. He enters and snaps -on the light. At sight of the open safe, he turns. He is about to give -the alarm.... There is a knife in my hand.... I strike! God in Heaven! _I -have killed him!_... We seize the jewels from the safe and escape....” - -“There was the stain of blood on my hand when I awoke this morning. I -am a murderer! Oh God! I pray that it was all a dream. Yet it was so -realistic that I am forced to believe that it is true. - -“I have discovered the evidence which I set out to find. But what a -terrific price I have paid for what I have learned. Under his will, my -brain is a vacuum, rattling around within its pan like a pebble in a tin -bucket, functioning only when he so commands. But wait! This can not be -entirely so. I must still have some reasoning power left, else I would -not be writing these lines. Thank God for that! - -“Yet even as I write I know that The Bodymaster is planning my death. -He has it within his power to drive my soul from out my body—to usurp -this tenement of clay with his own polluted brain. How he works his -wonders I will describe later if I am able. It is hard for me to think -consecutively. - -“Lessman’s is the greatest brain, his the most wonderful intellect, -the world has ever known. His is the accumulated wisdom of the -centuries—since Jesus of Nazareth trod this earth there has been none who -could accomplish the wonders he has performed. Think what a power for -good he might have been! - -“I must publish his devilishness to the world. John Duncan lies festering -in a felon’s cell, perhaps to stretch a hempen rope for a crime that -Lessman committed. I must save him if I can. Yet who will believe me? -Wise judges and learned counsel scoffed and jeered at what Duncan had to -tell. What, then, will they say when they read these lines? I see them -smile derisively and tap their bulging brows in token of my madness. - -“Meta is the lure he used to hold me in his power. My instinct told me to -flee the minute I crossed the threshold. Would to heaven I had! Lessman -must have read my thoughts, for he pressed the bell which summoned her to -his side. - -“One glimpse of Meta Vinetta and I was lost. - -“Lessman introduced me to her as his sister. I know now that she is more -to him than that—that she is his soul mate, his affinity. She is his -accomplice in all the devilish schemes which incubate within his wondrous -brain. - -“Together they can rule the world. Lessman holds that the body is a -shell, a house built only to hold the soul, deriving its power from the -spirit, the will. To him there is no crime in murder, for his theology -holds that the snapping of the thread of life is merely the release of -the soul which soars away to realms on high. His is the belief that -might is right. He needs the bodies of his victims in order to practice -his devilish arts. He has the power to take them, and he uses it to -the utmost. He holds that the body is not a prison house, but a slave -to will. In his philosophy, it is simply a useful tool over which the -spirit possesses absolute control. He is neither a spiritualist nor a -theosophist. His is a theory all by itself and of itself. - -“_Lessman has elected to live forever!_ Of that I am certain. He and -Meta—the woman he loves.” - - -ANOTHER ENTRY. - -“There are other poor dupes here—at least a dozen of them. Some of them -are maniacs; and Lessman is holding them, I think, with the hope that he -can cure their awful malady. For, as I understand it, he has no power -over a diseased brain. It is only those that are normal that bow to his -bidding. - -“We have compared notes. Collins, of Chicago, has rational streaks during -which he is able to talk freely. He, like myself, was a detective. I -remember reading of his strange disappearance over a year ago. He was -on a robbery case, and certain clews led him to New York. Instead of -reporting to the police, he thought to take all the credit and capture -the criminals himself. He trailed them to Doctor Lessman’s place. He, -like myself, fell a victim to the wiles of Meta. Now he is at intervals a -jibbering idiot. - -“Several of the poor devils, Collins tells me, were placed here by -distant relatives. Lessman, wearing the garb of sanctity, talks of his -desire to cure them of their nervous disorder, and their relatives, poor -fools, glad to rid themselves of the millstones around their necks, turn -the wretched creatures over to him. He charges a low rate for their board -and medical treatment. - -“To one and all he is known as ‘The Bodymaster.’ He teaches them to call -him that. They fear him like the very devil. They talk occasionally of a -revolt. But when he is near they tremble at his frown. His hold over them -is absolute—complete.” - - -_CHAPTER IV._ - -_Evidently several weeks elapsed between the last entry in the diary and -what follows. This is to be inferred from the fact that several things -are mentioned as having happened of which there is no record. In all -probability, I was in a semi-somnambulic state during the interval, as a -result of Lessman’s strange power over me. During my entire incarceration -there were times when everything was a blank; at other times, I remember, -there were dim, hazy vistas of things into which I peered. They seem like -dreams. Yet, if they were dreams, of what was their substance? A dream -must have some foundation._ - - -FROM THE DIARY. - -“The unforeseen has come to pass. That which I have just witnessed God -never intended that mortal eyes should see. At the very thought of it my -body trembles and every nerve tingles as if from electric shock. - -“Where is Lessman? Did the Bodymaster and his female accomplice perish -in the ruins of their own diabolical art? I hope so. It is better that -I—that all of us—die of starvation, locked as we are in this horrible -den, than that others should share the fate which has been meted out to -us. - -“_Last night I am almost certain that we exchanged bodies—the Bodymaster -and I!_ - -“At least, my waking consciousness tells me that we did. Yet it is all so -hazy that I can remember only fragments of what happened. Perhaps I only -dreamed. I tell only what I can remember. - -“At his command, I slunk from my narrow cell like a mangy, half-starved, -dope-filled circus lion from its cage. And, like the king of beasts, -beaten into servitude in the arena, I fawned at my master’s feet, ready -to do his bidding. Such is the state that I have reached. For my body -is not my own. It is his—his to do with as he wills. Fight as I may, an -unseen force compels me to do his bidding. - -“They were together, he and Meta. From another door entered a girl—young, -beautiful, fair-haired. She is, I am certain, the woman who accompanied -me on that other occasion of which I have a recollection—the night I -found the blood upon my hand and knew that I had killed a man. I dream of -her nightly. She is Meta’s dupe. Like me, her mind is not yet a blank. -She entered slowly, reluctantly, as if every fiber in her body rebelled -against the awful crime in which she was to take a part, her great blue -eyes staring straight ahead. - -“Like a woman who walks in her sleep, she approached Meta’s side. For -an instant they stood there—the fair-haired girl and the beautiful, -raven-tressed woman. Lessman’s hands hovered over them. - -“She screamed! God in heaven, how she shrieked! Then the body of Meta -staggered to a nearby chair and dropped into its recesses. - -“_And from the throat of the fair-haired girl with the angel’s face came -the voice of Meta!_ - -“‘_It is done!_’ - -“He, the Bodymaster, turned to me. My whole being fought within me -against the sacrilege which was being committed. As well attempt to stem -the oncoming tide. I felt my body in a convulsion. Something seemed to -be tearing at my very vitals. My mind reeled. My brain was filled with -fire. The face—the devilish, diabolical, mocking face of the Bodymaster -appeared before me. I could see nothing else. His baleful, gleaming eyes -seemed to burn into my very core. My body seemed to be hurled through -space.... Then came oblivion. - -“I must have been unconscious but an instant. I stood leaning against -the table, my fingers pressed against my aching brow. Dazed, I passed -my hand across my face. I was bearded. _It was the face of Lessman, the -Bodymaster!_ - -“The clothes were his. _I was inhabiting his body!_ - -“My startled gaze turned across the room. To all intents and purposes it -was I who stood there, my arm about the waist of the golden-haired girl. - -“I knew that it was not I—that it was Lessman, the Bodymaster, who -offered his foul caresses to the beautiful face upraised to his. I knew -that the rich red lips were not those of the girl whose slender body he -had defiled. It was Meta—Meta and Lessman, not the girl and I.... - -“A burst of rage swelled up within me. Something snapped. For an instant -a flood of red appeared before my eyes. I leaped forward, the lust for -killing within my brain. - -“Lessman’s body is fat with nourishment, his muscles fed by good living, -while mine is half famished, ill-nourished, weak as a result of worry and -nerve strain. - -“It was my own body I was punishing. Yet Lessman’s was the soul that -inhabited it. As a man sees his face in a mirror, so did I see my face -before me. I hurled my stolen body to the floor. Screaming with rage, I -showered blow after blow upon it. It writhed with pain. - -“And all the time, within me, there was being waged a terrible struggle -for mastery. I felt the will of Lessman commanding me to desist. Yet the -love of a woman was stronger than his power. I gouged at the gleaming -eyes which stared up into mine, the while I choked at the throat—_my -throat_—which lay beneath my fingers. - -“The woman was screaming. I knew that it was Meta who was cursing me, who -sought to pull me from my victim. Yet it was the body of the unnamed girl -I loved, her face contorted into a frenzy of malignancy, who showered -blow after blow upon my bared head.... - -“I awoke to find myself here in my cell again. My head aches. My face is -covered with bruises. My hair is matted with blood. Lessman must have -conquered. I wonder how fared the girl with the mass of shimmering, -golden hair. Surely, with all these bruises, it could not have been a -dream.” - - -_CHAPTER V._ - -MORE FROM THE DIARY. - -“She loves me! We met today for the first time, unfettered by the -insidious chains the Bodymaster has woven about us. Her name is Avis—Avis -Rohmer. She has told me all. - -“Perhaps it is a part of his diabolical plan to allow us to see each -other. He knows that I will never seek to escape until I can take her -with me. Since my rebellion of the other night—I know not how long ago it -was, for time is as nothing in a brain that is partly dead—he has been -more careful. - -“She, Avis and I, alone of all those who have fallen under his -supernatural power, still retain our minds. The others are mental wrecks, -their skulls mere empty shells in which their addled brains sizzle and -froth like half-worked wine in kegs. She has begged me to protect her. -And I have sworn to take her from this den of iniquity, although God -alone knows how I can ever keep my promise. For I am as completely under -his power as she. - -“Victory makes him careless, while failure makes him redouble his -efforts. That is why this narrative appears piecemeal. I am like a man -sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, waking up occasionally for food, -then dropping off again. What he is doing during the intervals when I am -not myself I can only imagine.” - - -ANOTHER ENTRY. - -“I must work fast if I am to save Avis. I care not for myself now—since -I have felt love. She is an orphan. She came here from a western state, -determined to make her fortune on the stage. Like thousands of others, -she found that her talent was mediocre. She sought to make a living -in other ways when she found that all that was open to her was the -downward path. Meta—again it was Meta who served as the lure—read her -advertisement. Meta appeared before her as the Good Samaritan—a woman, -wealthy, refined, seeking a companion. She brought her here. - -“Lessman allows me to see her every day now. What devilish plan has he in -view that he should torture me with her sufferings?” - - -_CHAPTER VI._ - -_Occasionally through the clouds of obscurity there appears some -incident which I remember distinctly. Strange as it may appear, there -is no record of these occasions in my diary. I can explain this only -by the supposition that at such times Lessman withdrew his power over -me, while on all other occasions I was, as I have said before, in a -semi-somnambulic state._ - - -THE DIARY CONTINUES. - -“I awoke as one awakens from a horrible nightmare. My brain was as -clear as a crystal. For an instant I imagined that I was in my own -apartment—that the suffering I had gone through were but the conjurings -of my own mind. - -“A single glance at the barred window brought me back to a sudden -realization of my condition. But my mind was my own. I was freed from the -horrible thing that had obsessed me. - -“On the table in one corner of the room was food. I ate ravenously. I do -not remember how long it had been since I had eaten. My meal completed, -I looked about me for some means of escape. Once I could find a way out -of the accursed place—some weapon with which to defend myself—I would -return, free Avis and flee. - -“It must have been midnight. Outside, the rain was falling in torrents. -It beat a regular tattoo upon the window. Cautiously, lest I be heard, I -tiptoed to the door and tried the knob. - -“The door was unlocked! - -“In an exultation of excitement, I peered out. There was no one in sight. -My mood was detached, strange, vague—marked by an indescribable something -I could not explain. Save for the single kerosene lamp, which burned low -in its bracket at the end of the long hallway, the place was in darkness. - -“Removing my shoes, I tiptoed my way across the floor. Avis’ room was the -fourth door from mine. That much she had told me. Reaching it, I tried -the knob. It was locked. I tapped softly against the panel. Receiving -no answer, I rapped more loudly. I dared not raise my voice. Failing -to arouse her, I was forced to leave her for a moment to continue my -exploration. - -“In one corner of the hallway stood a huge stick—evidently a cane that -had been carried by one of the keepers in the days when the place was -used as an asylum for maniacs. With this in my hand, I felt more secure. - -“Where was Lessman? Had he made his escape while I slept, leaving my door -open? Had he forced Avis and the other poor creatures who were under his -command to accompany him? The thought startled me. Grasping the cudgel -more firmly, I took the lamp from its bracket and started on a tour -of investigation. All of the doors opening into the hallway, with the -exception of my own, were locked. The silence was tomblike, uncanny. - -“At the end of the long corridor a pair of stairs wound upward. Mounting -them, I found myself in a long passage similar to that which I had just -quitted. One or two of the rooms near the end were open. There was -nothing in them except old furniture, moth-eaten and dusty with age. The -entire floor seemed deserted. - -“Continuing onward, I came to a door which, though it seemed to be -locked, seemed to give a little under the pressure of my knee. Setting my -lamp upon the floor, I put my shoulder against it and gave a long, steady -shove. Under this force it opened quite readily. - -“My stockinged feet made no noise, while the ease with which I was able -to force the door showed that the hinges had been recently oiled. Inside, -a lamp was burning. - -“I hesitated in the doorway. Then my startled gaze made out a second -room, partitioned from the first by curtains, pushed partly back. - -“Across my field of vision moved the gaunt figure of The Bodymaster. He -was clad in the faded bathrobe in which I had first seen him, and he -held a lamp in his hand. The light shone upon his thin, cruel face. He -approached the side of the bed and stood gazing down upon its occupant. - -“Something seemed to draw me closer. Upon the bed lay a corpse—a -blond-haired giant—stripped to the waist. As Lessman, his evil gaze still -upon the mammoth figure, held the lamp a trifle aloft, _the dead man -writhed and twisted as if in mortal agony_! - -“The Bodymaster stretched forth one thin hand. The man upon the bed -stiffened—then sat bolt upright, his bloodshot eyes glaring! - -“Involuntarily I took a step backward. - -“_As God is my judge, the eyes were those of a corpse—glassy, unseeing!_ -And while I still looked, the body slipped backward, the curious writhing -movements ceased, and that which lay upon the bed was only insensate clay. - -“Now or never was the time to strike. Grasping my cudgel more firmly, I -raised it over my head. The back of the Bodymaster was turned toward me. -I had him off his guard. I was about to bring the club down across his -head when, without turning his gaze, he spoke: - -“‘Sit down, my friend, and throw your cane aside. You can not strike. -Your arm is palsied.’ - -“The cane dropped from my fingers. I attempted to lower my arm to recover -it. Impossible. I was unable to move. My arm was held aloft as by an -unseen hand. - -“The Bodymaster turned toward me with a smile. - -“‘Sit down!’ he commanded. - -“My arm dropped to my side. Like a drunken man I staggered to a chair.” - - -_CHAPTER VII._ - -“Seating himself opposite me, Lessman pushed a box of cigars across the -table. - -“‘Help yourself,’ he smiled, selecting one for himself. ‘You are some -sixty seconds ahead of time. I hardly expected you to be so prompt.’ - -“‘Expected me!’ I ejaculated. - -“He nodded. ‘Naturally,’ he responded. ‘How else do you suppose you -got here? You certainly did not expect that I would make so great an -oversight as to leave your door unlocked? I wanted you—wanted to have a -talk with you. My mind willed that you should come, and you are here.’ - -“He waved his hand with a slight gesture as if dismissing the entire -subject. For a second there was silence. Then he resumed: - -“‘Our little fracas of the other night taught me that you are a man of -more than ordinary mental ability; in fact, you are the first who has -ever disobeyed my unspoken commands. And, more than that, you showed me -that you are the man I have been seeking all these years.’ - -“His eyes burned with enthusiasm as he continued. - -“‘Man,’ he went on, ‘my experiments have been a success. True, lives have -been destroyed. But what is life! Your man-made theology teaches you that -life is but a span of a few years in eternity; you snap the cord which -binds you to this earth, and immediately you enter the paradise which -your God has prepared for you. Why, then, prolong matters? I, rather than -being the monster you think me to be, am a benefactor to the human race. -Every man who dies in my hands before his allotted time has that much -longer to spend in heaven.’ - -“He leaned back in his chair and laughed mirthlessly for an instant. - -“‘I am not here to argue the right or wrong of the thing, however,’ he -continued. ‘I am a man born to rule; I would rather be a big devil in -hell than a little angel in heaven—if there be such places as heaven and -hell, which I greatly doubt. - -“‘I need help in my work—my experiments. True, I have Meta—but she is -only a weak woman. I need others—men whom I can teach—men whom I can -trust—men with the will to conquer. You have proved to me that you are -such a man. The world is yours—the world and all that it contains—if you -accept.’ - -“He stopped suddenly and gazed into my eyes as if trying to read my very -soul. In fact, I believe that he did read my mind, for he answered my -unspoken thoughts before I had voiced them: - -“‘Yes, the devil took Christ upon the mountain and offered him -everything,’ he exclaimed, his eyes blazing. ‘Call me the devil if you -like—I care not a rap what you term me—I offer you the same. I said -before, and I say again, the world is yours—money, power, pleasure and——’ - -“As he spoke, as if in obedience to some rehearsed cue, the door opened. -A vague perfume assailed my nostrils—a faint, elusive scent—a zephyr from -the East. Through the opening Meta stepped. She wore a kimona—a soft, -silken, figured affair reminiscent of the Orient. I can only remember -that beneath its folds protruded a glimpse of tiny, bare feet clad in the -smallest of sandals. - -“There are silences more eloquent than words. For an instant my eyes -sought hers—deep, dark, lustrous, glowing like great pools of liquid fire. - -“She smiled. Then, suddenly, she sprang forward, her arms from which the -folds of the kimona had slipped, bared—outstretched toward me, her rich -red lips upraised to mine. - -“I leaped to my feet. My mind was filled with wild, insane thoughts. I -took a half step toward her. Like a frightened bird, she darted backward. -Then, as if filled with a wild abandon, she tore open the neck of her -kimona, revealing to my startled gaze a glimpse of transparent white skin. - -“Stretching forth one rounded arm, she displaced the curtain, discovering -to my view a room opposite that in which lay the body of the man from the -grave. - -“My God! Crouched in a corner like a frightened animal was Avis! Her -dress was torn, her golden hair matted and unkempt. She shrunk away from -the light as one who fears its rays. Her big blue eyes gazed into mine. -They were wide with fear. Yet her lips moved. It seemed to me that they -were trying to form some message—to convey something to me. - -“She held up her hands appealingly. They were fastened together with -chains. - -“From behind me came the voice of Lessman: - -“‘Choose!’ he commanded. ‘On one hand wealth, luxury, power, beautiful -women; on the other—_this_! - -“‘_Choose!_’” - - -ANOTHER EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY. - -“I awoke in my own bed. I have the word of Avis for what happened. She -says that when Lessman made his terrible offer to me that I stood for an -instant like a man too astounded for utterance. Suddenly I turned and -struck him squarely in the face. Meta screamed. Lessman, however, merely -dropped back a step and stretched forth his hand. I had my arm drawn back -to strike him again. I wavered, staggered for a second like a drunken -man, then my knees gave way under me and I fell forward on my face. - -“That is all she knows. She was hurried back to her own room by Meta, -where she fell in a swoon.” - - -_CHAPTER VIII._ - -_A man suffering from amnesia has, upon his return to normal, no -recollection of what happened while he was in that condition. While I do -not say that I was amnestic in every sense of the word, yet my condition -must have resembled that peculiar malady to a certain degree. I can -positively state that I have absolutely no remembrance of the events -which are described below. Yet they are in my own handwriting in my -diary. My own idea of the subject is that I was in a sort of twilight -sleep, as it were—not completely under Lessman’s influence, yet partly -so. I give the contents of my diary just as they were written, venturing -the assertion, however, that they must have been put down several days -after the events of the previous chapter_: - -“A strange thing has come to pass. The Bodymaster evidently bears me no -ill will, for last night Avis and I dined with him. Ordinarily, we are -fed like animals, the food served out to us by a deaf and dumb mulatto -who shoves the edibles through the bars to those who are too dangerous -to be allowed outside their cells, while such of us as Lessman evidently -considers harmless are occasionally permitted to dine at a long, bare -table in the hallway. Here we sit and wolf our food like swine, our only -thought being to fill our bellies quickly, lest the others get more than -their share of the meal. - -“Imagine, then, my surprise last night when, an hour before time for -eating the mulatto brought to my room—for I am not yet confined to a -cell, probably because I am not yet stark mad—a dress suit. Everything -was there—even down to the studs. With it was a shaving outfit. Laying -the things carefully upon my cot, he handed me a note. It read: - - “‘_Let us forget our troubles for tonight. Dine with me. I have - a surprise in store for you._ - - “‘_Lessman_’.” - -“I was shaved and cleaned and feeling like a new man by the time the -dumb servant called for me. Following him down the stairs, I was ushered -into the large parlor. Lessman, in full dress, seized me by the hand and -greeted me warmly, while an instant later Meta, looking truly regal in an -elaborate décolleté, stood before me. But the real surprise came a minute -later. - -“Avis was ushered in! - -“Attired in some fancy gown—what man can describe a woman’s dress?—she -looked like an angel from heaven. I pinched myself to see whether I was -awake or dreaming. What object had the Bodymaster in this masquerade? - -“How can I describe the dinner which followed? For weeks we had been -on a diet of little more than bread and soup. And now we sat down to a -feast. Lessman was the perfect host; Meta the perfect hostess. Under -their deft manipulations we forgot ourselves—forgot that they were -monsters—remembered only that we were honored guests. Never have I met as -charming a conversationalist as he. The man is a veritable storehouse of -knowledge, with the added ability of imparting it to others. He has been -everywhere, seen everything. - -“He is far too subtle for me, for I have fallen a victim to his insidious -wiles. Yet it is for another that I have sold myself, body and soul, to -this monster. - -“He knows that I love Avis. My every look shows it. And he is wise -enough to seize the golden opportunity. That is the reason for all these -courtesies, the dinner, the clothes, the brilliant conversation. - -“Meta and Avis left the room, leaving Lessman and myself to our cigars. -For weeks I have been without the solace of nicotine. Under the soothing -influence of the weed and the charm of his conversation, I settled back -in my chair, at peace with all the world. Lessman sensed my mood. He -turned to me, his black eyes dancing with energy. - -“‘You are the first who has ever been able to combat my power,’ he said -slowly. ‘And instead of being angered, I think the more of you for it. -I need you—need you badly. Without a man of your caliber my work—my -experiments—must temporarily halt. - -“‘You love the golden-haired girl in yonder—and if I am not greatly -mistaken, she loves you. She is yours—yours if you agree to my demands. -Otherwise——’ - -“At a gesture the door opened. Into the room came the mulatto dragging -a woman—a mere slip of a girl. In her eyes shone the light of insanity. -Her hair was matted, her clothes in tatters and covered with vermin. Her -talonlike fingers worked spasmodically as she babbled meaninglessly. I -shrank back from her in horror. - -“The Bodymaster stepped across the room and with a sweeping movement of -his hand, drew back the curtain. In the further corner of the adjoining -room sat Avis—a veritable queen among women, in conversation with Meta. -He withdrew his hand and the curtain fell again. He stepped back to his -chair and reseated himself. The mute withdrew, dragging the poor insane -creature with him. - -“For a moment there was silence. Then Lessman turned to me again. - -“‘Within a fortnight,’ he said, ‘she—the girl in yonder—the girl you -love—will be like _that_! I know the symptoms. Her mind is on the verge. -It is for you to say whether she goes over the abyss. - -“‘Obey my commands, give me the assistance I demand, and the girl you -love stays as she is now—the companion of Meta. Luxury, clothes, good -food—everything that a woman cares for—will be hers. Refuse, and she goes -back to her cell—to the squalor and dirt and vermin from which came the -poor wretch you have just seen. - -“‘You and you alone can save her!’ - -“He stopped dramatically. There was but one answer. May God in Heaven -have mercy on my soul! I have become Lessman’s partner in crime—an -accomplice of that foul thing, the Bodymaster—I who have sworn to bring -him to justice! - -“But I have saved Avis.” - - -_CHAPTER IX._ - -_I judge that several weeks must have elapsed between the time the -foregoing was written and what follows_: - -“What does mankind know about psychic phenomena? I remember reading -the attempts of various novelists to exploit the subject. Combining -a smattering of psychology with a vivid imagination, they succeed in -knocking together a readable, though unreliable, story, trusting to the -general lack of knowledge to cover their untruthfulness. And who can -blame them? Secure behind the ramparts of the grave’s grim silence, they -can defy the world to prove them wrong. Their weird hypotheses bring them -gold, power and position in the world of letters. And I—I, the only man -who ever sent his soul hurtling through the realms of space to explore -the mysteries of the great unknown—I must keep silent. - -“The human mind refuses to believe what it does not understand. Were I to -make public what I _know_—even if it were possible—I would be derided, -held up to ridicule by press and public. For, despite our vaunted -civilization, we are still slaves to superstition and ignorance, ever -ready like those of old, to strike down one who dares utter the truth. - -“Who among the millions on this globe would believe that I have spent -days—weeks—months—in the dim past? As a man looks upon a motion picture -of himself thrown upon the screen, so I have seen myself in the ages gone -by. In shining armor, a plumed lance in my hand, I have ridden with the -crusaders, or fought with the devil-may-care gallantry of the times for -the favor of a damsel’s smile. I have been the head of as bloody a gang -of cutthroats as ever slit a weasand or scuttled a craft. - -“I smile when I think of the things that I have been—I who am now the -head of a modern detective agency, hired to run down the man whose -gigantic brain has made these things all possible. I have been among -the best and the worst of them in days gone by. Yet who would believe -such a story? Lessman is too far in advance of his time. Yet there is a -possibility that a few centuries hence some eye may read these lines and -wonder how the men of today could be so dense. - -“I am no longer afraid of death. I know now that such fear is only a -superstitious idea. There is no such thing as death. That which we term -death is but a step from one life to another. Lessman has taught me -that life is a cycle and that when we leave it we enter into another -existence, better or worse than the one we are quitting in accordance -with our own actions. - -“Lessman! Ah, there is the intellect! It is he who has made it possible -for me to view wonders which no man ever looked upon before. I wonder how -I could have doubted him. - -“Lessman is a scientist—a thinker ahead of his time. Now that he has -shown me that there is no death I feel no compunction about taking life, -for by taking life we merely assist nature by a few years, leaving the -body for us to experiment on. He has promised me that some day he will -publish the results of his conclusions in order that the world may know -and study. When he does, I will occupy a star part on the pages. For it -is I who, at the command of Lessman, have explored the realms unknown, -bringing back to him the fruits of my knowledge. - -“And I have met Avis again and again. I have found that she has been with -me through the ages—my loved one, my affinity. In every period of the -past she has accompanied me—just as she will in the future, until the -time comes where Divine Intelligence brings all things to an end. - -“Let me start at the beginning. No more do I live in a cell-like room, -eating like an animal with the cattle whose brain power is not as great -as mine. With Avis by my side, I dine in state with Lessman and Meta. - -“The next evening, immediately after dinner, The Bodymaster summoned -me to his library. He was anxious to commence his experiments. At the -beginning I was nervous, keyed up to the highest pitch, regretting the -bargain I had made with him. But within five minutes he had wrought a -change in my mind, and under the mastery of his words I soon reached a -point where I was as enthusiastic as he. - -“Remember, I have dabbled in philosophy to a certain extent myself. -I took a degree at Princeton before I took up the business of crime -detection. But my knowledge is elementary compared with that of Lessman. -But I am getting away from my subject. - -“Under the spell of his eloquence, I forgot that I was the servant and he -the master—that I was merely a prisoner, subservient to my jailor’s will. -For an hour we discussed the subject; I was as interested as he. There -is, he claims, no heights to which man can not climb, providing he so -wills. To him man is—or should be—absolutely the master of his own body -and soul. - -“His is a mind that has reached on where others stopped. Hypnotism, to -him, is child’s play. Soul transference, the exchange of bodies—these are -the things that this man dabbles with. But he has his limit. He can go so -far and no farther. - -“However, with my will submissive to his—with my mind attuned to his—he -believed that he could send me hurling through space. In other words, he -was to be the power station which would furnish me the energy to make the -voyages of exploration. - -“I was like wet clay in his hands. With the enthusiasm of a youngster, -I gave myself over to him. Leaning back in my chair, at his command I -made my mind as nearly as possible an absolute vacuum. It was probably -but for an instant—but enough. There was none of the pain that I felt -before on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion when my soul was divorced -from my body. Instead, I felt my soul—my mental being—leave my body. I -stood beside myself sitting there in the chair. There was no fear—nothing -except a feeling of buoyancy....” - - -_CHAPTER X._ - -_I must digress from my diary again._ - -As I have stated elsewhere, I have a recollection of certain things which -transpired while I was in Lessman’s power, although the greater part of -the time that I passed with him is but a blank. - -There is nothing in my diary which touches upon my trips into the unknown -under his strange influence, aside from an occasional vague mention. I -am certain that the greater part of the time I was in a sort of daze, -imagining myself in a perfectly normal condition, yet held by The -Bodymaster in a state where I would respond immediately to his will. - -Yet even now I can recall, vaguely, incidents which happened to me on -these trips. I remember meeting Avis on numerous occasions and under many -names. Had my adventures happened consecutively, and could I remember -them, they would be interesting food for thought for the men of science. -But, unfortunately, they jump here and there, the story, oft-times, -remaining unfinished. - -There are so many, many adventures, the details of which I can not -recall, that I will make no attempt to set them down. Suffice to say that -all the time my brain was steadily growing weaker while I, poor dupe that -I was, imagined that I was again normal. - -During my lucid intervals I was constantly troubled by a gnawing -conscience. Here was I, an officer of the law, lending myself to the -worst form of outlawry. I attempted to reconcile myself with the thought -that I was a prisoner, yet I was ever obsessed with the idea that I had -proved a traitor to myself and to my oath. My only recompense was the -feeling that by becoming a traitor I was saving the life and reason of -the woman I loved. - -I wonder now why I did not kill Avis and then commit suicide. So great -was Lessman’s influence over me that I sincerely believed that death -was a myth. My own adventures beyond the pale had proved to me the -correctness of his theory. Why, then, I did not end it all is something -that can not be explained, especially when one recollects that from -my warped viewpoint death would have been the easiest solution of -the dilemma. My only explanation is that my mind was not functioning -properly. As I have remarked again and again the reader must form his -own conclusions, draw his own deductions, for I am dealing in facts, not -surmises. - -Lessman allowed me the freedom, to a certain extent, of the house. With -Avis by my side, I wandered up and down the long, dusty corridors, -exploring, searching. I told myself that I was looking for evidence—that -sooner or later I would make my escape and bring The Bodymaster to -justice. And I found none—nothing but the poor wretches locked in their -cells, mad—all of them. And who would believe a maniac? No, there was -absolutely nothing that could be used against the monster. It would be my -word and that of Avis against that of Lessman and Meta. Such a case as -that would be laughed out of court. - -Why did I not make my escape? I could not. I only know that with the door -wide open an invisible hand seemed to keep me from crossing the threshold. - - -_CHAPTER XI._ - -_Again I must resort to my diary_: - -“I know now how the stranger was killed—the man for whose death John -Duncan is being held. Who the medium was through whom Lessman worked I do -not know. I imagine that it was Collins, the Chicago detective. I have -questioned him, and he does not remember anything about the affair, so -far gone is his mind. Yet he has a hazy recollection of having at one -time done Lessman’s bidding. Nor have I learned the name of the poor -fellow who met death in the heroic attempt to unmask The Bodymaster. - -“The dean of Daggett College is dead—murdered! Another professor has -been arrested as the murderer. Lessman showed me the paper this morning, -chuckling over the gruesome details. There is absolutely no hope for -the poor wretch who has been seized by the police, for the evidence is -all against him. They will hang him, and the law will consider itself -satisfied. I laughed with Lessman at the newspaper account. Is he not -right when he states that both of them are merely being ushered into -paradise ahead of their time? - -“I am certain that I killed Professor Ormsby! - -“Years before he and Professor Jacobs had been teachers in the same -college where Lessman held a chair. To them Lessman, then a young man, -presented some of his astonishing theories. They turned upon him with -ridicule, rebuked him, and then reported him as a heretic to the head of -the university. It was their testimony which caused Lessman’s dismissal -in disgrace. He swore to get revenge. - -“Two nights ago Lessman hurled my ego—my spirit—through space. I am -certain of it, although my memory is indistinct and is growing weaker -every hour. At his command I went to Ormsby’s apartments. Jacobs was -seated with his old friend engaged in a heated discussion, for both were -argumentative men. - -“Before the eyes of Professor Jacobs, Dean Ormsby shrieked as an -invisible hand struck him down—then fell writhing to the floor, the -purple marks of fingers upon his throat. - -“They arrested Jacobs for the murder. Others had heard them arguing. -Vainly he tried to tell them the truth—that the argument had been a -friendly one and that his friend had been killed by some unseen force. - -“They scoffed at his story—for the marks of fingers showed too plainly -upon the dead man’s neck.” - - -ANOTHER ENTRY IN THE DIARY. - -“I wonder if my mind is weakening? I seem to do Lessman’s bidding too -easily. I fall in with his every suggestion. I know that he is using me -in his crimes—that he is getting rich as a result of my efforts—and I do -not seem to recollect what transpires, as I used to. Everything is hazy, -with here and there some specially vivid remembrance standing out amidst -the chaos. - -“Occasionally he reads me the papers, or hands them to me after calling -my attention to some mysterious crime of which there is an account. Often -he tells me, with a sneer, that he is the author and I the perpetrator of -these horrible affairs. Innocent men are being made to suffer for things -that I have done. - -“The police are on the lookout for a mysterious woman who has been -seen often where strange crimes have been committed. Can it be that -they—Lessman and Meta—are using Avis as they are using me? They both deny -it. And Avis tells me that she has no recollection of such things.... I -wonder....” - - -_CHAPTER XII._ - - -MORE REMARKABLE THINGS FROM THE DIARY. - -“They hanged John Duncan today for the murder of the unknown young man. -And I, the man who swore to save him from the gallows, could do nothing. - -“I am an accomplice—an accessory after the fact. Lessman is a fiend, -and if Meta is any better it is only because she lacks his scientific -ability. I am beginning to hate them both. - -“I have been tricked. I am but a dupe. My brain is steadily growing -weaker. When they have sucked me dry they will cast me aside, as they -have Collins and the others. I realize this when I am alone, but when I -am with Lessman I do his bidding gladly, happily. - -“The papers are often filled with accounts of his work among the poorer -classes. They say that he gives thousands of dollars away yearly. Little -do they suspect that it is money that he has secured through crime—that -he interests himself among the poor only because he occasionally is -able to secure some new type of human brain upon whom he can work his -nefarious experiments.” - - -ANOTHER EXTRACT. - -“Damn the Bodymaster! I hate him! His hold over me is absolute—supreme. - -“Vile as I have become, degraded as he has made me, my very being revolts -at the thought of what he has forced me to do. It were better that I were -dead—a thousand times better. But I can not even die. For he, curse him, -will not let me. He owns my body and my soul. - -“Yesterday I am certain that I killed another man. It was Johnston, the -broker—a man I knew well in my other days—as kind-hearted an old fellow -as ever lived. Many is the favor that he has done for me. Yet, at the -dictation of Lessman, I took the poor old fellow’s life. - -“God in Heaven! What a mixup it was! Lessman planned it all. He might -have made it different—easier for those left behind to bear. But no—that -is not his way. He loves the dramatic, the theatrical. But let me tell it -just as it happened: - -“Together, we went to Johnston’s house—Lessman and I. The poor old fellow -has been under the weather for several days, but he has not allowed his -illness to interfere with his philanthropic work. Lessman, in his guise -of a worker among the poor and afflicted, had no trouble in gaining -entrance. He introduced me as another laborer in the vineyard. I have -changed so much as a result of what I have been through that Johnston -failed to recognize me. - -“Alone in the room with the old man, Lessman commanded me to do his -bidding. I swear that I tried to withhold my hand, but I was powerless. -It was not I, but another, who seized the scrawny neck in my muscular -fingers and pressed—pressed—pressed against the windpipe until the -haggard white face turned black and the gray eyes bulged forth under -their shaggy white brows like glass beads. - -“He tried to fight back—to defend himself—but what was his puny strength -compared to mine? His efforts only incensed me the more. I shook him as -a terrier roughs a rat. And the agonized expression on his face! It was -awful. He tried to shriek for help, but so firm was my hold upon him that -he could only splutter and gurgle. - -“Lessman watched it all. He chuckled with glee at the feeble old man’s -weak gasps and urged me to further efforts. Then, when I had laid the old -fellow down upon his couch, it was The Bodymaster who, with a tremendous -show of hypocrisy, shouted for help and jerked frantically at the bell -which summoned family and servants. - -“Never shall I forget the look of pathetic grief upon the face of the -dead man’s aged helpmate. Liar that he is, Lessman told her a story of -the old fellow’s sudden choking and of his death before we could summon -help. The servants carried her swooning from the room.” - - -A FURTHER ENTRY. - -“Mrs. Johnston is dying, they say, from grief. Lessman chuckles over it, -thinking it a huge joke. When I am with him, I laugh, too. Away from -him, I can see the horror—the devilish horror of it all. - -“Lessman is richer by thousands of dollars. Mrs. Johnston, if she lives, -will be almost a pauper. The sum of which she was filched represented -practically their all—the savings of a lifetime. For Lessman presented -a forged will in which almost everything, except a small amount for the -widow, was left to charity _with Lessman as the administrator_.” - - -_CHAPTER XIII._ - -_Following the above, my diary is filled for several pages with -meaningless, childlike scrawls. I seem to have tried to write, but -evidently my brain and hand failed to co-ordinate. Here and there I -can make out a curse against The Bodymaster, but nothing else can be -read. From this I take it that several weeks passed between the time -the last entry was written and that which now follows. During that -time I was probably in one of my trancelike states, so deeply under -Lessman’s influence that I had no control over my actions. At the same -time the fact that I even attempted to write shows that, deep within my -subconscious brain, there was ever that desire to give the horrible truth -to the world._ - - -FROM THE DIARY. - -“I have denied the truth. I have betrayed those in whose pay I am, and -now I know the remorse of Judas. - -“Can it be that The Bodymaster seeks my Avis? Are those glances which he -darts at her from beneath his half-closed lids intended to be messages of -love? - -“Of late she has appeared distracted and filled with a vague melancholy -when I am around. Does she wish to tell me something, yet fears to open -her lips? - -“She knows my cataclysmic temper. She has seen me throw off the baleful -influence of The Bodymaster when a wild fit of passion seized me. She -probably fears that I will again rise against him and that he will blast -me where I stand. - -“My hands are tied. In turning myself over to The Bodymaster I have -betrayed the woman I love. May Heaven have mercy on my soul!” - - -ANOTHER ENTRY. - -“In prowling about the ruins of the old building today I found the -remains of an ancient chapel. In one end was an altar, tumbling to ruin. -In a little niche, dust covered, was a bottle of Holy Water. I have -seized upon it and have hidden it in my room. Perhaps it will save us -both. - -“I wonder if The Bodymaster has sold himself to the devil? I have heard -of such things. No one would believe that such a thing is possible. -Yet who would believe that the happenings which I have recorded in my -diary could have taken place? They sound like witchcraft, so strange, so -diabolical are they. I never believed in such things, but now I am ready -to believe anything.” - - -A SUBSEQUENT EXTRACT. - -“My mind is made up. I talked with Avis again today. She practically -admitted that Lessman has been annoying her with his attentions. Who -knows to what steps he will go while she is under his devilish influence? - -“Meta, too, is showing her teeth at poor Avis. Heretofore she has -shielded the innocent girl to a certain extent. Of that I am certain, and -Avis also believes it. But of late she has acted strangely, even showing -her temper on several occasions. Lessman treats her at such times with -amused contempt. He knows the absolute hold that he has over her. - -“But she may injure my loved one. How, I do not know. She is a woman -capable of anything. And the ‘green-eyed monster’ has neither brains nor -conscience. - -“I am going to be a man at last. I am summoning all of my will power for -the battle which is sure to come within a few days. I must—I will—break -the bonds which he has placed about me. Just as I arose in rebellion -against him on those other occasions, so will I rise against him again -for the sake of the woman I love. But this time there will be no -surrender. I will conquer him and save her, or die in the attempt. - -“To die for Avis may mitigate my sin in the eyes of God. - -“I feel The Bodymaster summoning me.... My every nerve tingles.... These -may be the last lines I will ever write.... I wonder if these pages -will ever be read by other eyes than mine?... I go now to answer to his -call.... _God help me...._” - - -_CHAPTER XIV._ - -_The remainder of my tale is from memory, for the preceding lines are -the final entry in my diary. As I have stated elsewhere, I can recall -certain things which occasionally happened during my trance-like periods. -Remember your dreams—vague, indistinct, hazy—leaping here and there? So -are my recollections of that last hour with The Bodymaster. Probably -many things happened of which I have no memory. In my desire to stick to -facts, I give only that which I remember, leaving the blank places to the -reader’s imagination._ - -It must have been immediately after making the final entry in my diary -that Lessman summoned me, for the book was in my pocket when I eventually -found myself. - -Of this, however, I have no memory. My first recollection is of floating -through space on one of those strange exploring expeditions in the Great -Beyond on which The Bodymaster so often sent me, several of which are -described in my diary. Whether I was just returning, or was on my way, -I do not know. I only recall that something seemed to be dragging me -back—that my whole thought—if thought I could be said to have had—was to -get back to my own body as soon as possible. - -My next recollection is of being in the room with Lessman. My body lay -back in an easy chair, cold, stark and deathlike. I attempted to enter -it. But the will of Lessman held me back. - -I could see, I could hear, yet I had no visibility. I was but a wraith—an -ego as it were—a thought—a spirit—a vapor! - -And I was controlled wholly by the brain of Lessman. Just as the -invisible current sent out by a central station causes the tiny submarine -miles away to hurl itself here and there, so was his magnetic brain -master of my actions. - -I knew then—or _felt_ rather than knew, for I do not believe that a -wraith is able to think—I felt that it was Lessman’s will that I should -never return to my body shell. Something—it was his thought—seemed to -hurl me back into space. And at the same time another—an even stronger -thought—seemed to hold me transfixed. - -It was the will power that I had concentrated for weeks past, aided by -the desire for help from Avis. Her whole being was calling out for me. - -She was in the beast’s arms. For once in his career his terrible will -had no effect upon his victim. Her golden hair was torn from its coils -and lay in a shimmering cloud about her shoulders. Her tiny fists beat -a tattoo upon his face; his black, lustful eyes gazed, snakelike, into -hers, seeking to charm her with their power. - -It was awful! I knew that she was calling me—calling me with every bit of -her being. And I was helpless, chained to the floor, unable to regain the -cold form which was myself. - -Suddenly, she tore herself from his grasp. Her clothing was hanging in -shreds; across her cheek was an ugly scratch; upon one white, rounded arm -stood a livid red welt where his cruel fingers had seized her. She was -screaming madly. The furniture was overturned. - -Now he had her cornered. But she fought herself away from him, striking -him across the head with the leg of a chair that had been broken in the -fray. - -He pursued her across the room.... Once more she was in his grasp. I -could hear her breath come gaspingly as she put every ounce of her -strength into a final effort to free herself.... - -The door opened. Meta entered. Her black eyes were blazing. Her mouth -worked convulsively. She was a raging demon—a woman scorned—cast aside -for another. Like a devil from hell, she threw herself into the fray. -Lessman swept her aside with a single motion of his muscular arm. - -For an instant she lay there stunned.... She dragged herself to her -knees, her lips mouthing curses.... She half rose to her feet and -staggered toward them as Lessman dragged his shrieking victim toward the -door which led to the other room. He turned toward her, his fiery eyes -snapping with uncontrolled anger. - -For the moment I was forgotten.... Something snapped. I found myself -again within my own body, the lust for battle raging within me.... -Lessman, surrounded by his enemies, turned like a stag at bay.... I felt -the currents of his powerful mind surge around me again like great waves -beating against a rock-bound coast. - -Every bit of energy I possessed was necessary to hold myself -together. He caught me within the power of his will! I felt myself -slipping—slipping—_slipping_! Everything grew black before me. I could -see nothing save his eyes—burning—_burning_ into my very soul. - -Like a man who is fighting an overdose of chloral, I strove to free -myself from the web which his mind was weaving about me. It was of no -avail. Again I felt a wave of fire shoot through my veins. - -I lurched against the table. Seizing the lamp, with a final effort, I -hurled it straight at the face of the mocking demon before me. - - * * * * * - -I knew no more until I awoke in the hospital. - -They say that the place Lessman called his sanitarium was burned to the -ground the night before they found me wandering, almost a maniac, several -miles away. - -As I stated in the beginning, I am unable to distinguish between the -truth and the wanderings of my diseased brain. The reader must draw his -own conclusions. - -What happened? Did I kill Lessman? Did he and Meta and Avis perish in the -fire with the other poor unfortunates? Nobody knows. - - * * * * * - -I have just learned that a woman—a golden-haired woman—was found a week -ago in a demented condition in a far distant town. The reports say that -she mumbles something about “The Bodymaster!” Can it be Avis? I leave -tonight for the hospital where she is confined. If it be she, perhaps my -presence will recall her to herself. - - -THE END. - -[Illustration] - - - - -_Crocodiles and Voodooism Play Important Parts in_ - -Jungle Death - -_By_ Artemus Calloway - - -The very atmosphere seemed surcharged with mystery—danger—death. - -Even the clear blue sky above seemed to shrink away from The Tropical Gem -Plantation as from a thing accursed. Out in the muddy waters of the Ulua, -apparently as lifeless as a water-soaked log, a sleepy-eyed crocodile -waited—waited as if he, too, sensed impending calamity for the creatures -on shore and intended being at hand to assert his rights should the -threatened catastrophe bring food for his kind. - -All this impressed Bart Condon, standing in the protecting shade of the -softly rustling banana jungle, eyes focused on the busy scene across the -river, brain busy with the disquieting events of the past few weeks. - -Bart Condon was troubled. Here was something he knew not how to fight, -because it was something he could not see. Until recently, he had thought -himself fairly familiar with Honduras and the trials of a plantation -manager there, but this was something new—something which hid in the -shadows and struck when one was not looking. - -First there had been the matter of the cistern water in the laborers’ -quarters. Some one had poisoned it—not in a manner to cause death, but -illness. Condon had been mystified by the epidemic which descended upon -the place until the plantation physician made an examination of the -water. Then he was the more at sea. Who could have done this—and why? - -Close upon this trouble came whispers—rumors that the place was -bewitched. More than a dozen of the more superstitious blacks and half -blacks slipped away. And their places had been hard to fill. - -Then had come the fires, starting no one knew when or how. Once a -manacca shack, in which a sick man lived, burned; and he was brought out -half-stifled, scorched and raving about the devils that infested the -place. - -Other things occurred. And there was more whispering, more -dissatisfaction. - -And then had come death. A partly devoured body had been found lodged -against a mud bar in the river. The work of crocodiles, Condon had -thought, until examination disclosed the fact that there was a bullet in -the man’s brain. And then he knew that the crocodiles had profited from -the work of a murderer. - -And now all the plantation laborers threatened to leave. Somehow Condon -felt that he could not blame them, though he knew that their desertion -meant his ruin. - -The activity along the river bank increased. The crocodile moved slowly -downstream. Simultaneously with the arrival of a noisy fruit train on -Condon’s side of the river, another chugged into view on the opposite -shore. - -As soon as the trains came to a stop natives commenced transferring -bananas from the cars to the fruit racks at the water’s edge; here they -would later be picked up by the river boat of the big fruit company which -purchased the output of many Ulua River plantations, afterward shipping -the bananas to the States on its own steamers. - -Condon saw George Armstrong standing to the right of the train across the -river, and, for some unknown reason he disliked the man more than ever. -There was no real reason why he should dislike and distrust Armstrong. -Yet he did dislike him, and never, from the first moment his eyes rested -upon the man, had he trusted him. For two years now Condon had known the -manager of the Royal Palm Plantation Company, and for that length of time -some instinct had whispered that the other would be a dangerous foe. - -True, Armstrong had always evinced the greatest friendliness, frequently -coming across the river, which separated the plantations, to visit -Condon. And occasionally—when common courtesy demanded—Condon had -returned the visits. - -Bart Condon had been in Honduras one year longer than Armstrong, and this -year’s experience as manager of the plantation of which he was majority -stockholder had taught him many things of value, which he had passed -on to the newcomer. But Armstrong’s company was stronger financially -than Condon’s, and was desirous of expanding. So, for three months now, -Armstrong had been trying to buy the Tropical Gem. And for nearly that -length of time the Tropical Gem had been having trouble. - - * * * * * - -But it was only this morning that Condon had first commenced wondering -what connection, if any, there might be between Armstrong’s desire for -the Tropical Gem and the trouble which had come to that plantation. -Of course such thoughts were silly. Unworthy. He should be ashamed of -himself.... And yet.... - -Standing where he was, in the shelter of the tall banana plants which at -a distance resembled a forest of green trees, Condon knew Armstrong had -not seen him. And for some reason, which he himself did not understand, -he did not want the other man to see him this morning. - -Bart Condon turned and slowly made his way from the river to a trail -about two hundred yards away. There he paused to watch some men cutting -fruit which would be carried by mule cart to the river, the railroad -being employed only for the longer hauls. - -Finally he turned to his pony, fastened to a young avacado tree, mounted -and rode away. Twenty minutes later he was at plantation headquarters. - -An hour after reaching headquarters Condon was sitting at his office -desk, a slender young native opposite him. This man—Juan Hernandez—one of -Condon’s foremen, possessed intelligence above the average. He was one of -the very few natives of that section of Honduras who boasted pure Spanish -blood, but at the same time he understood thoroughly the mixed breeds -in whose veins there flowed the blood of African, Indian, Chinese and -others, to say nothing of the full-blood negroes from Jamaica, Barbadoes, -and elsewhere. - -Once facing Hernandez, Condon lost no time in getting to the subject: - -“The men—they are very much upset?” - -Hernandez nodded. - -“They are, Mr. Condon,” he replied in perfect English, thanks to a -States education. “They are whispering that there is a curse upon the -plantation; that you are the cause of it; that the spirits are displeased -with you, and I don’t know what else. They——” - -Hernandez hesitated. Then: - -“Why, they are even beginning to blame you for the death of that man -found in the river, although they don’t know, as we do, that someone shot -him.” - -Condon frowned. “Somehow I suspect as much. But you are sure your -information—what you tell me is correct?” - -Hernandez nodded. “I am positive of it. Further than that I feel that I -have discovered what is behind it all. You know you told me a week ago to -look into it——” - -“Yes?” - -“It is voodooism. A witch doctor who lives in the jungle is behind the -trouble here. And a white man is behind the witch doctor!” - -Condon started. “You mean—?” - -For a moment Hernandez said nothing, staring at the desk before him. Then: - -“Armstrong!” - -Condon’s hands twitched nervously. “How do you know—or suspect—this, -Hernandez?” - -“I am positive, Mr. Condon. I have a man working under me whom I trust -implicitly. He is an Indian—one of those commonly known as a Mosquito -Indian—they live down on the Mosquito Coast, you know——” - -“Yes. Go on. What about him?” - -“Well, he is a very intelligent fellow. Not a drop of black blood in -his veins. Of course, many of the Indians in this country have their -own superstitious beliefs, but not so this man. For years he has worked -around foreigners—those ideas, if he ever had them, have been supplanted -by those of civilization. - -“This man told me that the witch doctor—an old dried-up black fellow, no -telling how old he is—has been coming to the plantation. He was here the -night before the water was poisoned. He has been here since. And lately -the laborers have been going to see him—holding ceremonies and that sort -of thing. - -“And tonight——” Hernandez lowered his voice—“they go again! They are to -be there at ten o’clock. The witch doctor is going to tell them that -their lives are not safe on this plantation as long as you have anything -to do with it. Tomorrow they will leave. And no other laborers will come -here. Then—Armstrong thinks he can buy you out. You see, with Armstrong -in charge, the curse will be removed.” - -Condon secured a box of cigars from his desk, handed it to Hernandez, -found a box of matches, lighted a cigar himself. - -“_Hmm!_ Pretty clever scheme. But—Oh! hang it, Hernandez, do you suppose -this _can_ be correct?” - -Hernandez regarded his cigar thoughtfully. “I _know_ it is!” - -“Well——” - -“Just a moment, please, Mr. Condon. There is one chance for us—only -one. That is to discredit the witch doctor. Once the superstitious -mixed breeds and blacks find that he is not infallible, that there is -something more powerful than he, they will lose confidence in him. -They will believe nothing he has told them. But until that is done the -case is hopeless. You see, many of the men working here were raised on -superstition—on voodooism. The blacks brought it from Africa, and their -descendants in this and the other nearby countries cling to it. And, as I -have said, we have them here from many places.” - -“How are we to discredit the witch doctor?” - -Hernandez smiled. “Armstrong visits him at eight o’clock this evening, to -pay half the price for running the laborers away from here. He is to pay -the other half when they are gone. Of course, he has paid something all -along for the various little jobs, but this is the big one—the big money -job.” - -“What on earth would that old fellow want with money?” - -Hernandez laughed. “Square-faced gin. He stays soaked all the time. But I -have a plan——” - -“But how,” interrupted Condon, “did your man learn all this?” - -“By pretending to believe in voodooism—and by watching. He has attended -the ceremonies with the others. And he has followed Armstrong there when -the witch doctor was alone. That is how he learned of the poisoned water. -He has heard nothing there about the murder of the native, but I am sure -there is a connection there somewhere if we can find it.” - -Hernandez made a significant gesture. - -“You don’t know the confidence those people have in that old fellow. -He has a pond there in front of his cave. A natural sort of pond. Been -there for centuries, I suppose, and it is full of crocodiles. Sacrifices -to these crocodiles have been hinted at—but of course I couldn’t swear -to that. I do know, however, that the laborers here are blind enough in -their belief of him to do anything he might tell them.” - -Condon’s face was wrinkled in thought. “But your plan?” Hernandez leaned -nearer. “Listen....” - - * * * * * - -Seven-thirty o’clock that evening found Bart Condon, Juan Hernandez and -the Indian of whom Condon had been told concealed on the side of the -little jungle hill above the witch doctor’s cave. Almost at his doorway -was the pond of which Hernandez had spoken. An occasional _swish_ of -the water told of life in it. Just in front of the cave, squatted on -the ground beside a faint brush fire, was the witch doctor, an old, -shriveled, dried-up, gray-headed black. - -“We can hear from this place?” Condon whispered. - -“Yes,” replied Hernandez, “but be quiet. He might hear you.” - -Back in the jungle, monkeys chattered. Baboons howled nearby. A macaw set -up a shrill shrieking. Once Condon heard the helpless, hopeless cry of -some small animal as it met the death of the jungle. Some beast of the -tropics slipped past them. Bart Condon gripped his revolver. - -And then they heard somebody approaching. Down a little trail—the same -trail which Condon had traveled part of the way—a man was coming. A few -moments later Armstrong was standing before the witch doctor’s fire. - -With every nerve on edge, Condon watched. Armstrong and the witch doctor, -both now seated before the blaze, wasted no time on inconsequential talk. - -Armstrong was speaking in Spanish: “You understand exactly what you are -to tell those people when they come here tonight.” - -“I do.” - -“Very well. Here is half the money. You will receive as much -more—provided you get Condon’s laborers away tomorrow—and keep them and -all others away.” - -The witch doctor nodded. “They will be away before tomorrow. When they -leave here they will be afraid to return to the man Condon’s plantation.” - -“They won’t even return for their things?” - -The old man laughed shrilly. “They will believe everything on that -plantation accursed when I have finished with them and will never desire -to see their things again. I intended telling them that they must leave -tomorrow. Now I have decided to have them leave tonight. It is better so.” - -Again the witch doctor laughed. - -“But——” and now there was something in his voice Condon had not detected -there before—“there is more money to come to me, Senor.” - -Armstrong’s tone was impatient. “You get that when the laborers have quit -the plantation.” - -The old man chuckled. “But I mean other money.” - -“What other money?” - -“The money for keeping your secret about the man you shot!” - -George Armstrong jumped to his feet. “You’re crazy! I shot no man.” - -The witch doctor also was on his feet. “But you did, Senor, I saw you! I -don’t blame you for what you did. The fellow saw you coming from here and -he might have been suspicious. I, also, would have killed him, but you -did the job for me. And now you will pay me for keeping the secret.” - -The witch doctor’s words seemed to madden the manager of the Royal Palm -Plantation. Straight at the old man’s throat he sprang. They fought like -wild animals. The witch doctor, for all his frailness, possessed enormous -strength. - -Suddenly Hernandez caught Condon’s arm: “Look! Down the trail!” he -whispered. - -Condon looked. Then he gasped in amazement. The trail was filled, as far -as he could see, with men. - - * * * * * - -Suddenly Condon’s attention was brought back to the struggle by a scream -of terror, which burst from Armstrong’s lips. And then, locked in -embrace, the plantation manager and the witch doctor disappeared in the -crocodile pool. - -There was a sudden rush—horrid grunts—the crushing of bones—and Condon -imagined he could see the water redden. Armstrong and the witch doctor -were no more. - -Then, from Condon’s laborers in the trail, came cries of denunciation. -“He is no witch doctor! He fought with the white man and was eaten by -crocodiles—he who told us that he could destroy white men by pointing his -finger at them. He told us that the crocodiles could not harm him.” - -Unafraid of that which was now no mystery, some of the bolder ones -advanced to the fire. One picked up some gold pieces, which the witch -doctor had dropped. Another found Armstrong’s purse. - -They turned and rejoined their companions. Five minutes later the entire -party had passed out of hearing. - -Hernandez touched Condon on the shoulder. “We can go now. And our -troubles are over. The men will remain on the plantation perfectly -satisfied.” - -“But I don’t understand,” said Condon slowly, rising to his feet and -rubbing his cramped legs, “why they came so early. I thought they were to -get here at ten o’clock.” - -“So Armstrong and the witch doctor thought,” laughed Hernandez. “But the -message was carried by our friend here—and he asked my advice before -delivering it. And he made the hour earlier so they would find Armstrong -here. That alone would have destroyed their confidence in the witch -doctor, for he is supposed to have nothing to do with white men.” - -Hernandez smiled. - -“They were told, although this man professed not to believe it, that -there was a report to the effect that Armstrong had bought the witch -doctor—had paid him to betray them. That is why they understood -everything so readily when they saw the end of the fight.” - -“Voodooism,” said Condon thoughtfully, “loses its strength when it mixes -up with white men.” - - - - -_Farnsworth Wright Offers Another Tale of Diabolic Terror_ - -_The SNAKE FIEND_ - - -Even as a child, Jack Crimi delighted in collecting reptiles, and he -seemed to absorb much of their venomous nature. - -His best-loved pet was a large blacksnake; but when it caused him a -whipping by crawling into his father’s bedroom, he roasted it over a slow -fire in a large pot, listening with glee to its agonized hissing and -pushing it back with a stick when it strove to crawl out of the searing -container. It is no cause for wonder, then, that his burning love for the -girl of his dreams turned to fierce hate when she became the bride of -another. - -Crimi’s sentiment for Marjorie Bressi was aroused by her fine Italian -beauty, which reminded him of his mother. He could have fallen in love -with any other girl as easily, if he had set his mind to it in the same -way. By dint of comparing her with his mother’s picture, he conceived a -great admiration for her: then he wished to possess her, to be her lord -and master, to marry her. Gazing on her every day with this thought in -his mind, his admiration grew to a burning passion. Of all this he said -nothing to Marjorie, and then it was too late. - -Marjorie loved, and was loved by, Allen Jimerson, a young civil engineer. -Crimi neither threatened nor cajoled. He simply accepted the fact, and -meditated revenge. He was all smiles at their wedding, and he gave them a -wedding present beyond what he could reasonably afford, while he planned -to tumble their happiness in ruins about their ears. - -After a short honeymoon, Jimerson departed with his wife to take up -his duties as resident engineer of some construction work on a western -railroad. Crimi, his face glowing with friendship and good will, was the -last to clasp Marjorie’s hand in farewell, as the train pulled out of the -station. - -“Write to me often, Marjorie,” was his parting injunction. “Send me a -letter as soon as you get settled, and let me know how you are getting -along. I don’t want to lose touch with either of you.” - -And he meant it. - - * * * * * - -Marjorie was fond of the handsome, manly-looking Italian youth, and -liked him immensely as a friend, although she had never been in love -with him. No sooner was she settled in her new home than she wrote him -a long letter, telling of her husband’s work, the bleakness of the -desert country, and the strange newness of her life. She and her husband -occupied a cabin together, apart from the bunk-houses of the construction -camp, in the sagebrush region of northern California, not far from the -Nevada border. - -A fierce joy and exultation leapt in Crimi’s heart as he read Marjorie’s -letter. - - _“You would like the country better than I do.” she wrote. - “for it is infested with rattlesnakes. The bare desert rocks - on the ridge four miles from our cabin are swarming with them. - Ugh! They sun themselves in tangled masses, Allen says, but - truly I can’t bring myself to go near the place. I get quite - too much of snakes without that, for we are constantly killing - them in the sagebrush. This country has never been settled, and - except for an occasional prospector, there was nobody to kill - them before the surveyors came. The Indians never bother the - snakes, but pass by on the other side of a sagebrush and leave - them in peace.”_ - -Crimi scored these lines in red ink, word by word, as if to blazon them -on his memory, and he drew little pictures of snakes on the margin. He -burned out Marjorie’s signature with acid, spitefully watching with -minute care as the letters faded, and gleaning a savage satisfaction from -seeing the paper rot away under the venomous bite of the poison. Then he -fed the letter to the flames, as he had roasted his blacksnake, years -before, and watched the missive burn into black ashes and crumble slowly -away, page by page, into gray dust. - -Followed Crimi’s pursuit of the pair. His arrival was not expected by -either Jimerson or Marjorie, but it was none the less welcome, for both -of them liked the genial, companionable Italian. Life on the edge of -the desert had few distractions at best. Crimi’s eyes lit with genuine -pleasure at sight of his prospective victims. The joy on both sides was -sincere. - -“No, this isn’t a pleasure trip,” he explained to them, “although I -expect to have pleasure enough out of it before I get through. I have -turned from collecting reptiles to studying their lives and habits. I -intend to write a monograph on rattlesnakes. When I got your letter, -Marjorie, I knew that I could do no better than to come here. I expect -to become very well acquainted with that ridge you wrote about, where the -snakes sun themselves in tangled masses.” - -Marjorie shuddered, and Crimi laughed. - -“Well, don’t bring any of your snakes around here,” she said. “I turn -cold and something grips at my insides every time I hear one rattle.” - -Crimi built himself a small cabin about a mile from the Jimersons, in the -direction of the rattlesnake ridge. He adorned the shack tastefully, and -Marjorie’s deft hand gave a distinctly feminine neatness and charm to its -appearance. - -He became a frequent visitor at the Jimerson cabin, and evening after -evening he read to them in his melodious, well modulated voice. Sometimes -the draughtsman or transitman would come in, and Crimi would join in -playing cards until late at night. - -He seemed to take keen pleasure in the company of Marjorie and her -husband, and his face always lit up at sight of them, especially when -they were together. But it was the joy of a boy who sees the apples -ripening for him on his neighbor’s tree, and knows that they will soon -be ready for him to pluck. He was most happy when he was meditating his -frightful revenge. As his preparations drew near their end, he often -spent whole hours gloating over the fate in store for the couple. For -Marjorie, in loving Jimerson, had aroused him to insane jealousy, and -Jimerson, having robbed him of his heart’s desire, was included in -Crimi’s fierce hate for the girl who had crossed him. - -When, one evening, Marjorie and her husband happened in at Crimi’s cabin, -Marjorie expressed her horror at the thought of Crimi wandering among the -snake-infested rocks of the rattlesnake ridge. The snake-hunter seated -her on a box that contained a twisting knot of the venomous reptiles. - -Marjorie, serenely unaware, talked on blithely, and Crimi’s merry laugh -pealed out at regular intervals. He was in right jovial mood that -evening, for he was ready to spring the death-trap prepared for his two -friends. He only awaited a favorable opportunity to strike. - - * * * * * - -The opportunity came when the surveyors’ cook, crazed by bad whisky, -smashed up the kitchen. Jimerson discharged him, and the cook muttered -threats of a horrible vengeance. - -“Shut up,” Jimerson ordered. “This is the third time you’ve been seeing -snakes, and now you’ve wrecked the cook shack. You ought to be sent to -jail—or a lunatic asylum.” - -“It’s _you_ that will be seeing snakes,” the cook spluttered. “You an’ -that Italian wife of yours’ll see plenty of ’em—red, an’ green, an’——” - -Jimerson struck him across the mouth and sent him on his way. This was -in the evening. The draughtsman and rodman went to town the next day to -hire a new cook, while Jimerson and Marjorie went on an outing up the -headwaters of Feather Creek. It was Sunday, and they intended to spend -the day there. - -Crimi declined their invitation to accompany them. It was the moulting -season, he explained, when the snakes were casting their skins. He could -ill afford to lose a day of observation at this time, for he had several -perplexing points to clear up before writing his monograph. - -Crimi walked fearlessly from rock to rock of the rattlesnake ridge, -chuckling to himself. The tangled masses of snakes, of which he had been -told, existed only in rumor, although there were snakes in plenty if one -but looked for them. Tangled masses would serve his purpose later, but he -had gathered them here and there, one or two at a time. - -By noon the little cluster of cabins occupied by the engineers was -deserted. Marjorie and her husband had been gone since sun-up, and the -surveyors were all in town. Not a soul was stirring in the neighborhood -of the shacks, and the men at the construction camp were mostly lying -around in their bunks, or playing cards. - -Crimi nailed fast the windows of Jimerson’s cabin. Then he entered -and secured the bed to the floor so that it could not be moved. He -laboriously carried his boxes of snakes a mile or more, from his room -to the little gully behind the surveyors’ cabins, and hid them in the -sagebrush. - -Marjorie and her husband came back from their tramp after dark that -evening, dog-tired. Marjorie cooked a little supper, and by 10 o’clock -the two were asleep. Crimi entered their cabin about midnight. They were -fast in the chains of slumber, and he did not even find it necessary to -muffle his tread. He removed the chairs, shoes, clothes, and even the -hand mirror and toilet articles. Everything that might serve as a weapon, -no matter how slight, he took away. - -Then he brought his snakes from the gully, and collected them in front -of the cabin. When he had assembled them all, he knocked the top from -the largest box, carried it into the room, and, in the audacity of his -certain triumph, he dumped the twisting mass of rattlesnakes on the bed -where Marjorie and her husband lay asleep. - -The other boxes he emptied quickly just inside of the door, and withdrew, -for he had no wish to set foot among the venomous serpents. Revenge is -never satisfied if retribution overtakes the avenger, and Crimi had -no wish to share the fate of his victims. He locked the door from the -outside, and battened it. Then he removed the boxes that had contained -the snakes, and returned to his cabin and peacefully went to sleep. - - * * * * * - -Marjorie awoke with the first rays of the sun, and lazily opened her eyes. - -Her heart leapt suddenly into her throat, and she was wide awake in -an instant. The flat, squat head of a rattlesnake was creeping along -her breast. Its beady eyes were fixed on her face, and its red tongue -flickered before her like a forked flame. For a moment she thought -she was still dreaming, but the familiar outlines of the room limned -themselves in her consciousness, and she knew that what she saw was real. - -Her shriek rent the air, as she threw back the bed clothes and sprang -to the floor. She stepped on a coiled serpent, which sounded an ominous -warning as it struck out blindly. - -She quickly climbed back on the bed, and stood on the pillow, screaming. -Her husband was beside her at once, hazily trying to understand the -import of the hysterical torrent of words she was sobbing into his ears. -For an instant he thought she must be in the clutch of some horrible -nightmare. Then a quick, startled glance around the room turned his blood -to ice. - -There was now a continuous rattling, as of dry leaves blowing against -a stone wall, for Marjorie’s screams had galvanized the snakes into -activity. The room was filled with their angry din. It sounded in -Jimerson’s ears like the crack of doom. The floor seemed covered with the -creeping reptiles. Some were coiled, the whirring tips of their tails -making an indistinct blur as they rattled, and their heads swaying slowly -back and forth. Others writhed along the floor, their venomous squat -heads thrusting forward and withdrawing, and their tongues darting out -like red flames. - -On the bed itself there was motion underneath the thrown-back coverlet, -and the ugly, gray head of a thick, four-foot snake protruded from -under it, its evil eyes shining dully, as if through a film of dust. It -extricated itself, and coiled as if to strike, while Marjorie shrank -fearfully against the wall, wide-eyed with horror. - -Jimerson attacked the reptile with a pillow, sweeping it from the bed -onto the floor. He quickly looked about him for a weapon, and saw at once -that he was trapped. There was not even a shoe or a pincushion with which -to fight the crawling, rattling creatures. - -He tried to rock the bed toward the window, as boys move saw-horses -forward while sitting on them. But the bed was firmly fastened to the -floor, and in his efforts to release it he was bitten on the wrist by the -strike of a large snake coiled near the foot of the bed. - -Jimerson flung the reptile across the room, and sprang to the floor with -an oath, crushing a large rattler with his heel as he jumped. He raced -to the door, and wrestled with it for a full minute before he discovered -that he and Marjorie were locked in that serpent-hole. - -He sprang to the window, and felt a sharp stab of pain in the flesh of -his calf as the open jaws of another reptile found their mark, and the -poison fangs were imbedded deep in the flesh. The window, like the door, -was nailed fast, but he broke out the glass with his bare fists. - -Unmindful of the blood on his lacerated hands, he was back at the -bedside, treading over reptiles with his bare feet. Marjorie lay on the -bed, unconscious. - -He lifted her in his bleeding arms and hurled her through the window to -safety. He struggled out after her, tearing open his bitten leg on the -jagged pieces of glass still left in the window frame. The spurting blood -drenched him, and he leaned, faint and dizzy, against the cabin as three -of his surveyors came running up, having been attracted by Marjorie’s -screams. - -In almost incoherent words he told them what had happened. He asked them -to make immediate search for the discharged cook, for there was no doubt -in Jimerson’s mind that it was the cook who had placed the snakes in the -room. - -Then the sky went suddenly black before his eyes, and he lost -consciousness. - - * * * * * - -At that minute Crimi was waking from peaceful dreams. He recalled what he -had done the night before, and blissfully mused on what must be taking -place in the Jimerson cabin. - -A phantasmagoric succession of pictures weltered in his mind—Marjorie and -her husband fighting with bare hands against the serpents—bitten a score -of times by the angry fangs of the rattlesnakes—clinging to each other in -terror—sinking to the floor in agony as the poison swelled their tortured -limbs and overcame them—lying green and blue in death, with rattlesnakes -crawling and hissing over their dead bodies. - -It is remarkable how few people die from rattlesnake bites even when -as badly bitten as Jimerson was. Probably not one adult victim in a -hundred succumbs to the venom, although mistaken popular belief considers -rattlesnake poison as fatal as the death-potion of the Borgias. - -Jimerson had known too many cases of snake bite to believe his case -hopeless. He did not give up and die, nor did he try to poison his -system with whisky. He knew that his condition was serious but he let -rest and permanganate of potash, rubbed into his wounds, effect a cure. -The bleeding from the lacerated leg had almost entirely washed out the -poison, and there was little swelling. The pain of his swollen wrist, -however, distended almost to bursting, kept him from sleeping, and the -sickly green hue of the bite distressed him. But it did not kill him. - -Crimi, careful observer of reptiles though he was, had never known an -actual case of snake bite, and he shared the popular illusion that the -bite of the rattlesnake dooms its victim to death. Hence he was certain -of the complete success of his revenge, and his gloating glee was -unclouded by even the shadow of a doubt that Marjorie and her husband -had been killed in his death-trap. He awaited only the supreme joy of -drinking in the details of his success, to feel the exultant thrill of -complete victory. - -As Crimi sat alone, two days after that horrible morning, Jimerson was -limping slowly toward his cabin. His swollen hand still pained him badly, -and there was a dull ache in his ankle when he put too much weight on it, -but he thought the fresh air would benefit him. - -Supporting himself with a cane, and leaning heavily on Marjorie at times, -he went painfully toward the young Italian’s desert home. Not once had -his suspicion pointed toward Crimi as author of the crime, for the guilt -of the lunatic cook seemed all too clear. Besides, he liked Crimi for his -genial camaraderie, his joviality and good humor, and his frank interest -in everything that concerned either him or Marjorie. - -So intent was the snake fiend on passing the torments of his victims -before his fancy, that he did not hear the knock on his cabin door. His -brain was too busy to heed the message sent by his ears, for he was -feasting on the mental and physical tortures that Jimerson and Marjorie -must have endured before they lay cold in death on the floor of the -cabin, hideously discolored by the venom of the rattlesnakes. - -By degrees he became conscious that he was not alone. Two persons stood -before him, and he raised his eyes in eager anticipation, to feed his -revengeful spirit on the story he had waited two days to hear. - -Even when he gazed on those whom he had consigned to a horrible death, -the thought that they were alive did not penetrate his consciousness. The -idea of failure had never entered his mind for even an instant. They were -dead, beyond the peradventure of a doubt, and now—_their avenging ghosts -stood before him_! - - * * * * * - -Crimi dropped to his knees in white terror and crawled behind his chair. -He clasped and unclasped his hands in agony of fear. Sweat poured -from his face and bathed his body. He implored mercy. He screamed for -forgiveness. He gibbered like a frightened ape. Half forgotten words of -Italian, learned at his mother’s knee, fell from his lips. He pleaded -and begged for his life, crawling on his face toward the amazed couple in -an endeavor to clasp their knees. - -As the meaning of his broken ejaculations was borne in on them, a -tremendous loathing and disgust overcame them. Marjorie clung to her -husband, unnerved at the repulsive sight of the malicious coward -groveling on the floor and trying to kiss their feet. - -Crimi shrieked and gnawed his hands as he saw the avenging angels of his -victims leave the cabin. - - * * * * * - -It was impossible for the stern hand of the law to inflict a greater -punishment on Jack Crimi than his own malice had wrought for him. Today -he occupies a padded cell in a hospital for the incurably insane. - - -Find Skull of Man Million Years Old - -The fossilized skull of a man, who lived more than a million years ago, -was recently unearthed in Patagonia, and it antedates by hundreds of -thousands of years any human relic previously discovered. Dr. J. G. -Wolfe, who brought news of the remarkable discovery to Buenos Aires, says -the fossilization was that of Tertiary sandstone, and this means the man -lived in the Tertiary Era, which ended before the Glacial Era began, -which in turn means the skull is considerably more than a million years -old. Except for the lower jaw, which is missing, the skull is almost -perfect. The eye sockets and the teeth sockets in the upper jaw are well -defined. The cranium is long and oval-shaped, the forehead extremely low -and sloping. - -Ruins of an ancient fortified town were also discovered by the scientist -in the wild region north of Lake Cardiel, in the territory of Santa Cruz. -This he regards as the remnants of a civilization that was perhaps even -earlier than that of the Peruvian Incas. On one of the walls he found a -carving of an animal that resembled the extinct glyptodon. - - - - -_Anthony M. Rud’s Remarkable Story of an Insane Artist_ - -_A_ SQUARE _of_ CANVAS - - -“No, Madame, I am _not_ insane! I see you hide a smile. Never mind -attempting to mask the expression. You are a newcomer here and have -learned nothing of my story. I do not blame any visitor—the burden of -proof rests upon us, _n’est-ce-pas?_ - -“In this same ward you have met several peculiar characters, have you -not? We have a motley assemblage of conquerors, diplomats, courtesans -and divinities—if you’ll take their words for it. There is Alexander the -Great, Richelieu, Julius Caesar, Spartacus, Cleopatra—but no matter. _I_ -have no delusion. I am Hal Pemberton. - -“You start? You believe _this_ my delusion? Look closely at me! I have -aged, it is true, yet if you have glimpsed the Metropolitan gallery -portrait that Paul Gauguin did of me when I visited Tahiti...?” - -I gasped, and fell back a pace. This silver-haired, kindly old soul -the mad genius, Pemberton? The temptation was strong to flee when I -realized that he told the truth! I knew the portrait, indeed, and for an -art student like myself there could be no mistaking the resemblance. I -stopped, half-turned. After all, they allowed him freedom of the grounds. -He could be no worse surely, than the malignant Cleopatra whom I just -had left playing with her “asp”—a five-inch garter snake she had found -crossing the gravel path. - -“I—I believe you,” came my stammered reply. - -What I meant, of course, was that no doubt could exist that he was, -certainly, Hal Pemberton. His seamed face lighted up; it was plain _he_ -believed that establishment of identity made the matter of his detention -absurd. - -“They have me registered as Chase—John Chase,” he confided. “Come! Would -a true story of an artist’s persecution interest you? It is a recital of -misunderstanding, bigotry....” - -He left the sentence incomplete, and beckoned with a curl of his tapered, -spatulate index finger toward a bench set fair in the sunshine just -beyond range of blowing mists from the fountain. - -I was tempted. A guard was stationed less than two hundred feet distant. -Notwithstanding the horrid and distorted legends which shrouded our -memories of this man—supposed to have died in far-off Polynesia—he could -not harm me easily before assistance was available. Beside, I am an -active, bony woman of the grenadier type. I waited until he sat down, -then placed myself gingerly upon the opposite end of the bench. - -“You are the first person who has not laughed in my face when learning -my true identity,” he continued then, making no attempt to close the -six-foot gap between us—much to my comfort. “_Ignorance_ placed me here. -Ignorance keeps me. I shall give you every detail, Madame. Then you may -inform others and procure my release. The _cognoscenti_ will demand it, -once they know of the cruel intolerance which has stolen nine years -from my career and from my life. You know——” and here Pemberton glanced -guardedly about before he added in a whisper, “_they won’t let me paint!_ - -“My youth and training are known in part. Alden Sefferich’s brochure -dealt with the externals, at least. You have read it? Ah, yes! Dear Alden -knew nothing, really. When I look at his etchings of buildings—at his -word sketch of myself—I see behind the lines and letters to a great void. - -“At best, he was an admirable camera equipped with focal-plane shutter -and finest anastigmatic lenses depicting three dimensions faithfully in -two, yet ignoring the most important fourth dimension of temperament and -soul as though it were as mythical as that fourth dimension played with -by mathematicians. - -“It is not. Artistic inspiration—what the underworld calls _yen_—has -been my whole life. Beyond the technique and inspiration furnished -by Guarneresi, one might scrap the whole of tutelage and still have -left—myself, and the divine spark! - -“I was one of the Long Island Pembertons. Two sisters still are living. -They are staid, respectable ladies who married well. To hell with them! -They _really_ believed that Hal Pemberton disgraced them, the nauseating -prigs! - -“Our mother was Sheila Varro, the singer. Father was an unimaginative -sort, president of the Everest Life and Casualty Company for many years. -I mention these facts merely to show you there was no hereditary taint, -no connate reason for warped mentality such as they attribute to me. That -I inherited the whole of my poor mother’s artistic predilection there is -possibility for doubt, for she was brilliant always. I was a dullard in -my youth. It was only with education and inspiration that even a spark of -her divine creative fury came to me—but the story of that I shall reach -later.” - - * * * * * - -“As a boy, I hated school. Before the age of ten I had been expelled from -three academies, always on account of the way I treated my associates. I -was cruel to other boys, because lessons did not capture my attention. -Nothing quiet, static, like the pursuit of facts, _ever_ has done so. - -“When I tired of sticking pins into younger lads, or pulling their -hair, I sought out one or another of my own size and fought with him. -Often—usually—I was trounced, but this never bothered. Hurt, blood and -heat of combat always were curiosities to me—impersonal somehow. As long -as I could stand on my feet I would punch for the nose or eyes of my -antagonist, for nothing delighted me like seeing the involuntary pain -flood his countenance, and red blood stream from his mashed nostrils. - -“Father sent me to the New York public schools, but there I lasted only -six or seven weeks. I was not popular either with my playmates or with -the teachers, who complained of what they took to be abnormality. I had -done nothing except arrange a pin taken from the hat of one of the women -teachers where I thought it would do the most good. This was in the -sleeve of the principal’s greatcoat. - -“When he slid in his right hand the long pin pierced his palm, causing -him to cry out loudly with pain. I did not see him at the moment, but I -was waiting outside his office at the time, and I gloated in my mind at -the picture of his stabbed hand, ebbing drops of blood where the blue -steel entered. - -“I longed to rush in and view my work, but did not dare. Later, when by -some shrewd deduction they fastened the blame on me, Mr. Mortenson had -his right hand bandaged. - -“Father gave up the idea of public school after this, and procured me a -tutor. He thought me a trifle deficient, and I suppose my attitude lent -color to such a theory. I tormented the three men who took me in hand, -one after the other, until each one resigned. I malingered. I shirked. I -prepared ‘accidents’ in which all were injured. - -“It was not that I could not learn—I realized all along that simple tasks -assigned me by these men could be accomplished without great effort—but -that I had no desire to study algebra, geography and language, or other -dull things of the kind. Only zoology tempted in the least, and none of -the men I had before Jackson came was competent to do much of anything -with this absorbing subject. - -“Jackson was the fourth, and last. He proved himself an earnest soul, and -something of a scientist. He tried patiently for a fortnight to teach me -all that Dad desired, but found his pupil responsive only when he gave me -animals to study. These, while alive, interested me. - -“One day, after a discouraging session with my other studies, he left me -with some small beetles which he intended to classify on his return. It -was a hot day, and the little sheath-winged insects were stimulated out -of dormance to lively movement. I had them under a glass cover to prevent -their escape. - -“Just to see how they acted, I took them out, one by one, and performed -slight operations upon parts of their anatomy with the point of my -pen-knife. One I deprived of wings, another lost two legs of many, a -third was deprived of antennae, and so on. Then I squatted close with a -hand-lens and eyed their desperate struggles. - -“Here was _life_, _pain_, _struggle_—death close by, leering at the tiny -creatures. It fascinated me. I watched eagerly, and then, when one of the -beetles grew slower in moving, I stimulated it with the heated point of a -pin. - -“At the time—I was then only sixteen years of age—I had no analytical -explanation of interest, but now I know that the artist in me was swept -through a haze of adolescence by sight of that most sincere of all the -struggles of life, the struggle against _death_! - -“A fever raced in my blood. I knew the beetles could not last. An -instinct made me wish to preserve some form of record of their supreme -moment. I seized my pencil. I wrote a paragraph, telling how I would feel -in case some huge, omnipotent force should put me under glass, remove -my legs, stab me with the point of a great knife, a red-hot dagger, and -watch my writhings. - -“The description was pale, colorless, of course. It did not satisfy, even -while I scribbled. As you may readily understand, I possessed no power of -literary expression; crude sentences selected at random only emphasized -the need of expression of a better sort. Without reasoning—indeed, many -a person would have considered me quite mad at the time—I tore a clean -sheet of paper from a thick tablet and fell to _sketching_ rapidly, -furiously! - -“As with writing, I knew nothing of technique—I never had drawn a line -before—but the impelling force was great. Before my eyes I saw the -picture I wished to portray—the play of protest against death I drew the -death struggle....” - - * * * * * - -“By the time Jackson returned the fire had died out of me. - -“The horrid sketch was finished, and all but one of the beetles lay, legs -upturned, under the glass. That one had managed to escape somehow, and -was dragging itself hopelessly across the table, leaving a wet streak of -colorless blood to mark its passing. Exhausted in body and mind. I had -collapsed in the nearest chair, not caring whether I, myself, lived or -died. - -“Poor Jackson was horrified when he saw what I had done to the -_Coleptera_, and he began reproaching me for my needless cruelty. Just as -he was waxing eloquent, however, his eye caught sight of my crude sketch. -He stopped speaking. - -“I saw him tremble, adjust his pince-nez and stare long at the poor -picture I had made, and then at the dead beetles. Finally, seeming in -a torment of anger, he read the paragraph of description, turning to -examine me with horror and amazement in his glance. - -“Then, suddenly, he sprang to his feet, gripping the two sheets of paper -in his hands, swung about, and made off before I could rouse from my -lassitude sufficiently to question him. I never saw Jackson again. The -poor fool. - -“An hour later father sent for me. I knew that the tutor had been to -see him, and I expected another of the terrible lectures I had been in -habit of receiving each time a new lack or iniquity made itself apparent -to others. On several occasions in the past father had flogged me, and -driven himself close to the verge of apoplexy because of his extreme -anger at what he deemed deliberate obstinacy. I feared whippings; they -sickened me. My knees were quaking as I went to his study. - -“This time, however, it was plain that father had given up. He was pale, -weighed down with what must have been the great disappointment of his -life; but he neither stormed nor offered to chastise me. Instead he told -me quietly that Jackson had resigned, finding me impossible to instruct. - -“In a few sentences father reviewed the efforts he had made for my -education, then stated that all the tutors had been convinced that my -lack of progress had been due more to a chronic disinclination for work -rather than to any innate defect of body or mind. - -“‘So far,’ he told me, ‘you have refused steadfastly to accept -opportunity. Now we come to the end. Mr. Jackson has showed me a sketch -made by you in which he professes to see real talent. He advises that you -be sent abroad to study drawing or painting. Would you care for this last -chance? Otherwise I must place you in an institution of some kind, where -you no longer can bring disgrace and pain upon me—a reform school, in -short. I tell you frankly, Hal, that I am ready to wash my hands of you.’ - -“What could I do? I chose, of course, to go to Paris. Father made the -necessary arrangements for me to enter Guarneresi’s big studios as a -beginner, paying for a year in advance, and making me a liberal allowance -in addition. - -“‘I shall not attempt to conceal from you, Hal,’ he told me at parting, -‘that I do not wish you to return. Your allowance will continue just -as long as you remain abroad. If, in time, a moderate success in some -line of endeavor comes to you I shall be glad to see you again, but not -before. The Pembertons never were failures or parasites.’ - -“Thus I left him. He died while I was in my third year at the studio, and -by his express wish I was not notified until after the funeral was over. -I wept over the letter that came, but only because of the knowledge that -now I never could make up in any way for the great sorrow I had caused my -father. Had he lived only ten years longer—and this would not have been -extraordinary, as he died at the age of fifty-two—I could have restored -some of that lost pride to him.” - - * * * * * - -“Is it necessary to tell of my years with Guarneresi? No; you confessed -some slight knowledge of me. Very well, I shall pass over them lightly. -Suffice it to say that here at last I found my forte. I could paint. -The _maestro_ never valued my efforts very highly, but he taught with -conscientious diligence nevertheless. In the use of sweeping line and -chiaroscuro I excelled the majority of his pupils, but in color I -exhibited no talent—in _his_ estimation, at least. - -“It was strange, too, for through my mind at odd intervals swept riots -of crimson, orange and purple, which never could be mixed satisfactorily -upon my palette for any given picture. I told myself that the fault lay -as much in the subjects of my pictures as in myself—the excuse of a liar, -of course. - -“There _was_ some excuse there, however. For instance, when we painted -nudes Guarneresi would assemble a half-dozen old hags with yellowed skin, -bony torsos and shriveled breasts, asking us to portray youth and beauty. -Instead of attempting to pin a fabric of imagination upon such skeletons, -I used to search out the more beautiful of the cocottes of the night -cafés, and bring with me to the studio the next day memories and hurried -sketches of poses in which I had seen them. This was more interesting, -but unsatisfactory withal. - -“I had been five years in the studio, and had traveled three winters to -Sicily, Sardinia and Italy, before the first hint of a resolution of -my problem came to me. It was in the month of July, when north-loving -students take their vacations. - -“I was alone in the vast studio one afternoon. Guarneresi himself was -absent, which accounted for the holiday taken by the faithful who -remained during the hot days. On one side of the room were the cages, -where the _maestro_ kept small live animals, used for models with -beginners. There were a few rabbits, a dozen white mice and a red fox. - -“Wandering about, near to my wits’ end for inspiration to further work, -I chanced to see one of the rabbits looking in my direction. Rays of -sunlight, falling through the open skylight, caught the beast’s eyes in -such a manner that they showed to me as round discs of _glowing scarlet_. - -“Never had I witnessed this phenomenon before, which I since have learned -is common. It had an extraordinary effect upon me. In that second I -thought of my delinquent boyhood, of dozens of cruel impulses since -practically forgotten—of the mutilated, dying beetles which had been -instrumental in embarking me upon an art career. - -“Blood rose in torrents to my own temples. A fever consumed me. There was -life and _there could be death_. I could renew the inspiration of those -tortured beetles.” - - * * * * * - -“With agitated stealth, I glanced out into the empty hallway, locked the -door of the studio, drew four shades over windows through which I might -be seen, and crept to the rabbit cage. - -“Opening it, I seized by the long ears the white-furred animal which -had stared at me. The warm softness of its palpitating body raised my -artistic desire to a frenzy. I pulled a table from the wall, and holding -down the animal upon it I drew my knife. Overcoming the mad, futile -struggles of the rabbit, I slit long incisions in the white back and -belly. The blood welled out.... - -“Perfect fury of delight sent me to my canvas. My fingers trembled as -I mixed the colors, but there was no indecision now, and no hint of -muddiness in the result. I painted.... - -“You perhaps have seen a reproduction of that picture? It was called -“THE LUSTS OF THE MAGI,” and now hangs in one of the Paris galleries. -Some day it will grace the Louvre. And all because our white rabbit had -sacrificed its heart’s blood. - -“At eleven next morning Guarneresi himself, coming to the studio, found -me exhausted and asleep upon the floor. When he demanded explanations, I -pointed in silence to the finished picture upon my easel. - -“I thought the man would go frantic. He regarded it for an instant, with -intolerance fading from his bearded face. Then his mouth gaped open, and -a succession of low exclamations in his native tongue came forth. His -raised hands opened and shut in the gesture I knew to mean unrestrained -delight. - -“Suddenly he dashed to the easel, and, before I could offer resistance, -he snatched down my picture and ran with it out of the studio and down -the stairs into the narrow street. I followed, but I was not swift -enough. He had disappeared. - -“In half an hour he returned with four brother artists who had studios -nearby. The others were more than lavish in their praise, terming my -picture the greatest masterpiece turned out in the Quarter for years. -Guarneresi himself was less demonstrative now, but I detected tears in -his eyes when he turned to me. - -“‘The pupil has become the master,’ he said simply. ‘Go! I did not teach -you this, and I cannot teach you more. Always I shall boast, however, -that Signor Pemberton painted his first great picture in my studio.’ - -“The next day I rented a studio of my own and moved out my effects -immediately. I started to paint in earnest. There is little to relate of -the next few months. A wraith of the inspiration which had given birth -to my great picture still lingered, but I was no better than mediocre in -my work. True the experience and accomplishment had improved me somewhat -in use of color, but I learned the galling truth soon enough that never -could I attain that same fervor of artistry again—unless.... - -“After four months of ineffectual striving—during which time I completed -two unsatisfactory canvases—I yielded, and bought myself a second white -rabbit. What was my horror now to discover, when I treated the beast as I -had treated its predecessor, that no wild thrill of inspiration assaulted -me. - -“I could mix and apply colors a trifle more gaudily, yet the suffering -and blood of this animal had lost its potent effect upon me. After a -day or two the solution occurred. _Lusts of The Magi_ had exhausted the -stimulus which rabbits could furnish. - -“Disconsolate now, I allowed my work to flag. Though I knew in my heart -that the one picture I had done was splendid in its way, I hated to -believe that in it I had reached the peak of artistic production. Yet I -could arouse in myself no more than the puerile enthusiasm for methodical -slapping on of oils I so ridiculed in other mediocre painters. Finally I -stopped altogether, and gave myself over to a fit of depression, absinthe -and cigarettes. - -“Guarneresi visited me one day, and finding me so badly in the dumps -prescribed fresh air and sunshine. As I refused flatly to travel, knowing -my ailment to be of the subjective sort, not cured by glimpses of -pastures new, he lent me his saddle mare, a fine black animal with white -fetlocks and a star upon her forehead. I agreed listlessly to ride her -each day. - -“Three weeks slipped by. I had kept my promise—actually enjoying -the exercise—but without any of the beneficent results appearing. I -was in fair physical health—only a trifle listless—it is true, yet -whenever I set myself to paint a greater inhibition of spiritual and -mental weariness seemed to hold me back. Little by little, the ghastly -conviction forced itself upon me that as an artist I had shot my bolt. - -“One day, when I was riding a league or two beyond Passy, I had occasion -to dismount and slake my thirst at a spring on which it was necessary to -break a thin crust of ice. Drinking my fill I led the mare to the spot, -and she drank also. In raising her head, however, a sharp edge of ice cut -her tender skin the distance of a quarter inch. There, as I watched, _I -saw red drops of blood gather on her cheek_. - -“I cannot describe adequately the sensations that gripped me! In that -second I remembered the beetles and the rabbit; and I _knew_ that this -splendid animal had been given to me for no purpose other than to renew -the wasted inspiration within me. It was the hand of Providence.” - - * * * * * - -“Preparations soon were made. I obtained the use of a spacious -well-lighted barn in the vicinity, and put the mare therein while I -returned to Paris for canvases and materials. Then, when I was all ready -for work, I hobbled the mare with strong ropes, and tied her so she could -not budge. Then I treated her as I had treated the rabbit. - -“Deep down I hated to inflict this pain, for I had grown to care for that -mare almost as one cares for a dear friend; but the fury of artistic -desire would not be denied. - -“Next day, when all was over, I took the canvas in to Paris and showed it -to Guarneresi. He went into ecstasies, proclaiming that I had reawakened, -indeed. Yet when I told him of the mare and offered to pay his own price, -he became very white of countenance and drew himself up, shuddering. - -“‘Any but as great a man as yourself, Signor,’ he shrilled, his cracked -old voice breaking with emotion, ‘I should _kill_ for that. Yourself are -without the law which would damn another, but _not_ outside the sphere of -undying hatred. You are great, but awful. _Go!_’ - -“I found, then, that no one wished to look at my picture. Guarneresi had -told the story to sympathetic friends, and it had spread like a fire in -spruce throughout the Quarter. I was ostracized, deserted by all who had -called me their friend. - -“A month later, nearly broken in spirit, I came to New York. I was done -with Paris. Here in America none knew the story of my last painting, and -when it was put on exhibition the critics heralded it as greater far than -the finest production of any previous or contemporary American artist. I -sold it for twenty thousand dollars, which was a good price in those days. - -“I was swept up on a tide of popularity. As you know, in this country -even the poorest works of a popular man are snatched up avidly. Criticism -seems to die when once a reputation is attained. I got rid of all the -canvases I had painted in Paris, and was besieged for portrait sittings -by society women of the city. - -“Because I had no particular idea in mind for my next painting I did -allow myself to drift into this work. It was easy and paid immensely -well. Also I was called upon to exercise no ingenuity or imagination. All -I did was paint them as they came, two a week, and get rich, wasting five -years in the process. - -“Then I fell in love. Beatrice was much younger than myself, just turned -nineteen at the time. I was first attracted to her because my eye always -seeks out the beautiful in face and form as if I were choosing models -among all the women I meet. - -“She was slim of waist and of ankle, though with the soft curve of neck -and shoulder which intrigues an artist instantly. She was more mature -in some ways than one might have expected of her years—but the more -delightful for that reason. - -“Her eyes were dark pools rippled by the breeze of each passing fancy. -The moment I looked into them I knew that wrench of the heart which -bespeaks the advent of the one great emotion. Many times before I -had thought myself in love, yet in company of Beatrice I wondered at -my self-deception. In the evening, as she sat beside me in a nook of -Sebastian’s Spice Gardens—you know, the great indoor reproduction of the -famous gardens of Kandy, Ceylon—I gloried in her beauty, and in the way -soft silk clung to her person. The desire for possession was intolerable -within me. Before parting I asked her, and for answer she lifted her -soft, white arms to my neck and met my lips with a caress in which I felt -the whole fervor of love. That was the sweetest and happiest moment of my -life. - -“We married, and built ourselves a home upon Long Island. After three -months of honeymoon we settled there, more than ever in love with each -other if that were possible. - -“A year sped by. Ten months of this I spent without lifting a brush to -canvas. It was idyllic, yet toward the last a sense of shame began to -pervade my mind. Was I of such weak fibre that the love of one woman must -stamp out all ambition, all desire for accomplishment? - -“At the end of the year I was painting again, making portraits. The long -rest and happiness had made me impatient with such piffle, however. I had -all the money that either of us could need in our lifetime, so I could -not take the portraiture seriously. I dabbled with it another full year, -without once endeavoring to start a serious piece of work. - -“Then, after Beatrice bore me a daughter, I began to lay plans for -continuing serious endeavor. It is useless to repeat the story of -those struggles. It was the same experience I had had after that first -successful picture. - -“My technique now was as near perfection as I could hope to attain, -and the mere matter of color mixing I had learned from those two wild -flights of frenzy. I found myself, however, psychologically unable to -attack a subject smacking in the least of the gruesome—and that, of -course, always had been my talent and interest.” - - * * * * * - -“I rebelled against the instinct which urged me to try the experiment -of the mare again. In cold blood I hated the thought of it, and also I -feared, with a great sinking of the heart, that I should find no more -inspiration there even if I did repeat. - -“I turned to landscape painting, choosing sordid, dirty or powerful -scenes. I painted the fish-and-milk carts on Hester Street, showing -the hordes of dirty urchins in the background playing on the pavement. -Somehow, the picture fell short of being really good, although I had no -difficulty in selling it. - -“I portrayed, then, a street in the Ghetto on a rainy night, with -greasy mud shining on the cobblestones and the shapeless figure of a -man slouched in a doorway. This was called powerful—the ‘awakening of -an American Franz Hals’ one critic termed it—but I knew better. Beside -the work I _could_ do under powerful stimulus and inspiration, this was -slush, slime. I _hated_ it! - -“Even waterscapes did not satisfy. I painted half of one picture -depicting two sooty, straining tugs bringing a great leviathan of a -steamer into harbor, but this I never finished. I felt as if I drooled at -the mouth while I was working. - -“Thus two more years went by, happy enough when I was with Beatrice, but -sad and savage when I was by myself in the studio. My wife had blossomed -early into the full beauty of womanhood, and yet she retained enough of -modesty and reticence of self that I never wearied of her. Because up to -this time, when I turned thirty-three years of age, the powers of both -of us, physical and mental, had been on the increase, we still were -exploring the delights of love and true affection. - -“There was an impelling force within me, however, which would not be -denied. I had been born to accomplish great things. Weak compromise, or -weaker yielding to delights of the mind and body, could but heap fresh -fuel on the flame which consumed me when I got off by myself. I fought -against it months longer, but in the end I had to yield. With fear and -trepidation struggling with ambition and lust within me, I took a trip -to a distant town of New York State, procured a fine, blooded mare, and -repeated the experiment which had lost me the friendship of Guarneresi -and my Parisian contemporaries. - -“All in vain. Out of the hideous slaughter of the animal I obtained only -a single grim picture—a canvas which I painted weeks later, when the -shudder of revulsion in my frame had died down somewhat. I called the -picture ‘CANNIBALISM,’ for it showed African savages gorging themselves -on human flesh. It never sold, for the instant I placed it on exhibition -the art censors of New York threw it under ban—and, I believe, no one -really wanted the thing in his house. - -“I did not like it myself, and finally, after much urging by my wife, I -burned it. This sacrifice, however, merely accentuated the fury in my -heart. I _must_ do better than that! - -“Since I have told you of my other periods of frenzy and self-hatred, -I may pass over the ensuing month. One day the inspiration for my last -great picture came, and as with the second, through pure accident. -Beatrice was cutting weeds in the garden with a sickle, while I sat -cross-legged beside her, watching. I always could find surcease from -discontent in being near her, and watching the fine play of animal forces -in her supple body. - -“The sickle slipped. Beatrice cried out, and I jumped to place a -handkerchief over the wound that lay open on her wrist, but not before my -eyes had caught the sight of the red blood bubbling out upon her satiny -skin. - -“A madness leaped into my soul. My fingers trembled and a throbbing made -itself felt in my temples as I laved on antiseptic and bound a bandage -over the wound. This was the logical, the inevitable conclusion! She was -my mate; she was in duty bound to furnish inspiration for the picture I -must paint, my _masterpiece_. - - * * * * * - -“I of course, told Beatrice nothing of what was passing in my mind, but -went immediately about my preparations. - -“I placed a cot in the studio, fastening strong straps to it. Then I made -ready a gag, and sharpened a keen Weiss knife I possessed until its edge -would cut a hair at a touch. Last I made ready my canvas. - -“She came at my call. At first, when I seized her and tore off her -clothing she thought me joking, and protested, laughing. When I came to -placing the gag, and bound her arms and legs with strong straps, however, -the terror of death began to steal into her dark eyes. - -“To show her that I loved her still, no matter what duty impelled me to -do, I kissed her hair, her eyes, her breast. Then I set to work.... - -“In a few minutes I was away and painting as I never had painted before. -A red stream dripped from the steel cot, down to the floor, and ran -slowly toward where I stood. It elated me. I felt the fire of a fervor of -inspiration greater than ever had beset me. I painted. _I painted!_ This -was my masterpiece. - -“Drunk with the fury of creation, I threw myself on the floor in the -midst of the red puddle time and time again. I even dipped my brushes in -it. Mad with the delight of unstinted accomplishment, I kept on and on, -until late in the evening I heard my little daughter crying in her room -for the dinner she had not received. Then I went downstairs, laughing at -the horror I saw in the faces of the servants. - -“They found Beatrice, of course. The servants ’phoned immediately for the -police. I fooled them all, however. I knew that they might do something -to me, such is the lack of understanding against which true artists -always must labor, so I took the canvas of my masterpiece and hid it in -a secret cupboard in the wall known only to myself. I did not care what -they did to me, but this picture, for which Beatrice had offered up her -love and life, was sacred. - -“They came and took me away. Then ensued a terrible scandal, and some -foolish examinations of me in which I took not the slightest interest. -And then they put me here. - -“I have not been in duress all the time, though. Oh, no! Three years -later some of my old friends contrived at escape, and secreted me away -to the South Seas. There they gave me a studio, meaning to allow me to -paint. I was guarded, though. They would not allow me full freedom. - -“I painted, but I have not the slightest idea what was done with those -canvases. I had no interest in them personally. All I could think of now -was the one great masterpiece hidden in the cupboard of my old studio. I -wanted to see it, to glory in the flame of color and in the tremendous -conception itself. - - * * * * * - -“At last I gave my guards the slip, and after long wandering about in -native proas, made my way to this country again, to New York. I found the -canvas, and, rolling it, secreted it upon my person. Then I went out and -gave myself up to them. I was brought here again. - -“Imprisonment was not important to me any more. I was getting old. Though -I would like to be released now it is a matter of less urgency than -before, because I have with me always my masterpiece. _See!_” - -The old man tugged at something inside his blouse, and brought forth a -dirtied roll which he unsnapped with fingers that trembled in eagerness. - -“See, Madame!” he repeated triumphantly. - -And, before my horrified eyes, he unrolled _a blank square of white -canvas_! - -[Illustration] - - - - -_Do You Want a Slice of Life from the Thirteenth Century? If so, Don’t -Fail to Read_ - -THE AFFAIR _of the_ MAN _in_ SCARLET - -_By_ JULIAN KILMAN - - -Two French peasants, the one young, the other old and hale and toothless, -both carrying baskets and garbed in ragged breeches and tunics, gaped -at the pair of horses struggling to haul the closed coach up the steep -incline in Angoulème Wood. - -At the instant it seemed as if the animals were about to fail. The -driver, a sober youth in drab livery with undecipherable shoulder -insignia, used his whip mercilessly. The lash cracked, the horses plunged -frantically, while a stream of invective sped from the driver’s lips. - -“You pair of oafs!” he cried, finally. “Lend a hand.” - -The peasants willingly put shoulder to wheel. The coach gained way and -topped the rise. As it did so, the two peasants set out at a run, their -baskets bobbing, but a shout came from behind. - -“’Ware the road, ye clodhoppers!” - -The clatter of horse hoofs was upon them, they were just able to fling -themselves to the side as three horsemen, presumably outriders of the -equipage ahead, swept by. - -The peasants gazed in admiration after the flashing figures. - -“That’ll be good King Philippe’s riders,” announced André, the younger. -“Mark ye the emblems on their jackets?” - -“I do that,” returned Jacques, the light of understanding in his ancient -eyes. “Methinks I know what brings them to the village of Peptonneau.” - -“And, pray, what is it that brings them to the village of Peptonneau?” - -“They come to the Man in Scarlet.” - -At mention of the official headsman, who years before had come from near -Fontainebleau to reside in Peptonneau, Jacques’ companion fell silent. - -The old man chuckled. - -“Ah! They were gay days when your old Jacques was a gardener at the royal -palace. And be it known to you, lout of Peptonneau,” Jacques’ voice rose, -“that my best friend then was old Capeluche, the very father of our -neighbor headsman, who to be sure is a man of ugly temper, and hence -giving easy understanding as to why he lost favor at Fontainebleau. - -“Ah me!” sighed Jacques. “You, André, should have heard the rare stories -told by old Capeluche, the son of the son of the son of the son of a -headsman, unto four generations. A proper man with the sword, forsooth! -There was the Duc de la Trémouille whom old Capeluche led to the block -and permitted to begin the Lord’s prayer, but when the noble duke got -as far as ‘_et nos inducas intentationem_’ he had drawled it so slowly -that the good Capeluche, losing patience, swung his blade and made such a -clean stroke of it that the head, though severed, remained in exact place -while from the lips the prayer continued—‘_Sed libera nos a malo_’—until -the faithful Capeluche nudged the body and the head toppled off. - -“A wonderful arm, one may say,” continued Jacques, “but a wonderful -weapon, too, and the same one now resting with the Capeluche in -Peptonneau. Old Capeluche told me that on one occasion, when Madam -Bonacieux, a famous lady-in-waiting—now dead, may the Saints preserve -her!—brought her baby to his house, the sword rattled furiously in its -closet, which was an omen that the child would some day die by the -self-same sword wielded by the right arm of a Capeluche unless then and -there Madam Bonacieux allowed her baby’s neck to be pricked by the point -of the sword until blood showed.” - -“And did Madam Bonacieux permit it?” asked André, curiously. - -“That she did not,” replied Jacques. “She laughed in old Capeluche’s face -and ran out of his house, and thereat the old man was furious, vowing -that the child would some day have its neck severed by the famous sword.” - - * * * * * - -While thus engaged in conversation, old Jacques had steadily led the way -by a short cut through the wood, which presently brought them out of -breath to the village, ahead of the coach and horses. - -The village of Peptonneau was small, having less than a thousand -inhabitants, its houses being of stone, and built close together in the -manner of the gregarious Latin. Most striking of these structures in -their uniformity was one near the center square painted a brilliant red. - -In the clear sunshine of that Thirteenth Century July day, the dwelling -stood out like a veritable lighthouse, and thither, giving no heed to the -leper who passed in the opposite direction, fingerless, noseless, the -bell at his neck ringing dolefully, the two peasants complacently padded -their barefoot way. - -A tall, lean, but well-thewed individual in leather jerkin and girdle, -lounged in front of the house of red. With cynical eyes he viewed the -approach of the peasants. - -“In five minutes, M. Capeluche,” announced Jacques, a trifle -breathlessly, “a coach and riders will arrive.” - -“And you, old cock, trot hither from your berry-picking to tell me that -bit of famous gossip?” - -“Ay! I’m an old cock, and many years have passed o’er my head, Monsieur, -but it is a head not destined to be removed by a Capeluche, nor yet by -the son of a Capeluche.” - -“Sirrah! Daily I give thanks to the Holy Virgin,” retorted the headsman, -“that the delicate skill of a Capeluche is not for the hairy necks of -such _canaille_ as you.” - -“Who knows,” sturdily replied Jacques, “as to the quality or quantity of -hair on the neck of one who draws near in yonder coach?” - -The grunt that left the headsman betrayed his interest. He peered down -the road. - -“What do you mean by that?” - -Old Jacques permitted himself a toothless grin. It was not often that a -Peptonneau villager could stir the equanimity of the great one, whose -prerogatives of office entitled him to tithes exacted from towns and -monasteries as ruthlessly as those of prince or baron. - -“The coach, Monsieur,” the loquacious Jacques continued with -satisfaction, “is accompanied by three outriders; they are men of the -Divine Philippe’s, Monsieur, recently returned from ‘The Foolish Wars’, -and wearing on the shoulders of their tunics the sign of the cross, -together with——” - -“A falcon in full flight?” quickly broke in the headsman. - -“Even so, M. Capeluche. A falcon in full— Now, _regardez vous_, the great -man is himself in full flight!” - - * * * * * - -If the headsman had in truth rather precipitately taken himself into his -dwelling, his absence was of short duration, for he returned in a moment, -clad in a scarlet cloak that reached to his knees. - -At the instant there sounded the call of a bugle, and into sight swung -three horsemen, followed by the coach driven at breakneck speed. - -M. Capeluche took a position midway of the road and presently caught the -heads of the horses drawing the coach. His black eyes snapped fire as he -noted the quivering flanks of the hard-driven animals. - -“High honor you do me, M. le Headsman,” cried the driver, leaping to -the ground and clapping the palms of his hands against his breeches to -relieve them of perspiration. - -“No honor to you, you puling son of an ass,” retorted Capeluche, crossly. - -“Hear the Man in Scarlet!” - -The tallest of the horsemen, a devil-may-care appearing young man whose -finely-chiseled features and delicate raiment proclaimed him of noble -blood, now stepped to the side of the coach and unlocked the door and -opened it. - -A surpassingly beautiful woman of perhaps twenty-two years, sat within. -She had the totally unexpected air of pretty surprise. As she descended, -accepting with dainty grace the proffer of the gallant’s arm, her -wide-set blue eyes were dazzled by the brilliance of the midday light. - -“Thank you, Comte de Mousqueton,” she murmured. - -With his charge, the Comte then approached the headsman, who stood with -arms akimbo, his sharp eyes on the newcomers. - -“M. Capeluche,” said the Comte, graciously. “The Royal Master sends this -day the body of Mlle. Bonacieux. These papers, sir, are your warrant. -Please to scan them at once.” - -“The portent! The portent!” cried a voice from the crowd of rustics. - -“Who shouts?” demanded Capeluche, looking about him fiercely, while a -silence fell. - -With a nod that gave scant heed to the etiquette of the occasion, the -headsman accepted the beribboned parchment and ripped open the cover. -The writ was of interminable length and inscribed in Latin. A glance, -however, at the familiar “Now, therefore,” clause at the end quickly -apprised Capeluche of his commission, and without a word he turned to -enter his house. - -“One moment,” said the Comte. - -The headsman paused, scowling. - -“Where, M. Capeluche, are we to lodge the prisoner in the interim?” - -A sardonic smile suddenly played on the features of Capeluche. - -“In Peptonneau, Comte de Mousqueton,” he said, “you will please to -understand that since the days of the plague there has been no inn.” - -The glance of the Man in Scarlet now shifted to the dilapidated, -unoccupied structures on either side of his own dwelling. - -“These are the only vacant houses in Peptonneau, their emptiness, of a -truth, due to the fact that they stand next the dwelling of red. Of these -two you may choose freely, sir.” - -The crowd dispersed. - -“Ho! Ho!” broke in a familiar voice. “There’ll be no hair on the neck of -Mlle. Bonacieux to dull the edge of M. Capeluche’s good sword.” - - * * * * * - -It was near dark before the youthful Comte, after his discourteous -reception by the headsman, was able to arrange suitable quarters in one -of the deserted houses for his charge. As he was leaving her for the -night, he seemed to reach a decision and was about to speak when she -anticipated him. - -“You are kind, indeed, M. le Comte,” she exclaimed, “to one in such -misfortune.” - -“Kindness, Mlle. Bonacieux, comes easily when one views beauty in -distress.” - -Mlle. Bonacieux shook her head reprovingly. - -“Ah, Comte, to one whose tenure of existence is limited by a bit of -parchment to ten hours the occasion does not seem fitting for mere -compliment.” - -“The occasion, Mademoiselle, is not entirely unpropitious if one -considers all the possibilities.” - -The woman gave him a quick look. - -“To just what, pray, does the Comte de Mousqueton refer?” - -The young Frenchman paced the room, giving signs of a state of tension. -Then he began to speak rapidly: - -“The Mlle. Bonacieux, some of us feel at the court, has been ill treated -both by the King and the Dauphin. The King, by his gratuitous harshness, -and the Dauphin, by his, his—” - -The Comte hesitated. The keenly intelligent gaze of the woman -interrogated him. - -“Proceed, M. le Comte,” she encouraged. - -“Will it be permitted a mere Comte to speak frankly of the prince?” - -“By all means.” - -“Then I shall dare to say, by the lack of knowledge and perspicacity of -the Dauphin.” - -In spite of herself, a flush stole into the face of the woman. - -“Ah! You are naïve!” she exclaimed, in pain. “Cruelly so.” - -“Nay, Mademoiselle. It is not naïveté in the circumstances, for I have a -definite plan to defeat the machinations of the Cardinal.” - -In amazement the woman stared at her companion. - -“But how—?” she began. - -“Listen, Mademoiselle. Everyone, it seems, including both the King and -the Dauphin, have forgotten the ancient Merovingian statute, which -provides that a woman sentenced to death may, if the headsman is ‘able -and willing’ to marry her, be saved. Now, M. le headsman, if a boor, has -at least the temporarily strategic advantage of being a celibate. It -remains merely for you to captivate the gentleman’s fancy, and—who knows?” - -The Comte now glanced with interest at his beautiful prisoner. She was -smiling. - -“Very prettily thought M. le Comte,” she said, “and your interest in my -cause is flattering. But is not death itself preferable to life with yon -crimson-handed churl as a wife whose only contact with her neighbors -would be in the night-time, when they came stealing to buy from her -horrid amulets with which to curse their enemies?” - -“Ah, but who said that Mlle. Bonacieux would be compelled to endure life -with a headsman?” - -“Surely it is not to be expected,” remarked the woman, “that the headsman -would be gallant enough to release me immediately after the ceremony?” - -A short laugh broke from the Comte. - -“No fear of that. My purpose is to relieve him of his bridegroom -embarrassment within ten minutes after he has a wife.” - -“Ah! A rescue! You, a King’s Messenger, would dare that for me?” - -“And why not?” - -“But why should you?” - -The Comte’s face flushed slightly. - -“One who loves would not regard such an enterprise as a peril.” - -The eyes of the woman kindled. She approached the Comte. He caught her -hand and kissed it. - -“Trust in the Comte de Mousqueton,” he breathed. - - * * * * * - -It was late when the Comte came from the prison house. The village seemed -asleep, but another than himself was abroad. The figure of a man in a -cloak was issuing from the neighboring house. - -“You walk late, M. Capeluche,” said the Comte. “But it is well, for Mlle. -Bonacieux wishes to speak with you.” - -The headsman stopped abruptly to peer into the eyes of the young -nobleman. The act was insolent. - -“Is M. le Comte,” he inquired, coldly, “sufficiently in the confidence of -his fair prisoner to advise me what it is she desires?” - -“The man is steel,” thought the Comte, hotly. “I’ll kill him yet.” Aloud, -he said: “I have some idea, M. Capeluche. But I may not allude to it.” - -The headsman fell silent. - -“Closer examination of the writ,” he went on, finally, “shows that it -is curiously indefinite in its recital as to the offense of which Mlle. -Bonacieux has been guilty.” - -The Comte laughed easily. - -“M. de Briseout will be pleased to hear that the discriminating Capeluche -has so found it.” - -“And who is de Briseout?” - -“The ingenious special pleader employed by the Cardinal to prepare the -document. It is a work of art.” - -“Then I can not be mistaken in assuming that one as clever as the Comte -de Mousqueton and so recently come from Fontainebleau will be able to -tell me the real nature of the case.” - -The young nobleman was able to smile in the dark at the discernment of -this strange man of blood. - -“’Tis a proper question, M. Capeluche,” he returned. “Be it known to you, -therefore, that no less a person that the Dauphin himself entertains the -liveliest of sentiments toward Mlle. Bonacieux. The Cardinal, however, -through his spies, early learned of the infatuation of the prince and -privately remonstrated with him on the score that the mesalliance would -definitely imperil the consummation of his proposed nuptials with -Katharine of Austria, which, in turn, might embroil the two nations in -war. - -“But the Dauphin resented ecclesiastical interference. This aroused the -ire of His Eminence, who straightway went to King Philippe. The net -result is that the Dauphin has been dispatched on a tedious expedition to -Sicilia, and I am ordered to convey the pretty person of Mlle. Bonacieux -to you for decapitation.” - -The two men resumed their walking. - -“And this, then, you think,” came from the headsman, “accounts both for -the ambiguity of the writ’s phraseology as well as the fact that Mlle. -Bonacieux is spirited hither instead of being left to the hand of the -headsman at Fontainebleau?” - -“Undoubtedly, M. Capeluche.” - -The headsman started away abruptly, in the manner of a man whose mind is -suddenly made up. A light still burned in Mlle. Bonacieux’s quarters and -he tapped at the door. - -“Who is it?” called the woman. - -“One whom you wished to see.” - -“Please come in, M. Capeluche.” - -Mlle. Bonacieux was in truth chilled by the grim expression of the man -who now stood composedly studying her; but she gave no sign. Instead, her -eyes were sparkling and she was a vision of loveliness as she reclined on -the couch that had been provided for her by the Comte. - -“An unpleasant business—for both of us, M. le Headsman,” she commented. - -“There are many persons in _your_ position who would so regard it,” -bluntly agreed the headsman. - -“I shall not dissemble, M. le Headsman. I do not desire to die tomorrow.” - -“Is it for this that you have sent for me?” - -The woman laughed. - -“Yes, and no, Monsieur,” she returned. “It has but recently been -mentioned to me that an ancient law is still in effect and has a certain -bearing——” - -She paused, glancing with studied carelessness at the headsman. - -“The Comte de Mousqueton is a very clever fellow,” remarked Capeluche, -dryly. “What is it he has to say of this old law?” - -“That it seems a pity to miss a perfectly legitimate opportunity both -to accomplish a humanitarian act and so defeat the machinations of an -interfering Italian Cardinal.” - -Capeluche’s features for the first time relaxed into a smile. - -“And Mlle. Bonacieux, therefore, of the two evils—death or a headsman—is -willing to choose the latter?” - -“You put it so bluntly, M. le Headsman,” she sighed. “There can be -compensations on either hand. If, for instance, the headsman surrenders -his celibacy to a pretty woman, it is not inconceivable that she may -reciprocate by surrendering her jewels to him.” - -“On condition?” - -In sincere surprise, Mlle. Bonacieux glanced up. - -“Your perspicacity is gratifying, Monsieur,” she exclaimed. “The -condition, suggested by you, is that immediately after the ceremony Madam -Capeluche be released and permitted to journey back to Fontainebleau with -the Comte de Mousqueton.” - -The gleaming eyes of the man told much—or little. He approached the -reclining beauty. - -“Mlle. Bonacieux,” he said. “The Merovingian statute is still law, being, -in fact, the very writ that directs my hand in your case.” - -For an instant he stood over her. - -“The Abbé Kérouec,” he added harshly, “will wed us two tomorrow, five -minutes before seven in the evening, the hour fixed by the writ for your -death.” - - * * * * * - -Shortly after six o’clock next evening old Jacques stole from the -Angoulème wood and fell in step immediately behind a man garbed in a -long close-fitting black coat with skirts that fell to his feet. This -individual was making his way with painful slowness along the road to -Peptonneau. - -For the space of a minute Jacques followed in silence, his old -nut-cracker face full of preliminary guile. Then he pushed forward. - -“It is a fine day, good father,” he shouted. - -In surprise the old man surveyed him. - -“Ay, a fine day, Jacques, you godless one,” he replied in the toneless -voice of the deaf. - -“But the clemency of the weather is not for the delectation of the young -beauty from Fontainebleau now lodged in Peptonneau.” - -The Abbé Kérouec inclined his head. He was exceedingly deaf and had not -heard. - -Jacques swore heartily. At the top of his lungs he shouted: - -“Bad weather for her who dies at seven this evening by the hand of M. -Capeluche.” - -The light of comprehension came into the features of the ancient Abbé. - -“Ah, my good fellow, you mistake. I come to M. Capeluche’s dwelling on -a more gracious mission than to shrive the soul of one condemned by the -King’s Writ.” - -It was Jacques’ turn to be surprised. - -“Ha! Say you that Mlle. Bonacieux is not to die this eve?” - -The Abbé’s eyes showed that he understood. - -“That I say, indeed, Jacques. You and I be old men and we have seen -much, but never before has anyone in our generation in all France and -her possessions witnessed that which is about to occur in modest little -Peptonneau.” - -“And what is that?” sharply demanded Jacques. - -“The wedding of M. Capeluche, the headsman, to Mlle. Bonacieux, the -condemned.” - -Jacques threw back his head and laughed till the tears rolled down his -cheeks. - -“That indeed is droll!” he shouted. “M. le Headsman weds a woman and then -immediately cuts off her head.” - -The owl-like eyes of the Abbé regarded Jacques solemnly. - -“You do not know the full import of what I have told you, Jacques.” - -The old peasant sobered instantly. - -“What’s that?” - -“Then you have never heard of the Merovingian statute which provides that -the headsman may marry a condemned woman, if he is able and willing, and -thereby save her life?” - -“Ah! Ah! Ah!” came from Jacques, his small eyes opening and shutting with -lightning rapidity. “Thus it proceeds, eh? M. le Headsman surrenders to -the charms of the beautiful Mlle. Bonacieux. He plans to take her to -wife. Is not the situation amusing?” - -Suddenly he shook the arm of the old Abbé. - -“But it can not be, Abbé Kérouec,” he exclaimed vociferously. “I knew -the worthy M. Capeluche at Fontainebleau. He was a friend of mine, and -the father of the headsman in Peptonneau, and he confided in me that on -a certain occasion a lady-in-waiting one day brought her child to the -dwelling in red, whereupon the Capeluche sword rattled furiously in its -closet, which meant, of an absolute surety, that the child, unless its -neck was pricked by the point of the sword, would some day die by that -sword. That woman bore the name of Bonacieux, and now, after eighteen -years, old Jacques lives to see Mlle. Bonacieux, the child grown to -womanhood, awaiting her death under the famous sword in the hands of a -Capeluche.” - -Jacques paused for breath. The old Abbé had endeavored to follow the -harangue of the peasant. - -“Understand? A portent!” shouted Jacques, in desperation. “Mlle. -Bonacieux is to die tonight by the sword of the headsman, Capeluche.” - -“Nay! Nay! Jacques,” in turn exclaimed the Abbé. “I know not of what you -prate, save that it be Godless. But there will be a wedding in Peptonneau -this eve, and no woman will die by the hand of Capeluche.” - - * * * * * - -A throng had gathered before the house in red by the time the Abbé and -his companion Jacques made their way along the village street. The Comte -met them. He was in doublet and hose of violet color with aiguillettes of -same, having the customary slashes through which the shirt appeared. The -dress was handsome, albeit it gave evidence of having been but recently -taken from a traveler’s box, which had left it in creases. - -“We have little time,” he said. - -He left them, but returned presently with Mlle. Bonacieux, and at sight -of her unusual beauty, accompanied by so graceful a figure as the Comte, -a murmur of appreciation stirred the rustic spectators. - -With the Abbé preceding them, the little party passed into the red -dwelling. M. Capeluche, in the cloak of his office, stood awaiting them. -The Abbé he treated with marked deference, a manner that sat oddly on -him. As a man beyond the pale of both church and society, because of his -calling, Capeluche had experienced some doubt as to whether the worthy -churchman would perform the ceremony. - -As affairs went forward, his face retained its customary grim composure; -but his eyes, resting on the entrancing creature who stood demurely -at his side, held a light that fully signified his reaction to the -potentialities of the occasion. - -An hour passed, and old Jacques lay on his bed. He was fully dressed and -wakeful and alert, despite the fact that his retiring-time had long since -gone by. Presently there came to him the sound of approaching hoofbeats. - -With the restless activity of a jack-in-the-box, he ran from his house -and was in time to see the horseman dash up to the dwelling of Capeluche. -The riders, of whom there were seven, wore masks. They pounded for -admittance. - -A light showed within, and old Jacques could see, through an open window, -the headsman. He was making all secure against the attack. However, -a window to the right—one that had just been closed—was reopened -unexpectedly, and a woman’s hand extended. From it there fluttered a -handkerchief. - -Two of the horsemen started toward the open window. But the hand was -withdrawn swiftly, and a terrible shriek followed. - -A moment later the door gave way. The attacking party hurtled into the -dwelling stumbling over one another. - -An appalling sight was before them. In the center of the room stood -Capeluche, a scarlet Mephisto. His hands held the cleanly severed head of -Mlle. Bonacieux, her beautiful tresses of hair depending almost to the -floor. At his feet lay the long weapon of his office. - -He extended the head before him. - -“Perhaps,” he said grimly, “the Comte de Mousqueton would relish a kiss -from the lips of Madame Capeluche, the wife of a headsman. She was very -choice of those same lips—a Dauphin has felt them. And see! See how -deliciously cupid they are!” - -Suddenly Jacques’ voice broke in. - -“Before God!” exclaimed the old peasant, with tremendous satisfaction. -“_The portent!_” - -[Illustration] - - - - -_The_ HIDEOUS FACE - -_A Grim Tale of Frightful Revenge_ - -By VICTOR JOHNS - - -Marseilles, one hears while traveling through Europe, is the most vicious -town in France. - -Whether or not this ancient seaport, whose history reaches deep into -the shadows of antiquity, is deserving of a criticism so sweeping and -so condemnatory, I do not know. Such, at any rate, is the reputation it -suffers among travelers. - -All roads in Marseilles lead to La Cannebière, a street of splendid -cafés. Being a sort of hyphen that connects the waterfront with the -fashionable hotels and shops of the Rue Noailles, it swarms with a -curious blend of dregs and pickings. Up from the Quai de la Fraternité -come sailors hungry for the pleasures a few hours’ shore leave will -offer; Algerian troops, on their way to Africa, jostle English soldiers -back from India; adventurers and _le monde élégant_, pausing in flight -to or from the Riviera, and the inevitable Magdalens, spatter its length -with color and charge it with restlessness. - -Late one afternoon last winter I drifted through this famous -thoroughfare, looking for a place among the tables that edge its -pavements. It had become my habit to sit for half an hour before dinner -somewhere along the street, drink an appetizer, and expect the crowd to -entertain me. The rows of iron chairs were filled with earlier comers, -who sat contentedly behind their _apéritifs_ or cups of chocolate, but at -last, in front of the Café de l’Univers, I found a vacant back row table, -which I quickly possessed. With a glass of _vermouth cassis_ on the table -beside me, I yielded to the lure of seaport excitement. - -My thoughts were soon interrupted, however, by an American voice asking -in French if the other chair at my table was taken. I turned to assure -the gentleman it was not, that he was in no way intruding—and I looked -into the face of Lawrence Bainridge. - -“Hello, Bayard,” was his casual greeting. A bit too casual, I thought, -considering the fact we had not seen each other for nearly two years. - -I, contrariwise, must fairly have gasped, “Good Lord! What are you doing -here?” for, as he swung the unoccupied chair about and sat down, he said, - -“Well, what’s so strange about meeting me on La Cannebière?” - -There was nothing strange about it; and I wondered at the amazement -which so energetically had voiced itself. A rich, itinerant artist, -Lawrence had zig-zagged several times around the world to paint unknown -by-ways and hidden corners. Astonishment at meeting him in Marseilles -was therefore absurd. Also, I felt he might construe my lack of -_savoir faire_ as a blunt refusal to play up to his well-known and -fondly-cherished reputation as a globe trotter. He was childish in -certain respects—artists are. - -The waiter quickly fetched a champagne cocktail and a package of English -cigarettes. The cocktail Lawrence downed in a gulp and called for more. -The second he drank with more restraint. - -Though I had not seen him since two summers before—at Land’s End, an -isolated village in Massachusetts—our conversation was rambling and -disjointed, like that of incompatible strangers who find no ease in -silence. This annoyed me, for our similarity of tastes, I felt, should -more than outweigh the separation. - -As the late afternoon merged into early evening, the mistral blew its -cold and sinister breath out to the Mediterranean. We drank steadily, -Lawrence all the while jibing at me for clinging to so impotent a -mixture as vermouth, currant juice and seltzer. He had reached his fifth -cocktail, but through the exercise of will, apparently, was still sober. -Nevertheless, he worried me. - -Furtively, almost defensively, Lawrence sat in his chair. I reacted to -his attitude by bracing myself against an intangible, though imminent, -danger which thickened the atmosphere. He breathed jerkily, emitting from -time to time a sharp clicking sound, as though part of his breathing -mechanism had suddenly refused to function. Quivers ran through his body -and ended in a twitch. - -But he spoke with a crisp enunciation, and so precisely that each -word seemed to have been scoured and weighed before utterance. On not -a syllable was the checkrein loosened. I sensed a splendid effort at -self-control. - -I suddenly recalled the wild absurdity of Lawrence’s recent work. In -Paris, three months before, I had gone to his exhibition at the Vendome -Galleries and left the place convinced that Lawrence Bainridge had gone -stark mad. - -“Flowers, _Messieurs_?” A flower girl, her wicker tray heaped with -heavy-scented blossoms, paused before us. “No? Ah, _Messieurs_, but one -little rose apiece—for luck!” she said. - -Then she picked up a red rose bud and pinned it to the lapel of -Lawrence’s coat. - -“_Ugh!_ Take it away!” he screamed. “I can’t stand it!” He tore the -flower from his coat and hurled it into the gutter. - -“Lawrence!” I reproved, “You’re drunk.” - -“No, I’m not drunk,” he protested. Contrition had subdued his voice. -“But—I can’t stand—the smell—of roses.” - -Thinking to avoid a scene, I suggested we take a walk. He said it might -be a good idea, first, though, he would fill his cigarette case. A -subterfuge, I told myself, to regain composure, and an obvious one. -Lawrence had never been obvious. - -At that moment there passed before us on the sidewalk such a ghastly -thing that my scalp tingled and the flesh on my legs seemed to shrivel -and fall away. - -It was a man whose face was like a hideous mask; the left side—young -and unblemished; but the right half—so mutilated that description would -nauseate. Fair was divided from foul by a line running down the exact -center of forehead, nose and chin. - - * * * * * - -My exclamation of horror drew Lawrence’s attention to the repellent -sight. At that moment the gruesome thing turned full upon us. - -Lawrence fumbled with his cigarettes; the case fell from his trembling -hands and clattered to the pavement. Quickly he reached down, but did -not straighten up again until after the man—a sailor, to judge from his -rolling gait, though he wore no uniform—had gone. - -“Poor soul,” I said. “How his fingers must ache to choke the life from -the _Boche_ responsible for that.” - -Lawrence made no reply. He was drained of blood. He sat rigid, petrified. - -“In Paris and London,” I continued, “one sees hundreds of _mutilés_—the -war’s driftwood—and I have trained myself to look unflinchingly -into their eyes. But”—I glanced in the direction the sailor had -disappeared—“my histronic ability would fail me there.” - -Still Lawrence made no move or sound. That he was profoundly touched -I knew, for a sensitiveness, abnormal in its refinement, had been his -lifelong curse. It had prevented his marriage to a young woman in whom -were combined, he thought at one time, all the qualities that appeal to a -man of esthetic temperament. - -In his studio, one afternoon, they were planning for the wedding. -Lawrence recalled a newly-acquired _object d’art_ and took it from a -cabinet. The treasure was an exquisite bit of ancient Egyptian glass, -a spherulate bowl, so delicate of line and so ethereally opalescent of -color that it always made me think of a bubble poised to float away. - -I can imagine how he carried it across the room—with that caressing -touch of velvet-tipped fingers peculiar to artists. The young woman, in -order to examine it closely, grabbed the bowl and proceeded to paw it as -a prospector might a bit of rock. Lawrence said afterward that had she -struck him he could not have been more shocked. He broke the engagement -that afternoon. - -“Come, drink up, man!” I urged. “Stop looking as though you’d seen a -ghost.” - -“Things other than ghosts can haunt one,” he answered in a pinched tone. - -We ordered drinks again, with misgivings on my part, for I felt the -trembling man opposite me already had had too much. He sat slumped in -his chair, shoulders hunched forward, and stared straight before him. -Reminiscent or speculative, I could not tell. - -Then he began to tell me a story that explained many things. His words -were no longer crisp; he now spoke in a heavy, monotonous way, with many -pauses, pressing his hands together in a gesture of anguish. - -“The odor of that rose,” he said, “and the sight—I can’t stand the smell -of roses! Not since two summers ago. I met a Portuguese sailor on the -Wharf one day—you know—in that damn place—Land’s End. Had planned a -canvas, and all summer had been looking for a model—a type. - -“A Portuguese Apollo he was—but a Portuguese devil, too. Didn’t find that -out till later. I stopped him and asked would he pose. Conceited swine! -From his smile I knew it was vanity, not industry, that made him accept.” - -A venomous hate wove its way through Lawrence’s phrases. He continued: - -“Well—he called at my studio—the next afternoon—and I started the -picture. He was a find. Dramatic. An inspiration. - -“During the rest periods Pedro—that was his name—would lie on the floor -and talk about himself while I made tea. God! How vain he was! Boasted of -his success with women—his affairs. They were many. Quite plausible. He -spurned the Bay and its fishing, and shipped on merchant-men. The ports -of the world were his haunting ground, he said. Swashbuckling bully!” - -To hear Lawrence speak so bitterly of Land’s End and one of its people -was puzzling, for the extraordinary note sounded in that small New -England town by its so-called foreign settlement, descendants of -Portuguese fishermen who came over some seventy years ago and settled -along the New England coast, had appealed strongly to his artistic -appreciation two years before. He had looked upon these natives as -gentle, lovable folk, but to me their black eyes, heavy-lidded and -drowsy, had always suggested smoldering fires, not dreams; their -excessive tranquillity I thought crafty, hinting of vendettas. - -Lawrence picked up the thread of his story: - -“One afternoon Pedro began talking about a Portuguese funeral in town -that day. A friend of his had died. I dislike funerals—corpses and -such—even the mention of them. Always have. Told him to shut up. Instead, -he began to tell of an interrupted funeral in Singapore he once had seen. -Spared no details. Losing patience and temper, I flung a tube of paint -which struck him on the head. He was furious. I told him I was sorry. - -“‘Pedro,’ I explained, ‘ever since I can remember, things connected with -death have been the only things I’ve feared. I have never in my life -been in a cemetery—and I have never seen a dead body. Just to hear of -them brings out a cold sweat.’ Pedro laughed and said cemeteries—or dead -bodies—couldn’t hurt one.” - -This phase of Lawrence’s susceptibility I had not known. And then his -pictures in Paris danced before me. What had Pedro to do with them? What -had Pedro to do with the change in my friend? But I asked no questions -lest I rouse Lawrence to a stubborn silence. - -I found myself fidgeting about, peering suddenly into the crowd as if to -catch the gaze of hypnotic eyes. Once I saw the _mutilé_ standing across -the street beside a kiosk, watching Lawrence, or so I imagined, with -ferocious intensity. My _vis-a-vis_ and his emotional recoils had by that -time become agitating companions. - -Yet, in truth, there was much in his surroundings to breed thoughts -of adventure, even crime. Wharf loungers and apaches were slinking -among the well-dressed shoppers who drifted down from the region above. -Fringing the port, only a hundred meters distant, were the dark, twisting -streets of a district noted for its nefarious habits and avoided by the -wary; rumors of tourists who had wandered alone at night into that abyss -of lawlessness, reappearing days later on the tide, skulls crushed and -pockets empty, were far too numerous to pass unheeded. Out beyond the -harbor the Château d’If clung to its rocks, guarding well grim secrets of -a tragic past. - - * * * * * - -But to return to Lawrence. - -“To blot out the Singapore funeral,” he said, “I painted quickly. Makes -me concentrate. Got so interested I stopped only on account of bad light. -Put on my hat and left the studio—with Pedro—for a walk. Fresh air -clears the brain. Must have been exhausted, for I walked along without -seeing. Just followed Pedro, I suppose. A bend in the road—and I woke -up—galvanized with terror. - -“Before me stood the entrance to a graveyard. The stones bristled ghostly -in the twilight. I halted—alert.” - -The stem of the glass, which Lawrence nervously had been twirling, broke, -and his unfinished cocktail spilled upon the table. - -“I couldn’t go on—on through that forest of spectral marble. Pedro -continued to walk. Was some distance ahead before he noticed I had -stopped. He turned and told me to come along. I refused. He laughed—a -derisive laugh—then spit out a single word—‘_Coward!_’ - -“I’ve been through jungles in India. Gone deep into China where no white -man had ever been. Know Calcutta—Port Said—explored the worst slums of -the world—and I had never been called a coward before. - -“‘You don’t understand, Pedro—I _can’t_, I _can’t_ go on!’ He laughed -again—like a hyena. - -“‘Yes,’ Pedro said, a coward. How they will laugh—when I tell!’ - -“Had never been called that before—you know. I began walking -forward—slowly. My legs trembled, but I walked. Passed through the gate. - -“‘That’s right,’ Pedro said. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ - -“‘No—nothing,’ I answered, my jaws chattering. - -“Then Pedro said, ‘I’m going to the grave of my friend who was buried -today and say a prayer, take a rose from his grave and dry it—to carry in -a little bag—always—for good luck. No harm comes then. _You’ll_ take a -rose, too.’ - -“I saw a large mound of flowers. The air was strong with perfume. -Roses.... We reached the grave. Pedro stopped, knelt down and said a -prayer. Shadows under the trees were black and the leaves rattled like -bones. I wanted to run—but I stood beside Pedro—and shivered. Pedro took -a rose from the grave and put it in his pocket. Then he took another, got -up and offered it to me. - -“‘No!’ I cried, drawing away. ‘I won’t touch it!’ - -“Pedro said, ‘You’ve got to be cured.’ He pointed to a large flat stone -lying flat on the ground beside him, and explained: - -“‘Over a hundred years ago—you can see the date when it’s light—a funny -man had this grave made. Built it like a cistern. Brick walls. Look!’ and -he slid the stone to one side. Pedro was strong. - -“I refused to look. Kept my eyes on the path. A gust of wind blew my hat -against Pedro, and it fell to the ground. - -“As I stooped to pick it up, he pushed me—_into the grave_!” - - * * * * * - -The horror of this piece of perversity got me. - -“Lawrence!” I exclaimed. “You don’t mean it!” - -“Yes,” he answered, in that new tone, so flat and spiritless. “I sank -into something—soft.... Pedro’s laugh sounded far away, and he closed up -the grave—with the stone. - -“My throat was in a vice. Couldn’t make a sound. Tried to gather strength -for one big scream—then something somewhere in me snapped. ‘_Tsing!_’ it -went, soft and little. - -“Don’t know how long I was there. It seemed an eternity. I lived on—with -the dead man—and crawling things. I don’t know. There may have been -nothing at all. At last I saw a rift above—the night sky—and Pedro -reached down to pull me out. - -“When he came the next afternoon I told him I must rest for several days. -My nerves were bad. All night I lay awake—and thought—and planned. At -daybreak I fell asleep. In the afternoon I went to Boston. - -“Three days later, back in Land’s End, I settled my accounts. All but -one. Told the neighbors I was leaving for New York next day. Gave -instructions to have my things packed and shipped to me there. - -“Pedro came as usual in the afternoon. I worked as though nothing had -happened. He got tired and lay on the floor. I boiled some water for tea. -Very, very carefully I made that tea. - -“‘What kind of tea is this?’ Pedro asked. ‘It tastes so queer.’ - -“‘A new kind,’ I told him. - -“He drank, then lay back—asleep. - -“From a shelf of etching materials I took a bottle. The liquid inside was -clear. So harmless it looked! Poured some into a cup. Filled the cup with -water, then knelt down beside the sleeping Pedro—dipped a feather into -the liquid—and painted half his handsome face. Nitric acid—bites deep.... - -“Pedro’s groans were silenced with a gag. More tea for rest and sleep. - -“The streets that night were empty as I half carried, half dragged Pedro -to the shanty where he lived alone. I threw him on the bed and looked -without pity on his face. - -“No—there was nothing—to be afraid of, I told him. But Pedro didn’t hear. - -“Don Juan’s career was finished. Apollo had become repulsive. My last -debt was paid. - -“I packed two bags and caught the early train. That afternoon I said -‘Good-bye’ to the islands of Boston Harbor as I steamed out for England.” - -Several minutes dragged past before either of us moved. - -“Come, let’s go,” was all I could find to say. - - * * * * * - -I took Lawrence to his hotel and left him at the entrance with a promise -to call the following morning. Unable to keep the appointment, I went -around during the afternoon. He was not in his room and could not be -located. - -Deciding to take one last look about the Old Port before leaving for -Paris that night, I strolled down the Rue Noailles, through La Cannebière -and the Quai de la Fraternité, into the Quai de Rive Neuve, where a group -of excited men were gathered at the water’s edge. As I reached the crowd -two sailors with grappling hooks were laying a dripping corpse on the -pavement. It was the body of Lawrence Bainridge. - -_The right side of his face was slashed and crushed into a shapeless -mass—but the left half was untouched and fair._ - - -Did Solomon Give Queen of Sheba an Airship? - -He certainly did, according to an ancient Abyssinian manuscript, entitled -“The Glory of the Kings,” and recently translated by Sir E. Wallis Budge, -director of Egyptian antiquities in the British Museum. The manuscript -states that Solomon gave to the Queen of Sheba “a vessel wherein one -could traverse the air (or wind), which Solomon had made by the wisdom -that God had given unto him.” - -“This ancient manuscript has, of course, been translated many times,” -said Col. Lockwood Marsh, secretary of the Royal Aeronautical Society, -“but the statement about Solomon’s airship apparently escaped the notice -of the reviewers, and it has been left to a flying enthusiast like myself -to discover and proclaim it. Solomon lived in the Tenth century, B. C., -so it is quite the earliest reference to flying extant, and as such will -be added to our records.” - -Theosophists, however, believe there were airships a million years ago in -lost Atlantis. - - - - -_Secrets of the Ages Were Sealed in_ - -_The_ FORTY JARS - -_A Strange Story of the Orient_ - -By Ray McGillivray - - -The sands of Bo-hai never quite are dark. - -It matters not that a blood-red, maniacal sun deserts this waste; that -sullen cloud banks close in with freezing chill of midnight. A misty, -spectral light yet emanates from the sand—quite as if stored-up heat and -light were retained by the layers of baked, anhydrous surface. At any -time sharp eyes may discern the ghostly shadow of a man who walks, even -fifty yards distant. - -Mad creatures people Bo-hai, creatures that burrow deep beneath the Wall, -from Ninghia to Langchau, coming out only for orgies of the night. Any -Mongol knows that venturing alone to the salt shores of Gileshtai means -joining forever the flitting horde of Nameless Ones—for lepers, and the -shades of lepers centuries dead, owe no allegiance either to living law -or to the kindly teachings of Tao, the All-Wise. - -They gibber in tongues ranging from the twanging patois of Jesaktu to -the dry gutturals of Yunnan, and take to themselves either for screaming -torture or for the slower, more horrid death of the White Dissolution, -all whom their distorted, clawing fingers may clutch. - -Driven on and on before food robbers the roving, famished mountain -bands of Nan-Shan—Selwyn Roberts had come to Bo-hai. He had not wished -to come, for the excavations made by his expedition, which had proved -most absorbing, lay in the neighborhood of Kulang, forty miles to the -southwest. - -Persistent attacks by the brigands of Nan-Shan—starving men who coveted -the long train of food supplies with such frenzy of desire that even -automatic rifles could not dismay them utterly—had necessitated -retreat. Roberts, heading the expedition, saw that rich (in the Chinese -conception), well-fed white men, bringing with them provisions for eight -months’ travel, could be naught save the most juicy, irresistible bait. -He decided to return to headquarters in Taiyuen, thence shipping back -what remained of his provisions as the greatest contribution to charity -his purse could afford. - -On the edge of the desert this altruistic plan met defeat. The flitting, -fantastic shadows of Bo-hai accomplished by stealth and thievery what -had balked the bolder spirits of Nan-Shan. Christensen and Porterfield, -acting as sentinels, disappeared soundlessly—and with them all save a -small remnant of provisions. - -There were many tracks of bare feet in the desert—bare feet that rarely -left marks of toes.... No clues pointed to the direction the captives -had been taken, unless scurrying footprints, criss-crossing the sands in -every direction, might be considered clues. - -These always ended in bare stretches of shifting sand. Their story was -for the reading of a moment; next night wind and sand wiped the record -clean. Though Roberts, alone now with his diggers and coolie bearers, -attempted to trail the party which had come to his camp, the end of a -day found him withdrawing to a position in the foothills which might be -defended. The coolies, terrified into spineless, crawling things, clung -to him because he represented their only protection. His diggers, strong, -black-browed mountaineers of Shensi, gave no sign of fear. He could -depend upon their loyalty, but not upon their shooting. - -For them the half-light of midnight desert was peopled with strange, -sacred shapes—_suan yi_, the giant horse, eighth of the nine offspring -of the Dragon; _kuei she t’u_, the mammoth serpent which struggles -continuously with a tortoise; these and countless others from Chinese -legend. The diggers might defend camp valiantly in daylight combat; at -night they were inclined to commend themselves to Maitreya (Buddha), and -await his dispensation with fatalistic calm. - -Roberts watched, his own rifle and revolvers loaded and ready, and a -second rifle reposing before him in the midst of a dozen loaded clips of -cartridges. Sunk in a grim, terrible fit of depression at knowledge of -his comrades’ fate and his own impotence, Roberts repeated over and over -a defiance that was near a prayer. - -“Let them come! Let them come! Only let me _see_ them...!” fell -soundlessly from his stiffened lips. - -Without cessation, his eyes swept the semi-circle of open desert. At his -back, a curious, overhanging basalt cliff denied attack. In front of -him, and to the sides, black figures of the Chinese lay or squatted. - -Christensen and Roberts, experienced delvers in Oriental antiquity, -had planned the journey. At the time they came to Kulang the crisis of -Chinese famine had not arrived. They had taken with them Porterfield, -an enthusiastic youth from the consulate at Shanghai. It was his first -trip to the interior, Roberts, secure in his own reputation, had thought -the trip—an investigation of certain definite clues regarding the old -palaces of the Yüan dynasty, and particularly dealing with the possible -identification of Kublai Khan, first emperor of the Yüans, with the -semi-mythical Prester John of mediaeval history—an excellent chance to -give a youngster whom he liked a toe-hold on fame. - -To be balked by famine, and then to lose his comrade and protegé in the -leper caves of Bo-hai! Strong teeth bit into his lower lip until the -blood flowed unnoticed. Silently, Selwyn Roberts swore to himself with -immovable earnestness that he would remain. Either the three white men -would return together, or all would perish. Roberts, not in the least -sleepy, though his body was fatigued, waited with restless grimness for -the dawn of another day. - - * * * * * - -Bo-hai, the capricious and terrible, is not a silent waste after sundown. - -With the descent of cold air from the heavens come buckling squalls of -wind, plucking pillars of sand and dust from the surface and flinging -them broadcast with a singing be-e-e-e of flying particles. Far out -behind, carried on a wind from nowhere, reverberates at times the faint, -unrhythmic banging of _boutangs_, the wailing of _jins_ and _nakra_. - -And there are voices. At times a rising squeal of Chinese chant makes -itself distinct for a second but most often a low, formless murmur, as -of howling monkeys heard from a distance of miles, is the constant -undertone. - -Roberts heard all these, but it was sight, not sound which absorbed him. -Flitting scarecrows from the caves might approach soundlessly over the -sand, but he did not believe they could reach him unseen. - -He had not calculated upon the sand and dust. A squall came up, beating -upon the watchers with a fusillade of fine, choking particles, and -raising a screen before Roberts’ eyes. In the midst of this he heard dry -coughs. Someone was out there, approaching with the shielding sand! - -Still the watcher, alternately brushing grains of sand from his nostrils -and eyes and peering along the barrel of his rifle, found no target. A -sudden notion came to him that the marauders now were inside his camp, -about to leap upon him. - -He dropped the rifle, and seized two revolvers, shaking the sand and dust -out of their muzzles. - -As suddenly as it had risen, the veil lifted. Roberts, peering out -eagerly, saw only a single bent, stumbling figure—a man who fell to his -knees, head almost in the sand, and tried to arise.... A snap shot from -the ready revolver stretched him flat, his breath leaving in a sharp -exhalation like air drawn from a pneumatic tire. - -In that instant Roberts stiffened. From out there ten paces had come a -gasping sound. It was the wounded man, the desert rat. - -“_G’bye!_” he wheezed. “_G’bye ... never come ... back ... now...._” - -_The words were English!_ - - * * * * * - -Selwyn Roberts, waiting only to draw on heavy gloves of Llama hide, ran, -crouching, to his fallen adversary. - -Catching the shrunken, bowed figure beneath the arms—arms which at biceps -gave only a pinch of flesh and bone into his grasp—he scurried back. -Then, stationing the Chinese in a semi-circle further out, so that no -marauders might enter without encountering opposition, he turned to the -fainting figure of his victim. - -Screening electric torch by flaps of jacket, he looked down at the man. -He saw a yellowed, meager face, with eyes that had become long and narrow -from much squinting in the desert. The man, unconscious now, had his -head shaved except for the circle and queue usual among natives of Inner -Mongolia. Except that no sign of leprosy showed, he looked the part of a -desert exile. Tearing away his black cotton shirt, however, Roberts saw, -with a sinking heart, that the intruder’s skin was as white as his own! - -Desperately, casting aside all caution in use of the flash-lamp, Roberts -worked. He found the wound, a gaping hole from soft-nosed bullet, which -lay just beneath the stretched ridge of the left clavicle. Probably -the bullet had punctured the top of the man’s lung. This was rendered -plausible by flecks of reddish foam gathering in his mouth corners. - -Roberts stanched the external bleeding, and fetched whisky from his -personal pack. Forcing three tablespoonfuls of the potent fluid between -the man’s lips, he held forward the lolling tongue which would have shut -off respiration. Ten seconds later the patient squirmed, trying to sit -up. Roberts, a solicitous tyrant, held him fast. - -“Not dead yet?” queried the man, ending his sentence in a ghastly cough. -“What the hell...!” He choked, spitting sidewise to the sand. - -“No, you’re not dead, and you’re not going to die!” replied Roberts with -forced calmness. “Take it easy. You’re among friends.” - -“Oh yes, I’ll die,” stated the man with conviction. “Where am I? Who are -you? _I Ch’ueh shih hsiang...._” His speech trailed off into a Buddhist -prayer unintelligible to Roberts. - -“Never mind that now. The first thing is to make you comfortable. You are -safe. Don’t forget that. Later we can talk. I have many questions to ask -you, but the night is long.” - -The slight frame shook. - -“Something over six—maybe ten years. What year is this?...” His voice -seemed to fail. He lay back, occasionally coughing, but for the most part -silent. - -A half hour dragged by. Roberts did nothing save inspect the wound he had -made, and occasionally give a spoonful of stimulant to the prostrate man. -The latter’s heart action was faint, but constant. Roberts knew he would -live till morning, at least. - -“I have talked to myself, to the lepers’ priests, to the sands—in -English,” he said suddenly. “That’s why I remember. My name’s Bowen—Wade -Hilton Bowen. Calligraphist for the Central Historical Society. My home -was on Perry street, Montgomery, Alabama. A nice house, with barn for six -horses. Box stalls ... I have said this many times....” - -“Montgomery has changed since you were there,” put in Roberts quietly. -“I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.” - -“Tomorrow ... tomorrow in hell!” he coughed, and then was silent again. - -Roberts, bringing all his mental cohorts to bear upon the possible -relation between this queer derelict of the desert and his two -companions, made no attempt to string on the conversation. - -One hour before dawn the man tried to sit up, strangled in a fit of -terrible coughing, and then fell sidewise. - -“Can’t—can’t lie on my back,” he gasped. “Spine bowed. Hurts. How—how -long have I got?” - -“You’ll get well,” Roberts assured him. “I’ll take care of you. Here, -try a little more whisky. I want to ask you a lot of questions when -you’re able to stand the strain.” - -“_Um-m._ Good whisky. Used to like it. Forgot there was such a thing. -You’ve no notion how a man forgets....” His voice was low, rambling, -jerky. “Won’t get well, though. Hope not. They fixed me. Found out I was -immune ... you know, leprosy. They all have it. Want everybody in the -world to get it. But there are worse things....” - -Coughing cut short his speech for a moment. - -“Not many,” said Roberts with a shudder. “I thought you were one of them, -and so I put on gloves. They’ve captured my two comrades. What I want to -know as quickly as possible is whether you can help me rescue them. Can -you?” - -“Captured two men?” repeated the other vaguely. “Shouldn’t allow it. -Better die with a nice, clean bullet. That’s the way I’m going to finish -it. You’ve got a gun. You’ll lend me just one bullet? I’m not dying fast -enough.” - -His skinny hand made a weak grab for Roberts’ revolver, but the latter -shifted his holsters out of reach. - -“No! I’ve got to have your help.” - -“Help!” sniveled the prostrate man in bitter impotence. “Don’t you see -what I am? I’m sorry about those men. They’ll wish for quick death, but -it won’t come. Like as not they’ll be put in the leper chambers. I was -there for two years. There were six of us. All of them got it but me. -They were Chinkies and played me dirt, or I’d have made _them_ immune, -too. - -“But maybe it would have been better if I’d caught it. Then they’d have -let me alone. They got jealous. Just seeing a healthy man makes ’em -crazy. Most people wouldn’t understand how mad they get. They want to -kill, but not all at once. Oh, no! Death like that is quick and sweet. -I used to be a coward about it, but not now. Just give me that gun a -minute, and I’ll show you.... _Why_ don’t you let me?” His quaver sank in -sobs and coughing. - -“Mainly because I can’t stand by and see a white man kill himself. Then, -as I said, you must help me. If you haven’t got leprosy, though, I can’t -imagine why you stay here—or why you want to die. Why is it?” - -A light of wild derision gleamed in Bowen’s eyes, upturned to the flash. -Seizing Roberts’ hand he drew the fingers along his bowed ridge of -backbone. - -“Algae,” he gritted. “Algae from Gileshtai the Accursed. Puncture, you -know. Scum grows in the spinal fluid. Every month I stoop more and more. -The pain, you know. Now when I run I am bent like a question mark. Oh, -I tried to escape a dozen times. Always they caught me. Couldn’t travel -far or fast, you see. And no food to take. They—they did this. They are -clever. _Damned_ clever!” - -Roberts had no answer for this. He was chilled with horror. Such -practices had come to his ears as whispered rumors, yet he had not -believed. That his big, silent comrade Christensen, and the youth -Porterfield, were this minute in the hands of the devils of the caves, -perhaps suffering as Bowen had suffered, and certainly absorbing the -awful, infectious dampness of the subterranean passages, undermined -his nerve as no certainty of instant destruction could have done. He -shuddered. - -“See here, Bowen!” he cried. “We _must_ get them out! You know the way. -It will be terrible suffering for you, but you are a man—a _white_ man! -Even if it costs the life you do not value you must give these men their -chance. I will have two of the diggers support you....” - - * * * * * - -Some of his intense earnestness caught hold in Bowen’s dulled brain. - -“You’re right,” he mumbled. “White men ... like you and me. Yes, we can -get them out, I think, but not yet. Wait till the sun rises. Then all the -_Yengi_ are below ground. They have no firearms. By quick attack through -the Wall corridor ... yes, we should succeed. But then? Do you know your -peril in venturing, even for a moment, below ground?” - -“My peril matters not!” - -Bowen nodded slowly. - -“You are brave,” he mumbled. “But perhaps you have not seen them ... the -Yengi?” - -“I can imagine,” cut in Roberts shortly. “How many of them are there?” - -“Hundreds. One never knows exactly. They are sent each week. Some die, of -course, but most live on and on....” - -“Can you shoot?” - -Bowen grimaced. - -“I used to,” he answered. “I’ll _have_ to, now. Each of us will take as -many guns as he can stow away. And plenty of ammunition. Enough so we can -give arms to your friends. Merely reaching them will be simple enough. -That will not finish it, though. We must go on.” - -“Fight our way out, you mean?” - -“Oh yes, that of course. But first fight our way further _in_! It would -not do simply to escape.” - -“Why not?” - -Bowen grinned wryly. He fumbled in a hidden pocket, coming out with a -flat bit of green stone oddly carved with interlaced dragons—a jade -pendant. - -“Know anything about this?” he asked. - -The light of dawn was not yet sufficient. Roberts turned on the flash -again. Then he nodded shortly. - -“Interesting,” he said. “A jade, probably of the fourteenth century, -the Yüan dynasty. A week ago I was searching for things like that, but -now....” - -Bowen leaned forward, raising himself to a sitting position. - -“Look!” he cried, his voice squeaking into a cough. A touch of his -tapered finger nail had caused the pendant to fall into two halves. There -before Roberts lay a tiny roll of tinted silk upon which vertical rows of -black ideographs were revealed. - -Roberts removed the silk carefully, spreading it across his knee. - -“The key to one of the treasure caches of Kublai Khan!” shrilled Bowen. -“It’s mine. I found it. By using it, I managed to keep clean of body. It -is the only hope for your friends—and you, if you venture in!” - -Silently, and with a growing intensity of interest, Roberts deciphered -the characters. The colophon furnished simple, straightforward -directions, yet the tale it told was unbelievable. - -“A—a _cure_?” he stammered shakily. - -“Yes—or at least a preventive. _I_ can answer for that.” - -“And is there plenty?” - -Bowen cackled, raucous froth appearing on his lips. - -“Forty jars!” he retorted. “Each jar with eight panels, and holding about -a peck. Treasure, indeed! On those panels is carved the history of the -reign of Kublai Khan!” - -Roberts was on his feet. - -“Let’s start!” he commanded, his voice shaking with anticipation of high, -terrible adventure. “There is the rim of the sun! Take one last drink of -the whisky, Bowen....” - - * * * * * - -All of the Chinese save two were left behind. This pair, stolid, fat, -over-muscled giants who had been with Roberts for years, made a chair -of their hands, and carried Bowen back across the rim of desert toward -the Great Wall. All four of the men bristled with weapons, and had their -pockets crammed with loaded clips. - -To Roberts’ surprise, Bowen directed the course of the journey back to -the east, in the direction of Dadchin. - -“Three corridors run the length of the wall in this section,” he -explained. “One corridor is not known to the _Yengi_.... It is how I got -among them first....” - -Over tumbled ruins of wall climbed the four. At a black aperture, -scarcely wide enough to permit the passing of a heavy man, Bowen signaled. - -“Hang and drop,” he commanded, speaking in a whisper. “The corridor floor -is eight feet down. I know a better way to climb, but, going in, it is -simpler to drop....” - -From the black slit an odor rose which made Roberts stiffen. He had -caught a faint suggestion of it from Bowen’s clothes, but now it came to -him, fetid and strong—a scent of rank, damp decay. - -He snatched one last breath of desert air, knelt, swung himself down into -space, and let go. As Bowen had said, the drop was short, but Roberts, in -the dark, fell sidewise to the slimy bricks of the passage. - -In a second he was up, shrinking involuntarily from the contact. When -Bowen was lowered from the slit of light, Roberts caught him and set him -down carefully. The Chinese did not follow. - -“I told them to wait there,” Bowen whispered. “They’d be useless down -here. There’s no sense in spoiling two brave boys.” - -“But can you make it?” - -“Yes, if I don’t have to cough. When we get in the third passage it won’t -matter. No one is there. Come on. Hold to this rag....” He placed a shred -of his tattered blouse in Roberts’ palm, plunging immediately into the -blackness. - -Roberts, stumbling blindly after—recoiling from each touch of the -horrid, oozing walls—ran on tip-toe in order to match the silence of his -barefooted guide. - -They passed spots of light. These showed openings to right or -left—openings to chambers lighted with flickering flames of green or -yellow. Once Roberts looked, his flesh acrawl with morbid curiosity. He -saw within the place three sprawling things of rags and decay, things -which did not—perhaps _could_ not—move. Thereafter he kept his eyes -averted, and clenched one fist about the solid butt of his revolver. - -After perhaps ten minutes of travel, Bowen, wheezing audibly now, bent -forward in a silent convulsion which brought blood to his lips. Only at -the last did he make a noise. Then a gasping inhalation was not to be -controlled. - -A second later he crowded back against Roberts, crouching at the side of -the passage. A leap ... a dulled groan.... Bowen had brought down the -butt of one of his borrowed revolvers upon the skull of a newcomer whom -Roberts had neither seen nor heard! - -A moment later they squeezed through another narrow opening, descended -a flight of block stairs, and were in another corridor—one much more -populous than the upper, to judge from the sounds. Roberts heard the -subdued chattering of many voices. Here faint light showed. - -Bowen led on hurriedly. At a point indistinguishable from the rest of the -wall, so far as Roberts was concerned, he pushed inward a block of stone, -which went to the horizontal, immediately swinging back when they had -passed. - -“Now we’re all right for a minute....” began Bowen. His long-repressed -coughing attacked him then and he surrendered to it for the time. “Lungs -... filling up ... won’t last long....” he gasped then. “This corridor -... no way out ... get back in the other, if I am not ... with ... -you....” - -“We’ll manage _that_; don’t you worry!” answered Roberts. “Lead me first -to those two men. After that, the Buddha.... I feel unclean already!” - -Bowen incomprehensibly laughed at that—a shrill giggle, half-hysterical. -But he led on, of a sudden turning, squeezing through to the second -corridor again, and then, without warning bringing up two automatics. Two -streams of fire ... four shots.... - -“Got ’em all!” he shrilled, laughing. “Come quick now!” - - * * * * * - -Roberts found himself dragged forward at a half-run. - -Again Bowen’s two guns spoke. This time, in the light of flashes, Roberts -saw two crouching things succumb. Through a black doorway they plunged. -Then a faint light from a single insufficient wick lighted a chamber -perhaps twenty by ten feet in size. Chained, backs outward, Porterfield -and Christensen were spread-eagled against the fetid, oozing wall! - -They were stripped to the waist. Across their white backs, greenish -now in the light of the floating wick, were the red criss-crosses of -flagellations. - -“Thank God you’ve come!” cried the usually silent Christensen, as Roberts -shot away the rusted chains binding his arms and ankles to the wall. -“This place ... do you know what it is?” - -“All about it!” answered Roberts, succinctly. “Here, take these!” He -handed a brace of revolvers and a handful of clips to his Norwegian -comrade. - -Then he turned to Porterfield. Four explosions, and a series of wrenches -set free the boy, who did not wait to have the dangling shackles shot off -his wrists and ankles. - -Bowen, stationed at the entrance, was shooting now. A gathering handful -of _Yengi_ crowded in the passage. These threw lances, or cut at the -defending figure with knives that were long, keen and curved. - -Bowen was unharmed, however, except for scratches. His revolvers had -kept him out of serious danger. He seemed to take an inhuman delight in -snapping away at every figure of a Chinaman that showed itself. When all -had fallen between him and the turn of corridor, he still fired away. -Before the four left, he had to reload all four of his revolvers. - -Bowen and Roberts left in the van, Christensen and Porterfield were given -the job of protecting the rear. The four hurried down the corridor, -occasionally stopping for a second to pump out a shot or two at some -unsuspecting, hurrying figure. - -Throughout the underground corridors weird shouts resounded. Cries in a -tongue that even Roberts could not translate called for reinforcements -from the chambers. Somewhere an eerie gong clanged its resonance. - -The four pushed on, led forward by Bowen, who seemed to have reached -an exhilaration which thought nothing of wounds. His bent figure now -was wracked by continual coughing, but he paid no attention, gasping -in sufficient breath somehow. Each five or six yards Christensen and -Porterfield paused, to throw backward a fusillade at the gathering throng -of maniacs. - -They reached a triple fork in the passage. Without hesitation, Bowen -chose the center one, which led on a gradual slant downward. Fifty paces -further a brocaded curtain shut the passage. Here the light was bright -from many swimming wicks set in the side wall. - -“Straight in!” cried Bowen, and flung himself upon the curtain. As his -fingers clutched the cloth to pull it aside, a long keen blade reached -out, puncturing his side in a swift flash. - -“Ah-h!” he cried. “The priests! Kill them!” - -He stumbled, and in falling, brought down the heavy weight of the -curtain across his body. Through the aperture eight wizened specimens, -flourishing drawn swords, charged the invaders. - - * * * * * - -Roberts backed away, firing. From the floor, however, came the streams of -fire which dropped three of the priests. - -“They’re the ones who fixed _me_!” shrilled Bowen, firing as fast as his -fingers could pull triggers. - -The last toppled. The doorway was clear. - -“You’ll—you’ll have to drag me.... I’m done....” Bowen continued, his -voice suddenly weakening. “I’ll show you....” - -Roberts stooped, picking up the slight figure as he might have lifted a -tumbled chair, and darted inside the last chamber. - -Here he stopped a split second in open-mouthed amazement. He had expected -a statue of Buddha. The colophon was explicit. Yet what a statue! From -the wide base to the top of the broad forehead was at least fifty feet! -The altar, surrounded by fire at the base, though itself the height of a -man, seemed a puny thing. - -“Hold the doorway!” cried Roberts to his two rescued companions. “Now, -Bowen....” - -But there was no need to ask the derelict. Reeling forward out of -Roberts’ arms, he pointed to a knob seven feet from the floor. “Turn ... -turn that ... and press here ... and here!” he gasped, choking. - -Roberts obeyed. A second later he was scrambling up to force further -open a slab which swung creakingly. Perched there on the slab to hold it -open—it was weighted, and after the initial swing of opening, began to -close—he glanced inward. There, stacked before him, were tiers and tiers -of the eight-paneled jars that Bowen had mentioned. One, as if it had -been opened, stood on the floor of the storage chamber. He seized it, -finding it heavy in his hands, and leaped down. - -Bowen clawed off the cover, reached in, and came forth with three -greenish, soft masses clutched in his skinny fingers. - -“The eggs!” he cried. “Seven hundred years old! Make ... make each of -them eat one right away! We’ll have a hard time....” He choked, flinging -a thin, trembling arm in the direction of Christensen and Porterfield, -who were having their hands full at the doorway. - -Roberts seized his own weapons, ran up, and in terse sentences explained -the situation. - -“A ... a _cure_?” cried Porterfield, incredulously. - -“Bowen says so. Try them, anyway. Eat one apiece. I’ll hold the door. -_Hm!_” - -The last was an exclamation of pain. A thrown knife had sliced a six-inch -cut just above his knee. He fired, conserving bullets now, for down -the corridor as far as he could see the _Yengi_ had banked themselves. -Already a breastwork of Chinese bodies was growing in front of the -chamber entrance. - -Behind him, Porterfield sputtered over swallowing his portion. - -“Awful taste!” he cried, grimacing. - -“They’re treated with something,” answered Christensen, wiping his lips -and leaping to Roberts’ side with one of the ancient eggs. - -Roberts stuffed half of the greenish mass into his mouth, swallowing it -whole. The taste was not altogether unpleasant, yet acrid. As he fired on -and on, emptying one after another of the revolvers, he caught himself -wondering how long it had taken for the shells of those eggs to become -resorbed.... He ate the rest. - -The fight was hopeless from the first. Though few bullets missed a -human target—the narrow corridor was jammed with yammering, horrid -humanity—and little damage could be accomplished by any of the _Yengi_ -at first, the inexorable pressure began to tell. Christensen, cursing in -Scandinavian, plucked a lance from his shoulder. Later he dropped like a -stone. The thin hilt of a knife quivered in the socket of his right eye. - -Bowen, dragging himself to the entrance, diagnosed the reason. - -“We’re desecrating their shrine!” he yelled. “In a way, I don’t blame -them.... They’re.... They’re....” Coughs ended his sentence. - -And then, catching up the eight-paneled jar, and begging from Roberts -the silk colophon, he threw his mangled body out before the breastwork -of dead Chinese. High and shrill rose his voice, a fast, excited jabber -which Roberts could not decipher. It continued.... - -“Stop shooting!” Bowen flung back over his shoulder. The white men were -glad to obey. Their ammunition almost was spent. Strangely enough, the -_Yengi_ of the front rank lowered their weapons. They turned, jabbering -excitedly to others. Bowen flung out to them the square of ideographed -silk. - -“It—it’s your only hope, my brothers!” gasped Bowen. “Take one jar—if you -will....” - -At this he pitched forward, clawing with his hands at the body of one of -the _Yengi_. Roberts saw that the dead Chinese had leather pads in place -of hands at the end of his wrists.... - - * * * * * - -With the melting away of the horde of _Yengi_, Roberts—bearing Bowen, who -was unconscious part of the time—and Porterfield found a way out. At the -surface they saw full two hundred of the lepers, yet none of the latter -moved to attack. The instant the white men left the opening, the _Yengi_ -fought in swarms to return. - -“I told them ... cure.... Maybe it is ... maybe not ...” gasped Bowen. He -shuddered and lay still. Roberts held a dead man in his arms. - -Nevertheless he stalked on to the place where the two Chinese had been -left. Then he relinquished his burden. Porterfield gave over to him the -eight-paneled jar which represented the whole of their achievement. - -“On the way back each of us will eat a dozen of these eggs,” stated -Roberts. “Bowen may be wrong, but I believe what he said. Those old -emperors knew....” - -At the camp Porterfield collapsed, sobbing. The full horror of what he -had experienced had begun to seep down to his consciousness. Roberts -cared for him. - -“Then I take it you won’t be with me—when I go back?” - -Porterfield roused himself. “Go back?” he cried. “I would not go back for -all the wealth of the Indies! You don’t mean to say...?” - -“I do,” answered Roberts grimly. “Within six months. Men may live or die, -but history must be written. The _Yengi_ may not have smashed _all_ of -those forty jars....” - - - - -THE WISH - -An Odd Fragment of Fiction - -By MYRTLE LEVY GAYLORD - - -Burned and scarred by the hot breath of passion and the deep wounds of -life, the mother took the newborn girl-child, Leonore, to her breast for -the first time. She trembled with joy and pain at the touch of the greedy -little lips. - -Presently the woman and the child at her breast slept. The mother dreamed -that out of a black sky a silver fairy appeared in a cloud of light. - -“One wish, one wish only, for the newborn,” the fairy offered. - -The mother, clutching the child closer to her, trembled and choked, and -it seemed that she would not be able to answer. Finally words came, as if -involuntarily: - -“That she may not feel, that she may not suffer, that passion, love that -scorches and does not warm, may never touch her!” - -The fairy smiled a faint, far smile and inscribed a circle with her -star-tipped wand. - -“It is well,” said she. - -The cloud of light faded into a black sky. The child stirred, and the -mother awoke, her heart aching, she knew not why. - - * * * * * - -Leonore, the woman, was tall, pale and exceptionally beautiful. She gazed -out of clear, gray eyes that had lost the wonder of childhood without -ever gaining the warmth of womanhood. - -She passed through life as one in a dream. She saw much, she understood -much, but when, in those intense moments that sometimes come, the quick -tears of sympathy and love sprang to the eyes of those about her, her -heart would seem a thing of stone. She knew that she _should_ weep, but -she could not. Then she would whisper to herself: - -“Tears are not real. No one really feels. They just pretend.” - -Donald, the young poet, loved her suddenly, burningly, gloriously. He -looked into her cool gray eyes and swore to himself that in their depths -slumbered the answer to all life. - -He wooed her passionately, beseechingly, and in vain. He laid bare to her -all that aching beauty that was his soul. She smiled vaguely, detached as -a pine tree outlined against the evening sky.... - -They dragged him from the little pond behind the house. He lay among the -flowers, still and beautiful, with the fire that had burned so painfully -forever extinguished. - -There were tears in the eyes of those who had gathered around him in the -great, gray room, tears in the eyes of all save Leonore. Leonore looked -at the waxen face and thought only that it was beautiful. She did not -weep. - -“How cruel,” she heard them whisper. “It was for love of Leonore, and she -is a stone. She does not feel.” - -For many days she struggled with this thought. She did not feel. How -could she feel? She began to look for misery that she might weep. She -went to the funeral of a child who had died at its mother’s breast. But -neither the child in the little white casket, nor the mother, with her -streaming hair and wild eyes, could bring tears to Leonore. - -One night she sat before the fireplace in her bedroom, staring at the -flames. The flickering light fascinated her. For a long time she sat -motionless, watching it. - -Then, out of the glowing heart of the fire, Donald spoke to her: - -“Leonore, you _can_ feel, but you will not.” - -She shook her head sadly. “I can not—I _can not_.” - -“The fire—feel!” he cried. “Surely you can feel the fire. Try!” - -Obediently, she placed her slim, white hand into the flames. - -“You feel? Now you _do_ feel?” he begged her. - -“No,” she whispered. “No!” - -“You are not a woman,” he gasped. “Ice water, not blood, flows in your -veins. See,” he pointed to a keen-edged paper knife that lay gleaming on -the table. - -Obediently, she reached for the knife, and with steady fingers she cut -the artery at her wrist. Donald faded back into the flames.... - -When they found her in the morning they knew that she had sought death, -but they could not understand why she had burned her left hand so cruelly. - -[Illustration] - - - - -_Death and Terror Are Spread Broadcast by the Icy Breath of_ - -The WHISPERING THING - -By Laurie McClintock and Culpeper Chunn - - -_CHAPTER I._ - -THE THING STRIKES. - -Jules Peret, known to the underworld as The Terrible Frog, hated the -foul air in crowded street cars and the “stuffiness” of a taxicab, and, -whenever possible, he avoided both. - -Hence, having nothing in view that demanded haste, after leaving police -headquarters, he had, in spite of the lateness of the hour, elected to -make the journey home on foot. He had not gone very far, however, before -he began to wish that he had chosen some other mode of traveling, for -he had scarcely ever seen such a gloomy night. It was January, and the -atmosphere was of that uncertain temperature that is best described as -raw. The darkness was Stygian. A fine mist was falling from the starless -skies, and a thick grayish-yellow fog enwrapped the city like a wet -blanket. - -The chimes in a church steeple, two blocks farther on, had just struck -the hour of ten, and except for Peret and one other wayfarer, who had -paused in the sickly glare of the corner lamp to light a cigarette, the -street was deserted. - -“A fine night for a murder!” muttered Peret to himself, as, with head -lowered, he plowed his way through the fog. “_Diable!_ I must find a -taxi.” - -With this thought in mind, he was about to quicken his pace when, -instead, he jerked himself to an abrupt halt and stood in an attitude -of listening, as the tomblike silence was suddenly broken by a hoarse -scream, and, almost immediately afterward, a cry of agony and terror: - -“Help! help! I’m dying!” - -The cry, though muffled, was loud enough to reach the alert ears of -Peret. It appeared to come from a tall, gloomy-looking building on the -right side of the street. By no means certain of this, however, Peret -crouched behind a tree and strained his ears to catch the sound should it -be repeated. - -But no cry came. Instead, there was a terrific crash of breaking glass, -and Peret twisted his head around just in time to see a man hurl himself -through the leaded sash of one of the lower windows of the house and fall -to the pavement with a thud and a groan. - -A moment later Peret was by his side. Whipping out a small flashlight, he -directed the little disc of light on the man’s face. - -“_Nom d’un nom!_” he cried. “It is M. Max Berjet. What is the matter, my -friend? Are you drunk? Ill? _Sacre nom!_ Speak quickly, while you can. -What ails you?” - -The man rolled from side to side, convulsively, and tore at the air with -clawlike hands. To Peret, he seemed to be grappling with an invisible -antagonist that was slowly crushing his life out. His face was blue and -horribly distorted: his breath was coming in short, jerky gasps. - -Suddenly his tensed muscles relaxed and he lay still. Unable to speak, he -could only lift his eyes to Peret’s in desperate appeal. - -“_Dame!_ You are a sick man, my friend,” observed Peret, feeling the -man’s pulse. “I will run for a physician. But tell me quickly what -happened to you, _Monsieur_.” - -There was an almost imperceptible movement of the dying man’s -froth-rimmed lips, and Peret held his head nearer. - -“Now, speak, my friend,” he entreated. “I am Jules Peret. You know me, -eh? Tell me what is the matter with you. Were you attacked?” - -“As-sas-sins,” gasped the stricken man faintly. - -“What?” cried Peret, excitedly. “Assassins?” - -The look in Berjet’s eyes was eloquent. - -“Who are they?” pleaded the detective. “Tell me their names, _Monsieur_, -before it is too late. I will avenge you. I promise you. I swear it. -Quickly, _Monsieur, their names_—” - -Berjet murmured something in a voice almost too faint to be audible. - -“_Dix?_” questioned Peret, straining to catch the man’s words. “You mean -ten, eh?” - -With his glazing eyes fixed on the detective, Berjet made a desperate -effort to reply, but the effort was in vain. The ghost of a sigh escaped -from his lips, a slight tremor shook his frame, and, with a gurgling -sound in his throat, he died. - -“_Peste!_ What did he mean by that?” muttered Peret, getting to his feet. -(_Dix_ is the French word for “ten”.) “Did he mean he was attacked by -ten assassins? The devil! It does not take an army to kill a single man.” - -“What’s the matter, old chap?” It was the pedestrian whom Peret had -observed lighting a cigarette near the corner lamp a few minutes -previously. “The old boy looks as if he had had a shot of bootlegger’s -private stock.” - -“He has been murdered,” returned Peret shortly, after giving the man a -keen scrutiny. Then: “Be so kind as to run to the drug store across the -street and ask the druggist to send for a physician. Also request him to -notify police headquarters that a murder has been committed. Have the -notification sent in the name of Jules Peret. Hurry, my friend!” - -Without waiting to reply, the man spun on his heel and dashed across the -street. Dropping to his knees again, Peret made a hasty but thorough -search of the dead man’s clothing, but beyond a few stray coins in -the pockets of his trousers, found nothing. As he was finishing his -examination, the stranger returned, accompanied by the druggist and a -physician who had chanced to be in the drug store. - -Peret rose to his feet and stepped back to make room for the doctor. - -“What’s the trouble?” asked Dr. Sprague, a large, swarthy-faced man with -a gray Vandyke beard. - -“Murder, I’m afraid,” replied Peret, pointing at Berjet’s motionless body. - -Dr. Sprague bent over the inert form of the scientist and made a brief -examination. - -“Yes,” he said gravely, “he is beyond human aid.” - -“He is dead?” - -“Quite.” - -“Can you tell me what caused his death?” - -“I cannot be positive,” replied the physician, “but he bears all the -outward symptoms of asphyxiation.” - -“Asphyxiation?” repeated Peret incredulously. - -“Yes.” - -Peret’s skepticism was written plainly on his face. - -“But that is at variance with the dead man’s last words. I was with M. -Berjet when he died and there was certainly nothing in his actions to -suggest asphyxiation. However—” He exhibited his card. “I am Jules Peret, -a detective. The man that you have just pronounced dead is Max Berjet, -the eminent French scientist. If he was murdered—and I have reason to -believe that he was—the murderer has not yet had time to escape, as M. -Berjet has been dead less than two minutes. It is possible, therefore, -that I can apprehend the assassin if I act at once. Can you stay here -with the body pending the arrival of the police?” - -Dr. Sprague glanced at the detective’s card and nodded, whereupon Peret, -with a single bound, cleared the iron fence that inclosed the little yard -in front of Berjet’s house. As he landed, feet first, on the lawn, he -heard Dr. Sprague give a piercing scream. - -So startled was he by the unexpectedness of it that he lost his footing -and fell forward on his face. Leaping to his feet, he whirled around and -directed the beam from his flashlight on the physician. - -Dr. Sprague, with his hands clawing the air in front of him, appeared to -be grappling with an invisible _something_ that was rapidly getting the -best of him. His lips were drawn back in a snarl: his eyes seemed as if -they were about to pop from his head, and bloody froth had begun to ooze -between his clenched teeth and run from the corners of his mouth. - -As Peret was preparing to leap back over the fence, he heard a terrible -scream issue from the throat of the unknown pedestrian, and saw him throw -up his arms as if to ward off a blow. Then the man reeled back against -the fence and began to struggle desperately with something that Peret -could not see. - -Whipping out his automatic, the detective again vaulted the fence, but -before he could reach either of them, both Dr. Sprague and the pedestrian -crashed to the pavement, the first dead, the second still fighting for -his life. - - -_CHAPTER II._ - -THE MYSTERY DEEPENS. - -Although the moment was obviously one that demanded caution, Jules Peret -was never the man to hesitate in the face of an unknown danger. - -He realized that he was in the presence of some terrible invisible thing -that might strike him down at any moment, but, as he had no idea what -that thing was and could not hope to cope with it until it attacked him -or in some manner made itself manifest, he dismissed it from his mind -for the moment and turned his attention to the two men who had gone down -before its onslaught. - -Kneeling beside Dr. Sprague’s prostrate form, he bent over and peered in -the physician’s face. One look at the horribly distorted features and the -glassy eyes that stared into his own told him that the man was dead. - -Turning now from the dead to the living, Peret jumped to his feet and -ran to help the pedestrian who, with the help of the terrified little -druggist, was in the act of staggering to his feet. Although the -druggist’s teeth were chattering with fear, his first thought seemed to -be for the sufferer, and he helped Peret support the man, too weak to -stand unaided, when he reeled back against the fence. - -Choking, gasping, spitting, the pedestrian fought manfully to regain his -breath. His face was purple with congested blood, and his glazed eyes -were bulging. Great beads of sweat poured from his forehead and mingling -with the froth that oozed from between his lips, flecked his face as he -twisted his head from side to side in agony. - -“What is the matter with you?” shouted Peret. “Speak! I want to help you.” - -The stricken man made a violent effort to throw off the invisible horror -that had him in its clutches. Then the muscles of his body relaxed, and -he ceased to struggle. Drawing in a deep breath of air, he expelled it -with a sharp whistling sound. Then, exhausted, he shook off Peret’s hand, -and sank down on the pavement in a sitting posture. - -“_Sacrebleu!_” yelled Peret. “Speak to me, my friend, so I can avenge -you! One little word is all I ask. _What attacked you?_” - -“I—I don’t know,” the man gasped. “It—It was something I could not see! -It was a monster—an invisible monster. It whispered in my ear, and then -it began to choke me. Oh, God—.” - -His head fell forward; he began to sob weakly. - -“An invisible monster,” repeated Peret, staring at the man curiously. -“What do you mean by that?” - -Before the man could reply, the police patrol-wagon swung around the -corner and, with a clang of the bell, drew up to the curb. Detective -Sergeant Strange of the homicide squad and two subordinates leaped to the -sidewalk and approached the Frenchman. - -“Well?” demanded Strange, with characteristic brevity. - -“Murder,” returned Peret, with equal conciseness, and nodded at the two -bodies on the pavement. - -“How?” Strange shot out. - -“I don’t know,” replied Peret. “As I was passing the house ten minutes -ago, Max Berjet, the man on your left, hurled himself through the -window, cried out that he had been attacked by ten assassins, and died -immediately afterward. After summoning a physician, I started to enter -the house to investigate, and heard the doctor scream. When I turned I -saw Dr. Sprague and this man”—pointing to the pedestrian—“struggling in -the grasp of something I could not see. Before I could reach them, the -two men fell to the pavement. Dr. Sprague died almost instantly; this -other man, as you see, is recovering. He has just informed me that he was -attacked by an invisible monster.” - -Strange’s bellicose features twisted into a grin. - -“An invisible monster, eh? Well, it had better stay invisible if it’s -still sticking around.” He whirled about, and to the patrolman: “I want -all available men here on the jump, Bill. Call the coroner at the same -time. O’Shane”—to one of the plainclothes men who accompanied him—“watch -the front of that house and keep an eye on these bodies until the coroner -comes. Mike, take care of the back of the house, and,” he added with a -grim humor, “keep your eye peeled for an ‘invisible monster’.” - -Strange turned once more to the Frenchman. - -“You’re sure these two men are dead, Peret?” - -“They will never be any deader,” replied Peret shortly. - -“All right—Who is that man?”—pointing over his shoulder at the druggist. - -“I am the proprietor of the drug store across the street,” spoke up the -druggist. “I ran over with Dr. Sprague, who happened to be in the store -when this gentleman summoned assistance.” - -Strange nodded. - -“I may have to hold you as a witness,” was his curt reply. “Stick around -until I can find time to question you. Now Peret, before we enter -the house, spill the details. What do you know about this ‘invisible -monster’?” - -“Little more than I have already told you,” answered Peret, and launched -into a detailed recital of his harrowing experience. - -Although Detective Strange was a man difficult to surprise, he made no -effort to conceal his astonishment when Peret brought his story to an end. - -“You say Dr. Sprague and this other man were seized by the Thing when -your back was turned?” he questioned. - -“_Oui_; as I was leaping over the fence,” nodded Peret, “I heard Dr. -Sprague scream just as I landed on the ground. When I turned to see what -was the matter, both he and the other man appeared to be struggling with -some invisible antagonist. Before I could reach them, both men fell to -the ground. Sprague was apparently dead before he fell. The other man, -after a struggle, threw off the Thing—whatever it was or is.” - -“Didn’t you see anything at all?” demanded Strange. - -“Absolutely nothing.” - -“Hear anything?” - -“No. But that man”—jerking his thumb at the pedestrian—“said he heard the -Thing whisper.” - -“I also heard the Thing whisper,” interposed the druggist, a small, -bald-headed individual with a cataract over one of his eyes. Still -in a state of nervous apprehension, he had edged up close to the two -detectives as if seeking their protection. “I was talking to Dr. Sprague -when he was attacked,” he continued, darting furtive glances over his -shoulder from time to time. “An instant before he screamed I heard a—a -whispering sound.” - -Peret’s eyes shone with interest. - -“It’s strange that I did not hear this sound,” he muttered, half to -himself. “Just what, exactly, do you mean by a whispering sound, -_Monsieur?_” - -“I scarcely know,” replied the druggist, after a moment’s thought. “It -was a whisper—nothing that I could understand. Just an inarticulate -_whisper_. I had hardly heard it when Sprague screamed and began to -struggle.” - -“Whence did the whisper emanate, _Monsieur_?” queried Peret eagerly. - -“I do not know.” - -“You _saw_ nothing?” - -“Nothing.” - -“’S damn funny,” growled Strange, scratching his ear. “An ‘invisible -monster’ that whispers is a new one on me.” He looked at the Frenchman, -perplexedly. “Queer business, Peret.” - -“It is,” agreed Peret; then whirled around to confront the pedestrian. -“Ah, _Monsieur_, perhaps you can help us a little, eh? How are you -feeling now?” - -“Considerably better,” returned the other in a hoarse voice, and then -added, “But I don’t believe I’ll ever recover from the shock. What in -God’s name was it, anyway?” - -He was a tall, heavy-set man with glittering black eyes, a close-cropped -mustache and, though his features were irregular, had rather a handsome -countenance. Although deathly pale and still a little shaken, he seemed -to have himself pretty well in hand. - -Strange looked at him shrewdly. - -“What’s your name?” he asked, taking out his notebook. - -“Albert Deweese,” replied the man. “I am an artist and have a studio in -the next block. I was on my way home when I heard the crash of breaking -glass as Mr. Berjet jumped through the window-sash. Naturally, I ran back -to find out what the trouble was.” - -Strange made a note and nodded. - -“What attacked you?” he suddenly shot out. - -“I don’t know,” replied Deweese. “The Thing, whatever it was, was -invisible. I _felt_ it, God knows, but did not _see_ it.” - -“But you must have some idea of what the Thing was,” Strange insisted. -“Was it a man, or an animal, or—?” - -Deweese shook his head slowly. - -“I have said that I do not know,” was his emphatic reply, “and I do -not. How _could_ I, when I did not see it? It was large, powerful and -ferocious, but whether it was an animal of some kind, or a demon out of -hell, I do not know.” - -“Perhaps your ears served you better than your eyes?” said Strange. “Did -you hear the Thing when it leaped upon you?” - -“I did,” replied Deweese, with a shudder. “At almost the very instant -that it attacked me I heard it whisper.” - -“_Eh, bien, Monsieur_,” cried Peret, “and what did it say to you?” - -“It did not say anything intelligible,” was Deweese’s disappointing -reply. “It just whispered.” - -Strange and Peret looked at each other in silence. The Frenchman shrugged -his shoulders, and exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. Strange took a -hitch in his trousers, and his face became stern. - -“All right,” he said curtly to Deweese. “Stick around till the coroner -comes. I want to question you and this other man further, a little later -on.” - -He gave an order to O’Shane, who was standing a little distance away with -his eyes glued on the front of Berjet’s house, then turned to Peret. - -“I’m going in,” he growled, and drew his revolver. - -The Frenchman threw his cigarette on the pavement, drew his own -automatic, and, opening the front gate, ran across the little yard. -Followed by Strange and Deweese, who asked and obtained permission to -accompany them, Peret buttoned his coat around his frail body, got a -firm grip on the window ledge and, with the agility of a monkey, climbed -through the broken sash of the window through which Berjet had projected -himself. - -The room in which the detectives found themselves had evidently been the -scientist’s sitting room. It was simply but comfortably furnished and -was quite masculine in character. The walls were lined with well-filled -book shelves, and in the center of the room was a large table, littered -with a miscellany of papers, pamphlets, pipes, burnt matches and tobacco -ashes. On the carpeted floor near the table lay an open book, the leaves -of which were rumpled and torn. Except for this, the room was in perfect -order. - -“No signs of gas anywhere,” said Strange, audibly sniffing the air. “The -asphyxiation theory of Dr. Sprague’s is a dud, in my opinion.” - -Peret, who had begun to make an inspection of the room, did not reply. -Strange continued his investigation, while Deweese stood near the window -looking on. - -The result of Peret’s examination, which, while brief, was more or -less thorough, annoyed and confounded him. The detective sergeant also -appeared to be puzzled. The Frenchman was the first to give expression to -his thoughts. - -“The three doors and the four windows in this room, sergeant, are _locked -on the inside_,” he remarked, as Strange paused for a moment to look at -him with questioning eyes. “The key to that door on the far side of the -room, and which I am sure is the door of a closet, is missing, but the -other keys are in the locks. The windows, moreover, are, as you have no -doubt observed, fastened with a form of mechanism that could not possibly -have been sprung from the outside. Yet Berjet said he was attacked by ten -assassins!” - -“The point that you are trying to make, I take it,” Strange grunted, “is -that the broken window is the only means of egress from the room.” - -“Your penetration is remarkable,” snapped Peret, who always became -irritated when baffled. - -“It’s the devil’s own work,” commented Deweese, who had been watching -the movements of the two detectives with keen interest. “Certainly there -was nothing human about the Thing that attacked me, and I imagine that -Berjet’s death can be laid at the door of the same agency.” - -Peret flung himself into a chair and lit a cigarette. - -“Any way you look at the thing, it seems preposterous,” he said -reflectively. “The ‘invisible monster’ theory is too absurd for serious -consideration, and the other theories that have been advanced do not -stand up in the presence of the facts. However, let us consider. We will -assume that Berjet was, as he said, attacked by ten men. _Eh! bien!_ How -did they get out of the room? All of the exits are locked on the inside, -as you see. - -“There is a small transom over that door opening onto the hall, it is -true, but it is not large enough for a child to crawl through, much less -a man. Dr. Sprague seemed to think that Berjet was asphyxiated. Yet this -room, as you yourself observed when we entered it, sergeant, contained -not the slightest trace of any kind of gas. As a matter of fact, the room -is lighted by electricity. What are we to conclude from these premises? -That the poison fumes, assuming that poison fumes were the cause of -Berjet’s death, were administered by human hands? If so, oblige me, my -friend, by telling me how the owner of those hands got out of the room?” - -“Well, if the murderers were invisible, and they were, if the testimony -of you and Deweese counts for anything,” rejoined Strange, “they might -have followed Berjet through the window without having been observed by -you.” - -“_Invisible_ murderers!” snorted Peret, with a contemptuous shrug of his -shoulders. “You are growing feeble-minded, my friend. Didn’t Berjet say -he _saw_ his murderers?” - -“So you say,” returned Strange rudely. “But _you_ didn’t see Sprague’s -murderer, although you claim to have been looking at him when he was -attacked. Maybe your eyesight is failing you,” he added. - -Peret glared at the detective sergeant, but said nothing. - -“Perhaps Berjet was subject to a hallucination,” ventured Strange, after -a moment’s thought. “He may just have imagined he saw the murderers.” - -“Perhaps he just imagined he was murdered, too,” retorted the Frenchman, -and returned to his examination of the room. - -At this juncture someone rapped on the door opening into the hall. -Strange crossed the room, turned the key in the lock and, opening the -door, admitted Central Bureau Detectives Frank and O’Shane. - -“Well?” demanded Strange. - -“Major Dobson sent us four men from headquarters, and we’ve searched the -house as you ordered,” answered O’Shane. “We drew an absolute blank. The -house is empty.” - -“Hasn’t Berjet got a family?” inquired Strange. - -“The people next door say that Berjet’s wife and daughter are spending -the winter at Palm Beach.” - -“Ain’t they any servants?” - -“All of the servants go home at night except Adolphe, the murdered man’s -valet.” - -“Did you find him?” - -“No.” - -“Was the front door, and the rest of the doors and windows in the house, -locked?” - -“The front door was not only unlocked but slightly ajar. The rest of the -house was secured.” - -“Do you not think it possible that the murderer might have slipped out of -the front door while you were watching without being seen by you?” - -“Absolutely not,” said O’Shane, emphatically. “I didn’t take my eye off -the front of the house after you entered it until the men the major -sent arrived. Mike watched the back of the house with equal care. -Nobody could a-got out without one of us knowin’ it. If a murder’s been -committed the murderer’s still in the house somewhere.” - -The burly sergeant nodded his satisfaction. - -“Well, if he’s here, we’ll get him,” he declared. As an after-thought: -“Got the house surrounded?” - -“I’ve thrown a cordon around the whole block,” replied O’Shane. “A mouse -couldn’t get through it without getting its neck broke.” - -“Good.” Strange drew his revolver, which he had returned to his pocket -after entering the room, and tried the handle of the closet door. “Now, -men, before we go any farther, let’s get this closet open. It may contain -a secret exit, for all we know. Take a chair and burst it in, one of you.” - -“Wait, my friend, I know an easier way,” said Peret. - -He drew a jimmy from his inside coat pocket, inserted the flattened end -in the crack between the door and the jamb, and bore down on the handle. -Yielding to the powerful leverage, the door creaked, splintered around -the lock and flew open. - -“Ten thousand devils!” cried Peret, leaping back. - -The body of a dead man rolled out on the floor! - - -_CHAPTER III._ - -ALINGTON FINDS A CLUE. - -Violent death means nothing to the average police official; he comes in -almost daily contact with the most brutal and horrible form of it. - -Therefore, while the utter unexpectedness of the corpse’s arrival in -their midst had a very noticeable effect on the excitable French sleuth, -and more especially on Deweese, with his wracked nerves, the others, -though momentarily startled, seemed to consider it all in the day’s work. - -Strange flashed a brief glance at Peret, and then finding him glaring -blankly at the cadaver, shifted his gaze to encompass the gruesome -object of the Frenchman’s regard. - -The dead man, like Peret, it was easy to see, was—or, rather had been—a -native of France. The cast of his features was unmistakable. He was of -medium height and build, was slightly bald, and his upper lip was adorned -with a small, black, tightly-waxed mustache. The dagger that was buried -to the hilt in his breast gave silent though ample testimony to the -manner in which he had met his death. - -His clothing was badly torn, and there was other evidence to show that he -had put up a desperate fight with his murderer before the fatal blow was -struck. In his present state he made a ghastly spectacle, for his face -was badly discolored and smeared over with dried blood, and his eyes, one -of which was nearly torn from its socket, were wide open and fixed on the -ceiling in a glassy stare. - -“Who is he?” asked O’Shane, after a brief silence. - -“Adolphe,” replied Peret, bending over the body. “Berjet’s valet.” - -“You knew him,” Strange stated rather than questioned. - -“Yes, yes,” said Peret. “I have seen him. He was _le bon valet_. See, -sergeant, his limbs are cold and stiff. He was assassinated at least two -hours before his master was. _Mon dieu!_ What does it all mean?” - -He rose to his feet, ran his fingers through his hair in a distracted -manner and stared at the corpse as if he hoped to find an answer to the -baffling mystery in the glassy eyes. - -“Well, for one thing, it means that we got to get busy,” was Strange’s -energetic response. - -Whereupon O’Shane began to explore the closet. Strange, however, seemed -to be in no hurry to follow the example set by his subordinate. He made -several entries in his notebook, leisurely scratched his ear and looked -at Peret from the corner of his eye. Though he would have died rather -than admit it, the detective sergeant was one of the little Frenchman’s -staunchest admirers. - -He had been associated with Peret almost daily for several years, and -had given up a good many hours to the study of the other’s methods in -the hope that some day he would be able to emulate his friend’s success. -He knew that, mentally at least, Peret was his superior, and he was ever -ready to place himself under the other’s guidance when he could veil his -real intentions sufficiently to make it appear that he himself was the -leader. - -“This case, at first glance, is the cat’s meow,” he said, tentatively. -“It’s the most complicated murder mystery I ever had anything to do with. -What do you make of it, Peret?” - -As Peret was about to reply, the door opened and three men entered -the room. The first of these, a tall, middle-aged man, with a gray -mustache and a fine, upright carriage, was Major and Superintendent of -Police Dobson. Immediately behind him came Coroner Rane, an elderly -man with penetrating gray eyes, and Police Sergeant Alington, small, -stoop-shouldered and addicted to big-rimmed spectacles. - -“What’s all the trouble about, sergeant?” was Dobson’s greeting. He -nodded to Peret, and continued: “I happened to be in my office when your -call came, so I hurried over.” - -“I’m mighty glad you came,” said Strange. “I’m afraid this case is going -to prove troublesome. Did you view the bodies on the pavement.” - -“Yes,” said the major. “I helped Rane examine them.” - -“Well, here’s another one for you to examine,” said the detective grimly, -and, stepping aside, he exposed to the view of the newcomers the body of -the dead valet. - -“This is not murder, it’s a massacre!” exclaimed the coroner. - -He knelt beside the body, and scrutinized the valet’s face. - -“This man has been dead for several hours, major,” he continued. “Death -was probably instantaneous, as this dagger is buried to the hilt in his -heart.” He tapped the hilt of the weapon with one of his fingers, and -looked up at Strange. “Is this man supposed to have been murdered by the -‘invisible monster’ also?” he asked sarcastically. - -“So you’ve heard about the ‘invisible monster’,” returned Strange, -non-committally. - -“Detective Frank, who was guarding the bodies on the pavement, told us -some wild tale about an invisible murderer,” remarked Dobson, with a -quizzical uplift of his brows. Then, failing to draw an explanation from -the sergeant, he asked: “Have you made any arrests?” - -“I have not,” replied Strange, then gave a rapid account of the measures -he had taken to prevent the murderer’s escape. - -Dobson nodded his approval. - -“Now, tell me all you know about these mysterious deaths,” he suggested, -and Strange, nothing loath, gave a brief though vivid recital of all the -known facts in the case. - -“This third murder,” he said in conclusion, “instead of complicating -matters, seems to make the going a little easier. In the dagger, with -which this man was killed, we have something tangible, anyway. But as for -Max Berjet and Dr. Sprague—.” - -“Dr. Rane,” interrupted Peret from the depths of a morris chair into -which he had dropped, “will you venture an opinion as to how Berjet and -Sprague met their deaths?” - -“It is impossible to reply with any degree of certainty until after the -autopsy,” answered the coroner: “but offhand I should say that they were -either asphyxiated or poisoned.” - -Peret scowled at the coroner and relapsed into silence. - -Strange, however, seemed to find comfort in the coroner’s words. With a -determined look on his hard-bitten face, he wheeled. - -“Deweese,” he rasped, in a tone calculated to impress on the hearer the -absolute certainty of his words, “the coroner declares that you were -poisoned.” He shook a finger at the artist, as if daring him to deny it. -“The poison was probably administered several hours before you felt the -effects of it. Now think! Who gave it to you? Who had the opportunity to -give it to you? Who had a motive?” - -“I was _not_ poisoned,” rejoined Deweese, quietly but emphatically. “I -was choked—choked by an unseen thing that whispered in my ear. Not only -did I hear it whisper, but I felt it breathing in my face as well.” - -Peret half rose to his feet, opened his lips as if to speak, then grunted -and sat down in his chair again. Nevertheless, this new bit of evidence, -if such it might be called, seemed to impress him, and he continued to -eye the artist eagerly. - -“Who is this man,” asked Dobson. - -Strange, with a gesture of helplessness, explained. - -“You see what we are up against, Chief,” he said. “I know how to trace a -flesh and blood murderer, but, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, I’ll be -damned if I know how to run down a spook, with no more substantial clues -than a breath and a whisper.” - -“Mr. Deweese, you are positive, are you, that you were not attacked by a -human being?” questioned the major. - -“I am as certain of it as I am that I am alive,” answered the artist. - -“Nor an animal?” - -“Yes.” - -“Nor something _inside of you_?” - -“If you mean poison, or something like that, yes.” - -“Do you not think you might have been overcome by poisonous fumes of some -sort?” - -“Absolutely not. It was not that sort of sensation that I experienced at -all.” - -“Have you any idea what it was that attacked you?” - -“Not the remotest idea.” - -“You did not see it?” - -“I did not.” - -“Could you have seen it if it had had substantial form?” - -“Yes, because it was between me and the street lamp.” - -“Have you ever had any similar experience in the past—any experience that -resembles it in the slightest way?” - -“Never!” - -Dobson threw a puzzled look at the coroner. - -“Well,” he began, and was interrupted by a blinding flash of light that -suddenly illuminated the room. - -With a cry of terror, Deweese whirled and, darting across the room, was -about to hurl himself through the window, when Strange caught him by the -arm and dragged him back. - -“S’nothing but a flash-light,” he said reassuringly. “Sergeant Alington -is photographing the finger-prints on the dagger. S’no wonder it scared -you. Made me jump myself.” - -Deweese shook off the sergeant’s hand and glared at the little -finger-print expert. - -“For God’s sake, let me know before you set that thing off again,” he -cried in a shaking voice. “I’ve come through an experience that has shot -my nerves to pieces and I can’t stand any more shocks tonight.” - -“Sorry,” apologized Alington, and then, like the little human bloodhound -he was, turned once more to the business of nosing out and developing the -finger-prints on the dagger. - -“Now,” resumed the major, after ordering O’Shane to have the house and -vicinity toothcombed, “let us take up these murders and this assault in -logical order and see if we cannot get to the bottom of this mystery. -Granted that the evidence may at first appear to point that way, to -contend that they were committed by a supernatural agency is absurd. Even -if the murderers had some way of making it impossible for their victims -to see them, we know that they were either human or animal, or, at least, -directed or controlled by human intelligence. - -“First of all, we have the death of Max Berjet. This man, it appears, -died in the presence of our friend Peret. He hurled himself through that -window, had a convulsion, and died. Before he died, however, he told -Peret that he had been attacked by ten men. By the way, Peret, what were -Berjet’s last words?” - -Peret sat hunched in his chair in an abstracted manner, staring -into vacancy with knitted brow. He was evidently not pleased by the -interruption, and showed his displeasure by scowling at the major. - -“Just before Berjet hurled himself through the window,” he explained, -ungraciously, “I heard him cry, ‘Help! help! I’m dying!’ As he lay dying -on the pavement he gasped, ‘_Assassins ... dix!_’ just like that. _Dix_, -in the French language, means ‘ten,’ and Berjet was a Frenchman. Figure -it out for yourself.” - -The major nodded, thoughtfully. - -“The words scarcely need any figuring out,” he observed drily. “They seem -to figure themselves out. However, in view of the fact that all of the -exits were fastened on the inside, and also because there is no evidence -to show that any considerable number of men have recently been in this -room, I think that we may leave the number of the scientist’s murderers -open to question. - -“Turning now to the second death, Dr. Sprague appears to have been -attacked in the sight of at least two men, our amiable friend Peret and -the druggist. Mr. Deweese was attacked at or about the same time that -Sprague was, and the attack was also witnessed by the two persons named. -Sprague and Deweese struggled with their antagonists, who, from all -testimony, appear to have been of immense strength and ferocity. - -“Sprague was killed almost instantly, and our friend the artist, after -a desperate struggle, was fortunate enough to overcome, or at least to -throw off the Thing that had him in its grasp. Deweese, the druggist and -Peret declare that they did not see the Thing—that, in short, it was -invisible; but both of the former gentlemen testify to the fact that -they heard it whisper, and Deweese informs us further that he felt it -breathing in his face. - -“It seems safe to assume, therefore, that the Thing had substantial form, -for even if we have to admit in the face of the facts that the Thing was -invisible, we know that it could not have been a supernatural being, -since supernatural beings are not supposed to whisper and breathe.” - -He paused, looked at the coroner as if inviting speech, and then, when -only silence answered, continued: - -“Let us turn now to the murder of the valet. There is certainly no doubt -as to the manner in which _he_ died. He was stabbed to death, and Dr. -Rane has expressed the opinion that he has been dead for several hours. -Yet, in spite of this, and in spite of the fact that the form of his -murder is entirely different from that of Berjet and Sprague, it seems -clear that the three murders, as well as the attack on the artist, are -closely related to each other. - -“Whether or not they are correlated is a matter which only the future -can determine: but that they all bear some connection with each other -and were committed by the same agency, there seems to be no doubt. The -circumstances that surround the several murders speak for themselves. -Therefore, in view of the fact that Berjet’s valet was the first of the -three men to meet his death, it is my opinion that if you find _his_ -murderer you will have found the man or Thing responsible for the other -two murders, and for the attack on our friend, Deweese.” - -Strange heaved a sigh of profound satisfaction. He was now on familiar -ground. Unseen and unknown forces that struck men down, forces that -were apparently of some other world, were beyond his depth; but human -knife-wielders were his meat. Given something tangible, a clue, or a -motive, or even a theory that was not beyond his comprehension, there was -no man on the force who could obtain quicker or more satisfactory results -than he. - -Therefore, while in his own mind, he had already settled on the dagger as -the one key to the mystery in sight, it flattered him, in spite of the -obviousness of the clue, to have the major’s opinion coincide with his -own. - -“I agree with you, major,” he cried heartily. “The man that we want most -is the man that murdered the valet; and,” he added with a tightening of -his jaws, “I’m gonna get him!” - -“Wait,” said Sergeant Alington, who had been an interested listener to -the major’s summing up of the case. “I have some information to reveal -which I think will be of interest to you.” - -He cleared his throat, set his glasses more firmly on the bridge of his -nose, and glanced at several slips of paper he held in his hand. - -“Before the bodies of Sprague and Berjet were taken to the morgue, I -secured the finger-prints of both of them. I have since photographed -a number of prints found on various objects in this room. Among the -latter are a set of well-defined prints on the handle of the dagger that -killed the valet. The photographs of these prints will not be available -for purposes of comparison, of course, until I develop them; but the -impressions on the daggerhandle are so clean-cut that they stand out -clearly under the developing powder, when a magnifying glass is applied -to them. While I cannot speak positively, therefore, I think that I have -succeeded in identifying them.” - -“Well?” growled Strange, straining forward. - -“Well,” replied Alington, “instead of clearing up the mystery surrounding -the murders of Sprague and Berjet, the finger-prints on the dagger tend -to complicate it—that is, if we are to assume that the prints were made -by the valet’s murderer, and this, I am sure, all of you will agree with -me in doing.” - -“Well?” repeated Strange, who saw his last glimmer of hope growing dimmer -and dimmer. “Who murdered the valet?” - -“If the prints were made by the man I think they were,” said Alington -slowly, as if to prolong the taste of his words, “the valet was murdered -by Max Berjet.” - - -_CHAPTER IV._ - -THE TERRIBLE FROG TAKES THE TRAIL. - -Strange, at once perceiving the blank wall into which his inquiry had led -him, sat down on the arm of a chair and sought to hide his discomfiture -by biting a liberal sized chew from the plug of tarlike tobacco that he -fished out of his trousers pocket. - -He had, very naturally, believed that the solution of the mystery -was to be found in the finger-prints on the dagger, and his sudden -disillusionment annoyed and angered him. He felt himself baffled and, -having a profound dislike for the little finger-print expert anyway, -it incensed him to have to admit even momentary defeat at the latter’s -hands, especially in the presence of his superior. - -The major, however, accepted the exploding of his theory with equanimity. - -“It is obviously impossible for the scientist to have had any direct hand -in Sprague’s murder,” he observed, “if he himself was murdered at least -ten or fifteen minutes before the doctor was. And even if we assume that -he had an indirect hand in it, and the circumstances surrounding the -several murders would seem to disprove this, there is his own death still -to be accounted for.” He turned to the artist. “Mr. Deweese, did you know -Max Berjet?” - -Deweese shook his head. - -“Never heard of him until tonight,” he declared. - -The major sighed. - -“I thought as much,” he asserted. “It seems a waste of time to try to -fasten Sprague’s murder and the attack on you on Berjet.” He thought for -a moment; then: “Sergeant Alington, you are sure, are you, that you have -not been over-hasty in the conclusions you have drawn from your cursory -examination of the prints? If there is any doubt in your mind, I suggest -that you return to headquarters and develop the plates at once.” - -“You can judge for yourself, major,” returned Alington, a little nettled. -Like most experts, so-called and otherwise, it annoyed him to have a -carefully-formed opinion of his disputed or even questioned. He could -countenance such a thing in court, under the baleful eye of His Honor; -but it was quite another thing at the scene of a crime, where he felt -himself to be upon his own ground. - -Strange, sensing his annoyance, paused long enough in his exploration of -the table drawer to look at him and grin. Catching the latter’s eye he -winked, which exasperated the expert to such an extent that he dropped -his magnifying glass. Strange, feeling fully repaid for any fancied -injury, grinned again and dumped the contents of the drawer on the table. - -With an injured air, Alington retrieved his magnifying glass and offered -it to the major. He then held out for Dobson’s inspection a set of -finger-prints on a regulation blank and the dagger that the coroner had -withdrawn from the breast of the dead valet. The dagger was an ordinary -white bone-handled hunting knife, with a six-inch, double-edged blade. -Dobson held it gingerly by the blood-smeared blade, in order not to -disturb the thin coating of black powder that had been sprinkled over the -handle. - -Like most efficient police officials, Dobson had some knowledge of -dactyloscopy, and the detectives awaited his verdict with eagerness. -Applying the magnifying glass to the handle of the knife, the major -leisurely examined the series of whorls and ridges that showed through -the black coating. He then compared them with the finger-prints of the -dead scientist, and, when he had concluded his examination, slowly nodded -his head. - -“You are right, sergeant,” he was forced to acknowledge. “The two sets of -prints are undoubtedly identical.” He handed the dagger and glass to the -expert. “Your evidence can not be combated, sergeant,” he added. - -Alington inclined his head slightly and retired to his place beside the -table. - -“Well,” grumbled Strange, disappointed by the expert’s vindication, “that -at least clears up the first murder. As for the murder of Berjet, as -clues are wholly lacking, in my opinion the only way we will make any -headway is to motivate the crime.” - -“Has the ownership of the dagger been established?” asked the coroner. - -“It has,” replied Strange, without enthusiasm. - -He held up to view the sheath of the hunting-knife, which he had found -in the table drawer. A large “M. B.” had been cut on the front of the -leather covering by an unskilled hand. The letters were crude and the -edges worn, and they had evidently been cut in the leather a long while -ago. - -The coroner examined the letters closely and returned the sheath to -Strange. - -“There can scarcely be any doubt as to the ownership of the knife,” he -agreed. - -“What progress are your men making with their search?” demanded the major. - -“The men have gone over the house twice without success,” declared -Strange. “O’Brill and Muldoon are now on the roof and the other men are -searching the adjoining houses.” - -“And have they found no evidence of any person having been in this house?” - -“No one except Berjet and the valet.” - -“Dr. Rane, what do you think of this affair?” questioned Dobson -impatiently. “We are progressing too slowly to please me. Have you any -suggestions to offer?” - -“I think it might help us if Mr. Deweese would describe in the most -minute detail exactly what happened to him,” returned Rane. “There is -much of his story that has yet to be cleared up.” - -“Mr. Deweese,” said Dobson, turning to the artist, “suppose you recount -the details of your attack in your own way, and then, if necessary, we -will question you.” - -Deweese had entirely recovered from his shock by this time and seemed -eager to be of aid. - -“On my way home from the theater,” he began, “I stopped near the -corner lamp, less than half a block away, to light a cigarette. As -I was striking a match I heard a terrific crash of breaking glass -behind me, and at once ran back to see what had happened. I found this -gentleman”—nodding at Peret—“bending over the body of a man on the -pavement. The body has since been identified as that of Max Berjet. Mr. -Peret declared that the scientist had been murdered, and, at his bidding, -I went to the drug store on the other side of the street to summon aid. - -“While a clerk was ’phoning for the police I returned to the scene of -the tragedy accompanied by the druggist and Dr. Sprague, who happened to -be in the store at the time. Dr. Sprague examined and pronounced Berjet -dead. Mr. Peret then informed the doctor that he was a detective and -requested him to remain with the body until the police arrived, so he -could make a preliminary investigation in the house. This Dr. Sprague -agreed to do, and Mr. Peret ran across the pavement and jumped the fence -in front of Berjet’s house. - -“I was standing a few feet away, talking with the druggist, and saw -everything that followed. At the very instant that Mr. Peret leaped -over the fence, I heard Dr. Sprague scream and saw him throw out his -hands as if to grapple with something. He was standing by Berjet’s body -at the time. He appeared to have been attacked by some powerful and -ferocious Thing, which I could not see, and I sprang forward to go to his -assistance. It was then that I heard the whispering sound and felt the -Thing hurl itself upon me. - -“I could see nothing, but I felt my throat caught in a viselike grip and -my chest crushed between two opposing forces. I cried out once, and then -my breath was shut off. I threw out my hands to grapple with the unseen -Thing, but there appeared to be nothing to grapple with. My hands came in -contact with nothing but air. - -“Yet all of this while I could feel the monster crushing my life out. -The terrible grip on my throat kept pressing my head back, inch by inch, -and the pressure around my body seemed on the point of caving my ribs -in. Everything went black before me, and I could feel myself losing -consciousness. Calling to my aid every ounce of strength I possessed, I -made a last desperate effort to free myself of the Thing, and just as I -felt life slipping from my grasp, the pressure on my throat and chest -relaxed and, too exhausted to stand, I fell to the pavement.” - -“Unconscious?” asked the coroner. - -“No, never for a single instant did I lose consciousness. Every terrible -second of that eternity is indelibly stamped on my mind.” - -The recollection of his frightful experience made the artist tremble. -Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his face. - -“Was Dr. Sprague still struggling with his—ah—antagonist when you were -attacked?” questioned the major. - -“I cannot say,” replied Deweese. “After I was attacked I had little -thought to give to anything but my own defense.” - -“The testimony of both Peret and the druggist show that Deweese and -Sprague were attacked at practically the same time,” observed Strange, -shifting his quid from east to west. “Both men struggled for a few -seconds—about half a minute, according to Peret—and fell to the pavement -at the same instant.” - -“Then it appears that we have more than one thing to contend with,” -interposed the major a little grimly. “Mr. Deweese, you are positive, are -you, that you did not _see_ the Thing? Think before you reply.” - -“It is not necessary for me to think,” retorted the artist, “God knows, -if I had seen the Thing I should not have been able to forget it this -quickly!” - -“When did you hear the Thing whisper—before or after it attacked you?” - -“Before. After it hurled itself upon me I heard nothing.” - -“But you felt it breathing in your face?” - -“Not after the attack: no. It was immediately after I heard the -whispering sound that I felt the Thing’s breath on my face. After that -terrible grip became fastened on my throat, everything else became -negligible.” - -“You mean that even if the Thing had been breathing in your face it is -doubtful if you would have known it?” - -“Yes.” - -“Did this breathing sound or feel like the breathing of a man?” - -“No; the Thing’s breath was quick and jerky and as cold as ice.” - -“_Cold?_” cried Peret, leaping to his feet. - -He had been sitting back in his chair in an attitude of dejection, -staring at a blank space on the wall. He had, with one ear, however, been -drinking in every word of the conversation, and now he rose from his -chair with such suddenness that he all but upset the little finger-print -expert standing in front of him. - -“Yes, _cold_,” repeated Deweese, the perspiration dripping from his brow, -“cold and clammy.” - -“_Dame!_” cried the Frenchman, breathing on his hand as if to test the -temperature of his breath. “Think well, my friend, of what you are -saying. The breath of living things is _warm_. Perhaps it was not the -breathing of a monster that you heard. It may have been—.” He hesitated, -and then, at a loss, stopped. - -“There was no mistaking the—the thing I felt on my face,” rejoined the -artist grimly. “Except for the fact that it was cold and spasmodic it was -like the breathing of a man.” - -“Like the breathing of a man choking on a piece of ice?” suggested the -coroner. - -“Exactly.” - -“_Eh, bien!_” called the Frenchman, and smote himself on the forehead -with his clenched fist. “Why did you not tell us this before?” - -The Frenchman was transformed. Heretofore, in appearance at least, he -had been an insignificant little man with no special capacity for the -intricacies of unsolved crime mysteries. But now that the germ of an -elusive idea had taken root in his mind he seemed to grow in stature as -well as in intellect. His eyes became animated, his nostrils distended, -his foolish little mustache took on an air of dignity, and his narrow -shoulders seemed to grow straighter and to broaden. - -Twisting the starboard point of his mustache fiercely between his -fingers, he began to pace rapidly up and down the room. Dobson, who was -acquainted with these symptoms, threw a significant look at the coroner. -The look, however, failed to register, for Rane was staring at the floor, -with knitted brow. He appeared to be thinking deeply. - -Strange scratched his ear reflectively and stole a glance at the -Frenchman. He, also was familiar with the latter’s eccentricities and, -like the major, was always a little awed by an outburst of his friend’s -temperament. Experience had taught him that this was a moment for -silence, and he was determined to maintain it at all costs. - -But even while he was rolling this thought around in his mind, and -glaring threateningly at O’Shane, who was moistening his lips as if about -to speak, the Frenchman put an end to it in a manner peculiarly his own. - -“_Triomphe!_” he cried, with such suddenness and vigor that the -iron-nerved detective sergeant jumped. “I’ve got it! At last I see the -light!” - -In his excitement he danced up and down in front of the major, to the -secret amusement of the coroner and the astonishment of Deweese. Strange, -however, knowing what this overflow of energy denoted, leaned forward -eagerly and strained his ears to catch what would follow. - -“Well, what have you got?” asked the major calmly, though the coroner -thought he could detect a note of vast relief in his voice. - -“The answer to the riddle, major,” yelled Peret too excited to contain -himself. “I’ve got it! I’ve found it! The mystery is solved. _Nom de -diable!_ The Thing is—” - -“Stop,” said the major, truculently. “We must use some discretion here. -Are you sure you know what you are talking about, Peret, or are you -simply making a wild guess?” - -“I know it,” shouted Peret, making a heroic though futile effort to lower -his voice. “Ah, it was too simple! Like taking the candy from the mouth -of the little one! _Oui, m’sieu_; The mystery is solved! I stake my -reputation on it. I will show you—Stay!” - -To the horror of the central office men, he grasped the dignified major -by the lapel of his coat and dragged him (not unwillingly) out of his -chair and half across the room. When they were well out of earshot of the -others, he drew the major’s head down and poured a perfect torrent of -whispers in his ear. - -Dobson heard the Frenchman out without interruption, but, while evincing -the deepest interest, he did not appear to be altogether convinced. -However, Peret had once been under his command, and there was no one who -had more respect for his ability. It was he himself who, a year or so -previously, had characterized the Frenchman as “an accomplished linguist, -a master of disguise and one of the most astute criminologists on this -side of the Atlantic.” - -In his present extremity, moreover, he was like a drowning man clutching -at a straw. He was not in a position to reject a possible solution of the -mystery advanced by a man of Peret’s ability, no matter how unsound it -might appear to him. - -“What you say seems plausible enough,” he remarked, when Peret paused -for want of breath; “but it is, after all, only a theory. There is not a -shred of evidence to give weight to your words.” - -“Evidence is sometimes the biggest liar in the world,” said Peret, a -little dashed by Dobson’s lack of enthusiasm. “In this case, however, -there is, as you say, no evidence of any kind—yet. We must therefore -look for it, before it sneaks up on us and bites us. Ah, my dear friend. -Think! Consider! Reflect! Why, the thing is as clear as a piece of -crystal.” - -“What suggestions have you to make!” asked the major, visibly impressed. -“I suppose you have in mind some plan—.” - -“_Oui!_” cried Peret, with fierce enthusiasm. “Except for one little -thing, I ask that you give me a free hand. I will either prove or -disprove my theory within twenty-four hours. Your men in the meantime, -can make an independent investigation.” - -He made several hieroglyphics on a page torn from his memorandum book and -handed it to the major. Dobson studied the characters for a moment, and -then nodded. - -“All right,” he said briskly. “I give you a free hand. Call headquarters -when you want, and in the meantime let me know at the earliest possible -moment, if you learn anything of importance. _Allez-vous-en._” - -“Remember—no arrests!” hissed Peret, and, clapping his hat on the back of -his head, he fled from the house as if pursued by the devil himself. - - -_CHAPTER V._ - -THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF. - -Jules Peret was a man of parts. Born in the slums of Paris, he had -migrated to America at an early age and, following the vicissitudes of -a dissipated youth, had, by the sheer power of will and ability, forced -himself to the top of the ladder of success in his chosen profession. - -Eccentric, high-strung and affected, he was nevertheless something of a -genius in his particular line. As a plainclothes man under the command -of Major Dobson, his success had been outstanding. This was largely -due to his love of the dramatic, and his knack of making the most -unpretentious case assume huge proportions in the eyes of the public. - -His methods were simple, apparently infallible, always spectacular. For -which reason the newspapers gave him much space on their front pages -and delighted in referring to him as the Terrible Frog and the Devil’s -Sister—appellations, by the way, that had their origin in the dives of -the underworld. - -Three months ago Peret had severed his connections with police -headquarters and established himself as a “consulting detective.” -And because of the enviable record he had made while serving his -apprenticeship on the “force,” he had at once found his services in great -demand. - -At this time Peret was about thirty-four years of age. A small effeminate -man, with delicate features, small hands and feet, rosy cheeks and thick -eye-brows, one would have taken him for almost anything in the world but -a detective. In manner and dress, he was typical of the _boulevardiers_ -of Paris. He affected a slender black mustache about the same general -size and shape of a pointed match-stick, and he had a weakness for -pearl-striped trousers and lavender spats. - -Exteriors, however, are sometimes deceiving, and this was true in the -case of the little Frenchman. When aroused, Peret was like a tiger. It -was not for nothing that he had earned his terrible _noms de guerre_ in -the world of crime. - -Erratic in manner as in dress, his departure—or, rather, his flight—from -the home of the murdered scientist, was as distinctive of the man as was -his mustache. The mirth of the coroner and the astonishment of Deweese -meant nothing to him. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts for the -moment to consider the effect of his behavior on the others. He had -simply felt the impulse to action and had obeyed it with characteristic -promptness, energy and enthusiasm. - -On the sidewalk he paused for a moment. - -The night was pitch-black. Not a star was visible. The fog still hung -over the city in heavy folds and at a distance of fifteen or twenty feet -almost obliterated the street lights. A little crowd of morbidly curious -sensation-seekers had gathered in front of the house and, much to their -dislike, were now being herded away from the immediate scene of the crime -by two uniformed policemen. - -Turning up the collar of his coat, Peret wiggled his way through the -crowd and sped across the street to the drug store. Entering a telephone -booth, he ordered a taxi. He then called up his office, and when the -connection was made, poured a volley of instructions into the receiver in -language that must have burnt the wires. - -Replacing the receiver on the hook, he left the store and, when his taxi -arrived a few minutes later, started out on a feverish round of inquiries. - -His first call was at the Army and Navy Building. Evidently luck was -against him, for after a moment’s stay he emerged from the building, with -a scowl on his face. Hopping into the taxi, he ordered the chauffeur to -drive to the Treasury Department. - -Owing to the lateness of the hour, he had, as expected, some difficulty -in gaining admittance. A cabalistic message sent to some mysterious -personage within, however, had a magical effect on the watchman, who -swung wide the doors for him. - -His stay within was brief, and after the portals had again been opened to -let him out, he sped down the flight of steps in front of the building -and crossed the street on a dead run. From the corner drug store he -fired a message over the wire to police headquarters, then, quitting the -store, once more boarded the taxi and instructed the chauffeur to drive -him to a certain street corner. - -After a short run, the cab came to a stop at the corner of a dark street -in one of the residential sections of the city. Instructing the chauffeur -to wait for him, Peret left the car and, wrapping his coat around him, -glided off in the darkness. - -Half way down the block, at the intersection of an alley, the Frenchman -paused. Though the fog had lifted somewhat, the mist had turned into -a heavy sleet and, if such a thing were possible, it was even darker -than it had been an hour previously. Except for the taxi waiting at the -corner, the street, so far as Peret could see, was deserted. - -Stepping behind a tree-box, Peret surveyed the row of houses on the -opposite side of the street. A dim light burned in several of the -vestibules; otherwise the houses were wrapped in darkness. Satisfied that -he was not observed, Peret stepped from behind the tree-box and gave a -peculiar, birdlike whistle. - -In answer to the signal, the eye of a flash-light blinked near the front -door of one of the houses in the middle of the block, and Peret, clinging -to the shadows, crossed the street. Drawing his automatic, he traversed -the lawn to the house. - -“Bendlow?” - -“H’luva night to be abroad, Chief,” came a hoarse whisper. “What’s the -row, anyway?” - -Although it was too dark to distinguish the speaker’s features, or, as -a matter of fact, even to see the outline of his form, there was no -mistaking the foghorn voice of Harvey Bendlow, former Secret Service -agent and, at the present time, night manager of Peret’s Detective -Agency. Restoring his automatic to his pocket, the Frenchman gripped the -other’s hand. - -“Haven’t time to explain now,” he said in an undertone. “We’ve got a big -job ahead of us. How long have you been here?” - -“’Bout an hour,” croaked Bendlow. “I came on the jump just as soon as -your message was received at the office. I’ve been prowling around taking -a look-see.” - -“Seen anything of the occupant of the house?” - -“Nope. I guess the Wolf is in the hay,” was Bendlow’s enigmatic reply. - -“What’s that?” asked Peret sharply. “Who is this that you call the -‘Wolf’?” - -“Say, don’t you know whose house you sent me to watch?” demanded Bendlow -in surprise. - -“No; I have a suspicion that the man living in this house is a foreign -agent, but I’m not sure that I know who he is.” - -“Well, your suspicion does you credit. This house at the present time is -occupied by Count Vincent di Dalfonzo, better known to the Secret Service -as the Wolf.” - -“_Tiens!_” exclaimed Peret, with rising excitement. “You are sure?” - -“None surer! Known him for a long time.” - -“Tell me what you know about him, quickly, my friend.” - -“Take too long now. He’s got a record. Had a coupla run-ins with him -when I was attached to the Secret Service. He’s a clever and dangerous -guy. International agent. Famous spy during the war. Plays only for big -stakes, and the harder the game the better he likes it. Renegade Italian -nobleman. His mother was an American. Takes after her in looks, I reckon. -Never know he was a wop to look at him. He’s been a thorn in the side of -the foreign Secret Service for years. Too clever for them. They know he’s -the milk in the cocoanut, but they can’t crack his shell, so to speak. -He’s bad medicine, and no mistake. He kills at the drop of a hat.” - -“But how do you know he is living in this house, eh? Have you seen him?” - -“Nope. You ordered me to watch the house, and, not knowing what your -game is, I haven’t made any effort to see him. He’s here, though, and -its damn funny, too. Last time I heard of him, two months ago, he was in -Petrograd.” - -“If you have not seen him, how do you know he is living in this house?” -asked Peret impatiently. - -In a subdued voice, Bendlow rapidly related all he knew about the man he -called the Wolf, and gave his reasons for believing him to be the present -occupant of the house. When he concluded, Peret could scarcely control -his elation. - -“_Voila_,” he exclaimed softly. “You have done your work better than you -know, my friend. Everything fits together beautifully. Now, let’s to -work. I wonder if there is any one in the house now?” - -“Can’t say for sure, but I doubt it.” - -“Well, we’re going in, regardless. It’s dangerous business, but -necessary. I must clear up the mystery of the whispering Thing.” - -“The Whispering Thing?” questioned Bendlow. - -“_Oui_,” whispered Peret tersely. “I cannot tell you what it is, for I do -not know. But it’s a demon, my friend, be sure of that! Keep close to me -and be prepared for any eventuality. Ready?” - -“Yep,” laconically. “Lead on.” - -Peret tried the door behind him and found it locked. After several -unsuccessful attempts, he opened it with a master key and, followed -by Bendlow, entered the cellar. Closing the door, Peret brought his -flashlight into play, and then, like a phantom, he passed over the -concrete floor and ascended a flight of steps in the rear. - -Unlocking the door at the head of the steps, the two detectives stepped -out into the carpeted hall and paused for a moment to listen. - -No sound greeted their ears. The house was as dark and silent as a grave. -Even the light in the vestibule had been extinguished. - -“Where next?” whispered Bendlow. - -“The first floor, then upstairs,” breathed Peret in his ear. - -Guided by frequent flashes from Peret’s flashlight, the two detectives -explored the parlor, dining-room and kitchen, and found them empty, cold -and silent. When they returned to the hall, Peret leaned over and put his -lips to his companion’s ear. - -“Wait at the bottom of the front stairs and watch,” was his whispered -order. “I’m going up. Warn me if any one enters the house, and if you -hear me cry out, turn on the lights and come to my help as rapidly as you -can. The Whispering Thing strikes quickly, and, having struck, moves on. -_Comprendez-vous?_” - -“Yep,” croaked Bendlow, and took up his stand at the place designated. - -Flashing his light around the hall once more, so as not to lose his sense -of direction, Peret began his slow and cautious ascent to the second -floor. Placing his feet carefully on that part of the steps nearest to -the wall so they would not creak, he worked his way up to the top of the -steps. There he paused to listen. - -No one knew better than he how fatal it would prove to be caught prowling -around the house of a man as desperate as the Wolf was reputed to be, -in the dead of night. There was not only the man himself to be feared; -there was the Whispering Thing, for if Dalfonzo was, as he suspected, -implicated in the murders he was investigating, it was certain that the -invisible assassin, be it man, beast or devil was in league with the -renegade Italian. - -Yet a search of the man’s house during his absence, or at least without -his knowledge, seemed necessary, since Peret not only had no evidence -against the Count, but had as yet to learn the exact nature of the Thing; -and it would be useless to make an arrest until he could fasten the -crimes on their perpetrator. - -Having assured himself that no one was stirring, therefore, Peret began -to explore the second floor. The house was a small one, and it did not -take him long to go through the four rooms that comprised the second -floor, especially as two of them were unfurnished. The other two rooms, -which contained only the necessary articles of bedroom furniture, bore -signs of recent occupation, but Peret was unable to find in them anything -of an incriminating or even of an enlightening character. - -Rendered moody by his failure to find the evidence he sought, the -Frenchman returned to the hall and was about to retrace his steps to -the first floor when he felt a pressure on his arm and heard Bendlow’s -hoarse, low-pitched warning in his ear. - -“Something’s in the vestibule.” - -Peret’s muscles grew tense. - -“Somebody coming in?” he asked quickly. - -“Nope,” came the reply. “It’s something in the vestibule between the two -doors. It musta been there all the time we’ve been here, as the front -door hasn’t been opened since I’ve been on guard.” - -“How do you know something’s there?” whispered Peret. - -“Heard it moving around, and when I put my ear to the keyhole I heard it -breathing.” was Bendlow’s startling reply. - -Peret’s jaws closed with a snap, and his grasp on his automatic tightened. - -“_Eh, bien_,” he hissed. “Follow me down stairs. Keep hold of my coat -so we won’t get separated. If anything approaches you from the rear, -shoot first and ask questions afterwards. It begins to look as if we had -tracked the Whispering Thing to its lair. _En avant!_” - -Cautiously and noiselessly, the two men made their way down the dark -steps to the first floor. Followed closely by Bendlow, who had an -automatic in his hand, Peret tip-toed across the hall and applied his ear -to the keyhole in the front door. He heard a slight movement on the other -side of the door, and his spine stiffened. - -Peret waited, with his ear glued to the keyhole. He could plainly hear -something moving around restlessly in the vestibule, but, for the moment, -he could not determine what it was. Suddenly, however, he heard a _thump_ -on the door and a scratching sound on the floor. This was followed by a -loud whining yawn. - -Peret caught Bendlow by the arm and drew him away from the door. - -“It’s a dog,” he whispered disgustedly. “Dalfonzo doubtless placed him -there to guard the entrance during his absence. Lucky for us we entered -by way of the cellar, eh?” - -“I thought it might be a dog when I first hear it,” muttered Bendlow; -“but after what you said about the Whispering Thing I thought I better -not investigate alone. Maybe the dog’ll convince you that the Wolf is a -tough customer. He’s a hard man to catch napping. Going back upstairs?” - -“No. I am through. There is no one in the house, and I can find no trace -of the Whispering Thing. _Sapristi!_ what a blind trail it is that I -follow. Are you sure, my friend, that you have not made a mistake in -thinking that Dalfonzo—” - -“Not a chance,” was Bendlow’s emphatic reply. “This house, however, -may be a blind. The Wolf may be laying low and working through his -confederate. He may not even be in the city. However, as I am working -in the dark, I will not hazard any more guesses. But you can bet your -bottom dollar that the Wolf—” - -“_Hist!_” - -But Peret’s warning came too late. Engrossed as they were in their -whispered conversation, neither of them had heard the outer front door -open, or the whine with which the dog welcomed the man who entered the -vestibule. Peret’s alert ear had caught the sound made by a key being -turned in the lock of the inner door, and he hissed his warning just as -the door was opened to admit the man and the dog. At the same instant a -match flared in the hand of the new-comer, and the two detectives, as if -on pivots, whirled. - -“The Wolf,” croaked Bendlow hoarsely, and, with Peret following darted -down the hall. - -“Halt!” commanded the Wolf, and the dog, with an angry growl, shot -between his legs and hurled itself after the detectives. - -Reaching the door at the head of the cellar steps, Bendlow grasped the -knob and wrenched it open. A streak of flame stabbed the darkness and a -bullet _zummed_ by Peret’s ear and buried itself in the wall. - -“Get him, Sultan,” cried the Wolf, and fired another shot. - -Sultan tore down the dark hall, his lower jaw hung low in readiness, -but when he reached the end of the hall he found the two prowlers had -disappeared and the cellar door was closed. - - -_CHAPTER VI._ - -THE WHISPERING THING. - -If Sultan was doomed to disappointment, so, too, were Peret and his husky -companion, for they were not to make their escape as easily as they had -at first believed they would. As they climbed from the basement window a -dark form loomed up in front of them and a harsh voice commanded: - -“Hands up!” - -At the same instant the cold muzzle of a revolver came in violent contact -with the Frenchman’s nose. - -“_Diable!_” swore Peret softly, and, realizing that he was at the other’s -mercy, elevated his hands with alacrity and, with a backward swing of his -foot, kicked Bendlow on the shin. - -Bendlow, however, needed no such urging. At the first spoken word, he had -raised his automatic and taken deadly aim at the dark form in front of -Peret. Something in the speaker’s voice, however, made him hesitate to -shoot. - -“Climb out of there, you!” ordered the voice harshly. “No funny business -if you’re fond of life. C’mon out.” - -“Dick Cromwell!” spoke up Bendlow suddenly. “Drop your gat. It’s Bendlow -and Peret.” - -“Well, for the luva Mike!” exclaimed the central bureau detective, and -lowered his revolver. Then, to someone behind him. “It’s the Terrible -Frog, Sarge.” - -With a sigh of relief that was not unlike a snort, Peret scrambled out of -the basement, and, without loss of time, tersely explained the situation -to the three city detectives who crowded around him and his companion. -His explanation, however, did not altogether satisfy Sergeant O’Brien, -who was in charge of the party. Although he and the other two detectives -had been set to watch the house at the Frenchman’s suggestion, he had not -been informed of this and had no knowledge of Peret’s connection with -the cause, and further, while the two private detectives were both well -and favorably known to him, he had been ordered to arrest any one who -attempted to leave the house, and orders were orders. - -The only thing he could do, therefore, was to hold the two men until he -could telephone for instructions. Having explained this to Peret, he -went to the patrol box in the next block to get in communication with -headquarters, while the others retired to a safe distance from the house -to await his return. When he rejoined them, a few minutes later, the two -prisoners, after being subjected to much good-natured badinage, were -released. - -At the corner, where he found the taxi still waiting for him, Peret gave -Bendlow his orders for the night, then climbed in the cab and left his -lieutenant to shift for himself. His only desire now was to get home and -crawl into bed. The past hour’s work had disgusted and depressed him. The -only thing he had accomplished had been to put Dalfonzo on his guard, and -that was the last thing in the world he desired to do. Nevertheless, he -felt that he had the case pretty well in hand and that within the next -twenty-four hours he would be able to act decisively. And in this he -found consolation. - -Reaching his apartment house, he descended to the sidewalk, paid and -dismissed the chauffeur without doing him bodily harm—which, considering -the size of the fare, was little less than remarkable—and even wished the -bandit good-night. - -Peret entered the apartment house with a sprightly step. Had he been -attending his own funeral he would have done no less. His vast supply of -nervous energy had to have some outlet, and even in moments of depression -he walked as if he had springs in his heels. - -It was long after midnight, and the front hall was deserted. Rather than -awaken the elevator boy, who was dozing in his cage, Peret mounted the -stairs to the second floor. At the front end of the dimly-lighted hall, -he came to a stop and tried the door of his sitting-room. As he expected, -he found it locked. - -Inserting the key in the lock, he opened the door and entered the dark -room. As he replaced the key in his pocket with one hand, he pushed the -door shut with the other. - -He heard the spring of the night-latch close with a loud _click_. He was -about to reach out his hand to find the push-button that operated the -electric lights, when, suddenly, his head flew back with a snap and his -body became tense. - -The silence in the room was suddenly broken by a loud though inarticulate -_whisper_—a loud, jerky, sibilant sound, that departed as abruptly as it -had come. - -The blood in the Frenchman’s veins congealed. He could see nothing. The -darkness was so intense that he could almost feel it press against his -eye-balls. - -Moistening his lips, he waited, with every sense alert, half believing -that his ears had deceived him. But no. Almost immediately the silence -was once more broken by a blood-curdling _hiss_, and, at the same instant -_Peret felt an ice-cold breath on his cheek_. - -He shuddered, too paralyzed with fear to move. The hiss, or whisper, -seemed to come from in front of him, and in his mind’s eye he could see -the invisible Thing gathering itself for attack. He shuddered again as It -moved around in back of him and, after chilling his fevered cheek with -its icy breath, whispered in his ear. - -There was nothing human about the whisper: it had an unnatural and -ominous sound, and the breath of the unseen Thing, which now fanned his -face, was as cold and clammy as the respirations of an animated corpse. - -Peret was undoubtedly a brave man. He had the heart of a lion and the -strength of many men twice his size. But for once in his life he knew -fear—real fear—a terrible, overpowering apprehension of impending danger. - -The tragic happenings in the vicinity of Berjet’s house were still so -fresh in his mind that even his lively imagination could scarcely have -lent color to the deadly peril in which he knew he stood. In a flash -he recalled everything that Deweese had said about the whispers and -the breathing that had preceded the attack of the monstrous Thing, and -he remembered the death struggles of the scientist and Dr. Sprague, -and their horribly distorted features as they lay stretched out on the -pavement at his feet. - -Again he heard the agonized scream of the physician and saw his bulging -eyes as he battled for his life with the invisible monster. - -He wanted to move, to scream, to strike out, to do anything but remain -inactive, but, for the moment, he was helpless, for his soul was gripped -by the icy fingers of terror. The hair of his head bristled and beads of -cold perspiration burst from his brow. - -That he stood in the presence of the Whispering Thing—the whispering and -respiring supernatural horror that had, but a few short hours before, -crushed the life out of the two men whose death he had sworn to avenge—he -could not, and did not, for a moment doubt. - - -_This story will be concluded in the next issue of WEIRD TALES. Tell your -news dealer to reserve a copy for you._ - - - - -_The Last Thrilling Chapters of_ - -_The_ Thing _of a_ Thousand Shapes - -_A Weird Novel_ - -By OTIS ADELBERT KLINE - - _The first half of this story appeared in the March issue of - WEIRD TALES. A copy will be mailed by the publishers for 25c._ - - HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED IN THE EARLY CHAPTERS: - - William Ansley, who tells the story, receives word that his - Uncle Jim is dead in Peoria and goes at once to his uncle’s - home. Later, while gazing upon the body in a gray casket, he - hears himself say, as if against his own reason, “_He is not - dead—only sleeping._” Subsequent events indicate that this is - true. William, watching beside the body in the lonely house at - night, is visited by a number of terrifying apparitions. At - midnight he fears that the worst is yet to come. - - THE STORY CONTINUES FROM THIS POINT - - -The storm slowly abated, and finally died down altogether, succeeded by a -dead calm. - -An hour passed without incident, to my inestimable relief. I believed -that the phenomena had passed with the storm. The thought soothed me. I -became drowsy, and was soon asleep. - -Fitful dreams disturbed my slumber. It seemed that I was walking in a -great primeval forest. The trees and vegetation about me were new and -strange. Huge ferns, some of them fifty feet in height, grew all about -in rank profusion. Under foot was a soft carpet of moss. Giant fungi, -colossal toadstools, and mushrooms of varying shades and forms were -everywhere. - -In my hand I carried a huge knotted club, and my sole article of -clothing seemed to be a tiger skin, girded about my waist and falling -half way to my knees. - -A queer-looking creature, half rhinoceros, half horse, ran across -my pathway. Following closely behind it, in hot pursuit, was a huge -reptilian monster, in outline something like a kangaroo, in size larger -than the largest elephant. Its monstrous, serpentlike head towered more -than twenty-five feet in the air as it suddenly stopped and stood erect -on its hind feet and tail, apparently giving up the chase. - -Then it espied me. Quick as a flash, I turned and ran, dodging hither and -thither, floundering in the soft moss, stumbling over tangled vines and -occasionally overturning a mammoth toadstool. I could hear the horrible -beast crashing through the fern brakes, only a short distance behind me. - -At last I came to a rocky hillside, and saw an opening about two feet -in diameter. Into this I plunged headlong, barely in time to escape the -frightful jaws which closed behind me with a terrifying _snap_. I lay on -the ground, panting for breath, in the far corner of the cave and just -out of reach of the ferocious monster. It appeared to be trying to widen -the opening with its huge front feet.... - -Someone had laid a hand on my arm and was gently trying to awaken me. The -cave and the horrible reptile disappeared, and I was again in my uncle’s -living-room. I turned, expecting to see Mrs. Rhodes, but saw no one. - -There was, however, a hand on my arm. It ended at the wrist in a sort of -indescribable, filmy mass. I was now fully awake, and somewhat startled, -as may be imagined. The hand withdrew and seemed to float through the air -to the other side of the room. - -I now observed in the room a sort of white vapor, from which other hands -were forming. Soon there were hands of all descriptions and sizes. They -were constantly in motion, some of them flexing the fingers as if to try -the newly-formed muscles, others beckoning, and still others clasped in -pairs, as if in greeting. - -There were large, horny masculine hands, daintily-formed womanly hands, -and active, chubby little hands like those of children. Some of them were -perfectly modeled. Others, apparently in the process of formation, looked -like floating bits of chiffon, while still others had the appearance of -flat, empty gloves. - -Two well-developed hands now emerged from the mass and moved a few feet -toward me. They waved as if attempting to attract my attention, and then -I could see they were forming letters of the deaf and dumb alphabet. They -spelled my name: - -“B-I-L-L-Y.” - -Then: - -“S-A-V-E M-E B-I-L-L-Y.” - -I managed to ask, “Who are you?” - -The hands spelled: - -“I A-M—” - -Then they were withdrawn, with a jerk, into the group. - -I could now see a new transformation taking place. The hands were drawn -together, dissolving into a white, irregular fluted column, surmounted by -a dark, hairy-looking mass. A bearded face seemed to be forming at the -top of the column, which was now widening out considerably, taking on the -semblance of a human form. In a moment a white-robed figure stood there, -the eyes turned upward and inward as if in fear and supplication, the -arms extended toward me. - -The apparition began slowly to advance in my direction. It seemed to -glide along as if suspended in the air. There was no movement of walking, -just a slow, floating motion. - -The phantom, when at the other end of the room, had seemed frightful -enough, but to see it coming toward me was unnerving—terrifying. The -nearer it approached, the more horrible it seemed, and the more firmly I -appeared rooted to the spot. - -Soon it was towering above me. The eyes rolled downward and seemed to -look through mine into my very brain. The arms were extended to encircle -me, when the instinct of self-preservation came to my rescue. - -I acted quickly, and apparently without volition. Overturning my chair -and rushing from the room, I ran out the front door and down the pathway. -I did not dare look back, but rushed blindly forth into the night. - -Suddenly there was a brilliant glare of light. Something struck me with -considerable force, and I lost consciousness. - -When I regained my senses I was lying in a bedroom, the room I had -occupied in my uncle’s house. - -A beautiful girl was bending over me, bathing my fevered forehead from -time to time with cold water. Sunlight was streaming in at the window. -Outside, a robin was singing his morning song, his farewell to the -Northland, no doubt, as the stinging snow-laden winds of winter must soon -drive him southward. - -I attempted to sit up, but sank back with a groan, as a sharp pain shot -through my right side. - -My fair attendant laid a soft hand on my brow. - -“You mustn’t do that again,” she said. “The telephone wires are down, so -father has driven to town for the doctor.” - -Memories of the night returned. The apparition—my rush down the -pathway—the blinding light—the sudden shock—and then oblivion. - -“Do you mind telling me,” I asked, “what it was that knocked me out, and -how you came so suddenly to my rescue?” - -“It was our car that knocked you out,” she replied, “and it was no more -than right that I should do what I could to make you comfortable until -the doctor arrives.” - -“Please tell me your name—won’t you?—and how it all happened.” - -“My name is Ruth Randall. My father is Albert Randall, dean of the local -college. We had motored to Indianapolis, intending to spend the week-end -with friends, when we were notified of your uncle’s death. He and my -father were bosom friends, and together conducted many experiments in -psychical research. Naturally we hurried home at once, in order to attend -the funeral. - -“We expected to make Peoria by midnight, but the storm came, and the -roads soon were almost impassable. It was only by putting on chains and -running at low speed most of the time that we were able to make any -progress. Just as we were passing this house, you rushed in front of the -car. - -“Father says it is fortunate that we were compelled to run at low speed, -otherwise you would have been instantly killed. We brought you to the -door and aroused the housekeeper, who helped us get you to your room. -Father tried to phone for a doctor, but it was no use, as the lines were -torn down by the storm, so he drove to town for one. I think that is he -coming now. I hear a motor in the driveway.” - -A few moments later two men entered—Professor Randall, tall, thin, -slightly stooped, and pale of face, and Doctor Rush, of medium height and -rather portly. The doctor wore glasses with very thick lenses, through -which he seemed almost to glare at me. He lost no time in taking my pulse -and temperature, pushing the pocket thermometer into my mouth with one -hand, and seizing my wrist with the other. - -He removed the thermometer from my mouth, then, holding it up to the -light and squinting for a moment said “_Humph_,” and proceeded to paw me -over in search of broken bones. When he started manhandling my right -side I winced considerably. He presently located a couple of fractured -ribs. - -After a painful half-hour, during which the injured ribs were set, he -left me with instructions to keep as still as possible, and let nature do -the rest. - -The professor lingered for a moment, and I asked him to have Doctor Rush -examine my uncle’s body for signs of decomposition, as it was now more -than three days since his death. - -Miss Randall, who had left the room during the examination, came in just -as her father was leaving, and said nice, sweet, sympathetic things, and -fluffed up my pillow for me and smoothed back my hair; and if the doctor -had taken my pulse at that moment he would have sworn my auricles and -ventricles were racing each other for the world’s championship. - -“After all,” I thought, “having one’s ribs broken is not such an -unpleasant experience.” - -Then her father entered—and my thoughts were turned into new channels. - -“Doctor Rush has made a thorough examination,” he said, “and can find -absolutely no sign of decomposition on your uncle’s body. He frankly -admits that he is puzzled by this condition, and that it is a case -entirely outside his previous experience. He states that, from the -condition of the corpse, he would have been led to believe that death -took place only a few hours ago.” - -“If you can spare the time,” I said, “and if it is not asking too much, I -should like to have you spend the day with me. I have much to tell you, -and many strange things have happened on which I sorely need your advice -and assistance. Joe Severs can take the doctor home.” - -The professor kindly consented to stay, and his daughter went downstairs -to locate Joe and his flivver. - -“The things of which I am about to tell you,” I began, “may seem like -the visions of an opium eater, or the hallucinations of a deranged mind. -In fact, they have even made me doubt by own sanity. However, I must -tell someone, and as you are an old and valued friend of my uncle’s, I -feel that whether or not you accept my story as a verity you will be a -sympathetic listener, and can offer some explanation—if, indeed, it be -possible to explain such singular happenings.” - -I then related in detail everything that had happened since my arrival -at the farm, up to the moment when I rushed headlong in front of his -automobile. - -He listened attentively, but whether he believed my narrative or not I -could not tell. When I had finished, he asked many questions about the -various phenomena I had witnessed, and seemed particularly interested -when I told him about the disappearance of the bat. He asked me where the -book, which had been used to dispatch the creature, might be found, and -immediately went downstairs, bringing it up a moment later. - -A dry, white smudge was still faintly discernible on the cover. This he -examined carefully with a pocket microscope, then said: - -“I will have to put this substance under a compound microscope, and also -test it chemically in my laboratory. It may be the means of explaining -all of the phenomena you have witnessed. I will drive home this afternoon -and make a thorough examination of this sample.” - -“I should be very glad indeed,” I replied, “to have even some slight -explanation of these mysteries.” - -“You are undoubtedly aware,” he said, “that there are no vampires or -similar bats indigenous to this part of the world. The only true vampire -bat is found in South America, although there is a type of frugivorous -bat slightly resembling it, which inhabits the southeast coast of Asia -and the Maylayan Archipelago, and is sometimes erroneously called a -vampire or spectre bat. You have described in detail a creature greatly -resembling the true vampire bat, but it is probable that what you saw -was no bat at all. What it really was, I hesitate to say until I have -examined the substance on this book cover.” - -“Well, whatever it was, I am positive it was no real vampire, as Glitch -says,” I replied. - -“I don’t like this vampire story that is being circulated by Glitch,” -said the professor. “It may lead to trouble. It is most surprising to -find such crude superstition prevailing in these modern times.” - -At this juncture there was a rap at my door. I called, “come in,” and Joe -Severs entered. - -“Well, Joe, did you get the doctor home without shaking any of his teeth -loose?” I asked. - -“Yes, sir, I got him home all right, but that ain’t what I come to tell -you about,” he replied. “There’s a heap of trouble brewin’ around these -parts an’ I thought I better let you know. Somebody’s sick in nearly -every family in the neighborhood, an’ they’re sayin’ Mr. Braddock is the -cause of it. They’re holdin’ an indignation meetin’ up to the school -house now.” - -“This is indeed serious,” said the professor. “Do you know what they -propose to do about it?” - -“Can’t say as to that, but they’re sure some riled up about it,” replied -Joe. - -Mrs. Rhodes came in with my luncheon, and announced to the professor that -Miss Ruth awaited him in the dining-room below, whereupon he begged to -be excused. Joe went out murmuring something about having to feed the -horses, and I was left alone to enjoy a very tasty meal. - - -_CHAPTER IV._ - -A half hour later the housekeeper came in to remove the dishes, and Miss -Randall brought me a huge bouquet of autumn daisies. - -“Father has driven to town to analyze a sample of something or other that -he has found,” she said, “and in the meantime I will do my best to make -the hours pass pleasantly for you. What do you want me to do? Shall I -read to you?” - -“By all means,” I replied. “Read, or talk, or do anything you like. I -assure you I am not hard to amuse.” - -“I think I shall read,” she decided. “What do you prefer? Fiction, -history, mythology, philosophy? Or perhaps,” she added, “you prefer -poetry.” - -“I will leave the selection entirely to you,” I said. “Read what -interests you, and I will be interested.” - -“Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered, and went down to my uncle’s -library. - -She returned a few moments later with several volumes. From a book of -Scott’s poems, she chose “Rokeby” and soon we were conveyed, as if by -a Magic carpet, to medieval Yorkshire with its moated castles, dense -forests, sparkling streams, jutting crags and enchanted dells. - -She had finished the poem, and we were chatting gaily, when Mrs. Rhodes -entered. - -“A small boy brought this note for you, sir,” she said, handing me a -sealed envelope. - -I tore it open carelessly, then read: - - “_Mr. William Ansley. - Dear Sir_: - - “_Owing to the fact that at least one member of nearly every - family in this community has been smitten with a peculiar - malady, in some instances fatal, since the death of James - Braddock, and in view of the undeniable evidence that the - corpse of the aforesaid has become a vampire, proven by - certain things which you, in company with two respected and - veracious neighbors witnessed, an indignation meeting was held - today, attended by more than one hundred residents, for the - purpose of discussing ways and means of combating this terrible - menace to the community._ - - “_Tradition tells us that there are two effective ways for - disposing of a vampire. One is by burning the corpse of the - offender, the other is by burial with a stake driven through - the heart. We have decided on the latter as the more simple and - easily carried out._ - - “_You are therefore directed to convey the corpse to the - pine grove which is situated a half mile back from the road - on your uncle’s farm, where you will find a grave ready dug, - and six men who will see that the body is properly interred. - You have until eight o’clock this evening to carry out these - instructions._ - - “_To refuse to do as directed will avail you nothing._ IF YOU - DO NOT BRING THE BODY WE WILL COME AND GET IT. _If you offer - resistance, you do so at your peril, as we are armed, and we - mean business._ - - “_THE COMMITTEE._ - - _P. S. No use to try to telephone or send a messenger for help. - Your wires are out of commission and the house is surrounded by - armed sentinels._” - -As the professor had predicted, this was indeed a most serious turn of -events. I turned to Mrs. Rhodes. - -“Where is the bearer of this letter?” I asked. “Did he wait for a reply?” - -“It was given to me by a small boy,” she answered. “He said that if you -wished to reply, to put your letter in the mail-box, and it would be -given to the right party. There was a closed automobile waiting for him -in front of the house, and he ran back to it and was driven away at high -speed.” - -“I must dress and go downstairs at once,” I said. - -“You must do no such thing,” replied Miss Randall. “The doctor’s orders -are that you must keep perfectly quiet until your ribs heal.” - -I heard a swift footfall on the stairs, and a moment later the professor -entered the room, very much excited. - -“Two farmers,” he said, “poked shotguns in my face and searched me on the -public highway. That’s what just happened to me!” - -“What do you suppose they were after?” I asked. - -“They did not make themselves clear on that point, and they didn’t take -anything, so I am at a loss to explain their conduct. They merely stopped -me, felt through my pockets and searched the car; then told me to drive -on.” - -“Perhaps this will throw some light on their motive,” I said, handing him -the letter. - -As he read it a look of surprise came over his face. - -“Ah! It is quite plain, now. These were the armed guards mentioned in the -postscript. It seems incredible that such superstition should prevail -in this enlightened age; however, the evidence is quite too plain to be -questioned. What is to be done?” - -“Frankly, I don’t know,” I replied. “We are evidently so well watched -that it would be impossible for anyone to go for help. Of course, they -cannot harm my deceased uncle by driving a stake through the corpse, -but to permit these barbarians to carry out their purpose would be to -desecrate the memory of the best friend I ever had.” - -“What are they going to do?” asked Miss Randall in alarm. I handed her -the letter. She read it hastily, then ran downstairs to see if the -telephone was working. - -“What would you say if I were to tell you there is a strong possibility -that your uncle’s body is _not_ a corpse; or, in other words, that he is -not _really dead_?” asked the professor. - -“I would say that if there is the slightest possibility of that, they -will make a corpse of me before they stage this vampire funeral,” I -replied, starting to dress. - -“I am with you in that,” said he, extending his hand, “and now let us -examine the evidence.” - -“By all means,” I answered. - -“According to the belief of most modern psychologists,” he began, -“every human being is endowed with two minds. One is usually termed the -objective, or conscious mind, the other the subjective, or subconscious -mind. Some call it the subliminal consciousness. The former controls our -waking hours, the latter is dominant when we are asleep. - -“You are, no doubt, familiar with the functions and powers of the -objective mind, so we will not discuss them. The powers of the subjective -mind, which are not generally known or recognized, are what chiefly -concern us in this instance. - -“My belief that your uncle is not really dead started when I first heard -your story. It was later substantiated by two significant facts. I will -take up the various points in their logical order, and you may judge for -yourself as to whether or not my hypothesis is fully justified. - -“First, upon seeing him lying in the casket, you involuntarily exclaimed, -‘He is not dead—only sleeping.’ This apparently absurd statement, -unsubstantiated by objective evidence, was undoubtedly prompted by -your subjective mind. One of the best known powers of the subjective -mind is that of telepathy, the communication of thoughts or ideas from -mind to mind, without the employment of physical means. This message -was apparently impressed so strongly on your subjective mind that you -spoke it aloud, automatically, almost without the subjective knowledge -that you were talking. Assuming that it was a telepathic message, it -must necessarily have been projected by _some other mind_. May we not, -therefore, reasonably suppose that the message came from the subjective -mind of your uncle? - -“Then the second message. Was it not plainly from someone who knew you -intimately, someone in dire need? You will recall that, just before you -fell asleep, you seemed to hear the words, ‘_Billy! Save me, Billy._’ - -“And now, as to the phenomena: I must confess that I was somewhat in -doubt, at first, regarding these. Not that I questioned your veracity -in the least, for no man rushes blindly in front of a moving automobile -without sufficient cause, but the sights which you witnessed were so -striking and unusual that I felt sure they must have been hallucinations. -On second thought, however, I decided it would be quite out of the -ordinary for you and two other men to have the same hallucinations. It -was, therefore, apparent that you had witnessed genuine materialization -phenomena. - -“The key to the whole situation, however, lay in the seemingly -insignificant smudge on the book cover. Two years ago your uncle advanced -a theory that materialization phenomena were produced by a substance -which he termed ‘psychoplasm.’ After listening to his argument, I was -convinced that he was right. Since then, we have attended numerous -materialization seances, with the object of securing a sample of this -elusive material for examination. It always disappears instantly when -a bright light is flashed upon it, or when the medium is startled or -alarmed, and our efforts in this direction have always been fruitless. - -“Needless to say, when you described the deposit left on the book by -the phantasmic bat, I was intensely interested. Microscopic examination -and analysis show that this substance is something quite different from -anything I have ever encountered. While it is undoubtedly organic, it is -nevertheless remarkably different, in structure and composition, from -anything heretofore classified, either by biologists or chemists. In -short, I am convinced it is that substance which has eluded us for so -long, namely, psychoplasm. - -“No doubt you will wonder what bearing this has on the question under -discussion—that is, whether or not your uncle still lives. As far as we -are able to learn, psychoplasm is produced only by, or through, _living_ -persons, and in nearly every instance it occurs only when the person -acting as medium is in a state of catalepsy, or suspended animation. As -most of the manifestations took place in the room where your uncle’s body -lay, and as he is the only one in the house likely to be in that state, I -assume that your uncle’s soul still inhabits his body. - -“The final point, and by no means the least important, is that in spite -of the time which has elapsed since his alleged death—in spite of that -fact that it lay in a warm room without refrigeration or embalming -fluid—your uncle’s body shows absolutely no sign of decomposition.” - -“But how is it possible,” I asked, “for a person in a cataleptic state to -simulate death so completely as to deceive the most competent physicians?” - -“How such a thing is possible, I cannot explain, any more than I can tell -you how psychoplasm is generated. The wonderful powers of the subjective -entity are truly amazing. We can only deal with the facts as we find -them. Statistics show that no less than one case a week of suspended -animation is discovered in the United States. There are, no doubt, -hundreds of other cases which are never brought to light. As a usual -thing, nowadays, the doctor no sooner pronounces the patient dead than -the undertaker is summoned. Needless to say, when the arteries have been -drained and the embalming fluid injected, there is absolutely no chance -of the patient coming to life.” - -Together, we walked downstairs and entered the room where Uncle Jim -lay. We looked carefully, minutely, for some sign of life, but none was -apparent. - -“It is useless,” said the professor, “to employ physical means at this -time. However, I have an experiment to propose, which, if successful, may -prove my theory. As I stated previously, you are, no doubt, subjectively -in mental _enrapport_ with your uncle. Your subjective mind constantly -communicates with his, but you lack the power to elevate the messages to -your objective consciousness. My daughter has cultivated to some extent -the power of automatic writing. You can, no doubt, establish rapport with -her by touch. I will put the questions.” - -Miss Randall was called, and upon our explaining to her that we wished to -conduct an experiment in automatic writing, she readily consented. Her -father seated her at the library table, with pencil and paper near her -right hand. He then held a small hand mirror before her, slightly above -the level of her eyes, on which she fixed her gaze. - -When she had looked steadily at the mirror for a short time he made a -few hypnotic passes with his hands, whereupon she closed her eyes and -apparently fell into a light sleep. Then, placing the pencil in her -right hand, he told me to be seated beside her, and place my right hand -over her left. We sat thus for perhaps ten minutes, when she began to -write, very slowly at first, then gradually increasing in speed until the -pencil fairly flew over the paper. When the bottom of the sheet had been -reached, a new one was supplied, and this was half covered with writing -before she stopped. - -The professor and I examined the resulting manuscript. Something about -it seemed strangely familiar to me. I remembered seeing those words in a -book I had picked up in that same room. On making a comparison, we found -that she had written, word for word, the introduction to my uncle’s book, -“The Reality of Materialization Phenomena.” - -“We will now ask some questions,” said the professor. - -He took a pencil and paper and made a record of his questions the answers -to which were written by his daughter. I have copied them verbatim, and -present them below. - -_Q_: “Who are you that writes?” - -_A_: “Ruth.” - -_Q_: “By whose direction do you write?” - -_A_: “Billy.” - -_Q_: “Who directs Billy to direct you to write as you do?” - -_A_: “Uncle Jim.” - -_Q_: “How are we to know that it is Uncle Jim?” - -_A_: “Uncle Jim will give proof.” - -_Q_: “If Uncle Jim will tell us something which he knows and we do not -know, but which we can find out, he will have furnished sufficient proof. -What can Uncle Jim tell us?” - -_A_: “Remove third book from left top shelf of book case. Shake book and -pressed maple leaf will fall out.” - -(The professor removed and shook it as directed, and a pressed maple leaf -fell to the floor.) - -_Q_: “What further proof can Uncle Jim give?” - -_A_: “Get key from small urn on mantle. Open desk in corner and take -out small ledger. Turn to page sixty and find account of Peoria Grain -Company. Account balanced October first by check for one thousand two -hundred forty-eight dollars and sixty-three cents.” - -(Again the professor did as directed, and again the written statement was -corroborated.) - -_Q_: “The proof is ample and convincing. Will Uncle Jim tell us where he -is at the present time?” - -_A_: “Here in the room.” - -_Q_: “What means shall we use to awaken him?” - -_A_: “Uncle Jim is recuperating. Does not wish to be awakened.” - -_Q_: “But we want Uncle Jim to waken some time. What shall we do?” - -_A_: “Let Uncle Jim alone, and he will waken naturally when the time -comes.” - -The professor propounded several more queries, to which there were no -answers, so we discontinued the sitting. Miss Randall was awakened by -suggestion. - -“We now have conclusive proof that your uncle is alive, and in a -cataleptic state,” said the professor. - -“Is there no way to arouse him?” I asked. - -“The best thing to do is to let him waken himself, as he directed us -to do in the telepathic message. He is, as he says, recuperating from -his illness and should not be disturbed. You are, perhaps, unaware that -catalepsy, although believed by many people to be a disease, is really -no disease at all. While it is known as a symptom of certain nervous -disorders, it may accompany any form of sickness, or may even be caused -by a mental or physical shock of some sort. - -“It can also be induced in hypnotization by suggestion. Do not think -of it as a form of sickness, but, rather, as a very deep sleep, which -permits the patient much needed rest for an overburdened body and mind; -for it is a well-known fact that when catalepsy intervenes in any form of -sickness, death is usually cheated.” - -“Would it be dangerous to my uncle’s health if we were to remove him to -his bedroom?” I asked. “It seems to me that a coffin is rather a gruesome -thing for him to convalesce in.” - -“Agreed,” said the professor, “and I can see no particular harm in moving -him, provided he is handled very gently. Ruth, will you please have Mrs. -Rhodes make the room ready? Mr. Ansley and I will then carry his uncle -upstairs.” - -While Miss Randall was doing her father’s bidding we tried to contrive -a way to outwit the superstitious farmers, who would arrive in a few -minutes if they made good their threat. - -My eye fell upon two large oak logs, which young Severs had brought for -the fireplace, and I said: - -“Why not weight the casket with these logs and screw the lid down? No -doubt they will carry it out without opening it, and when they are well -on their way we can place my uncle in your car and be out of reach before -they discover the substitution.” - -“A capital idea,” said the professor. “We will wrap the logs well so they -will not rattle, and, as the casket is an especially heavy one, they will -be none the wiser until it is opened at the grave.” - -I ran upstairs and tore two heavy comforters from my bed, and with these -we soon had the logs well padded. Miss Randall called that the room was -ready. The professor and I carefully lifted my uncle from the casket and -were about to take him from the room, when a gruff voice commanded: - -“Schtop!” - -A dozen masked men, armed indiscriminately with shotguns, rifles and -revolvers, were standing in the hall. We could hear the stamping of many -more on the porch. I recognized the voice and figure of the leader as -those of Glitch. - -“Back in der coffin,” he said, pointing a double-barreled shotgun at me. -“Poot him back, or I blow your tam head off.” - -Then several other men came in and menaced us with their weapons. - - -CHAPTER V. - -I dropped my uncle’s feet and rushed furiously at Glitch, but was quickly -seized and overpowered by two stalwart farmers. - -The professor, however, was more calm. He laid my uncle gently on the -floor and faced the men. - -“Gentlemen,” he said, “may I ask the reason for this sudden and -unwarranted intrusion in a peaceful home?” - -“Ve are going to bury dot vampire corpse mit a stake t’rough its heart. -Dot’s vot,” replied Glitch. - -“What would you do if I were to tell you that this man is not dead, but -alive?” asked the professor. - -“Alive or dead, he’s gonna be buried tonight,” said a burly ruffian, -stepping up to my uncle. “One o’ you guys help me get this in the coffin.” - -A tall, lean farmer stepped up and leaned his gun against the casket. -Then the two of them roughly lifted my uncle into it and screwed down the -lid. - -In the meantime, another had discovered the wrapped logs, to which he -called the attention of his companions. - -“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he said. “Thought yuh was pretty slick, didn’t -yuh? Thought yuh could fool us with a coupla logs? Just for that we’ll -take yuh along to the party so yuh don’t try no more fancy capers.” - -“Gentlemen,” said the professor, “do you realize that you will be -committing a murder if you bury this man’s body?” - -“Murder, hell!” exclaimed one. “He killed my boy.” - -“He sucked my daughter’s blood,” cried another. - -“An’ my brother is lyin’ in his death bed on account of him,” shouted a -third. - -“Come on, let’s go,” said the burly ruffian. “Some o’ you boys grab hold -o’ them handles, an’ we’ll change shifts goin’ out.” - -“Yah. Ve vill proceed,” said Glitch. “Vorwarts!” - -“If you will permit me, I will go and reassure my daughter before -accompanying you,” said the professor. “She is very nervous and may be -prostrated with fear if I do not calm her.” - -“Go ahead and be quick about it,” said the ruffian. “Don’t try no funny -stunts, though, or we’ll use the stake on you, too.” - -The professor hurried upstairs and, on his return a moment later, the -funeral cortege proceeded. - -It was pitch dark outside, and therefore necessary for some of the men to -carry lanterns. One of these led the way. Immediately after him walked -six men bearing the casket, behind which the professor and I walked with -an armed guard on either side of us. - -Following, were the remainder of the men, some twenty-five all told. -There was no talking, except at intervals when the pall-bearers were -relieved by others. This occurred a number of times, as the burden was -heavy and the way none too smooth. - -I walked as one in a trance. It seemed that my feet moved automatically, -as if directed by a power outside myself. Sometimes I thought it all -a horrible nightmare from which I should presently awaken. Then the -realization of the terrible truth would come to me, engendering a grief -that seemed unbearable. - -I mentally reviewed the many kindnesses of my uncle. I thought of his -generous self-sacrifice, that I might be educated to cope with the world; -and now that the time had come when I should be of service to him—when -his very life was to be taken—I was failing him, failing miserably. - -I cudgeled my numb brain for some way of outwitting the superstitious -farmers. Once I thought of wresting the gun from my guard and fighting -the mob alone, but I knew this would be useless. I would merely delay, -not defeat, the grisly plans of these men, and would be almost sure to -lose my own life in the attempt. I was faint and weak, and my broken ribs -pained incessantly. - -All too soon, we arrived at the pine grove, and moved toward a point from -which the rays of a lantern glimmered faintly through the trees. A few -moments more, and we were beside a shallow grave at which the six grim -sextons, masked like their companions, waited. - -The casket was placed in the grave and the lid removed. Then a long, -stout stake, sharply pointed with iron, was brought forward, and two men -with heavy sledges moved, one to each side of the grave. - -Here a discussion arose as to whether it would be better to drive the -stake through the body and then replace the lid, or to put the lid on -first and then drive the stake through the entire coffin. The latter plan -was finally decided upon, and the lid replaced, when we were all startled -by a terrible screaming coming from a thicket, perhaps a hundred yards -distant. It was the voice of a woman in mortal terror. - -“_Help!_ Save me—save me!” she cried. “Oh, my God, will nobody save me?” - -In a moment, all was confusion. Stake and mauls were dropped, and -everyone rushed toward the thicket. The cries redoubled as we approached. -Presently we saw a woman running through the underbrush, and after a -chase of several minutes, overtook her. My heart leaped to my throat as I -recognized Ruth Randall. - -She was crouching low, as if in deadly fear of something which she seemed -to be trying to push away from her—something invisible, imperceptible, -to us. Her beautiful hair hung below her waist, and her clothing was -bedraggled and torn. - -I was first to reach her side. - -“Ruth! What is the matter?” - -“Oh, that huge bat—that terrible bat with the fiery eyes! Drive him away -from me! Don’t let him get me! Please! _Please!_” - -I tried to soothe her in my arms. She looked up, her eyes distended with -terror. - -“There he is—right behind you! Oh, don’t let him get me! Please don’t let -him get me!” - -I looked back, but could see nothing resembling a bat. The armed men -stood around us in a circle. - -“There is no bat behind me,” I said. “You are overwrought. Don’t be -frightened.” - -“But there _is_ a bat. I can _see_ him. He is flying around us in a -circle now. Don’t you see him flying there?” and she described an arc -with her hand. “You men have guns. Shoot him. Drive him away.” - -Glitch spoke. “It’s der vampire again. Ve’ll put a schtop to dis business -right now. Come on, men.” - -We started back to the grove. I was nonplussed—mystified. Perhaps there -was such a thing as a vampire, after all. But no, that could not be. She -was only the victim of overwrought nerves. - -Once more we stood beside the grave. Two men were screwing down the -coffin lid. The three with the stake and sledges stood ready. I saw that -Miss Randall was trembling with the cold, for she had come out without a -wrap, and, removing my coat, I placed it around her. - -The professor stood at the foot of the grave, looking down calmly at the -men. He appeared almost unconcerned. - -The stake was placed on the spot calculated to be directly above the left -breast of my uncle, and the man nearest me raised his sledge to strike. - -I leaped toward him. - -“Don’t strike! For God’s sake, don’t strike!” I cried, seizing his arm. - -Someone hit me on the back of the head, and strong arms dragged me back. -My senses reeled, as I saw first one heavy sledge descend, then another. -The stake crashed through the coffin and deep into the ground beneath, -driven by the relentless blows. - -Suddenly, apparently from the bottom of the grave, came a muffled, -wailing cry, increasing to a horrible, blood-curdling shriek. - -The mob stood for a moment as if paralyzed, then, to a man, fled -precipitately, stopping for neither weapons nor tools. I found temporary -relief in unconsciousness.... - -My senses returned to me gradually. I was walking, or, rather, reeling, -as one intoxicated, between Miss Randall and her father, who were helping -me toward the house. The professor was carrying a lantern which one of -the men had dropped, and fantastic, swaying, bobbing shadows stretched -wherever its rays penetrated. - -After what seemed an age of painful travel we reached the house, and Miss -Randall helped me into the front room, the professor following. Sam and -Joe Severs were there, and someone reclined in the large morris chair -facing the fire. Mrs. Rhodes came bustling in with a steaming tea wagon. - -I moved toward the fire, for I was chilled through. As I did so, I -glanced toward the occupant of the morris chair, then gave a startled -cry. - -_The man in the chair was Uncle Jim!_ - -“Hello, Billy,” he said. “How are you, my boy?” - -For a moment I was speechless. “Uncle Jim!” I managed to stammer. “Is it -really you, or am I dreaming again?” - -Ruth squeezed my arm reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It is really your -uncle.” - -I knelt by the chair and felt Uncle Jim’s arm about my shoulders. “Yes, -it is really I, Billy. A bit weak and shaken, perhaps, but I’ll soon be -as sound as a new dollar.” - -“But how—when—how did you get out of that horrible grave?” - -“First, I will ask Miss Ruth if she will be so kind as to preside over -the tea wagon. Then I believe my friend Randall can recount the events of -the evening much more clearly and satisfactorily than I.” - -“Being, perhaps, more familiar with the evening’s deep-laid plot than -some of those present, I accept the nomination,” replied the professor, -smiling, “although, in doing so, I do not want to detract one iota from -the honor due my fellow plotters for their most efficient assistance, -without which my plan would have been a complete failure.” - -Tea was served, cigars were lighted, and the professor began: - -“In the first place, I am sure you will all be interested in knowing the -cause of the epidemic on account of which some of our neighbors have -reverted to the superstition of the dark ages. It is explained by an -article in _The Peoria Times_, which I brought with me this afternoon, -but did not have time to read until a moment ago, which states that the -countryside is being swept by a new and strange malady known as ‘sleeping -sickness,’ and that physicians have not, as yet, found any efficient -means of combating the disease. - -“Now for this evening’s little drama. You will, no doubt, recall, Mr. -Ansley, that before we joined the funeral procession, I requested a -moment’s conversation with my daughter. The events which followed were -the result of that conversation. - -“In order that the plan might be carried out, it was necessary for her -first to gain the help of Joe and Sam here, and then make a quick detour -around the procession. I know that there are few men who will not rush -to the rescue of a woman in distress, and I asked her to call for help -in order to divert the mob from the grave. She thought of the bat idea -herself, and I must say it worked most excellently. - -“While everyone was gone, Joe and Sam, who had stationed themselves -nearby, came and helped me remove your uncle from the casket. As we did -so, I noticed signs of returning consciousness, brought about in some -measure, no doubt, by the rude jolting of the casket. Then the boys -carried him to the house, while I replaced the lid. You are all familiar -with what followed.” - -“But that unearthly shriek from the grave,” I said. “It sounded like the -cry of a dying man.” - -“Ventriloquism,” said the professor, “nothing more. A simple little trick -I learned in my high school days. It was I who shrieked.” - - * * * * * - -Uncle Jim and I convalesced together. - -When my ribs were knitted and his strength was restored, it was decided -that he should go to Florida for the winter, and that I should have -charge of the farm. He said that my education and training should make me -a far more capable manager than he, and that the position should be mine -as long as I desired it. - -He delayed his trip, however, until a certain girl, who had made me a -certain promise, exchanged the name of Randall for that of Ansley. Then -he left us to our happiness. - - -THE END. - - - - -_Can the Dead Return to Life? Before You Answer, Read_ - -_The Conquering Will_ - -_By_ TED OLSON - - -_Gordon Paige is dead now, and surely there can be no harm in giving to -the world this mad story, contained in the manuscript he left behind. -Many will think that the man WAS mad; many will believe that he was -attempting to perpetrate an immense and grotesque hoax. I do not know. I -do know that Gordon always impressed me as the sanest of men, and surely -he never seemed a man to father so strange and horrible a practical joke. -But it is not for me to tell you what I believe, or attempt to force upon -you my own opinion. Rather I shall offer the story as he left it, and let -you interpret it as a joke or a madman’s dream, or a remarkable document -from that mysterious border realm of which we know so little._ - -What is Soul? Who can define it? What is that intangible quality that -makes me what I am, that brands me as a creature distinct, individual, -with an entity that is my own and none other’s? - -Who can answer? I do not know. I can only tell you my story—the story of -Malcolm Rae—and ask that you give it what credence you can. - -It was two years ago that I bade Jane Cavanaugh good-by at the railway -station in our little home town of Radford. She was weeping, and clumsily -I tried to comfort her. - -“I sha’n’t be gone long, dearest,” I said. “A year isn’t long. I’ll be -back in June, when my work is done. Then—we’ll be married, and we’ll -never be separated again.” - -“I know,” she answered. “I’m foolish.” She smiled up at me bravely, an -April smile, with the tears still glistening in her brown eyes. “But—I’ve -been frightened, somehow. It seems so far, up in that cold wilderness, -and I’ve had you such a short time. I won’t be foolish again.” - -The northbound train began to move, and for the last time I caught her in -my arms and pressed my lips to hers. - -“In June, dear. I’ll be back. I promise. Don’t worry,” I said again, as I -swung upon the step of the Pullman. - -She was smiling—that brave, April smile—and I watched her until the train -carried me beyond sight of her. - - * * * * * - -Northward we went, Dan Murdock and I. Somewhere in those barren mountains -in the untrammeled Northwest of Canada, a grizzled old prospector had -unearthed a store of that precious stuff, tungsten. Murdock and I had -been sent by our government to investigate it, determine its value, its -quantity, and report. - -It was a long task that awaited us. August was already upon us. The -road inland was long and hard. It would be winter when we reached the -prospect, spring before we could hope to complete our data and return. - -Four days took us to the end of the railroad—a station tumbled in -the midst of scarce-broken prairie and timberland. There we met the -prospector, a shriveled, wiry, hairy old man, marked indelibly with the -brand that men bear who have lived much in solitude. - -From there our trail led northwest. Up waterways we pressed, across -silent, silver lakes, hemmed in to the very brim with an untouched -growth of pine and spruce; across portages, where streams thundered down -precipitous canyons while we laboriously transported canoe and duffel -through the timber, following faint paths that told plainly how rarely -they had known human foot prints. - -August passed—a series of long days filled only with the toil of paddle -and portage. September was on us, and the days grew shorter, and sharp at -either end. We were in a veritable untrodden land now. The mountains were -close upon us. The portages grew more frequent, the way more rough and -toilsome. Norton, the leathery-skinned old prospector, informed us curtly -one morning, “Four more days, and we’re there.” - -That day we abandoned the canoe, cacheing it safely in shrubbery and -underbush. For two days we pressed upward, packing across a ridge that -tested our strength to the utmost. - -The morning of the third day found us once more on water. We had reached -a deep, swift river, a stream that flowed to the north. We had crossed -the divide and were on a tributary of the Mackenzie. From a cunning cache -Norton drew forth another canoe, and we sped at ease down the stream. - -And then—came the tragedy. It was noon of the fourth day. From round the -bend in the river we heard the unmistakable roar of rapids. - -“Portage?” queried Dan of our guide. - -Norton shook his head. “Shoot ’er,” he answered curtly. - -A moment later we swung round the bend. Before us the banks drew suddenly -closer together, and the river narrowed and shot down between granite -walls. The channel was checkered with boulders, around them the tortured -waters spat and hissed, flung themselves high in unavailing anger, yelled -their rage in deafening uproar. - -Dan and I glanced questioningly. One narrow channel we could -see—perilously narrow, perilously swift. But it was too late to -reconsider. Already the waters quickened beneath us, bore us on with an -insidious smoothness that was belied by the speed with which the canyon -walls shot by. Norton sat poised at the bow, alert, ready. Murdock and I -gripped our paddles. In a moment we were in it. - -With sickening speed we shot into the turmoil. The roar rang in our ears -terrifyingly. Spray shot over and drenched us. We battled furiously, -plunging our paddles deep as Norton signaled us. The light craft seemed -to leap and bound, like a runner at the hurdles, gathering impetus at -each new thrust. - -Then—a rock seemed to leap up in our very path. Dan, kneeling -amidships, gave a cry of terror, and plunged wildly with his paddle. -The delicately-balanced boat swayed, lost for a moment its poise, slued -sideways. - -A splintering crash, and I found myself in the seething water. - -How I lived I do not know. I was a strong swimmer, but in that blind -turmoil, skill availed little. I was borne headlong. I was conscious of -boulders bludgeoning me cruelly. But suddenly the waters grew quieter. I -was swept into an eddy at the foot of the canyon. Somehow, I struck out -weakly, and, blind, breathless, and beaten, drew myself on a gravelly bar. - -How long I lay there I can only guess. Bit by bit my strength returned. I -sat up. I was on the edge of a mountain meadow, through which the stream -swept, still foaming and boisterous. The thunder of the canyon came to me -noisily. - -The sound of it called me suddenly to a realization of my position. I -strove to rise. A sickening, terrible pain shot through me, and as I -dropped back to the sand I knew that my left leg was shattered. - -It was not long before I knew the worst. Murdock and Norton were dead. I -could not doubt the truth. Dan, as I knew, could not swim; and even had -he been an expert swimmer it would be but through blind good fortune that -any man could live in that seething torrent. - -By such blind luck I had been saved. For what? Crippled, alone, with -neither food nor shelter, in a wilderness hundreds of miles from human -aid, with winter hanging imminent, what chance did I have? Saved? Yes—for -death by slow torture! - -For a moment, as the realization sent a sick despair through me, I was -tempted to plunge once more into the river, and let the waters finish -their work. But I dismissed the cowardly impulse. I would not despair. I -_would not die_! - -I took a more careful review of my surroundings. For the first time -I saw, on the bank not a hundred yards away, a cabin—a mere pen of -mud-plastered logs, but still a cabin. On the hillside above it was a -scar in the earth. It was Norton’s cabin, Norton’s mine. But Norton was -dead. - -The sight gave me new courage. There was yet hope. I dragged myself to a -kneeling position, gritting my teeth until the pain cleared a bit, and -then began to creep toward the cabin. - - * * * * * - -It was torture, every inch of the way. Twice I fainted with the sheer -agony. But I kept on. It had been noon when we neared the canyon. The -sun was setting when I drew my body across the cabin door and fell in a -stupor on the floor. There I lay until morning. - -The pale dawn found me tossing in a high fever. I must have been -delirious for days. But after a time I woke, very weak, but rational. I -began to take stock of my surroundings. - -I had hoped to find the cabin well stocked with provisions. A hasty -survey proved that my hopes were vain. The tiny room was almost barren. -A hand made cupboard stood in one corner, but it was all but empty. A -driblet of flour, a strip of moldy bacon, a few shreds of jerked venison. -Again despair shook me nauseatingly, again I banished it with grim -resolve. - -With the scant supply of wood I built a fire, dragging myself somehow -around the room to get what I needed. There was water in a pail by the -fireplace. I brewed the jerked meat for an hour. The resultant mixture -was a weak, tasteless broth. Yet it was food—the first I had tasted for -days. I drank some of it, and felt stronger. - -My shattered leg had begun to knit. I had set it as best I could before -the fever took me. Now it pained greatly, but with the aid of an old -broom that I found I made shift to move around. And again hope flared -warm in my heart. I built the fire high, and crawled under the robes in -Norton’s bunk. - -In the night I woke uneasily. First I was conscious of the throbbing in -my leg; then I realized that what had aroused me was the sound of the -wind roaring and shrieking past the walls, yelling like a horde of demons -without. - -Above my head was a window, made of caribou skin scraped parchment-thin, -and against this I could hear the spit and rattle of snow. The fire had -died to embers, and a bitter chill crept through the cabin. Winter had -come. - -At dawn it was still storming. For three days the blizzard kept up. I -huddled in my robes, fed the fire from the diminishing pile of wood, ate -sparingly of the scanty food. And again the fear began to play upon my -heart with chill fingers; again I strove to banish it with grim resolve. - -On the fourth day the snow ceased, but the wind remained unabated. It -grew terribly cold. And on that day my woodpile dwindled to nothing, my -last scrap of food vanished. - -It grew colder. I kept the fire burning charily, feeding it, bit by -bit, the scanty furniture that Norton had made with axe and hammer. I -husbanded every bit, crouching over the merest spark of a flame, wrapping -my thin body in robe and fur to conserve the precious warmth. - -And still the storm raved around the cabin. Still the screaming wind -drove the snowflakes against the windows, through badly-chinked -crevices—a malicious, devilish wind, that seemed, to my disordered brain, -to be an embodied spirit of evil bent on my destruction. And still the -cold penetrated, mocking my efforts to stave it off. - -Hunger and cold and pain combined to sap my strength. I grew delirious. -For hours I forgot where I was, lived again the hours I had spent with -Jane, saw her as I remembered her, a slim, exquisite thing, dark of hair, -luminous of face, a spirit thing, too fine for man’s possession. And -again I pressed her in my arms, and swore that I would return. - -Waking from such visions, the will to live burned very strong in me. I -_would_ live; I _would_ return. I swore it. Death could not conquer me; -could not conquer love. Yet all the time I grew weaker; the flame of life -flickered lower in my emaciated body. - -The body was dying. I knew it. It scarce had strength now to cast more -wood on the dying fire. Within it the pulse of existence flickered -feebly. But never was the real _me_ more alive. I burned fiercely with -the desire to live. I swore I should not die. - -Then one morning I awoke. The fire was out. Yet I was not cold. I -attempted to rise; my body did not answer. I attempted to speak; no words -came. Then I knew. - -In the night the body had died. It lay there now, stiff, still. It had -ceased to live. - -But _I_ was not dead. I could see my body lying there, a cast-off thing. -But _I_ was here. - -The entity that was I had not perished with the flesh. The will to live -was still mine. And I was alive! I was infinitely alive. - -My perceptions were a hundred times clearer. I saw, I heard, I felt, as I -never had before. And it seemed as if my whole being were concentrated in -the one desire—to see Jane, to tell her I still lived. - -And then there shot through my brain a terrible, sickening thought. To -all the world’s knowledge I was dead. I was no longer flesh, but spirit. -I could see Jane, no doubt, but I could never make myself known to her. I -had lost her. - - * * * * * - -The most exquisite torture of soul racked me as the realization came. I -was not dead. There was no death; my will had conquered it. But I was -hopelessly and forever exiled from the world I had known. That warm -familiar world that held love and so many other things, was forever taken -away from me. - -Hopelessly exiled! Again my will revolted at the thought. Why was I -forever condemned to such exile? There lay the body. It had ceased to -live, in truth. I had shed it as one does a garment. But why could I not -don it again? - -The body had stopped because of external, physical reasons. The soul -had fled because living soul could not inhabit dead flesh. But if the -physical conditions that had ended life were removed, could not the soul -again restore it to life? If aid, food, warmth were to come, could I not -live again in the body? - -And so I waited. Soul kept vigil over body in that room—the two that -had been linked so inextricably for thirty-one years, now divorced so -irrevocably. You call it bizarre? That is because I tell it to you thus. -How do you know but that it has happened times without number? You have -watched by dead bodies, perhaps. How do you know that strange, invisible -guest may not have shared the vigil with you? - -And so I waited. Night came. The wind had died a little outside, and -through the cold I heard the distant howl of wolves. - -Again the howls came, and closer this time. It was a pack in full cry, -spurred on by hunger, questing through the frozen solitudes for food. And -now I could hear them in the clearing, and suddenly I realized what they -sought. - -Forgetting my impotence, I strove with desperate hands to bar the door -more tightly. I seized my rifle—or tried to seize it. It was vain. Spirit -has no fear from dangers of this world; equally it has no means of -defense. - -Round the cabin the wolves circled cautiously. I could hear them sniffing -at the door. - -Then one brute dashed himself against the panels. The stout frame -quivered, but held. A long-drawn howl came; it thrilled me with terror. -Then another clawed at the caribou-skin of the window. - -A gleaming claw shot through, a pair of slavering jaws followed. In a -minute they were in. - -Can you dream of a thing so horrible as to watch your own body being torn -apart by wild beasts? - -They snarled, they fought. Their fangs clipped and tore. I grew sick -with despair. The night was hideous with their snarls and yowling. - -Unable to endure it, I fled. And horror tore at my heart. For now I knew -I was indeed exile. The fleshly cloak that I had forsaken, that I had -hoped to resume, was torn, destroyed. - -I had only one wish now. To see Jane again, even though I could not speak -to her, could not hold her in my arms. To see her at least, bitter as it -would be, were still consolation. - -There are no bounds of time or space to the unfettered soul. And so I -found myself, without knowing how, in that long, homelike room where we -had sat so often, with the fire flaming cheerily on the great hearth, -the friendly books and pictures, everything that was so good a setting -for the girl I loved. In the quiet peace of it I forgot that desolate -solitude, that cabin with its howling, fighting inmates. - -Jane was seated reading by the window, but as I watched she laid aside -the book, and sat looking out of the window across the silent, moonlit -fields. And I saw two tears glide from her eyelashes, and glisten on her -cheeks. She spoke my name. - -That evidence of her love was more than I could bear. I knelt beside her, -strove to take her in my arms, whispered a thousand broken endearments. -And she sat pensive, unresponsive, utterly unconscious of me. The tragedy -smote me again. I was spirit; she spirit in flesh. I was exiled. - -And, with the ecstasy of despair, there flamed once more in me that -dogged, unreasoning will to live—to live again, I must say. - -And, with it, I fled the room, guided somehow, blindly, by a new hope. - -I found myself in another house—in a bedroom that was very quiet, with -an unnatural silence. In the bed lay a man. I knew him. It was my old -friend, Gordon Paige. - -There were others, too. Gordon’s mother sat with her face in her hands, -his sister, her eyes dry and bright, knelt beside her and pressed her in -comforting arms. Then I saw the white-haired doctor turn mutely away. And -I knew why I had come. - -The body of Gordon Paige lay there, inert, lifeless. With all the power I -knew I willed myself toward it. - -The body of Gordon Paige stirred. He spoke. The light of sanity came back -into his dead eyes. The doctor turned to him in amazement. A minute later -he turned again. - -“He lives! God knows how, but he lives. The crisis is past. He will -recover.” - -And he _did_ recover. The body of Gordon Paige won back to life and -health. - -_But the soul within his body was the soul of Malcolm Rae!_ - - * * * * * - -What is soul? What is self? I speak to you with the voice of Gordon -Paige. I write, and the handwriting is that of Gordon Paige. - -But I—the entity that dwells in the body of Paige—_I am Malcolm Rae_. - -In the spring they brought the news of Malcolm Rae’s death to Jane -Cavanaugh. She loved him—she was heart-broken. But she found comfort in -the presence of her old friend Gordon Paige. - -We were married last week, Jane and I. It was in June, just a year after -the June in which Rae had promised to return. When I told Jane I loved -her, she said: - -“I do love you, Gordon. But sometimes it seems wrong—after poor Malcolm -dying. But—you’re like him, Gordon. You’re so like Malcolm that I can’t -blame myself for caring.” - -I wish I could tell her—that I _am_ Malcolm. - -But the world is too incredulous. I do not dare. - - - - -_The Strange Tale of a Yellow Man and His Beloved Reptile_ - -Six Feet of Willow-Green - -_By_ Carroll F. Michener - - -It was for no love of the Chinese that Allister risked his life in the -shark-plagued waters off Samoa. - -The motive was largely a rigid sense of fair play, which had led him -into more than one hazard. Also, he hated the second mate, who was so -ridiculously afraid of Ssu Yin’s serpent. - -Therefore the Chinese need have nourished no great feeling of obligation. -Scales for weighing honor and indebtedness, however, are not the same in -the East as in the West, where motives are perhaps more closely scanned; -and it would have been difficult to persuade Ssu Yin that he did not -owe more than life to Allister. He felt that he owed two lives; that of -his own leather-yellowed body and that of the woman whose soul, so he -believed, now sojourned on its vast pilgrimage along the Nirvana-road of -incarnations, within his snake’s scaly longitude. - -To the Chinese, an obligation clearly understood is a collectible asset. -Death or the devil—or dishonor that is worse than either—claims him who -escapes payment of a just debt. Therefore it need not be surprising that -the magnitude of his fancied obligation to Allister discomfited Ssu Yin, -and left him more than melancholy for the remainder of the voyage. - -On the other hand, his devotion to the serpent, a poisonous six feet of -willow-green relieved by the satin-white ribbon of its belly, was greater -than before, and the venom of his regard for the second mate, who had -dared toss the reptile’s basket overboard, was disquieting to observe. - -The thing had happened in a flash that gave Allister no more than -a moment for reflection before the action that had bound him with -inseverable fetters to the destinies of Ssu Yin. The second mate, who -was Irish, with a soul fed upon belief in banshees and leprechauns and -the traditions of St. Patrick, had chafed bitterly at the captain’s -indifference toward the Chinaman’s obnoxious galley-pet. - -His irritation had grown steadily since the third day out from Panama, -when the reptile’s presence on board had been discovered. The captain was -one of those rare humans in whom a snake breeds no particular revulsion; -he merely winked at Ssu Yin’s vagary, stipulating, as an afterthought, -that the serpent should be tied by the neck and at all times safely -confined to its bamboo cage. - -The mate’s displeasure grew into agitation, and then into a saturnine -fear. Ssu Yin’s notion that the serpent was animated by the spirit of his -dead wife, a creature of frail morals whose fate it had been to be slain -in an act of infidelity, reduced the mate to paroxysms of superstitious -rage. A suggestion of insanity blazed from his eyes, and he vented -his irritation upon the crew in a variety of diabolical mistreatment. -Stealthily he plotted the serpent’s destruction. - -He had long to wait, for Ssu Yin was rarely beyond sight of his somnolent -pet. But one day, growing reckless from the excess of his somewhat -alcoholic fear, the mate seized the bamboo cage, well beyond reach of its -occupant’s fangs, lifted it brusquely through the window of the cook’s -galley—from under the very eyes of Ssu Yin—and gave it a triumphant heave -overboard. - -With a yell that seemed to supply added impulse to his flying heels and -to stiffen his queue into a rigid horizontal, Ssu Yin darted from the -galley and flung himself after his ophidian treasure. - -Allister turned automatically toward a life boat, but the mate thrust -him back. A fanatical cruelty colored the leer in the man’s face as he -watched Ssu Yin bobbing helplessly some yards from the bamboo cage, quite -evidently unable to swim. - -“Aren’t you going to launch that lifeboat?” Allister bawled at him. - -The mate spat over the rail, with a sullen negation. - -“The hell you won’t,” snarled Allister, poising swiftly to plunge after -the Chinaman. “Let’s see if you’ll do it for a white man, then.” - - * * * * * - -The mate lowered the boat, not so much because Allister was white as -because he was a brother of the captain. - -There was a calm sea, and no difficulty in the rescue. The crew fished -up the three of them, Allister supporting the exhausted Ssu Yin, who in -turn held aloft, out of the wash of the sea, his most unhappy dry-land -reptile. - -The mate shut himself up in his cabin and drank Jamaica rum with such -proficiency that it became necessary to lodge him in the brig. He -wallowed there for the remainder of the voyage into Penang, where Ssu -Yin, with the serpent clasped to his meager bosom, scuttled ashore and -vanished from the mate’s bleary ken. - -Allister, for whom the world was in its opening chapters, lost himself in -bizarre and dizzy pages of Oriental life. At the end of three years he -was “on the beach,” tossed up with other human jetsam from the slime of -the Orient’s undertow. - -He had brawled with sailors from many seas in the dives of Hongkong, -tasted the wickedness of native inland cities, and squandered himself in -a thousand negligible pursuits between Bangkok and Peking. He was the -eternal parable of West meeting East, a conjunction perpetually fatal to -the insecure soul. For it is only the strong who can sip safely at the -pleasant vices of a mellower civilization. - -On a day squally with the pestilent dust of an obscure Chinese outport, -Allister sat gazing at a wooden door in a wall. He was oblivious to -outward discomfort, although his clothes were remnants through which the -wind drove chill misery. He felt only one need, and his mind had room for -but one thought, and that was the gratification of an unholy lust. It was -three days since opium had caressed his shrieking nerves. - -Beggars, exhibiting their unspeakable sores, the ghastly souvenirs of -real or simulated disease, jostled him in their crawling search for -charity; it was the plaza of a temple where he had taken up his watch. - -Curses, and the muttered insults that are flung to foreigners, came to -him from the crowd, but he appeared not to hear; his senses were subject -only to one diversion, and that was the wall before him, with its wooden -door, and the peephole that for an hour of eternities had remained blind. -If he could not gain the attention of Ssu Yin, he would be doomed to -another night of drugless terror. - -To knock on the door would be useless; he had tried that. Only a certain -alarum would gain admittance, and no amount of cunning had been capable -of revealing this to him. To shout was equally futile, for Ssu Yin -had become almost wholly deaf, the result of his barber’s unskillful -wax-scraping—an accident with an equally unfortunate sequel, the barber -having been bitten to death shortly afterward by Ssu Yin’s serpent. - -It was necessary, Allister well knew, to wait for the soya-brown eye that -glistened intently through the peephole at a certain hour of the day—the -eye of Ssu Yin, focused expectantly upon some indeterminate object within -the temple grounds. - -The impatient accents of a woman, half-concealed behind the discolored -marble flank of a stone lion with the head of a dog, roused Allister. He -had been long enough in the Orient to absorb an understanding of many -dialects. - -“The serpent-eared grandfather of a skillet is late,” complained the -voice, and there was an answering murmur from another woman at her side. - -Allister stole a glance at them, and saw that they, like himself, were -interested in the wooden door. One was young, and probably, though not -definitely, a courtesan; she may have been merely an adventurous and -discontented second-wife. Her companion was an older woman, evidently a -servant. - -His eyes returned to the hole in the door, but his ears continued to -listen for the words of the women. The servant was speaking: - -“How long, Tai-tai, must my Crimson Lotus submit to the vile attentions -of this opium hawker? Surely it should not be difficult——” - -“It is more difficult than thou thinkest, mother of no sons.” - -“Will he not take my Peach Blossom—my Lotus—into his stinking hovel? Will -he look upon your beauty in no place other than the teahouse?” - -“He fears the serpent.” - -“The serpent?” - -“Have I not told thee, daughter of an addled egg? He cherishes a creeping -creature that he swears was once his wife in a former life. He fears the -fangs of her jealousy.” - -“A serpent may be crushed by the heel——” - -“That shall be thy task, then. Nay, find the way, and it shall be my -heel, and mine the silver _sycee_ that lies under the bricks of his -_kang_.” - -“Find the way?” - -“The secret of the knocks that gain admittance, O Half Moon of Wisdom—buy -it from one of the slaves of the pipe that come here each day.” - -Allister heard no more, for there was of a sudden a deeper shadow, a more -animate void, within the aperture of the door. He shook himself together, -and arose, for he was conscious of the eye of Ssu Yin. - -After a moment the door opened, and the opium seller stood forth. He -was imperceptibly startled when Allister touched his sleeve, for his -attention had been directed to the vanishing glint of embroidery that -beckoned him toward the tea pavilion of a Thousand and Three Beatitudes. - -There was no greeting from either, and there was no need of word or -gesture. Allister’s drug-lust uttered its own argument, and Ssu Yin bowed -with the air both of acquiescence and of acknowledged obligation. He -shouted backward into the passage behind the open door, and shuffling -feet responded. - -The door closed behind Allister’s starved figure, and Ssu Yin, conscious -of the street-crowd admiration that followed the unwonted gayety of his -attire, crossed a miasmatic lotus pool and entered the teahouse. - - * * * * * - -Allister was able to think more clearly when the stupor wore away, though -mind and body were torn by a devastating revulsion. He lifted himself -abruptly from the filthy bunk in which he lay, and the feeble, awkward -movement upset a stand upon which was his chandoo pipe, still nauseous -with burnt opium. The effort left him suddenly faint, and with alarm he -shuddered back into the bunk, closing fiery-lidded eyes. - -“Can’t be far from the end,” he murmured to himself. “If I could only get -away—if I could only get back to the States!” - -This was the usual burst of remorse; it was like all the rest, a feeble -protest against ill-directed destiny. He knew that, of his own effort, he -never would get back to the States, away from the insidious East. He had -tried that; he had worked until the money was in his hands, only to dive -more steeply for a time toward the poppy fields of oblivion. - -The consul-general had shipped him out on a transport, but he had gone -only as far as Manila. The call of the drug had been too insistent. If -the vessel only had been going straight East, without a stop, to the -California coast, he might have made it. - -He _would_ make it! He would get the money once more—earn it, perhaps, -but somehow he would get it, and go Home. - -After a second effort, he succeeded in struggling to his feet, then in -staggering out of the room into a larger one where there was the light of -a horn lantern, and the comforting aroma of tea. - -Ssu Yin sat gurgling contemplatively at his water-pipe, his eyes fixed -upon two brilliant points of light in the half-shadows over the -_kang_. He did not stir at Allister’s approach, though he muttered an -acknowledgment of the other’s presence. Slowly Allister’s bleared sight, -following the direction of Ssu Yin’s comprehended the significance of -those cold-blue darts of phosphorescence. They were set in a rigid, -cylindrical, limblike standard, projecting motionless from a pyramid of -symmetrical coils. Often as he had beheld the serpent of Ssu Yin, on -the poppy excursions that brought him so frequently to the sea cook’s -illicit den, he had never conquered a subtle fear, a rage for crushing, -stamping out, obliterating. He had tried to explain this as an expression -of man’s traditional enmity toward the creeping creatures of the earth. -Curiously, to witness the same fear in another was his sole antidote. In -the presence of one who was more afraid than himself he could laugh down -his own feeling, as had happened in the case of the second mate. - -He sat down beside the brazier and helped himself to a gulp of tea. -Ssu Yin, removing his eyes from their fixed stare, with a gesture that -suggested the snapping of an invisible thread binding them to the eyes of -the serpent, regarded Allister with an attentive but unfathomable look. -Though his countenance expressed nothing, he was, Allister observed, in -an unwonted mood. It was as if there had been a misunderstanding between -himself and his reptilian familiar. - -“Was there sweetness in the Elder Brother’s honorable pipe of August -Beginnings?” inquired Ssu Yin, bringing forth the foreign ear-trumpet -that looked incongruous against its oriental setting. - -A grimace of pain was Allister’s only answer. - -“And was the sleep of this poor worm’s wise and illustrious benefactor -filled with the jassmine-incense of celestial happiness?” - -“May your flesh be jellied and your bones splintered,” was Allister’s -discourteous shot into the trumpet. “May your ancestors——” - -“Harmless is the bluster of the paper tiger,” interrupted Ssu Yin, with -a playful malice. He went on in a more kindly vein: “A gem cannot be -polished without friction, or a man perfected without adversity. The -friction has been thine, Elder Brother, even as it is written; also the -adversity; but a wise man also has said that the gods cannot help him who -loses opportunities.” - -“Oh, drop the classics, Ssu Yin, and tell me what you’re driving at!” - -“The Elder Brother must set his feet unto new paths, or he will learn to -walk soon in the Eternal Shades.” - -“I’m through, Ssu Yin. No more chandoo for me. Tomorrow——” - -“The man who overestimates himself is like a rat falling into a scale and -weighing himself.” - -Allister was stung by the contempt of his host’s words, but he feared -to retort. His sense of need came more fully upon him. His head swam, -leadenly, and his tongue was thick. - -“The pipe, Ssu Yin—only once more. And tomorrow——” - -“Spawn of frog begets but frog; the wise man does not give his cloak to -the stealer of his coat; and to cure a habit by indulging it is to push a -stone with an egg.” - -“No, Ssu Yin, I mean it this time——” - -“Dragging the lake for the moon in the water, adding fuel to put out a -fire,” ran the relentless river of Ssu Yin’s scornful proverbs. - -Nevertheless, Ssu Yin arose and led the way to the sleeping-room. He -set forth within Allister’s reach a bamboo pipe with black tassels and -a mouthpiece of jade, lighted the lamp, and from a receptacle within -his capacious sleeve jealously produced three miniature cylinders of -amber-hued opium. - -Cynically, Ssu Yin observed the trembling hands of the white man as he -held one of the precious morsels over the flame, watched it sizzle, -dissolve, evaporate. He waited until the operation thrice had been -performed, each puff sending Allister nearer to the paradise of drugs, -and stood gazing at the young man’s emaciated features long after the -squalid room had been translated, for Allister, into a pearly grotto -through which he stepped forth on the winged feet of inexhaustible youth -into a world of unimaginable color, transcendent beauty and unspeakable -delight. - -“A just debt—a just debt is mine,” muttered Ssu Yin, solemnly, “and it is -thus that I have paid. For this have I merited no less than the reproach -of the gods.” - - * * * * * - -When Allister returned again from the lotus fields of Elysium, his eyes -were more fevered, his yellowed skin closer drawn over cadaverous cheeks, -and his weakness even greater than before. - -This was the tomorrow of which he had spoken to Ssu Yin. - -But what had any Oriental tomorrow to do with him? Here there were -promises only of more lethal hours that did not relieve so much as they -accented the deepening miseries leading toward an indubitable end. - -Tomorrow—— - -He sprang up suddenly, the effort startling his heart into wild -uncertainties. The recurrence of a feeling of resentment, long nourished, -supported him. - -“Ssu Yin, the superstitious dog—rich—preaching to me in nasty proverbs -and feeding me this spawn of hell when he might be sending me home!” - -The thought took possession of him, made him stealthy and steel-nerved. -He would take the money—Ssu Yin owed it to him, the heathen ingrate; this -time he would have a share in that hoard of _sycee_ beneath the bricks -of the _kang_. - -He crept into the other room, fearing to find Ssu Yin there, a delay to -his plot. But Ssu Yin was not in the room; the house seemed empty even of -servants. The seller of opium probably was at his daily tryst, Allister -thought, in the teahouse of the Beatitudes. - -For the moment Allister had forgotten the serpent, and it was only in the -act of turning his darting steps toward the _kang_ that he remembered. -In that instant a ray of sunlight revealed the still creature, eternally -somnolent, as immobile as the stones against which its gelid coils were -ranged. - -The old fear seized him, and with it the rage to kill; but his weakness -returned, and he was incapable of that. He remained as motionless as -the snake, thinking of its reputed iniquities. The opium den of Ssu Yin -was not without a reputation for crime. It had had its murders, strange -deaths that baffled the native doctors of both “inside” and “outside” -anatomy. - -The serpent, he knew, was master of man in a duel of eyes, and Allister -felt relief at a sound of interruption. Someone had entered the house. -The shock loosened his limbs, and he crept back to his foul bunk, waiting -for the philosophical gibes of Ssu Yin, sick with revulsion at thought of -his intended theft. - -His ears told him in a moment, however, that the wary step and the -listening caution of the one who had entered, were not Ssu Yin’s. -Presently there were hurried movements, unwonted sounds, a breathless -intenseness that took audible form, in the outer room. Stealthily, -Allister moved nearer to see. - -The figure of a woman was beneath the ray of sunlight now, cutting off -its warning of the coiled spectre of dissolution. She stooped over -the _kang_, lifting the bricks, laying them aside with a careless -impatience. A cavity grew, and from it presently, with a sigh of -gratification, she plucked a silver ingot—followed it with others, until -a mound of them, too heavy for her own strength, lay at her feet. - -Allister watched her in amazement. Was she unaware of the snake? Or was -she, like Ssu Yin, its master, immune to ophidian fear? - -She stood up, turned toward Allister, as if at some psychic warning of -his presence, and he recognized her as the woman of the temple yard—the -Crimson Lotus, Ssu Yin’s teahouse siren. - -Doubtless her apprehensions heightened her error, but in the half-light -it must have been easy to mistake Allister’s immobile figure for the -darkly vengeful one of Ssu Yin. - -She cried out, took an involuntary step backward, tripped upon a _sycee_ -ingot, and a bared arm, thrust outward to break her fall, met the -serpent’s fangs. - - * * * * * - -In the nine-toned sing-song of a Cantonese who is at peace with himself, -Ssu Yin entered his hovel incanting a bar of that old song of Cathay, -“The Millet’s in Flower.” - -He paused at the door of his inner room, in the middle of a note, and -allowed the details of the tableau to etch themselves upon his brain. - -Across the _kang_ lay his woman—his Crimson Lotus—inert, lifeless. Upon -her still breast, its viridescence blending strangely with the soft -tints of her silk tunic, was piled the deadly pyramid of the coiled -serpent—flat, arrowy head drawn back awaiting the impulse to strike, -glistening red tongue stirring with forked vibrations, and phosphorescent -eyes blazing with a sinister fury. - -Within reach of its fangs was crouched Allister, one hand touching, -with a suggestion of pity, the face of the woman, the other, clasping a -silver ingot, poised cataleptically in the midst of an intended blow. -His was the arrested animation of carved marble, the impotent fascination -of a bird obeying the hypnosis of the serpent’s eye. - -Slow rage filled Ssu Yin—a calm cruelty. Here lay his broken Lotus -Bud; a thief, an accomplice, a wanton, or a viperous traitor to his -heart’s homage—what did it matter? And here was his “Elder Brother,” his -benefactor, the white man—dog, despoiler—who would have robbed him of all. - -Well, a simple solution—the fangs of his serpent, slavering for their -prey.... - -But the poise of a hundred philosophical generations began to quiet his -thick pulses—the restraints of a race that has schooled itself to play -the game of life by meticulous rule. A debt was his—he must pay it. - -Ssu Yin realized, suddenly, that an abrupt movement, the slightest -translation of Allister’s rigid pose into activity, would bring to him -the darting caress of oblivion. - -Cautiously, Ssu Yin approached, uttering a curious sound that always, -until now, had brought an answering acquiescence into the eyes of the -serpent. He came closer, at last laying his parchment-skinned hand upon -the vibrant coil, seeking a grip that would keep him safe from a scratch -of fangs. - -But something was amiss with Ssu Yin’s mastery over the snake. He -recognized this in a thrill of terror at the moment when he knew it was -forever too late. He would have explained, had there been time for such -inquiry, that it was jealousy in the soul of the transmigrated woman who -had been his wife—jealousy of the Crimson Lotus. This it was, he would -have said, that animated the serpent’s yellow needles of death. - -The poison gripped him, but a sense of unfinished justice gave him -strength while he battered the cringing reptile into an amorphous, -hideous mass. - -With Allister, dazed, half understanding, he still had the business of -words. A courteous smile crackled the parchment of his face as he took -from his sleeve an envelope and held it out to Allister. - -“Three lives for two,” he murmured, “and the debt is more than paid. May -the August Elder Brother’s voyage into the friendly bosom of the West be -as pleasant as the repose of Buddha.” - -Allister’s wondering fingers disclosed within the envelope a steamer -ticket to Seattle. He put out a protesting hand, began self-accusing -phrases, but the seller of opium was beyond argument. Ssu Yin was on his -knees murmuring before the shelf of the gods: - -“Unabashed, Great Ancestors—into the Vale of Longevity Ssu Yin walks -without shame.” - - - - -_The Occultism of Ancient Egypt Permeates_ - -_The_ Hall _of the_ Dead - -A Strange Tale - -By FRANCIS D. GRIERSON - - -“You have good nerves?” asked Professor Julius March, with a somewhat -cynical smile. - -Annette Grey shrugged her shoulders. - -“People who work for their living,” she replied, “cannot afford nerves.” - -The Professor nodded. - -“There is something in that,” he answered, thoughtfully. “At the same -time, I must make the position clear to you. As you are aware, I am an -Egyptologist, and in my house here I have many queer things. Some people -dislike the idea of working among mummies and——” - -Annette interrupted him with a deprecating gesture. - -“Believe me,” she said, “that sort of thing does not affect me in the -least. As your secretary, I am prepared to work where and when you like.” - -“My former secretary—” the professor began, and paused. - -“Your former secretary disappeared,” said the girl. “Of course I know -that; you will remember that I applied for the vacancy after reading -about her in the paper. I do not propose to disappear; the terms you -offer are too good.” - -She smiled faintly, and the Egyptologist shrewdly eyed her. - -“Well,” he said at last, “your qualifications and education appear to -recommend you for the work I should want you to do. It is secretarial -work in the broadest sense of the term—from typing my notes (when you -have learned to decipher my abominably bad handwriting) to looking up -references in the British Museum, or—should occasion arise—accompanying -me on a flying visit to Egypt. I give you fair warning that I shall work -you hard, but, apart from the salary and board, which I have already -named, you will not find me ungenerous if you prove yourself valuable.” - -“Then I may consider myself engaged?” - -March bowed. - -“Certainly,” he replied. “You will probably learn presently,” he added, -in his cynical way, “that I am regarded as an eccentric person, and -somewhat of a hard taskmaster—” - -“I prefer to form my own opinion,” said Annette quietly. - -Again he smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. - - * * * * * - -So Annette Grey took up her residence in the rambling old house on -the outskirts of London in which Professor Julius March had gradually -accumulated relics of ancient Egypt that were regarded with respect by -the curators of some of the greatest museums in the world. - -There were those who hinted that the Professor had not always been -scrupulous in the methods he adopted to secure his rarer curios; but -March laughed at such stories when anyone had the hardihood to repeat -them to him, openly attributing them to the jealousy of less fortunate -rivals. Wealthy and profoundly learned, he had become known as one of the -greatest Egyptologists of his day. - -Annette studied her new employer with the patience characteristic of her -nature, and she found the study an interesting as well as a useful one. -March, for the most part, was reserved and silent, but he was capable of -bursts of extraordinary excitement. He devoted himself, with an almost -religious fervor, to the pursuit which he had made his life study, and -the few friends he possessed—for he was not a popular man—were almost all -brother archeologists. - -Tall and thin, with black eyes peering through large -tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles, his gray hair tumbled in a shaggy mass -over his broad forehead, he had a habit of thrusting his square chin -aggressively forward when he spoke. His long, graceful fingers moved -in nervous sympathy with what he was saying, and he would spring from -his chair and walk rapidly up and down with catlike steps that reminded -Annette of a panther ceaselessly pacing to and fro behind the bars of its -cage. - -Possessed of great endurance, he would sit for hours at a stretch poring -over an ancient papyrus, disdaining food and sleep. Then, plunging into -a cold bath, he would emerge glowing, eat an enormous meal and set off -for a long walk, indifferent as to whether it happened to be day or the -middle of the night. - -When March first asked her whether or not she had good nerves, Annette -had supposed him to be referring to the disappearance of Beatrice Vane, -his former assistant. Beatrice, a beautiful girl just budding into the -maturity of womanhood, had vanished utterly, leaving her clothes and -other possessions behind her, but no clue as to where she had gone. -March, with his lawyer, Henry Sturges, had sought the assistance of the -police, and every effort had been made to trace the missing girl, but -without success. - -Attorney Sturges, who had recommended Beatrice Vane to Professor March, -had been the girl’s guardian. An orphan, she had been left a small annual -income, the capital of which was under Sturges’ control as trustee. She -had received a good education, and the lawyer had procured her employment -with Julius March in order that she might occupy her time and at the same -time supplement the scanty income which declining financial conditions -had left her. - -March spoke highly of her work, and was more affected by her -disappearance than many, who saw only the cynicism of the man, would -have believed. He feared, Annette supposed, that his new secretary would -think it unlucky to step into the shoes of the girl who had vanished so -mysteriously, and she hastened to disabuse his mind of any such idea. - -But Annette soon found that there existed an additional reason for his -question. The old house, she found, was divided into two parts. In one, -the smaller of the two, lived March and his staff. A bachelor, he was -looked after by an elderly housekeeper, one or two maids, a chauffeur -and a confidential valet, who had been with him for years. These people -attended to what he called the “domesticities” of the place. - -The larger part of the house was consecrated to his hobby, and had -been, indeed, altered and partially reconstructed to suit his unusual -requirements. Into this Egypt in miniature the servants were sternly -forbidden to penetrate. There March would bury himself amid his mummies -and papyri, and sometimes, in his morose moods, even his secretary was -forbidden access. - -Annette had a comfortably-furnished sitting-room of her own, and a little -room furnished as an office, but a great part of her work, she found, was -to be done in the room which March grimly called the “Hall of the Dead.” - -It was, indeed, an apartment in which only a girl of strong nerves could -have worked without glancing fearfully over her shoulder. Floored with -black-and-white marble, alternated in a curious pattern, it was dimly lit -by a lamp swung from the roof by bronze chains. To afford the stronger -light necessary for the study of ancient inscriptions, a smaller lamp -stood on each of two small tables, the incongruous effect of their -electric wiring being mitigated by their antique shape. These lamps, -however, illuminated only their immediate neighborhood, leaving the -greater part of the huge room in semi-obscurity. - -Round the room were placed at regular intervals mummies and mummy-cases, -whose grave immobility seemed but a mask which they could tear off at -will, descending to move about the hall with measured steps and to -converse on topics that had been of living importance to a long-dead -civilization. - -In the center of the hall stood a great stone table, curiously grooved -and hollowed, and between the mummies were placed objects of metal and -earthenware, the uses of which Annette could only guess. - -In this strange room March would pass hour after hour. Annette soon -learned to understand and accommodate herself to his methods. The sharp -sound of an electric bell in her room would bring her to the Hall of -the Dead, notebook and pencil in hand. The heavy door, controlled by an -automatic mechanism, would roll back as she approached, closing silently -behind her as she entered and took her seat, without a word, at one of -the smaller tables. - -Acknowledging her presence only by a gesture, March would stride up -and down the room with his quick tread, pausing now and again to -examine a document or to apply a magnifying glass to the inscription -on a mummy-case, muttering to himself as he resumed his rapid pacing. -Suddenly, without warning, he would commence to dictate, in sharp, -staccato sentences, admirably lucid and without a superfluous word. - -He would cease as suddenly as he had begun, and for perhaps half an hour, -or longer, he would remain buried in thought, resuming his dictation as -unexpectedly as he had ceased, but without ever losing the sequence of -his ideas. - -Sometimes this would go on for hours. On such occasions he would -recollect himself suddenly, glance at the ancient water-clock on its -carved pedestal, and dismiss Annette with a word of apology for his -forgetfulness. - -Once an incident occurred which revealed yet another side of this man’s -complex character. - -Annette had received a lengthy piece of dictation, and had been at work -in her office for nearly an hour, transcribing her notes. She was a -competent writer of shorthand, but some of the technical expressions -which March used were quite unfamiliar, and she did not care to interrupt -him, preferring to wait until he had finished before asking him any -questions. On this occasion it had seemed fairly plain sailing, but -toward the end of her notes she came across a sign the significance of -which completely baffled her. - -Finding that the context was of no assistance, and not wishing to delay -the work, which she knew the Professor required as quickly as possible, -she resolved to consult him. - -It was the first time she had visited the Hall of the Dead unbidden, and -she was uncertain how to attract his attention from outside, for there -was no knocker or bell on the great door. The mechanism which controlled -it, however, either did not depend on the person inside, or could be -so set as to work independently, for as she reached the threshold some -concealed spring was put into operation and the door opened before her as -usual. Still standing on the threshold, she was about to enter, when she -stopped as though turned into stone. - -Inside the hall she saw Julius March kneeling before one of the -mummy-cases—the mummy-case of a woman. His head rested against the knees -of the image, and his body was shaken by great sobs. - -Amazed, moved by the strange sight, Annette turned and fled to her own -room. Behind her the door of the Hall of the Dead swung noiselessly into -its frame. - - * * * * * - -A week later, Annette entered the little-used drawing-room of Professor -March’s house shortly before seven o’clock in the evening, and sat down -near the bright fire ready to receive his guests. For March was giving -one of his rare dinner-parties. - -A few moments later the door opened, and the servant ushered in Attorney -Sturges and a friend of his, a pleasant, rather simple-looking man named -Sims. - -“I fear we are a little early, Miss Grey,” said Sturges, when he had -presented his friend. - -“Not at all,” Annette replied easily. “Professor March asked me to make -his excuses to you; he was detained at the British Museum and only -arrived a few minutes ago. He is dressing, and will be down in a few -minutes. Meanwhile, I must play hostess.” - -“And most adequately,” murmured Sturges, with old-fashioned courtesy. - -Then, as the door closed behind the servant, he spoke rapidly: - -“We came a little early on purpose,” he explained. “You are prepared, -Miss Vane?” - -“Quite,” said the girl calmly. - -“Good. Inspector Sims agrees with me that if we are ever to discover the -mystery of your sister’s disappearance, it will be tonight. Sims has been -practising his part, and does it admirably.” - -The Scotland Yard man smiled. - -“I think I can play it,” he said. “And I congratulate you, Miss Vane, on -the way you have handled the matter. This idea is an excellent one, and I -admit I should never have thought of it myself. I hope, too,” he went on, -without the slightest alteration in his tone, as a step sounded outside -and the door opened, “that Professor March will not deny me a peep at the -wonderful treasures be keeps here.” - -“Why, of course not,” cried March heartily, as he entered the room. “I -caught your last words, Mr. Sims,” he went on, “—for I am sure you are -Sturges’ psychic friend—and I shall be delighted to show you round my -little museum. Well, Sturges, I must apologize to you both for keeping -you waiting like this; but you have been in good hands.” - -He bowed courteously to Annette. - -“It is very good of you, Mr. Sims,” he went on, “to come and visit a -recluse like this. Sturges has told me of your powers of necromancy, and -I confess I am hoping to see something very wonderful.” - -The words were polite and were uttered with perfect civility, but the old -lawyer laughed gently. - -“It’s no good, March,” he said; “you cannot quite get the true ring. You -scientific fellows always scoff at the unseen, and decline to believe -anything that cannot be set down in writing, like an algebraic equation.” - -“Not at all,” replied the Professor, with sudden gravity. “On the -contrary, my researches have convinced me that there are mysteries to -which, if we only had the clue—but we’ll talk of that later,” he added, -with a sudden change of tone. “My first duty, as your host, is to feed -you; come and help me perform the sacred rite of hospitality.” - -Laughing, he opened the door and bowed Annette to the head of the little -procession to the dining-room, where they were presently seated round a -candle-lit table of richly-polished mahogany. - -It was a strange dinner-party, at which two, at least, of the diners -found it difficult to appreciate the sallies of the host. Mr. Sims, -however, expanded under the influence of the Professor’s geniality. March -was in unusually high spirits, for he had just succeeded in translating a -hieroglyphic inscription which had defeated the Museum authorities, and -he devoted himself to the sport of drawing out his psychic guest with a -delicate irony which, to do him justice, never passed the bounds of good -taste. - -The innocent Mr. Sims responded to this subtle flattery with a readiness -which delighted the Professor, and even Annette and the lawyer could not -refrain from smiling at the naïveté with which Sims played his part. - -At last the dinner drew to a close, and March rose. - -“I am not going to let you off, Mr. Sims,” he said. “I am eager to learn -something of the methods of the modern spiritualists, for I admit I am -more familiar with those of the past. But I think we ought to have a more -suitable atmosphere for the _seance_,” he added, chuckling. “Miss Grey, -I hope you will not leave us? I think my Egyptian room would form an -admirable background for Mr. Sims’ experiments.” - -Annette smiled, with something of an effort, and led the way to the Hall -of the Dead. - -Despite himself, Sims could not repress an exclamation of awe at the -sight of the great, gloomy room, with its solemn figures and mysterious -shadows. - -The Professor rubbed his hands, well pleased at the effect he had -produced. - -“Now, Mr. Sims,” he said, “here is a carved chair on which a Pharaoh once -sat. Enthrone yourself there. We will sit, metaphorically, at your feet, -and listen to what you are pleased to tell us.” - -Sims bowed, but did not return the Professor’s smile. Gravely he seated -himself in the heavy wooden chair, rested his elbow on one of the -quaintly-carved arms, and let his head sink onto his hand. The others -grouped themselves near and waited, in a heavy silence. - -Sensitive to impressions, the Professor’s gay mood faded gradually into a -tense expectancy that made his long fingers work nervously. He startled -as Sims’ voice broke the silence sharply. - -“I am aware, Professor March,” said Sims in a hard, level tone that -startled his hearers, “that you are a skeptic.” - -The Professor murmured something, but Sims went on, without heeding him. - -“I feel tonight that I am going to prove to you that I can see things -that are hidden....” - -He paused, and again the silence was broken only by the sound of heavy -breathing. As suddenly as before, Sims spoke again: - -“Listen!” he said. “I see a great room, half lit by a lamp in the roof. -There is a brighter light near a table in the center of the room. It is a -stone table, such as was used in ancient Egypt by the embalmers.” - -The Professor drew in his breath with a sharp gasp, but the voice went -steadily on: - -“Beside the table I see a man. He is bending over something—something -white. It is the body of a woman—” - -“_Stop_, damn you!” screamed the Professor; and Sims, springing from his -chair, took something from the pocket of his dinner-jacket. - -The Professor laughed discordantly—the laugh of a madman. - -“Put up your pistol,” he cried. “You will not need it. I don’t know who -you are, and, damn you, I don’t care! Do you hear that? _I don’t care!_ -Listen, all of you; listen, I say! Today I have completed my task; I have -learned the secret which I have sought so patiently. I am going to join -my Princess, my Hora.” - -He ceased, and threw his arms out in a great gesture to the mummy-case in -front of which he had been standing. Huge drops of sweat stood out on his -forehead, and he tore open his linen collar with a madman’s strength. But -it was in a controlled, almost tender voice that he went on: - -“Listen to me, and I will tell you a wonderful thing. Countless years -ago I—I who speak to you here tonight—was a priest in Egypt. I was vowed -to the service of Isis. But one day there came to the temple, where I -ministered, a woman. A woman? Nay, a goddess! A being of such beauty that -my heart leaped within me at the sight of her loveliness. - -“She was the Princess Hora. We loved. Ten thousand words could say no -more. But an evil fate tore her from me; the Pharaoh had seen her, and -coveted her. Sooner than lie in his foul embrace she plunged a dagger -into her white bosom....” - -He paused, and for a few moments covered his face with his hands, his -shoulders quivering. Then he tore his hands away and stretched them once -more toward the painted image that looked so calmly down at him. - -“Hora, my Hora!” he cried passionately. “I have sought thee for -centuries, through age after age. And now, at last thou hast come to -me—and gone again. But only for a little while, a few brief moments, for -I follow thee tonight.” - -Again he paused, and again he resumed, mastering his emotion: - -“She came to me here, here in this house, where I have labored so long, -striving to regain my knowledge of that past which is sometimes so clear, -and sometimes, O Isis, so terribly dark! She came to me, my beautiful -Hora; came clad in the garb of today, bearing the name of Beatrice.” - -A low sob broke from Annette, but he went on, unheeding: - -“I told you, Hora, I _tried_ to tell you—but your eyes were filmed by -the gods. You could not understand.... You spurned me. Then it was that -I understood that for us there could be only one way. One touch of this -little knife, steeped in a poison so deadly that your soul had flown ere -your body had fallen into my arms. - -“Tenderly I bathed you and poured into your veins the secret essences -that keep the flesh firm and fair as in life, and bore you to the tomb -where you sit, waiting for me. But in another world, Hora, you wait for -me, a thousand times more beautiful, and knowing that I, your lover, have -sought you and found you at last. Hora, _I come_!” - -With a wild cry, he raised the little dagger which he had drawn from his -pocket. Sims sprang forward, but before he could reach him Professor -Julius March had buried it in his heart. Hardly had the blade touched -his flesh than he swayed, stumbled and crashed down at the feet of the -mummy-case. - -For a moment the others gazed at the prostrate form. Then Inspector Sims -sprang forward and fumbled with trembling fingers at the fastenings of -the mummy-case. Suddenly the front fell forward, and Annette uttered a -terrible cry. - -In the case, thus revealed, sat the girl who had been Beatrice Vane. -She was nude, the chaste beauty of her lovely form standing out against -the dark interior of the case. So wonderfully had the madman done his -work that no scar marred the grace of the firm bosom, the long, rounded -limbs, the head set proudly on the ivory neck. She sat as might have sat -the Princess Hora, had she so wished, beside the Pharaoh himself on his -Egyptian throne. - -Sims drew back and bowed his head reverently as Annette, stumbling -forward, laid her head on her dead sister’s knees in a grief too terrible -for tears. - - - - -_The_ Parlor Cemetery - -_A Grisly Satire_ - -_By_ C. E. Howard - - -“Good morning! I’m getting the information for the new city directory. -May I step in and rest a moment while I’m asking you a few questions?” - -“Well, ye—es, I reckon yuh kin come in and set,” conceded the old lady -who had answered my knock, “but I won’t give yuh no order, Mister. I -haint much of a booker.” - -“Oh, I don’t sell the books,” I hastened to assure her, as I laid my -sample volume on the floor by my chair and placed my hat on it. “I just -go around from house to house gathering the names for it. The company -publishes and sells the book. I don’t have anything to do with that part -of it.” - -“Oh, you jes’ do th’ authorin’? It must take yuh consid’ble time to write -as big a book as that! Do yuh do it all ’lone?” - -“No; we have fifty-four men working on it now, and it will take about two -months to get it all. Now may I ask—?” - -“How much does it cost?” - -“This year they will sell for fifteen dollars—” - -“_Apiece!_” she shrilled. “My land o’ livin’! Whoever buys th’ things?” - -“All the big stores keep them, especially the drug stores, for the -benefit of the public, you know. Now your name is—?” - -“Well, what’s it all ’bout, anyhow?” she insisted. “An’ what’s it fur? Is -it a tillyphone dickshanary?” - -“Something like that. It contains the names and addresses of everybody -living in this city, and all the big establishments keep one so that if -anybody wishes to find out where anyone else lives they just go in some -store and look in this directory and there it is. Now, will you give me -your name for the new book, please?” - -“_My_ name? W’y, my name is—Now, is this a-goin’ to cost me anything? Yuh -know I said I wouldn’t take none afore I let yuh in.” - -“It will not cost you a cent,” I told her earnestly, “and it may do you -some good. See”—running through the leaves of the book in which I entered -the statistics—“how many people I have interviewed this morning, and all -of them gave me the information I asked for. Now you will see all there -is to it; right down here on this top line I write your name—what did you -say it was?” - -“I never said yit; but it was Cook.” - -“Ah!” We were off at last! “Cook”—I paused at the “k” and asked, “Do you -spell it the short way or with an ‘e’?” - -“Which?” - -“How do you spell it? ‘C-double-o-k,’ or ‘C-double-o-k-e’?” - -“No; not with no ‘e’ on to it! That would be cooky! It was jes’ plain -Cook—C-o-o-k.” - -I was willing to let it go at that and wrote it down. “And your first -name now?” - -“My fust name? I don’t tell my fust name to no strangers—’specially -_men_!” - -“I beg your pardon, but I am not asking that from impertinence, Mrs. -Cook,” I explained carefully. “We do not mean to pry into people’s -personal affairs—such things are of no concern to us—but you see there -are probably a hundred or more Cooks in this city and if we didn’t have -their first names there would be no telling them apart. All the ladies so -far have told me their first names,” I declared, holding my book toward -her with the evidence. - -After peering at it intently for some time she relaxed in her chair, -reassured. “Well, ’tain’t no name to be ’shamed of, if _’tis_ -old-fashioned. It’s Ann.” - -“Ann—‘A-n-n’.” I spelled aloud, to give her the chance to correct me if -necessary. Thinking of the famous query connected with that name and -thankful I didn’t have to ask that, too, I continued: - -“You have a husband?” - -“No, not now. I’ve had ’em, though.” - -“Ah, a widow, then—that is, I presume your husband is not alive, Mrs. -Cook?” I essayed gently, avoiding, as always, the direct interrogation as -to grass-widowship. - -“No; they’re all on ’em dead now; but, Mister, my name ain’t Cook—it’s -Hay!” - -“What!” I exclaimed. “Why, I understood you to say it was Cook?” - -“Well, yuh understood right. It _was_ Cook—that what’s yuh asked me, what -it _was_—but it’s Hay now. ’Bout two years after Cook went up in smoke I -married a feller named Hay, see?” - - * * * * * - -“Oh yes,” I smiled cheerfully, and, reversing my pencil I endeavored to -rub off the former husband’s name. - -Of course the flimsy paper tore. I yanked out the sheet and began again. - -“‘H-a-y,’ Hay,” I put down, writing lightly with an eye to more erasures -or corrections. “Just the plain, short Hay, I presume?” - -“Yes, jes’ th’ plain Hay—not timothy ner alfalfy ner none o’ them fancy -hoss brekfus foods. My lan’!” she broke out in astonishment, “I sh’uld -think the’ comp’ny’d git men to do this work that c’uld spell!” - -“That is one of the things we are told to be most careful about, -Mrs.—ah—Hay. We must always ask everybody’s name and just how they spell -it, even if we think we know. Often people having the same sounding -name spell it differently, and if it goes in the directory wrong they -generally blame us. And now, may I ask,” I said sympathetically, -recalling the peculiar way in which she had spoken of the late Mr. Cook’s -decease, “if your former husband lost his life in a fire?” - -“Who, Cook? Oh, yuh mean what’d I mean when I spoke o’ ’im goin’ up -in smoke? No, he was plumb dead—I was sattyfied o’ that, afore he was -burned. That’s th’ way I’ve had ’em all done; kin’ of a habit I got into, -I reckon, but seems to me ’twas a pretty good habit. That’s Cook, second -from th’ right-hand end,” she said calmly, pointing to an object on the -humble mantel as though she were indicating a specimen in a museum. - -“_How! What?_” I gasped, as every separate hair on my head arose and -tried to spring from its root-cell. - -“W’y, I had all my husban’s’ bodies consoomed by fire—what d’yuh call -it, cremated?—w’en they up an lef’ me, an’ that’s the’ ashes of all on -’em in them dishes there! Seems t’ me that’s th’ bes’ way t’ do with -dead folks—have your own cem’terry right in your house where it’s handy. -It’s ’specially nice when one moves ’round a good deal like I’ve done. I -never c’uld a-forded t’ gone visitin’ here an’ there t’ that many graves -scattered ’bout in dif’rent states. Besides, it saves tumstones an’ th’ -’spense o’ takin’ care o’ the lots.” - -Gradually, I grasped the woman’s meaning as she continued to rock back -and forth and utter her placid Mrs. Jarley explanation. The men who had -been so unfeelingly abrupt as to “up an’ leave” this poor creature had -evidently, each in his turn, been cremated, and now their ashes, side by -side, served to adorn the mantel and comfort the heart of the faithful -widow. “Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay....” I gazed at the row -of assorted receptacles with awe and back at the woman with feelings -still more curious. - -“Some folks thinks them’s odd kin’ o’ coffins,” she continued, “but I -d’know what c’uld be more ’propriate. Yuh see, I’ve tried t’ have each -one sort o’ repasent either th’ man hisself or his trade. Now, for -instance, this here one,” she explained, rising and placing her hand on -a small stone jar at the left end of the line—there were five of these -unique memorials altogether—“this was my fust husban’, John Marmyduke. -Th’ label on th’ crock, yuh’ll notice, is ‘Marmylade’, an’ that’s purt’ -near his name, an’ then it almose d’scribes his dispazishun, too. Th’ -grocer tol’ me that marmylade was a kin’ o’ English jam, an’ John was -sort o’ sweet-tempered, fer a man, so I thought one o’ them stun things -’ud do fine to keep him in. - -“This is William Thompson here,” she continued, tapping a small tea caddy -with her thimble. “He was a teacher, an’ I always called ’im Mr. T. so -w’en he departed I thinks to myself, thinks I, ‘One o’ them little chests -that Chinymens packs tea in is jes’ th’ ticket fer _yuh’_—tea standin’ -for both his name an’ his callin’, do you see?” - -I expressed my admiration for this delightful idea, and she proceeded -with her cataloguing: - -“This third cuhlection, in th’ fruit jar, is Mason. That was his name an’ -his trade, an’ he belonged to that lodge an’ that’s the make o’ th’ jar, -so, considerin’ all them facks, I d’know what c’uld be a fitter tum fer -_’im_. Mason fell off a roof one day an’ broke his back, an’ though he -lived six months, somehow, he was never much ’count arter that. He was -a big man—weighed 225 afore breakfus—an’ he made such a pile o’ ashes, -spite o’ their keepin’ him in the oven double time, that it took a gallon -jar to hol’ his leavin’s. I had some quart jars on hand already an’ -’spected to put ’im in one of ’em, but I never begrudged buyin’ a bigger -one fer he was always, or purt near always gen’rous with me, an’ then I -knew I was savin’ an undertaker’s bill, anyhow. - -“Now, I wa’n’t altogether sattyfied with th’ coffin I fin-ly chose fer -Cook,” she said, looking at me doubtfully, as she motioned toward the -small japanned tin bread-box that was the next mortuary souvenir on -the shelf. “I worried over th’ matter th’ hull time he was sick, but I -never got a mite o’ help from _’im._ Ev’ry time I tried to git that man -to suggest what he thought he’d rest cumft-ble in he’d go on frightful. -Doctor said his temper prob’bly shortened his life. - -“Well, at last I _dee_-cided on the bread box as comin’ as near to -repasentin’ him as anything I c’uld think on—his name bein’ Cook an’ him -havin’ occupated as a baker as long’s he was ’live. What’s your ’pinion -’bout it, Mister?” - -I declared that if Mr. Cook did not now rest in peace and content he was -certainly a hard man to please. - - * * * * * - -“Th’ las’ one there, as I tole yuh,” she went on, with something like -animation, “is Mr. Hay, an’ I do feel consid’able proud over _his_ -casket—it sure was a happy thought o’ mine. See?” She took down the -object and held it in the sunlight where I could get a plainer view. “He -died jes’ las’ year.” - -Mr. Hay’s ashes reposed in one of the large square glass perfume bottles -such as most druggists carry, and the ornate label thereon had become the -painfully true epitaph, “New Mown Hay”! - -When I could trust my voice, I inquired, “was he ill long?” - -“No; he wa’n’t ill a-tall. He left me kinda on’spectedly. However, he -always _was_ a great man fer doin’ things on th’ impulse o’ th’ moment. -We was livin’ out on a farm then, an’ one day Mr. Hay was cutting grass -in th’ orchard an’ I ’spose he must ’a’ struck a nest o’ bees. Anyhow, -somethin’ started th’ team an’ they run ’way an’ throwed him off in -front o’ th’ knives, an’ th’ horses stepped on him a few times an’ th’ -machine finished it up. He cert’inly was most completely dead when we -reached him. Hired man tole me he had to gether him up with a rake an’ -wheelbarrer. Only forty-six years ol’, too, he was—mowed down in his -prime! - -“Well, this is a funny world, ain’t it? Some women kin take one man an’ -keep him ’live an’ whole fer fifty or sixty years, but I sure had bad -luck with my batch o’ husban’s. It’s a comfort to me, though, that I -kin have ’em with me in death, at least. I take down their monnyments -ev’ry mornin’ an’ dust ’em off, an’ w’enever I go on th’ keers vis’tin’ -anywheres I pack one in my valeese an’ carry it along. When I git it out -an’ put it up in my room, w’erever I be, I feel right to hum.” - -I succeeded in getting answers to the rest of my questions in another -half hour, and I went on my way, dazed. And though, when my day’s work -was over, I had no rarebit for supper, yet a vision came to me sometime -between the dark and the daylight. I thought I saw myself fall ill and -die, and my body was prepared for cremation. - -I struggled to escape, to call out, but in vain. They slid me into a -kiln and the inexorable heat dissolved flesh, blood and bone. Then some -brutal, careless wretch came and swept me up on a dustpan, and put me in -a sack and delivered me over to an eager old woman, whose face seemed -strangely familiar. - -This ghoulish woman bore me away to her home and went to work trying to -pack me down in a catsup bottle. It was too small. It seemed to press on -my throat. I was choking. I struggled. I shrieked. - -And I awoke—to find, thank Heaven, that a large crayon portrait above my -bed had fallen down and was now around my neck, and the man in the next -room was hammering on the wall with his shoe and shouting and swearing at -me. - - -Send Photographs by Radio - -That pictures can be broadcast by radio was proved recently when -photographs of President Harding, Vice President Coolidge and Governor -Pinchot of Pennsylvania were sent from the Naval Radio Station in -Washington, D. C., to a radio receiving station in Philadelphia. - - - - -_A “Haunted House” Story with a Touch of Humor_ - -Golden Glow - -By Harry Irving Shumway - - -When you’re rolling along through the country at forty miles an hour, and -have been so doing for several hours, any excuse to stop and stretch is -a welcome excuse. It gives you an opportunity to light a longed-for pipe -and takes the kinks out of your back. I lighted mine. - -My friend, Doctor Wilbur Hunneker, whom I have never called anything but -Hunky, vaulted from the driver’s seat without the formality of opening -the door. - -“Judas Iscariot!” he grunted, slapping the dust from his shoulders and -digging at his eyes. “Some dust and some breeze!” - -“What you stop here for?” I asked him, propping my feet up on the -windshield. “Not that I don’t welcome any hesitation in the fierce -procedure which you call touring. But why here?” - -He grinned and pointed toward a tumbled-down, decrepit-looking cottage, -almost entirely covered with woodbine. In front of it grew the most -magnificent clusters of Golden Glow I have ever seen. There were hundreds -of these beautiful yellow heads swaying in the sunlight, and they were in -strange contrast to the drab and weather-beaten background of the house. - -“Going to pick you a nosegay,” he said. “You haven’t energy enough to -gather wild flowers for yourself, so I’ll do it for you.” - -“Go to it,” I said, relieved, and sank back on the deep cushions in a -cloud of my own smoke. “But look out for the pooch. Also day-time ghosts. -That old shack may have both.” - -“I’m not afraid of either,” he replied, and moved through the high grass -toward the house. - -Lazily, I watched him selecting the choicest blooms. Then my gaze -wandered over the old squatty-looking house. - -It was indeed a derelict, a perfect example of the abandoned home. I -couldn’t imagine anyone having been near it or in it for a score of -years. The small window-panes were covered with cobwebs and the marks of -falling leaves and pelting rains of many years. The door in the center -was innocent of paint, and great seams ran down and across its sections, -witnesses of the battles it had put up against the roaring storms. - -The stone slabs, slanted and sunken, which served as steps to the door -were moss-covered and almost hidden from sight by the luxuriantly growing -grass. Not a sound came from the place, or indeed from anywhere else. - -Hunky returned to the car, grinning at me with a huge bunch of the golden -flowers. He presented them with a sweeping gesture. Not to be outdone in -courtesy, I rose and made him a mocking bow. - -“Accept these tokens of my esteem, I prithee.” - -“I do, Sir Knight, and go to hell,” I replied. “If you’re through with -this horticultural business what d’you say we get to the fishing? That’s -what we started out for—trout, not yellow bellies.” - -He held up his hand in protest. - -“There is no element of romance in your sordid make-up. You’re as flat -in the head as the fish you catch. Take a look at that old house. What -stories it might tell! What ghosts may have prowled about in its sombre -interior! I see a broken pane in the quaint side window of the door. -Adventure calls. Watch me.” - -The nut! He noiselessly moved toward the door. Then he gingerly thrust -his hand through the jagged opening in the side window and felt for the -key. I saw by the smile on his face that he had found it. He removed his -hand, turned the outside knob—and the door opened. He peered around, and -then went inside. - -It wasn’t premonition or an unknown feeling of anything that prompted -me to leap over the side of that car and beat it for the inside of that -house. It was a glimpse of one corking fine mantle that I caught through -the open door. Old mantles, newel-posts and corner china-closets exert an -influence over my artistic soul that brooks no laziness. I’ll walk ten -miles through a bog any day to get a peep at something rare and fine in -old woodwork. This one called to me, and I went. - -I had on rubber-soled shoes, as did my companion, and hence made little -noise. Hunky was nowhere in sight, but there was a side door beyond the -fire-place and I knew he must be prowling about on the other side of it. - -“Say, Hunky, did you see this old mantle?” I called, moving toward the -door. - -I went through it—and found myself looking at two most unexpected -things—Hunky, with his hands raised above his head, and a nice, -blue-black automatic held in the unwavering hand of an old woman who was -sitting in a chair. - - * * * * * - -“You, too!” she snapped at me, “Up with ’em! Now what the hell are you -two crooks breaking into an old woman’s home for?” - -“Good heavens, ma’am,” stammered Hunky. “We—that is—I thought it was a -deserted farm house. No intention of annoying anybody. We are simply -touring—just a lark to break in here.” - -“‘Lark’, hey?” said the old woman, a most unpleasant glare in her eyes. -“D’you call it a lark to bust into my home and maybe rob me? How do I -know you mightn’t have murdered me?” - -“I assure you, madame,” I interrupted, “my friend here had no intention -of doing the slightest harm. It was, as he says, a lark—just to show off -to me. I followed him because I was interested in the old woodwork—and -not your modern hardware,” I added. - -She lowered the gun slowly. - -“Hum. Well, you don’t look like desperate characters now I take a good -look at you. I was frightened, I guess.” - -“Sorry,” said Hunky. “No intention of frightening anybody, and it was -silly of me to break in. I apologize.” - -“Well, I guess that’s all right. I’ll let you go. But don’t come around -here scarin’ me again,” replied the evil-looking old woman. “Now you get!” - -We got. Hunky stepped on the gas and we traveled. I hope I am not a -saffron member of the coward league, but just the same I own there are -many views I prefer infinitely more than the muzzle of a dog that both -barks and bites. Hunky was not much upset. He’s familiar with guns. I -prefer fishing rods. - -“A quaint old party,” he mused, as we got under way. “Old house, -everything all dust-covered, old woman—and an up-to-date automatic in her -fist. How many old farm ladies pack new guns?” - -Now I was awake. “Yes, and how many old ladies up in this section of the -hinterland speak with an unbucolic accent. I know the local dialect, and -she doesn’t belong.” - -“We’ll stop here for gas,” said Hunky, guiding the car around another -which was filling from a tank by a country store. - -A thick-set young man was turning the gasoline pump-handle and another -man, athletic in build and in his early thirties, was watching the flow -into the tank of his car. - -Nobody up in that section of the world ever hurries, and the conversation -between the two was easy and unruffled. - -“Sure you won’t disappoint us?” asked the store-keeper. - -“No fear,” answered the other. “Cases all taken care of and I can get -away with no trouble. Better give me two quarts of oil, Ed, medium.” - -The one called Ed went inside, and Hunky and I followed him in search of -tobacco. He obliged me with a package and also some conversation which he -seemed anxious to spill. - -“That feller out there is our district attorney,” he said. “Wouldn’t -think it, would you? Young and all that. Fact, he’s the youngest district -attorney in our state. He plays short field on our baseball team—The -Hunterville Tigers.” - -“So he’s district attorney?” inquired Hunky. - -“Sure is, and smart as they make ’em.” - -Hunky wandered out to the cars in front. I followed. He approached the -young official, who was putting up the hood of his car in readiness for -the oil. - -“Sir,” said Hunky to him. “Are you District Attorney for this county?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered the man, straightening up and gazing back at Hunky -with a pair of very frank and fearless gray eyes. - -“In that case I want to tell you something,” said Hunky. “I just broke -into an old house about three miles down this road. It looked to be a -deserted house, all covered with woodbine and a lot of golden glow in the -front of it.” - -“That’s the Old Collishaw House. It is deserted. No one has lived there -for fifteen years.” - -“I thought so, too—consequently when I ventured through a door and looked -smack into the barrel of an unprepossessing revolver you can realize I -was surprised some.” - -The young District Attorney pushed his hat up from his forehead. There -seemed nothing at all that could be hidden from his eyes, and now he bent -their gaze on Hunky. - -“Hum,” he said finally. “If that had happened at night I’d say that you -were seeing things.” - -Hunky laughed. - -“My friend had the same pleasure and also assisted me in reaching for the -sky. It was an old lady who was on the other end of that gun.” - -“Old lady?” - -“Yes. She searched us mentally and told us to get out. We did. That -wasn’t more than fifteen minutes ago. Here’s the strange thing about it -to my mind. Old house, old lady, everything moss-covered and dusty—and a -brand new up-to-date automatic in the old dame’s hand.” - -The other man mused over this without comment. Finally he shot a question -at us. - -“Where are you two going?” - -“Fishing in Cold Stream Pond. Come up here every year. My name is Doctor -Wilbur Hunneker and my friend’s is Edward Triteham.” - -“You wait here for me,” said the District Attorney, quickly making a -decision. “I’m going to run down there. If some one is hanging around -that house I want to know who it is and what they want. Will you wait -here until I return?” - -“Certainly,” Hunky replied. “Or I’ll go with you if you like.” - -“No,” the other quickly answered, getting into his roadster. “I’ll go it -alone. See you later.” - - * * * * * - -He shot off down the road in a cloud of powdery dust. - -Hunky and I went into the cool interior of the country store and regaled -ourselves with root beer and the store-keeper’s conversation, which for -the moment was wholly of the young District Attorney. He was a most -remarkable county official, we were told. - -It seemed but a moment when the subject of the talk was back in another -swirl of dust. He jumped out of his car. We went out to meet him. - -“Gone,” he said laconically to our inquiring look. “But somebody was -there all right. What the devil they wanted is more than I can fathom. -Nothing disturbed—isn’t much to disturb. But it bothers me. You’re sure -about that gun?” His eyes bored us. - -Hunky faced him. - -“Quite,” he said quietly. “I know guns. Also, I know the look in eyes -behind them. I’m a physician and I have to know people. This old woman -had some good reason for wanting to scare us away.” - -“I know that,” replied the young man, with his mouth set in a line. “Guns -and deserted houses don’t make a very reassuring picture.” - -“Did you look all around the house?” inquired my friend. - -“Sure. Probably those old eyes were on me while I was doing it. She -couldn’t have gone far; possibly she was in the woods nearby. I made -only a cursory examination so as not to excite suspicion if she or -anybody else had been watching. Now let’s see, what’s back of that house. -The old wood lot—a pasture——” - -“That’s all,” spoke up the store-keeper. “Then the railroad cuts through -beyond that.” - -“Railroad!” said the District Attorney sharply. “Why, that’s about the -point where that wreck was yesterday afternoon.” - -“Yes,” replied the store-keeper. “The pasture lot runs right down to the -bend, and it was on that bend that the cars left the track.” - -“By George! you’re right,” exclaimed the District Attorney. - -He seemed to ponder the situation for a few moments. Then he made a -movement as if to be off. - -“I won’t detain you gentlemen,” he said quickly. “If you want to fish -you’d better be on your way. Just about time to make it before sundown.” - -Hunky smiled. - -“I’m not so keen on fishing as my friend Triteham here,” he said quietly. -“I’d much rather go along with you to see that wreck.” - -The District Attorney eyed him carefully. Then: - -“All right. I’d be glad of your company if you feel that way about it.” - -“Something tells me I had better leave the fish to their watery beds -today,” said I. - -“All right,” answered our new acquaintance. - -And the three of us started on a brisk walk in what seemed a circuitous -direction. The District Attorney knew the lay of the land, and after -about twenty minutes we came upon the railroad tracks. Here we turned -back in the direction of the deserted house. - -In about three-quarters of an hour we came upon a distant view of the -wreck around a bend. A railroad gang was at work, straightening the -tangled mess caused by three freight cars which had left the rails. - -The District Attorney approached the foreman of the gang and made himself -known. - -“Anybody hurt?” he asked. - -“Nope. Not going very fast. We hope to get the tracks cleared by -tomorrow.” - -“Do you mind if I look around—over the cars?” asked the District Attorney. - -“Go ahead,” replied the foreman. - -The three of us began inspecting the whole train from engine to caboose. -The District Attorney scrutinized everything. - -After the examination, which seemed to offer up nothing of special -interest, our new friend suggested we retrace our steps. We straggled -along the ties, each to himself, nobody having much to say. - -“Something tells me,” finally spoke the District Attorney, “that your old -woman with the gun and this wreck are connected in some way. Certainly -there is nothing either mysterious or valuable about that old house. Why -should someone become suddenly interested in it enough to go around armed -and to warn away intruders? The only thing significant is that wreck. If -it is that—then developments will take place quickly and in darkness.” - -“It is getting dark now,” I suggested. - -“Yes. I’m going to stick around here and see what I shall see. You boys -can find your way back to the store. Just follow the tracks and turn into -the path at the bridge.” - -Hunky smiled. “If it’s all the same to you, we’d like to stick.” - -The District Attorney hesitated a moment, then said: “All right. It will -be a lonely vigil, and maybe you can help if anything does happen.” - -We stopped about half a mile from the wreck, and sat down to wait for -darkness. In the woods twilight is short, and we hadn’t long to wait. -Back we turned and worked cautiously toward the wreck. - -The gang was still at work, and in the distance we could see their -grotesque shapes by the light of their lanterns. The operations were up -ahead and we kept just in the rear and about a hundred feet to one side -of the caboose. This vantage point enabled us to command a view of the -wreck and the approach to it from the pasture and woods. Our own position -was well concealed. - -Four hours went by, slowly because of the damp and cold of the night. The -illuminated hands of my wrist watch told me it was between eleven and -midnight. Banks of fleecy fog clung here and there to the low trees and -the ground. The night sounds of the woods mingled eerily with the sharp -noises made by the wrecking crew. It was cold and damp. - -Suddenly the sharp eyes and ears of the District Attorney must have told -him something, for his hand went out in warning. Whatever the warning -was, it proved correct because we became aware, almost at once, of five -dark figures stealing up the slight incline toward that part of the train -which remained on the rails. Then we noticed two more figures edging -their way toward the front end of the wreck where the operations were -being conducted. - - * * * * * - -“Let ’em start whatever they intend doing,” whispered the District -Attorney. “We are outnumbered, two to one, unless the crew backs us up. -You’re both set?” - -“We’re both armed and we’re both good shots,” answered Hunky. - -The five figures showed no hesitation in their movements, but made for -the fourth car from the caboose. We could see two of them hold a third -man upon their shoulders while he worked at the door. - -Beyond, the other two had surprised the work gang and we could see their -hands go up in the flickering light. - -“Let’s get nearer,” whispered the District Attorney. - -Slowly, we began to move forward. We were about one hundred and fifty -feet from the larger group when an unexpected shot rang out. The men -working on the door became alert in a second. - -We could see the five men dragging boxes from the car, the door of which -they had slid back. They weren’t any too quiet about it, so our footsteps -were not heard. - -The District Attorney ran quickly forward in a crouching position. We -followed and spread out so as not to be in his line. When he was within -twenty feet one of the robbers turned—and he never turned again in this -world. The District Attorney dropped him with one shot. - -Both our guns barked at the same time. So sudden and unexpected had been -our onslaught that we had a bully jump on them. The resistance, while -spirited and desperate for a few seconds, was quickly overcome. Three of -them were laid out, either wounded badly or dead. One tried to get into -the car, and Hunky dropped him right in the doorway. He came down with a -thud on the ground. The one remaining man surrendered, and we disarmed -him. - -Shots were coming from the head of the train, and, leaving the scene of -our first encounter, we rushed down there. The two on guard had turned -for a minute, and the boss of the wrecking crew had drawn his gun and -opened up on them. They were caught between two fires and couldn’t get -away. - -In a matter of minutes we had them all trussed up. The others we carried -into the caboose for the time being. - -The District Attorney wasted little time on them. He turned his attention -to the car which had been opened by the robbers. When Hunky and I came -up he was a puzzled man. - -“Turnips!” he exploded. “A whole carload of ’em! Must be something else -in here.” - -The three of us tugged and hauled for a quarter of an hour, while a -brakeman held a lantern for us to see by. Our efforts were finally -rewarded by something which we were not surprised to find by that time. - -Yes, indeed. Case after case of whisky! That was the cargo those birds -were after. - - * * * * * - -It was plain enough now. The gang was part of an organized whisky-ring -engaged in smuggling whisky from Canada into the United States. They -had, through the connivance of confederates, secreted the liquor at the -point of embarkation beneath a larger load of turnips. The car would have -reached its destination and been secretly unloaded by members of the gang -waiting for it, possibly in the big train yards at night. - -Then had come the wreck. Perhaps someone in the employ of the road had -wired the gang. Anyway, they had learned of it and hustled to the scene -desperate on getting the liquor. - -The connection must have been between the old deserted house, which we -had stumbled on by mistake, and the wreck. Evidently they had planned to -carry the stuff in cases to the deserted house and thence over the road -by automobiles. Undoubtedly, we would find several big high-powered cars -when we got to the house. - -The District Attorney, Hunky and I went into the caboose after checking -up the loot which proved to be over one hundred cases. Some of the crooks -were stretched out and some sitting up. Two of them would never do any -more robbing in this sprightly existence. - -One was sitting hunched upon a stool and a mighty evil-looking bird he -was. His black eyes scowled all kinds of malevolence at us. He looked -vaguely familiar and when I caught his eye I recognized him. - -“Hum. Changed your sex, I see,” I snapped at him. - -He didn’t favor me with a reply—just glared at me. - -“Recognize our old pal, Hunky?” I said to my friend. “This is the old -lady who gave us the scare in the farm house.” - -“By George, you’re right,” said Hunky. “What was the idea of the -masquerade?” - -But the fellow wouldn’t tell. And he never did say, as far as we ever -could learn, why he had chosen to play the part of an old woman. Perhaps -he had figured that in that role he would be better able to avert -suspicion if he had been seen around the deserted farm house. Perhaps it -would have worked, too, had he not made the mistake of holding us up with -that suspiciously new and modern gun. - - - - -_America’s Greatest Magazine of Detective Fiction_ - - -Detective Tales has leaped to a foremost place among the all-fiction -magazines, and in its field it now ranks as the greatest of them all. In -size and quality, no other publication of detective stories can compare -with it. No other magazine offers such a quantity of high-grade detective -fiction. Thrills, mystery, suspense, excitement—there’s not a dull line -in the entire magazine. - -[Illustration] - -_In the April Issue_ - -The April issue of DETECTIVE TALES contains 192 pages of thrilling -stories—novelettes, two-part tales and a tremendous number of shorter -yarns—also special articles by experienced detectives and Secret Service -agents, finger-print advice, a department of cryptography, and other live -features. You will enjoy the April DETECTIVE TALES. It’s amazingly good. -Ask any news-dealer for a copy of - -DETECTIVE TALES - - - - -_The Eyrie_ - - -Here we are with the second issue of WEIRD TALES—and we’re going strong! -Or at least—judging by the number of congratulatory letters that the -postman drops on our desk every morning—we’re making lots of friends. - -But, says the boss, are we also making money? A fair question! As we -remarked before, WEIRD TALES is an experiment. There has never been -another magazine quite like this, hence nobody knows whether or not -such a magazine will pay. And, of course, if a magazine doesn’t pay it -promptly ceases to exist. - -We do believe, though, that WEIRD TALES has entered upon a long and -flourishing journey. We know there are multitudes of readers who like -this kind of magazine and are willing to buy it. Are these readers -numerous enough to support WEIRD TALES? The answer is up to you. - -But we’ll never get anywhere unless we all work together. It’s our job to -publish the right sort of magazine. It’s yours to buy it. If we both do -these things as we should—why, then, of course, WEIRD TALES is sure to -succeed. Nothing can stop it. - -And if anybody thinks that ours is the easiest task he should sit at our -desk for a day or so and wade through the rivers of manuscripts that are -flooding us like the waters of spring. From this great welter of material -we must select such stories as we think you’d like to read. And since it -is manifestly impossible to know the likes and dislikes of some ten of -thousands of readers, we are often uncertain what to put in and what to -leave out. Generally, we try to solve this perplexing problem by choosing -only those stories in which we ourselves can become genuinely interested, -assuming that anything that interests us will likewise interest others. -Maybe we’re wrong about this; but—what would YOU do if you were editor of -WEIRD TALES? - -Although most of the manuscripts we receive are obviously hopeless, all -must be read. Of the thousands of manuscripts sent to our office not one -has been returned, or ever will be returned, unread. We cannot afford to -take a chance on missing something really good. - -Too many authors place too much stress upon atmospheric conditions when -they take their trusty typewriters in hand to turn out a goose-flesh -thriller. Seven in ten, when opening their stories, employ a variant of -the well-worn dictum: “’Twas a dark and stormy night.” Why is this? Must -the heavens weep and the thunder growl to make a weird tale? We think -not. Weird, indeed, is “The Forty Jars,” published in this issue, and yet -the story takes place on a red-hot desert beneath a blazing sun. - -But let’s look through some of these letters on our desk. Here’s -something short and snappy from H. W. of Sterling, Illinois: - - “My dear Mr. Baird: I have just notified my attorney to start - suit against you and your new magazine for personal injury. My - eyes are rather poor, and the first number was so interesting - that I sat up nearly all night reading it—and as a result I’ve - been wearing smoked glasses ever since. WEIRD TALES seems to - me to fill a long felt want in magazine circles. I have always - delighted in stories of the ‘Dracula’ type and that Sax Rohmer - stuff, and I never could understand why the editors didn’t wake - up. You, as a pioneer in the field, are giving them something - to think about. Meanwhile, if you make the next number as - interesting as the first, I’ll likely go blind.” - -Despite the danger to H. W.’s eyesight, we tried to make this number even -more interesting than the first. And we’re going to make the next number -more interesting than this. - -We have here a letter from C. L. Austin, 328 Locust Avenue, Amsterdam, N. -Y., that simply must be printed if for no other reason than as an answer -to the last ten words of it: - - “Gentlemen: Having read the first issue of your magazine, WEIRD - TALES, I must admit that I like the stories very much. They are - entirely out of the ordinary. There is no question but what - this magazine will be a big success, providing the editor is - not hedged in by a multitude of ‘don’t’s’ from the managing - department. It is a well-known fact that many times an editor - would like to accept material that in many ways would conflict - with the policy of the magazine, and there is a loss of what - no doubt would be valuable material. In fact, I have known - for some time that adverse criticism of half a dozen people - in different sections of the country have power to change the - entire editorial policy of a magazine. - - “And unless the editor is the kind of man who is brave enough - to stick for his ideals, regardless of his job, there must be - much vacillation, with a consequent loss of valuable material - and a depreciation in the reading value of the magazine. I - notice that you say you will publish all letters received, - providing there is no objection by the writers. Well, really - now, old chap, I’ve no possible objection, but I doubt that you - have the nerve to do it.” - -With no desire to engage in a controversy with Mr. Austin, we must say -to him emphatically that the editorial policy of WEIRD TALES is not -dictated by the business office. We will stand or fall on our platform of -“something new in magazine fiction.” If you support us, we shall be able -to give you what you want. If you turn thumbs down, we’ll blow out the -gas and go home in the dark. In any event, there will be no compromise. -WEIRD TALES, as long as it lives, will always be “The Unique Magazine.” - -Here’s another: - - “Dear sir: I have just read your new magazine, WEIRD TALES, - also The Eyrie by yourself. SOME magazine, I’ll say! There - is a real kick to these stories—something that is pitifully - lacking in the stories of most magazines. Why editors shy at - ‘weird’ and ‘horror’ stories has always been a mystery to me. - I like meat in my literature the same as I do in my menu. This - willy-nilly stuff of would-be cowboys (when there aren’t any - such animals nowadays) is sickening. So is sugar when eaten to - excess. Keep this magazine going. There is a demand for such - literature. We all love mystery and stories that give us cold - spine (we of the public), whether the editors think so or not. - This magazine of yours will prove it, I’m sure. Believe me, - I’m for it! For the same reason I have always read Poe. And to - prove this, I am enclosing a check for a year’s subscription. - Money talks. We are always willing to pay for what we like.” - -That letter came from Dr. Vance J. Hoyt, suite 818, Baker Detwiler -Building, Los Angeles, California, and that’s the sort of letter we -particularly like to read. As the doctor says, money talks,—and it speaks -with an eloquent tongue! - -So, also, do letters of frank criticism such as the following: - - “I’m glad to say that I think the first issue of WEIRD TALES - very good. I read ‘Ooze,’ ‘The Ghoul and the Corpse,’ ‘Fear,’ - ‘The Place of Madness,’ ‘The Unknown Beast,’ ‘The Sequel,’ - ‘The Young Man Who Wanted to Die.’ Of these I was mightily - taken with ‘The Ghoul and the Corpse,’ which, to my mind, ran - a close race with ‘Ooze’—in fact, as to handling, I think - the best written, by far, of any that I read. Taylor’s story - was good—my wife read it, and liked it—and so did I, as to - theme. The handling left something to be desired in the way of - smoothness, but, as a story, it was the cat’s whiskers. ‘The - Unknown Beast’ was about the poorest, pressed for this honor - by Story’s ‘Sequel.’ But, all in all, I am heartily in accord - with your editorial dictum that people DO like and want grim - stories. I know that I’m one who does. And I read ‘The Grim - Thirteen,’ with some amazement that none of these stories had - sold previously. - - “I think some of our editors are so hide-bound, so cribbed, - cabined and confined within the narrow limits of an - increasingly myopic purview that, for the life of them, they - can see nothing but stereotypes. Or else they’re not really - editors, but just hired men who have to pass the stuff up to a - ‘business’ boss who doesn’t know a single thing about fiction, - or life, either, for that matter. All in all, I congratulate - you on something really good—AND new.—H. C., Summit, N. J.” - -We have received a considerable number of letters like the following from -S. O. B. of Beulah, New Mexico: - - “Your enterprise hits me in the right spot. I am a lover of - Poe’s stuff, and have often felt that the general editorial - prejudice against weird stories today isn’t, after all, a true - reflection of the people’s taste. I hope my opinion is correct - and that WEIRD TALES may receive a hearty welcome.” - -Also like this: - - “Congratulations on your new magazine, WEIRD TALES! The first - edition was a veritable ghastly, ghostly knockout! Most every - one enjoys an occasional ghost story, and a thrilling novelette - like ‘Ooze’ is a better tonic than Tanlac.—D. L. C., Denver, - Colorado.” - -Victor Wilson of Hazen, Pa., writes us: - - “I have just finished reading the first installment of ‘The - Thing of a Thousand Shapes.’ It is fine, and one who has a good - imagination should not ‘start it late at night.’ I wish to - congratulate you on your fine fiction magazine. I am a reader - of several other magazines of up-to-date fiction, but yours - is the first of its kind. I have not read all of the stories, - but I like ‘The Place of Madness,’ ‘The Grave,’ and ‘Hark! The - Rattle!’” - -And here’s a line o’ type or two from our star contrib, Anthony M. Rud: - - “WEIRD TALES seems to have hit your mark excellently well. It - possesses glamor for me in every yarn but two—which I won’t - attempt to criticize as both well may suit other readers - exactly.” - -We wish Rud had told us the names of those two yarns. Strange as it may -seem, we’re always more interested in adverse criticism than in praise. - -Still, we can’t deny that we like to get letters like this one from C. P. -O. of Gainesville, Texas: - - “Dear Mr. Baird: Allow me to number myself among the first - subscribers to the new venture. Check enclosed. The sub-title, - ‘unique,’ really describes the magazine, even in these days of - specialization in the magazine field.... WEIRD TALES appears - at a time when the public is interested in this type of story, - I believe, as I notice in the monthly bulletins of Brentano’s, - McClurg’s and Baker & Taylor that quite a collection of ghost, - psychic and weird tales are appearing in book form. Most famous - authors wrote one or more weird tales; to mention a few: - Dickens, Thackeray, Poe, Bierce, O’Brien, F. Marion Crawford - and De Maupassant. I fear you will find greater trouble in - securing good material for WEIRD TALES than for DETECTIVE - TALES, for, after all, the detective story is a matter of - craftsmanship while the really first-class ghost or weird tale - is a matter of art.” - -It is hard to get good material for WEIRD TALES; but we’re glad to work -hard for it—to go almost to any length for it—if, by so doing, we can -offer something distinctive and worthwhile and UNIQUE in magazines. - -Here’s another letter from Texas: - - “Dear sir: I just bought a copy of WEIRD TALES, and I have read - most of the stories and consider them very good. I believe that - a magazine of this type will be very popular. In fact, I am - sure it will be, and I trust nothing will happen to change your - policy in regard to the type of material you are now using and - expect to use in the future.—J. H. C., Houston, Texas.” - -William S. Waudby of Washington, D. C., wrote to us, “You have struck the -right key with WEIRD TALES, and congratulations are in order for Vol. 1, -No. 1,” while E. E. L. of Chicago wrote to us, in part, as follows: - - “Gentlemen: ... You will probably be deluged with a lot of - stuff, for everybody who writes is sometimes compelled to - commit to paper some seductive phantasm of his brain for - the sheer pleasure of doing it.... Poe took more than 5,000 - words to develop his supreme story of horror, and those who - have an ambition to imitate the Master will often require a - larger canvas. Your story lengths—1,000 to 20,000 words—will - give everybody a chance to show what he can do. May I not - express the hope that your magazine will prove a success, and - that you will publish therein stories that otherwise would - molder in filing-cases, and which will be lifted from your - pages to become a permanent part of our literature?... If the - contributions can maintain a sufficiently high level you can - count on me as one of your permanent subscribers, for I dearly - love to read stories of this character.” - -With regard to WEIRD TALES for May: We meant to say a good deal about -it in this month’s Eyrie, but we’ve consumed so much space with our -correspondence that we’ve precious little room left. All we can tell -you now is that if you are seeking the “usual type” of fiction you will -not find it in the May issue of WEIRD TALES. But if you are looking for -“something different”—something that you’ve never expected to see in any -magazine—then the place to find it is in the May WEIRD TALES. Need we say -more?—THE EDITOR. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE SKELETON IN YOUR CLOSET! - - -Open the door and tell us the weird event of your family history. It may -sound terrible to you after reading it but to others would prove only -ordinary reading matter. - -The similarity of these “skeletons” cannot be other than remarkable and -interesting to our readers. - -Your “skeleton” should not exceed 1000 words or run less than 500. If -possible have them typewritten. - -Your name and address will not be published with the story if accepted. -For each “skeleton” published we will pay $5.00. - -_No unpublished stories returned unless requested and accompanied by -return stamped envelope._ - - THE EDITOR - WEIRD TALES 854 N. 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From the business as well as -the social standpoint, it is really time and money profitably spent to -add dancing to your other accomplishments. Especially so, since it now -costs so little—and a fine dancing ability can be mastered in only a few -hours. - -Arthur Murray has perfected a method by which you can learn in the -privacy of your own home, to dance any of the latest dances in a few -minutes—and all of them in a short time. Instructions are so simple that -even a child can quickly learn. In one evening you can master the steps -of any single dance. Partner or music are not necessary. After learning -you can dance with the best dancer in your town and not make a single -misstep. - -[Illustration: Arthur Murray - -Dancing Instructor to the Vanderbilts] - -Learn Without Partner or Music - -Arthur Murray’s remarkable method is so clearly explained and lucidly -written that you don’t need any one to explain the instructions. 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Keep the course for five -full days—practice all the steps—learn everything the lessons teach, -because that is the only way you can prove to your full satisfaction that -Arthur Murray’s method is the quickest, easiest and most delightful way -to learn how to dance correctly and expertly. Then, within five days, if -you desire to do so, you may return the course and your deposit will be -promptly refunded without any questions. But should you decide to keep -the course, as you surely will, it becomes your property without further -payments of any kind. - -Your Satisfaction Guaranteed - -Several times Arthur Murray has been asked how one can learn by mail to -dance? The answer and the proof that you can learn is found in these -special lessons. After reading them over and practicing the steps as -shown in the diagrams, no one can help but feel convinced that Arthur -Murray’s course does teach everything promised. 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