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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-25 07:18:11 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-25 07:18:11 -0800 |
| commit | 46ede50915e6fa4b2c778c9c209109b6ce88644b (patch) | |
| tree | 6ebedc42cfd0478cf3f6c9b7e7b931f3c92bb722 /old/69606-h/69606-h.htm | |
| parent | cce13f6a60aa2766f87f46fc31afff5f4e617004 (diff) | |
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diff --git a/old/69606-h/69606-h.htm b/old/69606-h/69606-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 283a251..0000000 --- a/old/69606-h/69606-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,23308 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Weird Tales, Volume 1, Number 2, April 1923, by Various. - </title> - - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - - <style> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2,h3,h4 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -h2.nobreak { - page-break-before: avoid; -} - -hr { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb { - width: 45%; - margin-left: 27.5%; - margin-right: 27.5%; -} - -hr.chap { - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -img.w100 { - width: 100%; -} - -div.chapter { - page-break-before: always; -} - -ul { - list-style-type: none; 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- font-size: 90%; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.coupon { - border: 1px dotted black; - margin: 1em auto; - max-width: 35em; - padding: 0.25em; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.figleft { - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-left: 0; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.figright { - float: right; - clear: right; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.form { - width: 100%; - border-bottom: 1px dotted; - text-align: left; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 125%; -} - -.largest { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.masthead { - border-top: thin solid black; - border-bottom: thin solid black; - width: 90%; - margin: auto; -} - -.noindent { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.right { - text-align: right; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.spacer { - margin-left: 3em; - margin-right: 3em; -} - -.tb { - margin-top: 2em; -} - -.tp-outer { - border: double black; - margin: auto; - max-width: 35em; - padding: 0.5em; -} - -.tp-inner { - border: thin solid black; - margin: auto; - max-width: 35em; - padding: 0.5em; -} - -.transnote { - background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - text-align: center; - font-size: smaller; - padding: 0.5em; - margin-bottom: 5em; -} - -.u { - text-decoration: underline; -} - -.x-ebookmaker img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 5%; -} - -.x-ebookmaker img.dropcap { - display: none; -} - -.x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { - color: inherit; - visibility: visible; - margin-left: 0; -} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp100 {width: 100%;} -.illowp24 {width: 24%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp24 {width: 100%;} -.illowp29 {width: 29%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp29 {width: 100%;} -.illowp32 {width: 32%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp32 {width: 100%;} -.illowp37 {width: 37%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp37 {width: 100%;} -.illowp45 {width: 45%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp45 {width: 100%;} -.illowp52 {width: 52%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp52 {width: 100%;} -.illowp60 {width: 60%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp60 {width: 100%;} -.illowp75 {width: 75%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp75 {width: 100%;} -.illowp80 {width: 80%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp80 {width: 100%;} -.illowp81 {width: 81%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp81 {width: 100%;} -.illowp93 {width: 93%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp93 {width: 100%;} -.illowp95 {width: 95%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp95 {width: 100%;} - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Weird Tales, Volume 1, Number 2, April, 1923, by Various</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Weird Tales, Volume 1, Number 2, April, 1923</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>The unique magazine</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Edwin Baird</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 22, 2022 [eBook #69606]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WEIRD TALES, VOLUME 1, NUMBER 2, APRIL, 1923 ***</div> - -<div class="transnote"> -Transcriber’s Note: Stories that were originally split over pages, -with adverts and/or other stories in between, have been recombined. -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad01" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - -<img class="w100" src="images/ad01.jpg" alt=""> - -<p class="center largest">Electricity Needs You</p> - -<p class="center larger">I WILL TRAIN YOU AT HOME</p> - -<p class="noindent">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 <b>Home Study Course</b> in <b>Practical</b> Electricity I can train you for these positions.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Earn $70 to $200 a Week</p> - -<p class="noindent">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</p> - -<p class="center larger">Be a Big Paid<br> -ELECTRICAL EXPERT</p> - -<p class="noindent">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 -<b>prepare</b> for success, and get it?</p> - -<p class="noindent">You have the ambition and I will give you the training, so <b>get busy</b>. I am -offering you <b>success</b> 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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Valuable Book Free</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Act Now!</p> - -<p class="noindent">Good intentions never -get you anywhere. -It is action, alone, that counts. NOW IS -THE TIME TO ACT.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">L. L. COOKE, Chief Engineer</span><br> -CHICAGO<br> -ENGINEERING<br> -WORKS<br> -<span class="smaller">2150 LAWRENCE AVENUE<br> -Dept. 43-b, Chicago, U. S. A.</span></p> - -<div class="ad box"> - -<p class="center largest">FREE!</p> - -<p class="center larger">BIG -ELECTRICAL -OUTFIT</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">RADIO -COURSE -FREE</p> - -<p class="noindent">Special newly-written wireless -course worth $45.00 given -away <b>free</b>. Full particulars -when you mail coupon below.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Earn Money -While Learning</p> - -<p class="noindent">I give you something you can -use <i>now</i>. Early in my <i>Home -Study Course</i> 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.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center">CHIEF ENGINEER COOKE<br> -Chicago Engineering Works<br> -Dept. 43-b. 2150 Lawrence Av.<br> -CHICAGO, ILL.</p> - -<p><i>Dear Sir</i>: You may send me -entirely free and fully prepaid, a -copy of your book, “How to Become -an Electrical Expert,” and particulars -about your <b>Home Study Course -in Electricity</b>,</p> - -<div class="form">Name</div> - -<div class="form">Address</div> - -<div class="form">City</div> - -<div class="form">State</div> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter tp-outer"> - -<div class="tp-inner"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p> - -<h1>WEIRD TALES</h1> - -<p class="center larger">THE UNIQUE MAGAZINE</p> - -<p class="center">EDWIN BAIRD, Editor</p> - -<p class="smaller">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.</p> - -<p class="center smaller">Copyright, 1923, by The Rural Publishing Corporation.</p> - -<div class="masthead"> - -<p class="center">VOLUME 1 <span class="spacer">25 Cents</span> NUMBER 2</p> - -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Contents for April, 1923</h2> - -<p class="center larger">SIXTEEN THRILLING SHORT STORIES<br> -TWO COMPLETE NOVELETTES<br> -TWO TWO-PART STORIES<br> -INTERESTING, ODD AND WEIRD HAPPENINGS</p> - -<table> - <tr> - <td>The Scar</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Carl Rasmus</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#THE_SCAR">7</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Thrilling Novelette.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Beyond the Door</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Paul Suter</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Beyond_the_Door">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Short Story of Gripping Interest.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Tortoise Shell Comb</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Roylston Markham</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Tortoise_Shell_Comb">34</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Fantasy of a Mad Brain.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>A Photographic Phantasm</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Paul Crumpler</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#A_Photographic_Phantasm">37</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Living Nightmare</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Anton M. Oliver</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Living_Nightmare">38</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Night in a House of Death.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Incubus</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Hamilton Craigie</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Incubus">42</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Frightful Adventure in an Ancient Tomb.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Bodymaster</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Harold Ward</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Bodymaster">49</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>An Amazing Novelette.</i><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Jungle Death</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Artemus Calloway</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Jungle_Death">70</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Story in Which Crocodiles and Voodooism Play the Stellar Roles.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Snake Fiend</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Farnsworth Wright</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Snake_Fiend">75</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Tale of Diabolic Terror.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>A Square of Canvas</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Anthony M. Rud</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#A_Square_of_Canvas">81</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Story of an Insane Artist.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Affair of the Man in Scarlet</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Julian Kilman</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Affair_of_the_Man_in_Scarlet">91</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Weird Story of the Thirteenth Century.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Hideous Face</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Victor Johns</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Hideous_Face">99</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Grim Tale of Frightful Revenge.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Forty Jars</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Ray McGillivray</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Forty_Jars">105</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Strange Story of the Orient.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Whispering Thing</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Laurie McClintock</span> and <span class="smcap">Culpeper Chunn</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Whispering_Thing">116</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Two-part Novel of Death and Terror.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Thing of a Thousand Shapes</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Otis Adelbert Kline</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Thing_of_a_Thousand_Shapes">139</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>The Concluding Chapters of a Weird Novel.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Conquering Will</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Ted Olson</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Conquering_Will">152</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>Do the Dead Return to Life?</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Six Feet of Willow</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Carrol F. Michener</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Six_Feet_of_Willow">157</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>The Strange Tale of a Yellow Man and His Beloved Reptile.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Hall of the Dead</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Francis D. Grierson</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Hall_of_the_Dead">163</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>An Occult Story of Ancient Egypt.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Parlor Cemetery</td> - <td><span class="smcap">C. E. Howard</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Parlor_Cemetery">169</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A Grisly Satire.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Golden Glow</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Harry Irving Shumway</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Golden_Glow">173</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>A “Haunted House” Story with a Touch of Humor.</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>The Eyrie</td> - <td><span class="smcap">By The Editor</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#The_Eyrie">179</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center">YOUNG & WARD, 168 N. Michigan Boulevard, Chicago,<br> -Advertising Agents for WEIRD TALES</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figleft illowp37" id="ad02" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad02.jpg" alt="Copy this sketch"> -</div> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="larger">FREE</span><br> -$80 Drafting Course</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Draftsman’s Pocket<br> -Rule Free—<span class="smaller">To Everyone Sending Sketch</span></p> - -<div class="figright illowp60" id="ad03" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad03.jpg" alt="Send above Sketch and Get This Ivorine - Pocket Rule FREE"> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="smaller"><i>Positions Paying Up to</i></span><br> -$250 <span class="u">and</span> $300 per Month</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad04" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad04.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="largest">FREE</span> this $25 Draftsman’s<br> -Working Outfit</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Mail Your Drawing at Once—<i>and Get an Ivorine -Pocket Rule Absolutely</i> <span class="u">Free!</span></p> - -<p class="noindent">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,</p> - -<p class="center">Chief Draftsman, Engineers’ Equipment Co.,<br> -1951 Lawrence Av.<br> -Div. 13-94, Chicago</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figright illowp93" id="ad05" style="max-width: 31.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad05.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center larger">“Good-Bye—I’m -Very Glad to -Have Met You”</p> - -<p class="smaller">But he <i>isn’t</i> glad. He is smiling -to hide his confusion. He would -have given anything to avoid the -embarrassment, the discomfort he -has just experienced. <i>Every day</i> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">What Was His Blunder?</p> - -<p>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”?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p class="center larger">Are You Sure of Yourself?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p class="center larger">Famous Book of Etiquette in Two Volumes, -Sent Free for Five Days’ -Examination</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="center">NELSON DOUBLEDAY, Inc.<br> -Dept. 1504 <span class="spacer"> </span> Garden City, New York</p> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center larger">FREE EXAMINATION COUPON</p> - -<p class="center">NELSON DOUBLEDAY, Inc.,<br> -Dept. 1504, Garden City, New York.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="form">Name</div> - -<p class="center smaller">(Please write plainly)</p> - -<div class="form">Address</div> - -<p>□ Check this square if you want these books -with the <b>beautiful full-leather</b> binding at $5.00 -with 5 days’ examination privilege.</p> - -<p class="center">Orders outside U. S. are payable $3.50 cash -with order.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad06" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - -<img class="w100" src="images/ad06.jpg" alt=""> - -<p class="center largest">What Every Criminal Fears</p> - -<p class="noindent">It’s easy enough to make a “getaway”—But</p> - -<p class="noindent">What will he leave behind him?</p> - -<p class="noindent">What will tell the police he has been there?</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center largest">Be a Finger Print Expert</p> - -<p class="center larger">Learn at Home—30 Minutes a Day</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="larger">FREE</span><br> -FINGER PRINT OUTFIT</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">WRITE</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<p class="center">U. S. SCHOOL OF FINGER PRINTS<br> -7003 No. Clark St. Dept. 13-94 Chicago, Ill.</p> - -<div class="box"> - -<p class="center larger">Positions Guaranteed</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center">U. S. SCHOOL OF FINGER PRINTS,<br> -Dept. 13-94, 7003 No. Clark St., Chicago, Ill.</p> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<div class="form">Name</div> - -<div class="form">Age</div> - -<div class="form">Address</div> - -<div class="form">City</div> - -<div class="form">State</div> - -</div> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SCAR">THE SCAR</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>A Thrilling Novelette</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">By CARL RAMUS, M. D.</p> - -</div> - -<p>“Thanks for the lift, Edwards. -Come in for a minute, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“No. I was up nearly -all last night, and must get some -sleep.”</p> - -<p>“To be sure! But you’ve time for -a nip before you go.”</p> - -<p>“Well—since you put it that way, -and in these arid times——”</p> - -<p>“Good! Come along.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Like the good old days,” smiled -Edwards, sipping his glass. “<i>How</i> -do you get it?”</p> - -<p>“A voluntary donation from a -grateful patient, a second steward on -board the—but that would be telling.”</p> - -<p>Edwards took another sip. “I wish -I had one or two patients like that!”</p> - -<p>“You’re not likely to get them as -long as you stick to <i>your</i> specialty.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose not—Hello! What’s -all that shouting for?”</p> - -<p>Both men listened. Newsboys -were yelling an “Extra.” Carlson -opened a window, leaned far out, and -drew up a paper.</p> - -<p>“Just another bank robbery. -They’re so common now as to be -hardly worth mentioning.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly. Anything new in the -Holden case?”</p> - -<p>“Let’s see.... O yes! Here it -is: ‘Father of Ina Holden gets another -threatening letter.’”</p> - -<p>Edwards’ jaw set. “If I had my -way,” he said, “every kidnapper -would go to the chair!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go you one better. If I had -<i>my</i> way, they’d get the Georgia -treatment!”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Lynching!”</p> - -<p>Edwards was silent.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!”</p> - -<p>“Very much so. It has to do with -an unusual surgical case, which I believe -was reported in the International -Journal of Surgery or <i>The London -Lancet</i> by Professor Meyerovitch.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember reading it. -Please tell me about it.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Fool!”</p> - -<p>“Most of us thought so then, but -somehow Meyerovitch always got -good results—<i>always</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Pure accident.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t seem to remember that incision,” -said Carlson, after a slight -pause. “What is it?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But, Edwards, as I remember, -Senn recommended the McBurney -method in his book.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Most likely. And how did the -case get along?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Meyerovitch’s bull luck.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“They’re very rich, aren’t they?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The colleagues silently finished -their illegal glasses. Then Edwards -looked at his watch and rose from his -chair.</p> - -<p>“Good night, Herbert, and many -thanks for the drink.”</p> - -<p>Carlson, alone, looked at a memorandum -that his sister had left on his -desk.</p> - -<p>“Nothing more for tonight, thank -God,” he thought with relief.</p> - -<p>He closed and fastened the windows, -bolted the door, and was passing -into his bedroom, when the telephone -rang.</p> - -<p>“Damn! Why didn’t I muffle it?”</p> - -<p>He put the receiver to his ear.</p> - -<p>“Well?” he said abruptly.</p> - -<p>“Doctor Carlson speaking?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Can you come at once to a very -sick case?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, but I can’t. My car is -out of order, and I’m not very well -myself tonight.”</p> - -<p>“But this case is extremely urgent, -sir, and we don’t want anyone else -but you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, but——”</p> - -<p>“Please listen, Doctor. I’ll have a -car for you in five minutes, and take -you home afterwards, if you’ll only -come.”</p> - -<p>“Try another doctor first.”</p> - -<p>“We <i>have</i> tried, but can’t find one -of the only other two we have confidence -in. Money is no object. -Please do reconsider, Doctor.”</p> - -<p>“Who recommended me to you? -Do I know you?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know you personally. -But you are highly recommended by -the Brooklyn Hospital. Once more<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -let me say that your fee can be as -large as you like.”</p> - -<p>Carlson did not answer for a while.</p> - -<p>“All right, I’ll go,” he said at last. -“What is it—a medical or surgical -case?”</p> - -<p>After a short silence, the voice replied: -“Medical, I think. But you -had better come prepared to do whatever -is necessary.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. I’ll be ready when -you call for me.”</p> - -<p>Carlson placed his medical and -surgical bags on the table, put on his -overcoat and hat, and sat down to -wait.</p> - -<p>In less than five minutes he heard -the <i>honk-honk</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>honks</i>—one long and two short. -Carlson bent forward and peered -ahead, but could see nothing.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then came a few moments of the -most eloquent silence that Carlson -had ever experienced. He said nothing -and waited.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. What do you want me to -do?”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be told later. My partner’ll -sit by you now, and I’ll sit facing -you. So——”</p> - -<p>They got inside and shut the doors, -and the car started forward at high -speed.</p> - -<p>“Sorry, Doc, but we’ll have to -blindfold you,” said the masked man.</p> - -<p>And then a heavy muffler was -wound about his face.</p> - -<h3><i>II</i></h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -All this, with good and strong -features and a pleasant expression, -made an ensemble which expressed -health, confidence and efficiency.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When at last the voices and footsteps -had become almost inaudible, -the voice spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Now, Doc—no fooling.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Come along, Doc, give me your -hand.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He heard a key turning in a lock, -and a door open, and he was led into -a warm room. The door <i>clicked</i> after -them. A woman’s harsh voice impatiently -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“I thought you’d <i>never</i> come.”</p> - -<p>“Shut up!” said Carlson’s guide. -“Here’s the Doctor. Take him upstairs. -Step lively, will you! Keep -right hold of my arm, Doc.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Shut the door!”</p> - -<p>It was done.</p> - -<p>“Now take off the blinder!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Now, Doc, a word with you -alone,” said one of the men. “Come -here!”</p> - -<p>He stepped into a small dressing -room and Carlson followed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span></p> - -<p>“Shut the door!”</p> - -<p>Carlson obeyed.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Go on.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s why she dasn’t go -to a hospital, and that’s why we had -to get you. Get me?”</p> - -<p>“Go on.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I have some medicines in my -bag.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I understand.”</p> - -<p>“Good! Just one other thing. You -can’t see her face, and there can’t be -any talking, not one word. You understand?”</p> - -<p>Carlson felt that the time had come -for him to say something, and he said -it:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>The man hesitated, fingering his -automatic.</p> - -<p>“Open that door!” he commanded, -after a pause. Carlson did as he was -told.</p> - -<p>“Teresa!”</p> - -<p>She appeared so quickly that Carlson -was sure that she had been -listening behind the door.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“All right, Boss, I’ll tell her.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>telephone</i>.</p> - -<p>The masked woman suddenly appeared -at the door.</p> - -<p>“She’s ready for the doctor,” she -snapped out viciously.</p> - -<p>Carlson looked at his masked companion -for orders.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Carlson did not answer, and followed -the woman to a darkened bedside. -The man also followed, and -stood at the foot of the bed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span></p> - -<h3><i>III</i></h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be afraid, Madam,” he said -rather huskily. “I’m the doctor. I -want to feel your pulse.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Hold it that way for five minutes, -please.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“How long have you been sick?”</p> - -<p>“Three days.” The voice was soft, -but deep and sweet.</p> - -<p>“Is your throat sore?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Do you cough?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Have you pain anywhere?”</p> - -<p>“I hardly know. I feel sick all -over.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I must have more light,” he said -abruptly.</p> - -<p>The woman hesitated and looked -toward the man.</p> - -<p>“What about it?” she jerked out.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with this light?” -the man snapped angrily.</p> - -<p>“Just that it isn’t enough for me, -that’s all! She may have typhus or -smallpox—”</p> - -<p>“Hell!” The man jumped backward -so quickly that he upset a small -table and chair.</p> - -<p>“Damn her!” screamed the woman, -retreating to the wall.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>After a short but tense silence he -said impressively:</p> - -<p>“Yes, it may be smallpox. But I -cannot say for certain in this light.”</p> - -<p>The masked man waited a few uneasy -seconds, then went to the chandelier -and raised a hand to the light -key.</p> - -<p>“Teresa. See that the bandage is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> -tight over her face before I turn on -more light.” His voice was surly.</p> - -<p>“I won’t touch her again if she has -smallpox!” Teresa’s strident voice -shook.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you will, or I’ll brain you.” -He took a step toward her.</p> - -<p>The woman muttered, but obeyed, -though her hands shook as she fumbled -with the bandage. Crossing herself, -she said with shaking voice:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What do you make of it, Doc?” -asked the man impatiently.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she faintly murmured.</p> - -<p>Carlson looked around at the man.</p> - -<p>“I am not in the habit of examining -women in the presence of strange -men,” he said sharply.</p> - -<p>The man mumbled a curse and -turned his back. Carlson then looked -at the masked woman.</p> - -<p>“Turn down the bedclothes and open -her nightgown!”</p> - -<p>“Do it yourself! I won’t touch her -again!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Carlson’s examination of lungs and -heart found absolutely nothing to account -for the very high fever. Then -he thought of appendicitis or peritonitis.</p> - -<p>“Now, please let me examine the -abdomen for a moment.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“So you have had appendicitis?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“It must have been a bad case—to -judge from the size of the scar.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The large surgical scar was in the -form of <i>a perfect reversed letter S</i>.</p> - -<h3><i>IV</i></h3> - -<p>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! <i>Now</i> he remembered. -The only case on record -in which that Senn S-incision had -been made for appendicitis was the -case of Ina Holden.</p> - -<p>He heard the masked man muttering -in angry impatience, and then his -brain began to work again. The -Holden <i>child</i>. Edwards had spoken -of her as “little Ina.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How long ago did you have this -operation?”</p> - -<p>“I—when I was a child.”</p> - -<p>“How long ago was that?”</p> - -<p>“About eight or nine years ago.”</p> - -<p>“Ah——”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Just about a minute more and I -can tell you,” he said, as nonchalantly -as he could say the words.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I will have to examine her -throat,” he said, with professional -voice.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><i>Flash!</i> The room was in complete -darkness. Carlson had short-circuited -the current and fulminated the -fuse, probably for the whole house.</p> - -<p>“Damn it!” he exclaimed, ostentatiously. -“What am I going to do -now?”</p> - -<p>Almost instantly the beam of a -pocket flashlight came from the hand -of the “boss.”</p> - -<p>“Take this, doc,” he said, holding -it toward Carlson.</p> - -<p>He took it, asked the girl to open -her mouth, and looked within.</p> - -<p>“No good at all. I <i>must</i> have the -electric light. Where is the fuse -box?”</p> - -<p>The “boss” looked at Teresa.</p> - -<p>“It’s in the cellar with the meter,” -she said.</p> - -<p>“Go down and put in a new fuse.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how. You’ll have -to come with me.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Tony!”</p> - -<p>“Huh?”</p> - -<p>“Come here!”</p> - -<p>The giant slouched nearer.</p> - -<p>“Where’s your flash-light?”</p> - -<p>He produced it.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> - -<p>Carlson’s plan was completely -frustrated by the baleful presence of -this Frankenstein Monster.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He took her nearest and burning -hand in both of his.</p> - -<p>“There, there. Everything will -be all right.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Tony!” he said commandingly.</p> - -<p>“Huh?”</p> - -<p>“Help me to fix up this head light -of mine. Bend those points out -straight—so!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h3><i>V</i></h3> - -<p>He rushed to the door and bolted -it; then back to the bedside.</p> - -<p>“Are you Ina Holden?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!”</p> - -<p>“Then get out of bed instantly. -I’m going to save you.”</p> - -<p>As she started up, he seized her in -his arms, lifted her out bodily, and -plumped her into the nearest upholstered -chair.</p> - -<p>“Take off that bandage as quickly -as you can!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“O, yes!”</p> - -<p>“Fine! Watch that beast while I -telephone the police. If he moves, -shoot him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p> - -<p>Carlson rushed into the smaller -room, kicking two small chairs out of -his way and looked behind the screen. -Praise be to God! It <i>was</i> a telephone. -He jerked the receiver to his ear and -began jiggling the instrument frantically. -After a few interminable seconds -came the blessed words:</p> - -<p>“Number, please?”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>call</i> it. <i>This</i> is it. Now listen. -Have you got this number written -down?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, but—”</p> - -<p>“Listen, I tell you!”</p> - -<p>“I am listening!”</p> - -<p>“Ina Holden is a prisoner in this -house, with telephone Cartwright 872. -Do you know who Ina Holden is?”</p> - -<p>“You mean the kidnapped girl?”</p> - -<p>“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. <i>Quick</i>, for -God’s sake!”</p> - -<p>Another agonizing wait; then—</p> - -<p>“Police headquarters speaking.”</p> - -<p>“Ina Holden is in a house with -phone number Cartwright 872. Mark -it down.”</p> - -<p>He heard the voice of the officer -dictating “Cartwright 872. Ina Holden.” -Then, “What else, sir?”</p> - -<p>“There are at least four armed men -in the house, and one woman.”</p> - -<p>“Where is the house?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Carlson could hear the officer giving -rapid orders, and, more faintly, -their repetition being shouted out -through the station.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Good! Stay at the ’phone as long -as you can and keep me informed to -the last possible moment. Good luck -to you!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll put the girl at the ’phone, -and stand guard myself. Ina!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, doctor.” She came in quickly, -the pistol in her hand.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No. He doesn’t seem to breathe.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The police have been asking me a -lot of questions. How about the man -in the next room?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He looked quickly around the room.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p> - -<p>And then Carlson began dragging -furniture from the bedroom into the -dressing room until the latter was -nearly full.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I confess I don’t know what to -make of your fever,” he said frankly.</p> - -<p>She half smiled as she replied:</p> - -<p>“Of course. I should have thought -of that before. It isn’t a <i>real</i> fever, -but what the Italians call an <i>impressione</i>.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“An effect of a shock.”</p> - -<p>“But no mere shock can cause actual -fever!”</p> - -<p>“That’s what many doctors have -said. But the fact is that it <i>does</i> -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 <i>you</i> -here.”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>not</i> the temperature.”</p> - -<p>He then asked: “How does it happen -that the kidnappers have a house -like this?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The woman Teresa?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly the lights flashed out. The -fuse was repaired at last. The kidnappers -would be at the door in a few -moments!</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“They are coming now—but don’t -be afraid.”</p> - -<p>She said nothing, but raised both -her hands and clasped them over his -for a moment.</p> - -<p>He stepped softly into the darkened -bedroom, just as a key turned in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -the lock. The knob was turned, the -door tried—then shaken. There was -a short silence. Then, from the -“boss:”</p> - -<p>“Open the door, you fool!”</p> - -<p>Carlson was silent.</p> - -<p>“Tony!”</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>“Tony! What the hell’s the matter -with you?”</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>A whispered consultation outside -the door. Then:</p> - -<p>“Tony! Doctor! Open that door -or, by God! I’ll——”</p> - -<p>More whispering, then a short -silence.</p> - -<p>“Doctor!”</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I can’t find anything but a -hatchet.”</p> - -<p>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. <i>What</i> were the scoundrels -doing?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When they were opposite the door, -something heavy hit the floor. Then, -once more, the sullen voice of the -“boss.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Silence! After about a quarter of -a minute, the “boss” said:</p> - -<p>“Now then! All together!”</p> - -<p>Carlson braced himself. But suddenly -the woman screamed, “Stop!”</p> - -<p>“Shut up! You—”</p> - -<p>“I won’t. Listen!” And though -she spoke lower, Carlson could hear -her say something about the doctor -and Tony’s pistol!</p> - -<p>“I know that,” muttered the man, -“but we’ve got to risk it!”</p> - -<p>Another voice, Carlson thought that -of the man who sat beside him in the -auto, half whispered:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“But—”</p> - -<p>“Take that, will you, and shut up!” -a blow, a fall, and a groan, as if from -the level of the floor.</p> - -<p>A few seconds of dead silence, then -the voice of the “boss”:</p> - -<p>“Now, get together and smash that -door!”</p> - -<p>More shuffling of feet and the dragging -of something heavy, then the -muffled voice of the woman:</p> - -<p>“Maybe he found the phone—”</p> - -<p>“Quick! Bust in that door!”</p> - -<p>Carlson held his breath.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>So he quickly began dragging more -chairs, tables and what not into the -small dressing-room.</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> The door fell inward -against the head of the massive bed.</p> - -<p>Carlson dragged a davenport into -the little room, and then closed its -door, locking and bolting it.</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Thank God <i>this</i> door opens outward!” -he said to Ina. She was still -at her post at the telephone.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“The police want to know how -long we can hold out!”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps another five minutes.”</p> - -<p>“Five minutes more—what?... -O, I hope so!”</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> This time on the inner -door. It held perfectly!</p> - -<p>“They are attacking our inner -door, Inspector—you heard it?”</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> A panel cracked, all the -way down.</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> 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.</p> - -<p>Carlson readjusted the shifting barricade, -and glanced at Ina.</p> - -<p>“You are hurt!”</p> - -<p>“It’s nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Into the bathroom, quickly!”</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> Another panel cracked!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Carlson forced Ina into a chair and -knelt beside her, indifferent to everything -now but the bleeding cut on -her face.</p> - -<p>“Let me look at it!”</p> - -<p>“It’s nothing at all, I tell you! Go -back and attend to the door. We -must barricade ourselves in here in -another minute.”</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“They won’t shoot <i>me</i>—not yet, -anyway,” she said.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -Don’t waste a shot! The police should -be here any moment.”</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> The lock and bolt snapped, -and the door itself was pressed -inward several inches, but rebounded -by the pressure of the barricade.</p> - -<p><i>CRASH!</i> 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:</p> - -<p>“The Cops! They’re around the -house!”</p> - -<p>“Damnation! Get the Girl, at all -costs!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Carlson felt everything growing -dark.</p> - -<p>“Ina?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear; we’ve won the fight!”</p> - -<p>His head sank against her breast, -just as two policemen appeared in the -doorway.</p> - -<p>She dropped the pistol and put both -arms about him.</p> - -<h3><i>VI</i></h3> - -<p>“Miss Holden?” asked one of -the officers, turning his bull’s-eye -lantern on them.</p> - -<p>She did not answer, but looked -long and tensely at Carlson’s white -unconscious face. Then she pressed a -kiss on his forehead.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The police surgeon will be here in -a moment, Miss Holden. Let us take -him into another room.”</p> - -<p>As they took him from her arms -they saw that her garment was soaked -with his blood.</p> - -<p>“Who is he?” asked the lieutenant.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“But where is the <i>girl</i>?”</p> - -<p>“I am Ina Holden,” she said -quickly, “but never mind <i>me</i>. Look at -<i>him</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Who is he?”</p> - -<p>“The man who saved me. They -shot him just before the police came.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Very serious! There seems to be -severe hemorrhage into the pleura. He -must be rushed to the nearest hospital -for immediate operation.”</p> - -<p>“Doctor,” asked Ina, with shaking -voice. “Is he—will he recover?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ina!—my Girl!—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my girl! Go on!”</p> - -<p>“He was shot defending me before -the police could get here. And now—he -may be—<i>dying</i>!—” Her voice -broke.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Where’s the telephone?” said -Holden.</p> - -<p>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! <i>Must be saved!</i></p> - -<p>“What is it, Lieutenant?”</p> - -<p>“I have found his name, sir. It’s -on his surgical bag. He is Dr. Herbert -Carlson of New York.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much! Please -find his ’phone number and I will -call his wife and tell her what we -are doing for him.”</p> - -<p>As her father was calling Carlson’s -telephone number, Ina listened with -strained attention. His <i>wife</i>! Somehow, -it had never occurred to her -that he might be married!</p> - -<p>“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?... -<i>Not</i> married?... O, I beg -your pardon! His sister?—yourself? -Thank you! Now listen to me, -please!...”</p> - -<p>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 <i>must</i> be saved! Nothing -else mattered!</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Hospital speaking. I have a message -for Mr. Holden.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Holden speaking. Quick! -What’s your message?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="footer1" style="max-width: 18.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/footer1.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Thrillers Make Audiences Warm</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The owner of a motion picture theatre disagreed with this, but said that -a comedy film always means a rising temperature.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Creeping Horror Lurked</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Beyond_the_Door">Beyond the Door</h2> - -<p class="center larger">An Unusual Story</p> - -<p class="center larger">By PAUL SUTER</p> - -</div> - -<p>“You haven’t told me yet how -it happened,” I said to Mrs. -Malkin.</p> - -<p>She set her lips and eyed -me, sharply.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you talk with the coroner, -sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course,” I admitted; -“but as I understand you found my -uncle, I thought——”</p> - -<p>“Well, I wouldn’t care to say anything -about it,” she interrupted, -with decision.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Nor anywhere else,” I encouraged -her, with a laugh; and her confidences -opened another notch:</p> - -<p>“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.’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p> - -<p>“And did he never try to reform -his ways when you told him that?” -I asked, smiling.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>She swallowed the bait, and leaned -forward, hands on knees.</p> - -<p>“Poor girl, it got on her nerves. -But she was the quiet kind. You -never saw her, sir?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“Did you understand she was -going to live with him, sir?” -asked Mrs. Malkin, looking hard -at me.</p> - -<p>I confined myself to a nod.</p> - -<p>“Well, so did I. Yet, after a year, -back she went.”</p> - -<p>“She went suddenly?” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“They must have had a falling-out,” -I conjectured. “I suppose it -was because of the house.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe it was and maybe it -wasn’t.”</p> - -<p>“You know of other reasons?”</p> - -<p>“I have eyes in my head,” she -said. “But I’m not going to talk -about it. Shall we be getting on -now, sir?”</p> - -<p>I tried another lead:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>To my relief, she responded readily:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>She paused, and then went on, -sobbing:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>As she stopped again, suddenly, -and threw a suspicious glance at me, -I hastened to insert a matter-of-fact -question:</p> - -<p>“Did he appear ill on that last -day?”</p> - -<p>“Not so much ill, as——”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” I prompted.</p> - -<p>She was silent a long time, while -I waited, afraid that some word of -mine had brought back her former<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -attitude of hostility. Then she -seemed to make up her mind.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I followed her direction. What I -saw led me to drop to my hands and -knees, the better to examine it.</p> - -<p>“Why should he put a rubber -strip on the bottom of his door?” I -asked, getting up.</p> - -<p>She replied with another enigmatical -suggestion:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malkin portentously shook -her head and sighed, as one unburdening -her mind.</p> - -<p>“Only this can I say, sir: He was -afraid of something—<i>terribly</i> afraid, -sir. Something that came in the -night.”</p> - -<p>“What was it?” I demanded.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, sir.”</p> - -<p>“It was in the night that—it happened?” -I asked.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Did you read this?” I demanded.</p> - -<p>She met my gaze, frankly.</p> - -<p>“I looked into it, sir, just as you -did—only just <i>looked</i> into it. Not -for worlds would I do even that -again!”</p> - -<p>“I noticed some reference here to -a slab in the cellar. What slab is -that?”</p> - -<p>“It covers an old, dried-up well, -sir.”</p> - -<p>“Will you show it to me?”</p> - -<p>“You can find it for yourself, sir, -if you wish. I’m not goin’ down -there,” she said, decidedly.</p> - -<p>“Ah, well, I’ve seen enough for -today,” I told her. “I’ll take the -diary back to my hotel and read it.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I dismissed Mrs. Malkin, and remained -in the study. There was the -fitting place to read the diary he had -left behind him.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -be turned aside from its single -hobby.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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——</p> - -<p>“I am largely to blame. Yet, -had I taken any other course -afterward than the one I did, the -authorities would have misunderstood.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“August 3rd. Again the awful -insistence. I sit here, with -this diary upon my knee, and it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“August 10th. Have fastened -heavy rubber strips on the bottom -of my bedroom door.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -mind? I must pull myself together. -In particular, I must -not, under any pressure, yield, -and visit the cellar after nightfall.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“THE THING BEFORE ME -WAS NOT A DOG!</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>A heavy blot followed, partly covering -the writing. With difficulty, -I made it out:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -would misunderstand. So I took -what seemed the best course. -She had no friends here who -would inquire.</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Not the slab in the cellar! -Not that! Oh, my God, anything -but that! Anything——”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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?</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“See anything, Walters?” inquired -the detective, raspingly.</p> - -<p>The policeman shook his head.</p> - -<p>The little man turned his questioning -to me.</p> - -<p>“You’re quite sure?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Ask the coroner. He saw the -diary,” I told him.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid there can be no -doubt,” the coroner confirmed, in -his heavy, tired voice.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t seem very heavy, does -it?” he suggested, in an undertone.</p> - -<p>I shook my head. “Still, it’s -stone,” I demurred. “A man would -have to be rather strong to lift it.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>The policeman interrupted, -straightening again with a groan, -and laying his electric torch beside -the well.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The detective cut in:</p> - -<p>“I’m lighter than you, Walters.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not afraid, sir.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p> - -<p>“There <i>is</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“A stone so light that he could -prop it up wouldn’t be heavy enough -to kill him,” I objected.</p> - -<p>“No.” He laid a hand on my -shoulder. “Not to <i>kill</i> him—to <i>paralyze</i> -him—if it struck the spine in -a certain way. To render him helpless, -but not unconscious. The <i>post -mortem</i> would disclose that, through -the bruises on the body.”</p> - -<p>The policeman and the detective -had adjusted the knots to their satisfaction. -They were bickering now -as to the details of the descent.</p> - -<p>“Would that cause death?” I -whispered.</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -<p>Again the policeman interrupted:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What does he say?” the coroner -demanded.</p> - -<p>The policeman turned his square, -dogged face toward us.</p> - -<p>“I think he’s found something,” -he explained.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The policeman’s big shoulders began -straining, rhythmically.</p> - -<p>“All together,” he directed. -“Take it easy. Pull when I do.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Let down a little. He’s stuck -with it against the side.”</p> - -<p>We slackened the rope, until the -detective’s voice gave us the word -again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p> - -<p>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——</p> - -<p>I looked away; but, as he laid his -burden down at the side of the well, -the detective whispered to us:</p> - -<p>“He had her covered up with dirt—covered -up....”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>It was not then, but afterward, -that I put my question to the coroner.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” I demanded. “People -pass there at all hours. Why didn’t -my uncle call for help?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You are sure he didn’t murder -her?” He had given me that assurance -before, but I wished it again.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>One should be thankful, even for -crumbs of comfort. I am -thankful.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I try not to think of the final expiation. -Yet <i>was</i> 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?</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Murderous Sheik Flees to Forest</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Tortoise_Shell_Comb"><i>The Tortoise Shell Comb</i></h2> - -<p class="center larger">The Fantasy of a Mad Brain</p> - -<p class="center larger">By ROYLSTON MARKHAM</p> - -</div> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“What? Ghosts? No sir, of -course not; I don’t believe in ’em, not -on <i>this</i> side of the Atlantic ... -who ever told you <i>I</i> believed in -ghosts.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>me</i> off; that and the fact -that I never did like Captain Bott.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“He said it was the best shakedown -he’d seen in weeks.</p> - -<p>“‘I’ll damned soon get a good -night’s rest,’ he said.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>don’t</i> believe in ’em, not -on <i>this</i> side of the Atlantic. But, -in the woods, at Is-Sur-Tille at night, -that’s different.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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>I’m</i> not curious -like that. But Captain Bott was -hard-boiled. And he didn’t believe in -ghosts....</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“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 <i>dead</i>!...</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I see nothing else? No, -but I thought I <i>heard</i> or <i>felt</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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 <i>that</i> guy was so hard-boiled -he didn’t believe in French -ghost stories.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t there a haunted chateau at -Is-Sur-Tille, and didn’t the officer he -tells about die in the bedroom there?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Oui, mais certainement!</i> 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 <i>look</i> like -hair to a crazy man.”</p> - -<p>“But that comb?” I persisted. -“What about that tortoise-shell -comb?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_Photographic_Phantasm"><i>A Photographic Phantasm</i></h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By Paul Crumpler, M. D.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>One “Creepy” Night in a -House of Death</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Living_Nightmare">The<br> -Living Nightmare</h2> - -<p class="center larger">By ANTON M. OLIVER</p> - -</div> - -<p>“You mean to tell me,” demanded -Jim Brown, “that -those people left town and expect -you to stay in that house -alone tonight?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes,” said MacMillen, preparing -to leave. “They’ve gone to -Virginia and will be back Thursday, -when the funeral will take place.”</p> - -<p>“And they left the body lying in -the living-room?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. Where did you expect -them to leave it—on the porch?”</p> - -<p>“And you are going to sleep in that -house alone—with the corpse?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. What of it? There’s nothing -to be afraid of.”</p> - -<p>Taking his hat and coat, MacMillen -departed.</p> - -<p>“Pleasant dreams!” called Brown, -as the door slammed behind him.</p> - -<p>The night was cold and the atmosphere -was clear and “hard.” The -snow crackled under his feet as he -walked.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>No, of course, he was not afraid; -but it was strange that they should -leave the corpse in his charge and -depart.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>Still, the Mitchells were a little -queer anyway, reflected Mac, as he -turned up the ice-covered path of the -Mitchell residence.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Mac walked unhesitatingly toward -the big dark house. But, somehow, -the formidable brick walls that always -looked so inviting seemed cold and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -inhospitable tonight. Strange shadows -were playing in the windows.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—<i>but the hall remained -dark</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>nearer</i>.</p> - -<p>His decision to investigate suddenly -left him. He stood motionless, unable -to move, for he not only <i>heard</i>—he -also <i>felt</i>! Then, with a sudden resolve, -he stepped swiftly to his room, -which was on the same floor and adjoined -the library.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How ridiculous!” he said, half -aloud, with a forced laugh. Then he -began slowly to undress.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Darn Brown!” he murmured. -“He got me all wrought up over nothing -with his kidding.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span></p> - -<p>He was drifting off on the first soft -currents of sleep when he suddenly -sat up with a jerk. He had heard a -noise!</p> - -<p>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 <i>must</i> hear again, the source -of which he <i>must</i> locate.</p> - -<p>His body began to ache from sitting -rigidly in one position. Still all was -silent.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He wanted to rise, but he could not.</p> - -<p>He was not afraid, he told himself,—and -yet....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As the last note died away, Mac -suddenly remembered that <i>the clock -had been stopped by Mrs. Mitchell</i> as -a mark of respect to her, who, in the -adjoining room, was awaiting burial.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>A sudden feeling of relief came -over Mac. It was clear now; -somebody had come back, Mr. Mitchell -perhaps. That explained everything.</p> - -<p>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 <i>empty pedestals</i>. -The body had disappeared!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“I know what I felt in that room -that night. It had a <i>hold</i> on me, and -it is waiting for me, and I am not -going back!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Has “Tut’s” Tomb Really Been Found?</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>A Man’s Frightful Adventure -in an Ancient Tomb</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Incubus">The INCUBUS</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By</i> HAMILTON CRAIGIE</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And yet that Something, as he told -himself, was behind him—his victim, -the man whom he had killed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -sworn, took on suddenly the form and -substance of mocking speech: “<i>Facilis -decensus Averni</i>,” it whispered in his -ear, as in a dim current of the whispering -wind.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>The accident had been impossible to -foresee. He had <i>known</i> that it could -not happen; and yet....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Gerald!” he had cried. “It is -<i>alive</i>—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—”</p> - -<p>But he was destined never to complete -the speech.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He bent swiftly, with frantic fingers -searching in the mold, scratching, -clawing in a fever of anxiety.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Now, in his warped and twisted -brain the germ of a thought grew, expanded, -flowered abruptly in an insane -cacophony of sound.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—<i>recognized</i> it for -what it was even in the enveloping -blackness.</p> - -<p>At any other time he would have -known that measured dripping for -what it was: the curiously suggestive -rhythm of the stalactite’s slow <i>drip-drip</i>, -like the sluggish dripping of -blood.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>the clammy surface of a -human face</i>!</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>He had returned, willy nilly, as -it seemed, to the body of his victim. -It was the face of Pillsbury, -cold, clammy, silent, unresponsive.</p> - -<p>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 <i>drip-drip</i>—inexorable, -insistent, ever louder, as -it seemed—rising in a veritable -thunder against the low-hung curtain -of the dark.</p> - -<p>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 <i>it had been lying, face downward -in the mold</i>!</p> - -<p>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:<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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. <i>Ah!</i></p> - -<p>Feverishly he felt about him in the -blackness, clawing forward on hands -and knees. Yes, the line ran clear, -unbroken, <i>away</i> from the niche. He -was saved!</p> - -<p>In his sudden revulsion, he gave -way to primitive emotion—he chuckled, -moaned, cried, wept, laughed in a -horrible travesty of mirth.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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, -<i>bequeathed</i> to those fingers a message, -a command to be performed. <i>Rigor -mortis</i>—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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“God!” he mumbled, again, in an -unconscious travesty—a hideous burlesque -of supplication.</p> - -<p>It <i>was</i> 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>While he moved he knew that they -would not attack him. While he lived, -even without movement, he believed -that he was safe.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>corpus delicti</i>—there -could be no conviction without evidence, -and no murder without a victim -produced as of due process of -law.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>knowledge</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -the hills, deeper and deeper into oblivion, -down and down into the uttermost -hell of one’s imagining?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><i>Slap—slap—shuffle—slap....</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then he sank abruptly to his knees -as eager hands relieved him of his -burden. He heard voices, meaningless, -yet filled with meaning....</p> - -<p>He fell instantaneously down a long -stairway to the deep, enveloping -mercy of unconsciousness.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“The stalactite—it was the stalactite -that killed him, I tell you.... -It was an accident—an <i>accident</i>....”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“<i>The rats</i> ... knew....”</p> - -<p>Before him, his face death-white, -his hands scarred from the rough -stone up which he had clawed to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>The drunken sleep of the miners....</p> - -<p>The nibbling of the rats.... -Pillsbury’s awakening to consciousness.... -His instinctive, <i>upward</i> 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....</p> - -<p>Potential murderer that he was, -Marston himself, by a poetic irony -of justice, had been the unwitting -savior of his intended victim!</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">More About the Egyptians</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right">J. K.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>An Amazing Novelette -Filled With Weird Happenings</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Bodymaster"><i>The</i><br> -BODYMASTER</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By</i> Harold Ward</p> - -</div> - -<h3><i>Foreword</i></h3> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> - -<p><i>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?</i></p> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER I.</i></h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>His face was drawn, haggard, contorted; -and the snow-white hair, -which crowned his youthful face, was -matted and unkempt. His eyes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -bulged from their sockets like those -of a maniac as he glared at the oncoming -machine.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What the hell!” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Quick!” he exclaimed hoarsely. -“He—the Bodymaster—is after me! -Get me to the police station. I must—Oh, -my God! I <i>must</i> tell my story -before he seizes me again!”</p> - -<p>He managed to open the door and -stumble into the machine. The -driver turned to him.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>An involuntary shudder ran -through the young man. His eyes -dilated. He shrank away from the -motorist.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>He turned to the driver and -grasped him by the arm.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“He is <i>here</i>! <i>The Bodymaster is -here!</i>” he shrieked. “Drive—for the -love of God, dr——”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>With a wild yell of terror, the -driver leaped from the machine. The -automobile swerved, skidded—then -hurled its weight against a nearby -tree.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In the bottom of the car the -stranger lay dead!</p> - -<p><i>And upon his white throat were the -black marks of fingers!</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER II.</i></h3> - -<p>John Duncan was arrested, -charged with the murder of the -unknown young man.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I secured the position.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>An uncanny, eerie, ghost-like place, -this sanitarium of Doctor Lessman’s.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -macadamized driveway which wound -about through the trees, leading to -the house. The nearest habitation -was several miles away.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><i>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></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>With a gesture of his slender hand -he invited me to enter—<i>the lair of -the Bodymaster</i>!</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER III.</i></h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h4>THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“The ragged stranger was right. -Lessman <i>is</i> a Bodymaster. Already -he holds me in his power. My<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -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.”</p> - -<h4>ANOTHER ENTRY IN THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“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>I have killed him!</i>... -We seize the jewels from the -safe and escape....”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“One glimpse of Meta Vinetta and -I was lost.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Lessman has elected to live forever!</i> -Of that I am certain. He and -Meta—the woman he loves.”</p> - -<h4>ANOTHER ENTRY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER IV.</i></h3> - -<p><i>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -they were dreams, of what was -their substance? A dream must -have some foundation.</i></p> - -<h4>FROM THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Last night I am almost certain -that we exchanged bodies—the Bodymaster -and I!</i></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“She screamed! God in heaven, -how she shrieked! Then the body of -Meta staggered to a nearby chair and -dropped into its recesses.</p> - -<p>“<i>And from the throat of the fair-haired -girl with the angel’s face came -the voice of Meta!</i></p> - -<p>“‘<i>It is done!</i>’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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. -<i>It was the face of Lessman, the Bodymaster!</i></p> - -<p>“The clothes were his. <i>I was inhabiting -his body!</i></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I knew that it was not I—that it -was Lessman, the Bodymaster, who -offered his foul caresses to the beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -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....</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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—<i>my throat</i>—which lay beneath -my fingers.</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER V.</i></h3> - -<h4>MORE FROM THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<h4>ANOTHER ENTRY.</h4> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -her advertisement. Meta appeared -before her as the Good Samaritan—a -woman, wealthy, refined, seeking a -companion. She brought her here.</p> - -<p>“Lessman allows me to see her -every day now. What devilish plan -has he in view that he should torture -me with her sufferings?”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER VI.</i></h3> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> - -<h4>THE DIARY CONTINUES.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“The door was unlocked!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Continuing onward, I came to a -door which, though it seemed to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I hesitated in the doorway. Then -my startled gaze made out a second -room, partitioned from the first by -curtains, pushed partly back.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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, <i>the dead man -writhed and twisted as if in mortal -agony</i>!</p> - -<p>“The Bodymaster stretched forth -one thin hand. The man upon the -bed stiffened—then sat bolt upright, -his bloodshot eyes glaring!</p> - -<p>“Involuntarily I took a step backward.</p> - -<p>“<i>As God is my judge, the eyes were -those of a corpse—glassy, unseeing!</i> -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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“‘Sit down, my friend, and throw -your cane aside. You can not strike. -Your arm is palsied.’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“The Bodymaster turned toward -me with a smile.</p> - -<p>“‘Sit down!’ he commanded.</p> - -<p>“My arm dropped to my side. Like -a drunken man I staggered to a -chair.”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER VII.</i></h3> - -<p>“Seating himself opposite me, -Lessman pushed a box of cigars -across the table.</p> - -<p>“‘Help yourself,’ he smiled, selecting -one for himself. ‘You are some -sixty seconds ahead of time. I hardly -expected you to be so prompt.’</p> - -<p>“‘Expected me!’ I ejaculated.</p> - -<p>“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.’</p> - -<p>“He waved his hand with a slight -gesture as if dismissing the entire -subject. For a second there was silence. -Then he resumed:</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“His eyes burned with enthusiasm -as he continued.</p> - -<p>“‘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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -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.’</p> - -<p>“He leaned back in his chair and -laughed mirthlessly for an instant.</p> - -<p>“‘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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“‘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——’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“There are silences more eloquent -than words. For an instant my eyes -sought hers—deep, dark, lustrous, -glowing like great pools of liquid fire.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“She held up her hands appealingly. -They were fastened together -with chains.</p> - -<p>“From behind me came the voice of -Lessman:</p> - -<p>“‘Choose!’ he commanded. ‘On -one hand wealth, luxury, power, beautiful -women; on the other—<i>this</i>!</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Choose!</i>’”</p> - -<h4>ANOTHER EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“That is all she knows. She was -hurried back to her own room by -Meta, where she fell in a swoon.”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER VIII.</i></h3> - -<p><i>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</i>:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“‘<i>Let us forget our troubles -for tonight. Dine with me. I -have a surprise in store for you.</i></p> - -<p class="right">“‘<i>Lessman</i>’.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Avis was ushered in!</p> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.</p> - -<p>“‘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——’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“For a moment there was silence. -Then Lessman turned to me again.</p> - -<p>“‘Within a fortnight,’ he said, -‘she—the girl in yonder—the girl you -love—will be like <i>that</i>! I know the -symptoms. Her mind is on the verge. -It is for you to say whether she goes -over the abyss.</p> - -<p>“‘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.</p> - -<p>“‘You and you alone can save -her!’</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>“But I have saved Avis.”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER IX.</i></h3> - -<p><i>I judge that several weeks -must have elapsed between -the time the foregoing was written -and what follows</i>:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“The human mind refuses to believe -what it does not understand. -Were I to make public what I <i>know</i>—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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -reached a point where I was as enthusiastic -as he.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER X.</i></h3> - -<p><i>I must digress from my diary -again.</i></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I wonder now why I did not kill -Avis and then commit suicide. So<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER XI.</i></h3> - -<p><i>Again I must resort to my -diary</i>:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>“I am certain that I killed Professor -Ormsby!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“They arrested Jacobs for the murder. -Others had heard them arguing. -Vainly he tried to tell them the truth—that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -the argument had been a -friendly one and that his friend had -been killed by some unseen force.</p> - -<p>“They scoffed at his story—for the -marks of fingers showed too plainly -upon the dead man’s neck.”</p> - -<h4>ANOTHER ENTRY IN THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER XII.</i></h3> - -<h4>MORE REMARKABLE THINGS FROM THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<h4>ANOTHER EXTRACT.</h4> - -<p>“Damn the Bodymaster! I hate -him! His hold over me is absolute—supreme.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<h4>A FURTHER ENTRY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>with Lessman -as the administrator</i>.”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER XIII.</i></h3> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> - -<h4>FROM THE DIARY.</h4> - -<p>“I have denied the truth. I have -betrayed those in whose pay I -am, and now I know the remorse of -Judas.</p> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>“Of late she has appeared distracted -and filled with a vague melancholy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -when I am around. Does she -wish to tell me something, yet fears -to open her lips?</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<h4>ANOTHER ENTRY.</h4> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<h4>A SUBSEQUENT EXTRACT.</h4> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“To die for Avis may mitigate my -sin in the eyes of God.</p> - -<p>“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.... <i>God help -me....</i>”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER XIV.</i></h3> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> - -<p>It must have been immediately -after making the final entry in my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -diary that Lessman summoned me, -for the book was in my pocket when -I eventually found myself.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I knew then—or <i>felt</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -mind surge around me again like -great waves beating against a rock-bound -coast.</p> - -<p>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—<i>slipping</i>! -Everything grew -black before me. I could see nothing -save his eyes—burning—<i>burning</i> into -my very soul.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>I knew no more until I awoke in -the hospital.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>What happened? Did I kill Lessman? -Did he and Meta and Avis -perish in the fire with the other poor -unfortunates? Nobody knows.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h3>THE END.</h3> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="footer2" style="max-width: 25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/footer2.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Crocodiles and Voodooism Play -Important Parts in</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Jungle_Death">Jungle Death</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By</i> Artemus Calloway</p> - -</div> - -<p>The very atmosphere seemed -surcharged with mystery—danger—death.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Other things occurred. And there -was more whispering, more dissatisfaction.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As soon as the trains came to a stop<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Finally he turned to his pony, fastened -to a young avacado tree, -mounted and rode away. Twenty -minutes later he was at plantation -headquarters.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Once facing Hernandez, Condon -lost no time in getting to the subject:</p> - -<p>“The men—they are very much upset?”</p> - -<p>Hernandez nodded.</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span></p> - -<p>Hernandez hesitated. Then:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Condon frowned. “Somehow I suspect -as much. But you are sure your -information—what you tell me is -correct?”</p> - -<p>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——”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Condon started. “You mean—?”</p> - -<p>For a moment Hernandez said -nothing, staring at the desk before -him. Then:</p> - -<p>“Armstrong!”</p> - -<p>Condon’s hands twitched nervously. -“How do you know—or suspect—this, -Hernandez?”</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Go on. What about him?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Condon secured a box of cigars -from his desk, handed it to Hernandez, -found a box of matches, lighted -a cigar himself.</p> - -<p>“<i>Hmm!</i> Pretty clever scheme. But—Oh! -hang it, Hernandez, do you -suppose this <i>can</i> be correct?”</p> - -<p>Hernandez regarded his cigar -thoughtfully. “I <i>know</i> it is!”</p> - -<p>“Well——”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“How are we to discredit the witch -doctor?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“What on earth would that old -fellow want with money?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> - -<p>Hernandez laughed. “Square-faced -gin. He stays soaked all the time. -But I have a plan——”</p> - -<p>“But how,” interrupted Condon, -“did your man learn all this?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Hernandez made a significant -gesture.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Condon’s face was wrinkled in -thought. “But your plan?” Hernandez -leaned nearer. “Listen....”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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 -<i>swish</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“We can hear from this place?” -Condon whispered.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Hernandez, “but -be quiet. He might hear you.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>With every nerve on edge, Condon -watched. Armstrong and the witch -doctor, both now seated before the -blaze, wasted no time on inconsequential -talk.</p> - -<p>Armstrong was speaking in Spanish: -“You understand exactly what -you are to tell those people when they -come here tonight.”</p> - -<p>“I do.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“They won’t even return for their -things?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Again the witch doctor laughed.</p> - -<p>“But——” and now there was -something in his voice Condon had -not detected there before—“there is -more money to come to me, Senor.”</p> - -<p>Armstrong’s tone was impatient. -“You get that when the laborers -have quit the plantation.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span></p> - -<p>The old man chuckled. “But I -mean other money.”</p> - -<p>“What other money?”</p> - -<p>“The money for keeping your secret -about the man you shot!”</p> - -<p>George Armstrong jumped to his -feet. “You’re crazy! I shot no -man.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Hernandez caught Condon’s -arm: “Look! Down the -trail!” he whispered.</p> - -<p>Condon looked. Then he gasped in -amazement. The trail was filled, as -far as he could see, with men.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>They turned and rejoined their -companions. Five minutes later the -entire party had passed out of hearing.</p> - -<p>Hernandez touched Condon on the -shoulder. “We can go now. And -our troubles are over. The men will -remain on the plantation perfectly -satisfied.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Hernandez smiled.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Voodooism,” said Condon -thoughtfully, “loses its strength -when it mixes up with white men.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Farnsworth Wright Offers Another -Tale of Diabolic Terror</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Snake_Fiend"><i>The<br> -SNAKE FIEND</i></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Even as a child, Jack Crimi delighted -in collecting reptiles, -and he seemed to absorb much -of their venomous nature.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And he meant it.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A fierce joy and exultation leapt -in Crimi’s heart as he read Marjorie’s -letter.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><i>“You would like the country -better than I do.” she wrote.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -“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.”</i></p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Marjorie shuddered, and Crimi -laughed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It’s <i>you</i> that will be seeing -snakes,” the cook spluttered. “You -an’ that Italian wife of yours’ll see -plenty of ’em—red, an’ green, an’——”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -and returned to his cabin and peacefully -went to sleep.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Marjorie awoke with the first -rays of the sun, and lazily opened -her eyes.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -of his surveyors came running up, -having been attracted by Marjorie’s -screams.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then the sky went suddenly black -before his eyes, and he lost consciousness.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -revengeful spirit on the story he had -waited two days to hear.</p> - -<p>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—<i>their avenging -ghosts stood before him</i>!</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Crimi shrieked and gnawed his -hands as he saw the avenging angels -of his victims leave the cabin.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Find Skull of Man Million Years Old</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Anthony M. Rud’s Remarkable Story -of an Insane Artist</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_Square_of_Canvas"><i>A</i> SQUARE <i>of</i><br> -CANVAS</h2> - -</div> - -<p>“No, Madame, I am <i>not</i> 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, <i>n’est-ce-pas?</i></p> - -<p>“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>I</i> -have no delusion. I am Hal Pemberton.</p> - -<p>“You start? You believe <i>this</i> 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...?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I—I believe you,” came my stammered -reply.</p> - -<p>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 <i>he</i> believed -that establishment of identity -made the matter of his detention absurd.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You are the first person who has -not laughed in my face when learning -my true identity,” he continued then,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -making no attempt to close the six-foot -gap between us—much to my -comfort. “<i>Ignorance</i> placed me here. -Ignorance keeps me. I shall give you -every detail, Madame. Then you may -inform others and procure my release. -The <i>cognoscenti</i> 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, “<i>they won’t let me paint!</i></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“It is not. Artistic inspiration—what -the underworld calls <i>yen</i>—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!</p> - -<p>“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 <i>really</i> believed that Hal -Pemberton disgraced them, the nauseating -prigs!</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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, <i>ever</i> has done so.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I longed to rush in and view my -work, but did not dare. Later, when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -by some shrewd deduction they fastened -the blame on me, Mr. Mortenson -had his right hand bandaged.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Here was <i>life</i>, <i>pain</i>, <i>struggle</i>—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.</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>death</i>!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>sketching</i> rapidly, -furiously!</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“By the time Jackson returned -the fire had died out of me.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Poor Jackson was horrified when -he saw what I had done to the <i>Coleptera</i>, -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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 -<i>maestro</i> 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 -<i>his</i> estimation, at least.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“There <i>was</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>maestro</i> kept small live animals, used -for models with beginners. There -were a few rabbits, a dozen white mice -and a red fox.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>glowing scarlet</i>.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Blood rose in torrents to my own -temples. A fever consumed me. -There was life and <i>there could be -death</i>. I could renew the inspiration -of those tortured beetles.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -Louvre. And all because our white -rabbit had sacrificed its heart’s -blood.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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. <i>Lusts -of The Magi</i> had exhausted the stimulus -which rabbits could furnish.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span></p> - -<p>“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>I saw red drops of blood gather on -her cheek</i>.</p> - -<p>“I cannot describe adequately the -sensations that gripped me! In that -second I remembered the beetles and -the rabbit; and I <i>knew</i> 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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘Any but as great a man as yourself, -Signor,’ he shrilled, his cracked -old voice breaking with emotion, ‘I -should <i>kill</i> for that. Yourself are -without the law which would damn -another, but <i>not</i> outside the sphere of -undying hatred. You are great, but -awful. <i>Go!</i>’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Her eyes were dark pools rippled -by the breeze of each passing fancy. -The moment I looked into them I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>could</i> do under powerful stimulus -and inspiration, this was slush, -slime. I <i>hated</i> it!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -had been on the increase, we still were -exploring the delights of love and -true affection.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>must</i> do better than -that!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>masterpiece</i>.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“I of course, told Beatrice -nothing of what was passing in -my mind, but went immediately about -my preparations.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“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>I painted!</i> -This was my masterpiece.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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. <i>See!</i>”</p> - -<p>The old man tugged at something -inside his blouse, and brought forth -a dirtied roll which he unsnapped -with fingers that trembled in eagerness.</p> - -<p>“See, Madame!” he repeated triumphantly.</p> - -<p>And, before my horrified eyes, he -unrolled <i>a blank square of white canvas</i>!</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="footer3" style="max-width: 31.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/footer3.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Do You Want a Slice of Life from the -Thirteenth Century? If so, -Don’t Fail to Read</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Affair_of_the_Man_in_Scarlet">THE AFFAIR<br> -<i>of the</i><br> -MAN <i>in</i> SCARLET</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By</i> JULIAN KILMAN</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You pair of oafs!” he cried, finally. -“Lend a hand.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“’Ware the road, ye clodhoppers!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The peasants gazed in admiration -after the flashing figures.</p> - -<p>“That’ll be good King Philippe’s -riders,” announced André, the -younger. “Mark ye the emblems on -their jackets?”</p> - -<p>“I do that,” returned Jacques, the -light of understanding in his ancient -eyes. “Methinks I know what brings -them to the village of Peptonneau.”</p> - -<p>“And, pray, what is it that brings -them to the village of Peptonneau?”</p> - -<p>“They come to the Man in Scarlet.”</p> - -<p>At mention of the official headsman, -who years before had come from -near Fontainebleau to reside in Peptonneau, -Jacques’ companion fell silent.</p> - -<p>The old man chuckled.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -hence giving easy understanding as -to why he lost favor at Fontainebleau.</p> - -<p>“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 ‘<i>et nos inducas intentationem</i>’ -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—‘<i>Sed libera nos a malo</i>’—until -the faithful Capeluche nudged -the body and the head toppled off.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And did Madam Bonacieux permit -it?” asked André, curiously.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“In five minutes, M. Capeluche,” -announced Jacques, a trifle breathlessly, -“a coach and riders will arrive.”</p> - -<p>“And you, old cock, trot hither -from your berry-picking to tell me -that bit of famous gossip?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>canaille</i> as you.”</p> - -<p>“Who knows,” sturdily replied -Jacques, “as to the quality or quantity -of hair on the neck of one who -draws near in yonder coach?”</p> - -<p>The grunt that left the headsman -betrayed his interest. He peered -down the road.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that?”</p> - -<p>Old Jacques permitted himself a -toothless grin. It was not often that -a Peptonneau villager could stir the -equanimity of the great one, whose<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> -prerogatives of office entitled him to -tithes exacted from towns and monasteries -as ruthlessly as those of -prince or baron.</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -<p>“A falcon in full flight?” quickly -broke in the headsman.</p> - -<p>“Even so, M. Capeluche. A falcon -in full— Now, <i>regardez vous</i>, the -great man is himself in full flight!”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>At the instant there sounded the -call of a bugle, and into sight swung -three horsemen, followed by the coach -driven at breakneck speed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“No honor to you, you puling son -of an ass,” retorted Capeluche, -crossly.</p> - -<p>“Hear the Man in Scarlet!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Comte de Mousqueton,” -she murmured.</p> - -<p>With his charge, the Comte then -approached the headsman, who stood -with arms akimbo, his sharp eyes on -the newcomers.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The portent! The portent!” cried -a voice from the crowd of rustics.</p> - -<p>“Who shouts?” demanded Capeluche, -looking about him fiercely, -while a silence fell.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“One moment,” said the Comte.</p> - -<p>The headsman paused, scowling.</p> - -<p>“Where, M. Capeluche, are we to -lodge the prisoner in the interim?”</p> - -<p>A sardonic smile suddenly played -on the features of Capeluche.</p> - -<p>“In Peptonneau, Comte de Mousqueton,” -he said, “you will please to -understand that since the days of the -plague there has been no inn.”</p> - -<p>The glance of the Man in Scarlet -now shifted to the dilapidated, unoccupied -structures on either side of -his own dwelling.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The crowd dispersed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You are kind, indeed, M. le -Comte,” she exclaimed, “to one in -such misfortune.”</p> - -<p>“Kindness, Mlle. Bonacieux, comes -easily when one views beauty in distress.”</p> - -<p>Mlle. Bonacieux shook her head reprovingly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The occasion, Mademoiselle, is not -entirely unpropitious if one considers -all the possibilities.”</p> - -<p>The woman gave him a quick look.</p> - -<p>“To just what, pray, does the -Comte de Mousqueton refer?”</p> - -<p>The young Frenchman paced the -room, giving signs of a state of tension. -Then he began to speak rapidly:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>The Comte hesitated. The keenly -intelligent gaze of the woman interrogated -him.</p> - -<p>“Proceed, M. le Comte,” she encouraged.</p> - -<p>“Will it be permitted a mere Comte -to speak frankly of the prince?”</p> - -<p>“By all means.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall dare to say, by the -lack of knowledge and perspicacity of -the Dauphin.”</p> - -<p>In spite of herself, a flush stole into -the face of the woman.</p> - -<p>“Ah! You are naïve!” she exclaimed, -in pain. “Cruelly so.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, Mademoiselle. It is not -naïveté in the circumstances, for I -have a definite plan to defeat the -machinations of the Cardinal.”</p> - -<p>In amazement the woman stared at -her companion.</p> - -<p>“But how—?” she began.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>The Comte now glanced with interest -at his beautiful prisoner. She -was smiling.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but who said that Mlle. Bonacieux -would be compelled to endure -life with a headsman?”</p> - -<p>“Surely it is not to be expected,” -remarked the woman, “that the -headsman would be gallant enough -to release me immediately after the -ceremony?”</p> - -<p>A short laugh broke from the -Comte.</p> - -<p>“No fear of that. My purpose is -to relieve him of his bridegroom embarrassment -within ten minutes after -he has a wife.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! A rescue! You, a King’s -Messenger, would dare that for me?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p> - -<p>“And why not?”</p> - -<p>“But why should you?”</p> - -<p>The Comte’s face flushed slightly.</p> - -<p>“One who loves would not regard -such an enterprise as a peril.”</p> - -<p>The eyes of the woman kindled. -She approached the Comte. He -caught her hand and kissed it.</p> - -<p>“Trust in the Comte de Mousqueton,” -he breathed.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You walk late, M. Capeluche,” -said the Comte. “But it is well, for -Mlle. Bonacieux wishes to speak with -you.”</p> - -<p>The headsman stopped abruptly to -peer into the eyes of the young nobleman. -The act was insolent.</p> - -<p>“Is M. le Comte,” he inquired, -coldly, “sufficiently in the confidence -of his fair prisoner to advise -me what it is she desires?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The headsman fell silent.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The Comte laughed easily.</p> - -<p>“M. de Briseout will be pleased to -hear that the discriminating Capeluche -has so found it.”</p> - -<p>“And who is de Briseout?”</p> - -<p>“The ingenious special pleader employed -by the Cardinal to prepare the -document. It is a work of art.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The young nobleman was able to -smile in the dark at the discernment -of this strange man of blood.</p> - -<p>“’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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The two men resumed their walking.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly, M. Capeluche.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” called the woman.</p> - -<p>“One whom you wished to see.”</p> - -<p>“Please come in, M. Capeluche.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“An unpleasant business—for both<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -of us, M. le Headsman,” she commented.</p> - -<p>“There are many persons in <i>your</i> -position who would so regard it,” -bluntly agreed the headsman.</p> - -<p>“I shall not dissemble, M. le Headsman. -I do not desire to die tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Is it for this that you have sent -for me?”</p> - -<p>The woman laughed.</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -<p>She paused, glancing with studied -carelessness at the headsman.</p> - -<p>“The Comte de Mousqueton is a -very clever fellow,” remarked Capeluche, -dryly. “What is it he has to -say of this old law?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Capeluche’s features for the first -time relaxed into a smile.</p> - -<p>“And Mlle. Bonacieux, therefore, -of the two evils—death or a headsman—is -willing to choose the latter?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“On condition?”</p> - -<p>In sincere surprise, Mlle. Bonacieux -glanced up.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The gleaming eyes of the man told -much—or little. He approached the -reclining beauty.</p> - -<p>“Mlle. Bonacieux,” he said. “The -Merovingian statute is still law, being, -in fact, the very writ that directs -my hand in your case.”</p> - -<p>For an instant he stood over her.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For the space of a minute Jacques -followed in silence, his old nut-cracker -face full of preliminary guile. -Then he pushed forward.</p> - -<p>“It is a fine day, good father,” he -shouted.</p> - -<p>In surprise the old man surveyed -him.</p> - -<p>“Ay, a fine day, Jacques, you godless -one,” he replied in the toneless -voice of the deaf.</p> - -<p>“But the clemency of the weather -is not for the delectation of the -young beauty from Fontainebleau -now lodged in Peptonneau.”</p> - -<p>The Abbé Kérouec inclined his -head. He was exceedingly deaf and -had not heard.</p> - -<p>Jacques swore heartily. At the top -of his lungs he shouted:</p> - -<p>“Bad weather for her who dies at -seven this evening by the hand of M. -Capeluche.”</p> - -<p>The light of comprehension came -into the features of the ancient Abbé.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span></p> - -<p>It was Jacques’ turn to be surprised.</p> - -<p>“Ha! Say you that Mlle. Bonacieux -is not to die this eve?”</p> - -<p>The Abbé’s eyes showed that he -understood.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And what is that?” sharply demanded -Jacques.</p> - -<p>“The wedding of M. Capeluche, the -headsman, to Mlle. Bonacieux, the -condemned.”</p> - -<p>Jacques threw back his head and -laughed till the tears rolled down his -cheeks.</p> - -<p>“That indeed is droll!” he shouted. -“M. le Headsman weds a woman and -then immediately cuts off her head.”</p> - -<p>The owl-like eyes of the Abbé regarded -Jacques solemnly.</p> - -<p>“You do not know the full import -of what I have told you, Jacques.”</p> - -<p>The old peasant sobered instantly.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Suddenly he shook the arm of the -old Abbé.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Jacques paused for breath. The -old Abbé had endeavored to follow -the harangue of the peasant.</p> - -<p>“Understand? A portent!” shouted -Jacques, in desperation. “Mlle. -Bonacieux is to die tonight by the -sword of the headsman, Capeluche.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“We have little time,” he said.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Two of the horsemen started toward -the open window. But the hand -was withdrawn swiftly, and a terrible -shriek followed.</p> - -<p>A moment later the door gave way. -The attacking party hurtled into the -dwelling stumbling over one another.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He extended the head before him.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Suddenly Jacques’ voice broke in.</p> - -<p>“Before God!” exclaimed the old -peasant, with tremendous satisfaction. -“<i>The portent!</i>”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="footer4" style="max-width: 31.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/footer4.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Hideous_Face"><i>The</i><br> -HIDEOUS FACE</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>A Grim Tale of Frightful Revenge</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">By VICTOR JOHNS</p> - -</div> - -<p>Marseilles, one hears while -traveling through Europe, is -the most vicious town in -France.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>le monde élégant</i>, -pausing in flight to or from the -Riviera, and the inevitable Magdalens, -spatter its length with color and -charge it with restlessness.</p> - -<p>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 <i>apéritifs</i> 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 <i>vermouth -cassis</i> on the table beside me, I yielded -to the lure of seaport excitement.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s so strange about -meeting me on La Cannebière?”</p> - -<p>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 -<i>savoir faire</i> as a blunt refusal to play<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -up to his well-known and fondly-cherished -reputation as a globe trotter. -He was childish in certain respects—artists -are.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Flowers, <i>Messieurs</i>?” A flower -girl, her wicker tray heaped with -heavy-scented blossoms, paused before -us. “No? Ah, <i>Messieurs</i>, but one little -rose apiece—for luck!” she said.</p> - -<p>Then she picked up a red rose bud -and pinned it to the lapel of Lawrence’s -coat.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ugh!</i> Take it away!” he screamed. -“I can’t stand it!” He tore the flower -from his coat and hurled it into the -gutter.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence!” I reproved, “You’re -drunk.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not drunk,” he protested. -Contrition had subdued his voice. -“But—I can’t stand—the smell—of -roses.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>My exclamation of horror drew -Lawrence’s attention to the repellent -sight. At that moment the -gruesome thing turned full upon us.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span></p> - -<p>“Poor soul,” I said. “How his -fingers must ache to choke the life -from the <i>Boche</i> responsible for that.”</p> - -<p>Lawrence made no reply. He was -drained of blood. He sat rigid, petrified.</p> - -<p>“In Paris and London,” I continued, -“one sees hundreds of <i>mutilés</i>—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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In his studio, one afternoon, they -were planning for the wedding. Lawrence -recalled a newly-acquired <i>object -d’art</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Come, drink up, man!” I urged. -“Stop looking as though you’d seen -a ghost.”</p> - -<p>“Things other than ghosts can -haunt one,” he answered in a pinched -tone.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>A venomous hate wove its way -through Lawrence’s phrases. He continued:</p> - -<p>“Well—he called at my studio—the -next afternoon—and I started the -picture. He was a find. Dramatic. -An inspiration.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Lawrence picked up the thread of -his story:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I found myself fidgeting about, -peering suddenly into the crowd as if -to catch the gaze of hypnotic eyes. -Once I saw the <i>mutilé</i> standing across -the street beside a kiosk, watching -Lawrence, or so I imagined, with -ferocious intensity. My <i>vis-a-vis</i> and -his emotional recoils had by that time -become agitating companions.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>But to return to Lawrence.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Before me stood the entrance to a -graveyard. The stones bristled ghostly -in the twilight. I halted—alert.”</p> - -<p>The stem of the glass, which Lawrence -nervously had been twirling, -broke, and his unfinished cocktail -spilled upon the table.</p> - -<p>“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—‘<i>Coward!</i>’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘You don’t understand, Pedro—I -<i>can’t</i>, I <i>can’t</i> go on!’ He laughed -again—like a hyena.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p> - -<p>“‘Yes,’ Pedro said, a coward. -How they will laugh—when I tell!’</p> - -<p>“Had never been called that before—you -know. I began walking forward—slowly. -My legs trembled, but I -walked. Passed through the gate.</p> - -<p>“‘That’s right,’ Pedro said. -‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’</p> - -<p>“‘No—nothing,’ I answered, my -jaws chattering.</p> - -<p>“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. -<i>You’ll</i> take a rose, too.’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘No!’ I cried, drawing away. ‘I -won’t touch it!’</p> - -<p>“Pedro said, ‘You’ve got to be -cured.’ He pointed to a large flat -stone lying flat on the ground beside -him, and explained:</p> - -<p>“‘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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“As I stooped to pick it up, he -pushed me—<i>into the grave</i>!”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>The horror of this piece of perversity -got me.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence!” I exclaimed. “You -don’t mean it!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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. -‘<i>Tsing!</i>’ it went, soft and little.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘What kind of tea is this?’ Pedro -asked. ‘It tastes so queer.’</p> - -<p>“‘A new kind,’ I told him.</p> - -<p>“He drank, then lay back—asleep.</p> - -<p>“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....</p> - -<p>“Pedro’s groans were silenced with -a gag. More tea for rest and sleep.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p> - -<p>“No—there was nothing—to be -afraid of, I told him. But Pedro -didn’t hear.</p> - -<p>“Don Juan’s career was finished. -Apollo had become repulsive. My -last debt was paid.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Several minutes dragged past before -either of us moved.</p> - -<p>“Come, let’s go,” was all I could -find to say.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><i>The right side of his face was -slashed and crushed into a shapeless -mass—but the left half was untouched -and fair.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Did Solomon Give Queen of Sheba an Airship?</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Theosophists, however, believe there were airships a million years ago in -lost Atlantis.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Secrets of the Ages Were -Sealed in</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Forty_Jars"><i>The</i><br> -FORTY JARS</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>A Strange Story of the Orient</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">By Ray McGillivray</p> - -</div> - -<p>The sands of Bo-hai never -quite are dark.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -had been taken, unless scurrying -footprints, criss-crossing the sands in -every direction, might be considered -clues.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For them the half-light of midnight -desert was peopled with strange, -sacred shapes—<i>suan yi</i>, the giant -horse, eighth of the nine offspring of -the Dragon; <i>kuei she t’u</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Let them come! Let them come! -Only let me <i>see</i> them...!” fell -soundlessly from his stiffened lips.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Bo-hai, the capricious and terrible, -is not a silent waste after sundown.</p> - -<p>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 <i>boutangs</i>, the -wailing of <i>jins</i> and <i>nakra</i>.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -of miles, is the constant undertone.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He dropped the rifle, and seized -two revolvers, shaking the sand and -dust out of their muzzles.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In that instant Roberts stiffened. -From out there ten paces had come a -gasping sound. It was the wounded -man, the desert rat.</p> - -<p>“<i>G’bye!</i>” he wheezed. “<i>G’bye ... -never come ... back ... now....</i>”</p> - -<p><i>The words were English!</i></p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Selwyn Roberts, waiting only -to draw on heavy gloves of Llama -hide, ran, crouching, to his fallen adversary.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Not dead yet?” queried the man, -ending his sentence in a ghastly -cough. “What the hell...!” He -choked, spitting sidewise to the sand.</p> - -<p>“No, you’re not dead, and you’re -not going to die!” replied Roberts -with forced calmness. “Take it easy. -You’re among friends.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, I’ll die,” stated the man -with conviction. “Where am I? -Who are you? <i>I Ch’ueh shih hsiang....</i>” -His speech trailed off into<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -a Buddhist prayer unintelligible to -Roberts.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The slight frame shook.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<p>“Montgomery has changed since -you were there,” put in Roberts -quietly. “I’ll tell you more about it -tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Tomorrow ... tomorrow in -hell!” he coughed, and then was -silent again.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>One hour before dawn the man -tried to sit up, strangled in a fit of -terrible coughing, and then fell sidewise.</p> - -<p>“Can’t—can’t lie on my back,” he -gasped. “Spine bowed. Hurts. -How—how long have I got?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Um-m.</i> 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....”</p> - -<p>Coughing cut short his speech for -a moment.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>His skinny hand made a weak grab -for Roberts’ revolver, but the latter -shifted his holsters out of reach.</p> - -<p>“No! I’ve got to have your help.”</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>them</i> immune, too.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -not now. Just give me that gun a -minute, and I’ll show you.... <i>Why</i> -don’t you let me?” His quaver sank -in sobs and coughing.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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. -<i>Damned</i> clever!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“See here, Bowen!” he cried. “We -<i>must</i> get them out! You know the -way. It will be terrible suffering for -you, but you are a man—a <i>white</i> -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....”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Some of his intense earnestness -caught hold in Bowen’s dulled -brain.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>Yengi</i> 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?”</p> - -<p>“My peril matters not!”</p> - -<p>Bowen nodded slowly.</p> - -<p>“You are brave,” he mumbled. -“But perhaps you have not seen -them ... the Yengi?”</p> - -<p>“I can imagine,” cut in Roberts -shortly. “How many of them are -there?”</p> - -<p>“Hundreds. One never knows exactly. -They are sent each week. -Some die, of course, but most live on -and on....”</p> - -<p>“Can you shoot?”</p> - -<p>Bowen grimaced.</p> - -<p>“I used to,” he answered. “I’ll -<i>have</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Fight our way out, you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, that of course. But first -fight our way further <i>in</i>! It would -not do simply to escape.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Know anything about this?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>The light of dawn was not yet sufficient. -Roberts turned on the flash -again. Then he nodded shortly.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span></p> - -<p>Bowen leaned forward, raising -himself to a sitting position.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Roberts removed the silk carefully, -spreading it across his knee.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“A—a <i>cure</i>?” he stammered -shakily.</p> - -<p>“Yes—or at least a preventive. <i>I</i> -can answer for that.”</p> - -<p>“And is there plenty?”</p> - -<p>Bowen cackled, raucous froth appearing -on his lips.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Roberts was on his feet.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>To Roberts’ surprise, Bowen directed -the course of the journey back to -the east, in the direction of Dadchin.</p> - -<p>“Three corridors run the length of -the wall in this section,” he explained. -“One corridor is not known to -the <i>Yengi</i>.... It is how I got -among them first....”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I told them to wait there,” Bowen -whispered. “They’d be useless down -here. There’s no sense in spoiling two -brave boys.”</p> - -<p>“But can you make it?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>They passed spots of light. These -showed openings to right or left—openings<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -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 -<i>could</i> not—move. Thereafter he -kept his eyes averted, and clenched -one fist about the solid butt of his -revolver.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<p>“We’ll manage <i>that</i>; don’t you -worry!” answered Roberts. “Lead -me first to those two men. After -that, the Buddha.... I feel unclean -already!”</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>“Got ’em all!” he shrilled, laughing. -“Come quick now!”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Roberts found himself dragged -forward at a half-run.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“All about it!” answered Roberts, -succinctly. “Here, take these!” He -handed a brace of revolvers and a -handful of clips to his Norwegian -comrade.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Bowen, stationed at the entrance, -was shooting now. A gathering -handful of <i>Yengi</i> crowded in the -passage. These threw lances, or cut -at the defending figure with knives -that were long, keen and curved.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Ah-h!” he cried. “The priests! -Kill them!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Roberts backed away, firing. -From the floor, however, came -the streams of fire which dropped -three of the priests.</p> - -<p>“They’re the ones who fixed <i>me</i>!” -shrilled Bowen, firing as fast as his -fingers could pull triggers.</p> - -<p>The last toppled. The doorway -was clear.</p> - -<p>“You’ll—you’ll have to drag me.... -I’m done....” Bowen continued, -his voice suddenly weakening. -“I’ll show you....”</p> - -<p>Roberts stooped, picking up the -slight figure as he might have lifted -a tumbled chair, and darted inside -the last chamber.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Hold the doorway!” cried Roberts -to his two rescued companions. -“Now, Bowen....”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -of the storage chamber. He seized it, -finding it heavy in his hands, and -leaped down.</p> - -<p>Bowen clawed off the cover, reached -in, and came forth with three -greenish, soft masses clutched in his -skinny fingers.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Roberts seized his own weapons, -ran up, and in terse sentences explained -the situation.</p> - -<p>“A ... a <i>cure</i>?” cried Porterfield, -incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Bowen says so. Try them, anyway. -Eat one apiece. I’ll hold the -door. <i>Hm!</i>”</p> - -<p>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 <i>Yengi</i> had banked themselves. -Already a breastwork of Chinese bodies -was growing in front of the chamber -entrance.</p> - -<p>Behind him, Porterfield sputtered -over swallowing his portion.</p> - -<p>“Awful taste!” he cried, grimacing.</p> - -<p>“They’re treated with something,” -answered Christensen, wiping his lips -and leaping to Roberts’ side with one -of the ancient eggs.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Yengi</i> -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.</p> - -<p>Bowen, dragging himself to the -entrance, diagnosed the reason.</p> - -<p>“We’re desecrating their shrine!” -he yelled. “In a way, I don’t blame -them.... They’re.... They’re....” -Coughs ended his sentence.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>“Stop shooting!” Bowen flung -back over his shoulder. The white -men were glad to obey. Their ammunition -almost was spent. Strangely -enough, the <i>Yengi</i> of the front rank -lowered their weapons. They turned, -jabbering excitedly to others. Bowen -flung out to them the square of ideographed -silk.</p> - -<p>“It—it’s your only hope, my brothers!” -gasped Bowen. “Take one -jar—if you will....”</p> - -<p>At this he pitched forward, clawing -with his hands at the body of one -of the <i>Yengi</i>. Roberts saw that the -dead Chinese had leather pads in -place of hands at the end of his -wrists....</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>With the melting away of the -horde of <i>Yengi</i>, 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 <i>Yengi</i> fought in swarms -to return.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span></p> - -<p>“I told them ... cure.... -Maybe it is ... maybe not ...” -gasped Bowen. He shuddered and -lay still. Roberts held a dead man in -his arms.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Then I take it you won’t be with -me—when I go back?”</p> - -<p>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...?”</p> - -<p>“I do,” answered Roberts grimly. -“Within six months. Men may live -or die, but history must be written. -The <i>Yengi</i> may not have smashed <i>all</i> -of those forty jars....”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_WISH">THE WISH</h2> - -<p class="center larger">An Odd Fragment of Fiction</p> - -<p class="center larger">By MYRTLE LEVY GAYLORD</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“One wish, one wish only, for the -newborn,” the fairy offered.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“That she may not feel, that she -may not suffer, that passion, love that -scorches and does not warm, may -never touch her!”</p> - -<p>The fairy smiled a faint, far smile -and inscribed a circle with her star-tipped -wand.</p> - -<p>“It is well,” said she.</p> - -<p>The cloud of light faded into a -black sky. The child stirred, and the -mother awoke, her heart aching, she -knew not why.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> -sprang to the eyes of those about her, -her heart would seem a thing of stone. -She knew that she <i>should</i> weep, but -she could not. Then she would whisper -to herself:</p> - -<p>“Tears are not real. No one really -feels. They just pretend.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How cruel,” she heard them whisper. -“It was for love of Leonore, -and she is a stone. She does not -feel.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then, out of the glowing heart of -the fire, Donald spoke to her:</p> - -<p>“Leonore, you <i>can</i> feel, but you -will not.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head sadly. “I can -not—I <i>can not</i>.”</p> - -<p>“The fire—feel!” he cried. “Surely -you can feel the fire. Try!”</p> - -<p>Obediently, she placed her slim, -white hand into the flames.</p> - -<p>“You feel? Now you <i>do</i> feel?” -he begged her.</p> - -<p>“No,” she whispered. “No!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Obediently, she reached for the -knife, and with steady fingers she cut -the artery at her wrist. Donald -faded back into the flames....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="footer5" style="max-width: 25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/footer5.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Death and Terror Are Spread Broadcast -by the Icy Breath of</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Whispering_Thing">The WHISPERING<br> -THING</h2> - -<p class="center larger">By Laurie McClintock and Culpeper Chunn</p> - -</div> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER I.</i><br> -THE THING STRIKES.</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“A fine night for a murder!” muttered -Peret to himself, as, with head -lowered, he plowed his way through -the fog. “<i>Diable!</i> I must find a taxi.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Help! help! I’m dying!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Nom d’un nom!</i>” he cried. “It is -M. Max Berjet. What is the matter, -my friend? Are you drunk? Ill? -<i>Sacre nom!</i> Speak quickly, while you -can. What ails you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Suddenly his tensed muscles relaxed -and he lay still. Unable to speak, -he could only lift his eyes to Peret’s -in desperate appeal.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i> 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, <i>Monsieur</i>.”</p> - -<p>There was an almost imperceptible -movement of the dying man’s froth-rimmed -lips, and Peret held his head -nearer.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“As-sas-sins,” gasped the stricken -man faintly.</p> - -<p>“What?” cried Peret, excitedly. -“Assassins?”</p> - -<p>The look in Berjet’s eyes was eloquent.</p> - -<p>“Who are they?” pleaded the detective. -“Tell me their names, <i>Monsieur</i>, -before it is too late. I will -avenge you. I promise you. I swear -it. Quickly, <i>Monsieur, their names</i>—”</p> - -<p>Berjet murmured something in a -voice almost too faint to be audible.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dix?</i>” questioned Peret, straining -to catch the man’s words. “You -mean ten, eh?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Peste!</i> What did he mean by -that?” muttered Peret, getting to his -feet. (<i>Dix</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Peret rose to his feet and stepped -back to make room for the doctor.</p> - -<p>“What’s the trouble?” asked Dr. -Sprague, a large, swarthy-faced man -with a gray Vandyke beard.</p> - -<p>“Murder, I’m afraid,” replied -Peret, pointing at Berjet’s motionless -body.</p> - -<p>Dr. Sprague bent over the inert -form of the scientist and made a brief -examination.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said gravely, “he is beyond -human aid.”</p> - -<p>“He is dead?”</p> - -<p>“Quite.”</p> - -<p>“Can you tell me what caused his -death?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot be positive,” replied the -physician, “but he bears all the outward -symptoms of asphyxiation.”</p> - -<p>“Asphyxiation?” repeated Peret -incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p> - -<p>Peret’s skepticism was written -plainly on his face.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Dr. Sprague, with his hands clawing -the air in front of him, appeared -to be grappling with an invisible -<i>something</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER II.</i><br> -THE MYSTERY DEEPENS.</h3> - -<p>Although the moment was obviously -one that demanded caution, -Jules Peret was never the man -to hesitate in the face of an unknown -danger.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> -twisted his head from side to side in -agony.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter with you?” -shouted Peret. “Speak! I want to -help you.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sacrebleu!</i>” yelled Peret. “Speak -to me, my friend, so I can avenge -you! One little word is all I ask. -<i>What attacked you?</i>”</p> - -<p>“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—.”</p> - -<p>His head fell forward; he began to -sob weakly.</p> - -<p>“An invisible monster,” repeated -Peret, staring at the man curiously. -“What do you mean by that?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Well?” demanded Strange, with -characteristic brevity.</p> - -<p>“Murder,” returned Peret, with -equal conciseness, and nodded at the -two bodies on the pavement.</p> - -<p>“How?” Strange shot out.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Strange’s bellicose features twisted -into a grin.</p> - -<p>“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’.”</p> - -<p>Strange turned once more to the -Frenchman.</p> - -<p>“You’re sure these two men are -dead, Peret?”</p> - -<p>“They will never be any deader,” -replied Peret shortly.</p> - -<p>“All right—Who is that man?”—pointing -over his shoulder at the -druggist.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Strange nodded.</p> - -<p>“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’?”</p> - -<p>“Little more than I have already -told you,” answered Peret, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span> -launched into a detailed recital of his -harrowing experience.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You say Dr. Sprague and this -other man were seized by the Thing -when your back was turned?” he -questioned.</p> - -<p>“<i>Oui</i>; 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.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you see anything at all?” -demanded Strange.</p> - -<p>“Absolutely nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Hear anything?”</p> - -<p>“No. But that man”—jerking his -thumb at the pedestrian—“said he -heard the Thing whisper.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Peret’s eyes shone with interest.</p> - -<p>“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, <i>Monsieur?</i>”</p> - -<p>“I scarcely know,” replied the -druggist, after a moment’s thought. -“It was a whisper—nothing that I -could understand. Just an inarticulate -<i>whisper</i>. I had hardly heard it -when Sprague screamed and began to -struggle.”</p> - -<p>“Whence did the whisper emanate, -<i>Monsieur</i>?” queried Peret eagerly.</p> - -<p>“I do not know.”</p> - -<p>“You <i>saw</i> nothing?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“’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.”</p> - -<p>“It is,” agreed Peret; then whirled -around to confront the pedestrian. -“Ah, <i>Monsieur</i>, perhaps you can help -us a little, eh? How are you feeling -now?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Strange looked at him shrewdly.</p> - -<p>“What’s your name?” he asked, -taking out his notebook.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Strange made a note and nodded.</p> - -<p>“What attacked you?” he suddenly -shot out.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” replied Deweese. -“The Thing, whatever it was, was -invisible. I <i>felt</i> it, God knows, but -did not <i>see</i> it.”</p> - -<p>“But you must have some idea of -what the Thing was,” Strange insisted. -“Was it a man, or an animal, -or—?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> - -<p>Deweese shook his head slowly.</p> - -<p>“I have said that I do not know,” -was his emphatic reply, “and I do -not. How <i>could</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps your ears served you better -than your eyes?” said Strange. -“Did you hear the Thing when it -leaped upon you?”</p> - -<p>“I did,” replied Deweese, with a -shudder. “At almost the very instant -that it attacked me I heard it -whisper.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Eh, bien, Monsieur</i>,” cried Peret, -“and what did it say to you?”</p> - -<p>“It did not say anything intelligible,” -was Deweese’s disappointing -reply. “It just whispered.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I’m going in,” he growled, and -drew his revolver.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“No signs of gas anywhere,” said -Strange, audibly sniffing the air. “The -asphyxiation theory of Dr. Sprague’s -is a dud, in my opinion.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The three doors and the four -windows in this room, sergeant, are -<i>locked on the inside</i>,” 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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Your penetration is remarkable,” -snapped Peret, who always became -irritated when baffled.</p> - -<p>“It’s the devil’s own work,” commented -Deweese, who had been watching<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>Peret flung himself into a chair and -lit a cigarette.</p> - -<p>“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. <i>Eh! bien!</i> How did they get out -of the room? All of the exits are -locked on the inside, as you see.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Invisible</i> murderers!” snorted -Peret, with a contemptuous shrug of -his shoulders. “You are growing -feeble-minded, my friend. Didn’t -Berjet say he <i>saw</i> his murderers?”</p> - -<p>“So you say,” returned Strange -rudely. “But <i>you</i> 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.</p> - -<p>Peret glared at the detective sergeant, -but said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps Berjet was subject to a -hallucination,” ventured Strange, -after a moment’s thought. “He may -just have imagined he saw the murderers.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he just imagined he was -murdered, too,” retorted the Frenchman, -and returned to his examination -of the room.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Well?” demanded Strange.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Hasn’t Berjet got a family?” inquired -Strange.</p> - -<p>“The people next door say that -Berjet’s wife and daughter are spending -the winter at Palm Beach.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t they any servants?”</p> - -<p>“All of the servants go home at -night except Adolphe, the murdered -man’s valet.”</p> - -<p>“Did you find him?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Was the front door, and the rest -of the doors and windows in the -house, locked?”</p> - -<p>“The front door was not only unlocked -but slightly ajar. The rest of -the house was secured.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -could a-got out without one of us -knowin’ it. If a murder’s been committed -the murderer’s still in the -house somewhere.”</p> - -<p>The burly sergeant nodded his satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Well, if he’s here, we’ll get him,” -he declared. As an after-thought: -“Got the house surrounded?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve thrown a cordon around the -whole block,” replied O’Shane. “A -mouse couldn’t get through it without -getting its neck broke.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Wait, my friend, I know an easier -way,” said Peret.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ten thousand devils!” cried -Peret, leaping back.</p> - -<p>The body of a dead man rolled out -on the floor!</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER III.</i><br> -ALINGTON FINDS A CLUE.</h3> - -<p>Violent death means nothing to -the average police official; he -comes in almost daily contact with the -most brutal and horrible form of it.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Who is he?” asked O’Shane, after -a brief silence.</p> - -<p>“Adolphe,” replied Peret, bending -over the body. “Berjet’s valet.”</p> - -<p>“You knew him,” Strange stated -rather than questioned.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Peret. “I have -seen him. He was <i>le bon valet</i>. See, -sergeant, his limbs are cold and stiff. -He was assassinated at least two hours -before his master was. <i>Mon dieu!</i> -What does it all mean?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Well, for one thing, it means that -we got to get busy,” was Strange’s -energetic response.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -than admit it, the detective sergeant -was one of the little Frenchman’s -staunchest admirers.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the major. “I helped -Rane examine them.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“This is not murder, it’s a massacre!” -exclaimed the coroner.</p> - -<p>He knelt beside the body, and -scrutinized the valet’s face.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“So you’ve heard about the ‘invisible -monster’,” returned Strange, -non-committally.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I have not,” replied Strange, then -gave a rapid account of the measures -he had taken to prevent the murderer’s -escape.</p> - -<p>Dobson nodded his approval.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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—.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Peret scowled at the coroner and -relapsed into silence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p> - -<p>Strange, however, seemed to find -comfort in the coroner’s words. With -a determined look on his hard-bitten -face, he wheeled.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I was <i>not</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Who is this man,” asked Dobson.</p> - -<p>Strange, with a gesture of helplessness, -explained.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Deweese, you are positive, are -you, that you were not attacked by a -human being?” questioned the major.</p> - -<p>“I am as certain of it as I am that -I am alive,” answered the artist.</p> - -<p>“Nor an animal?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Nor something <i>inside of you</i>?”</p> - -<p>“If you mean poison, or something -like that, yes.”</p> - -<p>“Do you not think you might have -been overcome by poisonous fumes of -some sort?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely not. It was not that -sort of sensation that I experienced -at all.”</p> - -<p>“Have you any idea what it was -that attacked you?”</p> - -<p>“Not the remotest idea.”</p> - -<p>“You did not see it?”</p> - -<p>“I did not.”</p> - -<p>“Could you have seen it if it had -had substantial form?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, because it was between me -and the street lamp.”</p> - -<p>“Have you ever had any similar -experience in the past—any experience -that resembles it in the slightest -way?”</p> - -<p>“Never!”</p> - -<p>Dobson threw a puzzled look at the -coroner.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he began, and was interrupted -by a blinding flash of light -that suddenly illuminated the room.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Deweese shook off the sergeant’s -hand and glared at the little finger-print -expert.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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, -‘<i>Assassins ... dix!</i>’ just like that. -<i>Dix</i>, in the French language, means -‘ten,’ and Berjet was a Frenchman. -Figure it out for yourself.”</p> - -<p>The major nodded, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He paused, looked at the coroner as -if inviting speech, and then, when -only silence answered, continued:</p> - -<p>“Let us turn now to the murder of -the valet. There is certainly no doubt -as to the manner in which <i>he</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>his</i> murderer you will have -found the man or Thing responsible<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -for the other two murders, and for -the attack on our friend, Deweese.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well?” growled Strange, straining -forward.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well?” repeated Strange, who -saw his last glimmer of hope growing -dimmer and dimmer. “Who murdered -the valet?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER IV.</i><br> -THE TERRIBLE FROG TAKES THE TRAIL.</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The major, however, accepted the -exploding of his theory with equanimity.</p> - -<p>“It is obviously impossible for the -scientist to have had any direct hand -in Sprague’s murder,” he observed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -“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?”</p> - -<p>Deweese shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Never heard of him until tonight,” -he declared.</p> - -<p>The major sighed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Alington inclined his head slightly -and retired to his place beside the -table.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Has the ownership of the dagger -been established?” asked the coroner.</p> - -<p>“It has,” replied Strange, without -enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span></p> - -<p>The coroner examined the letters -closely and returned the sheath to -Strange.</p> - -<p>“There can scarcely be any doubt -as to the ownership of the knife,” he -agreed.</p> - -<p>“What progress are your men making -with their search?” demanded the -major.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And have they found no evidence -of any person having been in this -house?”</p> - -<p>“No one except Berjet and the -valet.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Deweese had entirely recovered -from his shock by this time and -seemed eager to be of aid.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -felt life slipping from my grasp, the -pressure on my throat and chest relaxed -and, too exhausted to stand, I -fell to the pavement.”</p> - -<p>“Unconscious?” asked the coroner.</p> - -<p>“No, never for a single instant did -I lose consciousness. Every terrible -second of that eternity is indelibly -stamped on my mind.”</p> - -<p>The recollection of his frightful experience -made the artist tremble. -Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, -he mopped his face.</p> - -<p>“Was Dr. Sprague still struggling -with his—ah—antagonist when you -were attacked?” questioned the major.</p> - -<p>“I cannot say,” replied Deweese. -“After I was attacked I had little -thought to give to anything but my -own defense.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>see</i> -the Thing? Think before you reply.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“When did you hear the Thing -whisper—before or after it attacked -you?”</p> - -<p>“Before. After it hurled itself -upon me I heard nothing.”</p> - -<p>“But you felt it breathing in your -face?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You mean that even if the Thing -had been breathing in your face it is -doubtful if you would have known -it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Did this breathing sound or feel -like the breathing of a man?”</p> - -<p>“No; the Thing’s breath was -quick and jerky and as cold as ice.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Cold?</i>” cried Peret, leaping to -his feet.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Yes, <i>cold</i>,” repeated Deweese, the -perspiration dripping from his brow, -“cold and clammy.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i>” 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 <i>warm</i>. Perhaps it was not -the breathing of a monster that you -heard. It may have been—.” He -hesitated, and then, at a loss, stopped.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Like the breathing of a man choking -on a piece of ice?” suggested the -coroner.</p> - -<p>“Exactly.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Eh, bien!</i>” called the Frenchman, -and smote himself on the forehead -with his clenched fist. “Why -did you not tell us this before?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Triomphe!</i>” he cried, with such -suddenness and vigor that the iron-nerved -detective sergeant jumped. -“I’ve got it! At last I see the light!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Well, what have you got?” asked -the major calmly, though the coroner -thought he could detect a note of vast -relief in his voice.</p> - -<p>“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. <i>Nom de diable!</i> -The Thing is—”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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! <i>Oui, m’sieu</i>; -The mystery is solved! I stake my -reputation on it. I will show you—Stay!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Evidence is sometimes the biggest -liar in the world,” said Peret, a little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“What suggestions have you to -make!” asked the major, visibly impressed. -“I suppose you have in mind -some plan—.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Oui!</i>” 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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. <i>Allez-vous-en.</i>”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER V.</i><br> -THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF.</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>boulevardiers</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>noms de guerre</i> in -the world of crime.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>On the sidewalk he paused for a -moment.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Bendlow?”</p> - -<p>“H’luva night to be abroad, -Chief,” came a hoarse whisper. -“What’s the row, anyway?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span></p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“’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.”</p> - -<p>“Seen anything of the occupant of -the house?”</p> - -<p>“Nope. I guess the Wolf is in the -hay,” was Bendlow’s enigmatic reply.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” asked Peret sharply. -“Who is this that you call the -‘Wolf’?”</p> - -<p>“Say, don’t you know whose house -you sent me to watch?” demanded -Bendlow in surprise.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Tiens!</i>” exclaimed Peret, with -rising excitement. “You are sure?”</p> - -<p>“None surer! Known him for a -long time.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me what you know about -him, quickly, my friend.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But how do you know he is living -in this house, eh? Have you seen -him?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“If you have not seen him, how do -you know he is living in this house?” -asked Peret impatiently.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Voila</i>,” 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?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say for sure, but I doubt -it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, we’re going in, regardless. -It’s dangerous business, but necessary. -I must clear up the mystery of -the whispering Thing.”</p> - -<p>“The Whispering Thing?” questioned -Bendlow.</p> - -<p>“<i>Oui</i>,” 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?”</p> - -<p>“Yep,” laconically. “Lead on.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>No sound greeted their ears. The -house was as dark and silent as a -grave. Even the light in the vestibule -had been extinguished.</p> - -<p>“Where next?” whispered Bendlow.</p> - -<p>“The first floor, then upstairs,” -breathed Peret in his ear.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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. <i>Comprendez-vous?</i>”</p> - -<p>“Yep,” croaked Bendlow, and -took up his stand at the place designated.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Something’s in the vestibule.”</p> - -<p>Peret’s muscles grew tense.</p> - -<p>“Somebody coming in?” he asked -quickly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know something’s -there?” whispered Peret.</p> - -<p>“Heard it moving around, and -when I put my ear to the keyhole I -heard it breathing.” was Bendlow’s -startling reply.</p> - -<p>Peret’s jaws closed with a snap, -and his grasp on his automatic tightened.</p> - -<p>“<i>Eh, bien</i>,” he hissed. “Follow me -down stairs. Keep hold of my coat -so we won’t get separated. If anything -approaches you from the rear,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -shoot first and ask questions afterwards. -It begins to look as if we had -tracked the Whispering Thing to its -lair. <i>En avant!</i>”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>thump</i> on the door and a scratching -sound on the floor. This was followed -by a loud whining yawn.</p> - -<p>Peret caught Bendlow by the arm -and drew him away from the door.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No. I am through. There is no -one in the house, and I can find no -trace of the Whispering Thing. -<i>Sapristi!</i> 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—”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“<i>Hist!</i>”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The Wolf,” croaked Bendlow -hoarsely, and, with Peret following -darted down the hall.</p> - -<p>“Halt!” commanded the Wolf, -and the dog, with an angry growl, -shot between his legs and hurled itself -after the detectives.</p> - -<p>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 <i>zummed</i> by Peret’s ear -and buried itself in the wall.</p> - -<p>“Get him, Sultan,” cried the Wolf, -and fired another shot.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER VI.</i><br> -THE WHISPERING THING.</h3> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Hands up!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span></p> - -<p>At the same instant the cold muzzle -of a revolver came in violent contact -with the Frenchman’s nose.</p> - -<p>“<i>Diable!</i>” 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Climb out of there, you!” ordered -the voice harshly. “No funny business -if you’re fond of life. C’mon -out.”</p> - -<p>“Dick Cromwell!” spoke up Bendlow -suddenly. “Drop your gat. It’s -Bendlow and Peret.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span></p> - -<p>He heard the spring of the night-latch -close with a loud <i>click</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>The silence in the room was suddenly -broken by a loud though inarticulate -<i>whisper</i>—a loud, jerky, sibilant -sound, that departed as abruptly -as it had come.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>hiss</i>, and, at the same instant <i>Peret -felt an ice-cold breath on his cheek</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Again he heard the agonized -scream of the physician and saw his -bulging eyes as he battled for his -life with the invisible monster.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="center smaller"><i>This story will be concluded in the next issue of WEIRD TALES. -Tell your news dealer to reserve a copy for you.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>The Last Thrilling Chapters of</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Thing_of_a_Thousand_Shapes"><i>The</i> Thing <i>of a</i><br> -Thousand Shapes</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>A Weird Novel</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">By OTIS ADELBERT KLINE</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><i>The first half of this story appeared in the March issue of WEIRD TALES. A copy -will be mailed by the publishers for 25c.</i></p> - -<p class="center">HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED IN THE EARLY -CHAPTERS:</p> - -<p>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, “<i>He is not dead—only sleeping.</i>” -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.</p> - -<p class="center">THE STORY CONTINUES FROM THIS POINT</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p>The storm slowly abated, and -finally died down altogether, -succeeded by a dead calm.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In my hand I carried a huge knotted -club, and my sole article of clothing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -seemed to be a tiger skin, girded -about my waist and falling half way -to my knees.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>snap</i>. 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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“B-I-L-L-Y.”</p> - -<p>Then:</p> - -<p>“S-A-V-E M-E B-I-L-L-Y.”</p> - -<p>I managed to ask, “Who are you?”</p> - -<p>The hands spelled:</p> - -<p>“I A-M—”</p> - -<p>Then they were withdrawn, with a -jerk, into the group.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The phantom, when at the other -end of the room, had seemed frightful -enough, but to see it coming toward -me was unnerving—terrifying.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -The nearer it approached, the more -horrible it seemed, and the more firmly -I appeared rooted to the spot.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Suddenly there was a brilliant -glare of light. Something struck me -with considerable force, and I lost -consciousness.</p> - -<p>When I regained my senses I was -lying in a bedroom, the room I had -occupied in my uncle’s house.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I attempted to sit up, but sank -back with a groan, as a sharp pain -shot through my right side.</p> - -<p>My fair attendant laid a soft hand -on my brow.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t do that again,” she -said. “The telephone wires are down, -so father has driven to town for the -doctor.”</p> - -<p>Memories of the night returned. -The apparition—my rush down the -pathway—the blinding light—the -sudden shock—and then oblivion.</p> - -<p>“Do you mind telling me,” I asked, -“what it was that knocked me out, -and how you came so suddenly to my -rescue?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Please tell me your name—won’t -you?—and how it all happened.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He removed the thermometer from -my mouth, then, holding it up to the -light and squinting for a moment said -“<i>Humph</i>,” and proceeded to paw me -over in search of broken bones. When<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -he started manhandling my right -side I winced considerably. He presently -located a couple of fractured -ribs.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“After all,” I thought, “having -one’s ribs broken is not such an unpleasant -experience.”</p> - -<p>Then her father entered—and my -thoughts were turned into new channels.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The professor kindly consented to -stay, and his daughter went downstairs -to locate Joe and his flivver.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A dry, white smudge was still faintly -discernible on the cover. This he -examined carefully with a pocket -microscope, then said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I should be very glad indeed,” I -replied, “to have even some slight -explanation of these mysteries.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Well, whatever it was, I am positive -it was no real vampire, as -Glitch says,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>At this juncture there was a rap -at my door. I called, “come in,” and -Joe Severs entered.</p> - -<p>“Well, Joe, did you get the doctor -home without shaking any of his teeth -loose?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“This is indeed serious,” said the -professor. “Do you know what they -propose to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say as to that, but they’re -sure some riled up about it,” replied -Joe.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h3><i>CHAPTER IV.</i></h3> - -<p>A half hour later the housekeeper -came in to remove the dishes, -and Miss Randall brought me a huge -bouquet of autumn daisies.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“By all means,” I replied. “Read, -or talk, or do anything you like. I -assure you I am not hard to amuse.”</p> - -<p>“I think I shall read,” she decided. -“What do you prefer? Fiction, history, -mythology, philosophy? Or perhaps,” -she added, “you prefer -poetry.”</p> - -<p>“I will leave the selection entirely -to you,” I said. “Read what interests -you, and I will be interested.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be too sure of that,” she -answered, and went down to my -uncle’s library.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She had finished the poem, and -we were chatting gaily, when Mrs. -Rhodes entered.</p> - -<p>“A small boy brought this note for -you, sir,” she said, handing me a -sealed envelope.</p> - -<p>I tore it open carelessly, then read:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“<i>Mr. William Ansley.<br> -Dear Sir</i>:</p> - -<p>“<i>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -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.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>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.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>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.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>To refuse to do as directed -will avail you nothing.</i> <span class="smcap">If you do -not bring the body we will -come and get it.</span> <i>If you offer -resistance, you do so at your -peril, as we are armed, and we -mean business.</i></p> - -<p class="right">“<i>THE COMMITTEE.</i></p> - -<p><i>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.</i>”</p> - -</div> - -<p>As the professor had predicted, -this was indeed a most serious turn -of events. I turned to Mrs. Rhodes.</p> - -<p>“Where is the bearer of this letter?” -I asked. “Did he wait for a -reply?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I must dress and go downstairs -at once,” I said.</p> - -<p>“You must do no such thing,” replied -Miss Randall. “The doctor’s -orders are that you must keep perfectly -quiet until your ribs heal.”</p> - -<p>I heard a swift footfall on the -stairs, and a moment later the professor -entered the room, very much -excited.</p> - -<p>“Two farmers,” he said, “poked -shotguns in my face and searched me -on the public highway. That’s what -just happened to me!”</p> - -<p>“What do you suppose they were -after?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps this will throw some -light on their motive,” I said, handing -him the letter.</p> - -<p>As he read it a look of surprise -came over his face.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“What would you say if I were to -tell you there is a strong possibility -that your uncle’s body is <i>not</i> a -corpse; or, in other words, that he is -not <i>really dead</i>?” asked the professor.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I am with you in that,” said he, -extending his hand, “and now let us -examine the evidence.”</p> - -<p>“By all means,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>some other mind</i>. May we -not, therefore, reasonably suppose -that the message came from the subjective -mind of your uncle?</p> - -<p>“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, ‘<i>Billy! Save me, Billy.</i>’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> -or when the medium is startled or -alarmed, and our efforts in this direction -have always been fruitless.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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, <i>living</i> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>enrapport</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“We will now ask some questions,” -said the professor.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “Who are you that -writes?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Ruth.”</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “By whose direction do -you write?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Billy.”</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “Who directs Billy to direct -you to write as you do?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Uncle Jim.”</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “How are we to know -that it is Uncle Jim?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Uncle Jim will give -proof.”</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “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?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Remove third book from -left top shelf of book case. Shake -book and pressed maple leaf will -fall out.”</p> - -<p>(The professor removed and -shook it as directed, and a pressed -maple leaf fell to the floor.)</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “What further proof can -Uncle Jim give?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “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.”</p> - -<p>(Again the professor did as directed, -and again the written -statement was corroborated.)</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “The proof is ample and -convincing. Will Uncle Jim tell -us where he is at the present -time?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Here in the room.”</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “What means shall we -use to awaken him?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Uncle Jim is recuperating. -Does not wish to be awakened.”</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>: “But we want Uncle Jim -to waken some time. What shall -we do?”</p> - -<p><i>A</i>: “Let Uncle Jim alone, -and he will waken naturally -when the time comes.”</p> - -<p>The professor propounded several -more queries, to which there were no -answers, so we discontinued the sitting. -Miss Randall was awakened by -suggestion.</p> - -<p>“We now have conclusive proof -that your uncle is alive, and in a cataleptic -state,” said the professor.</p> - -<p>“Is there no way to arouse him?” -I asked.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“It can also be induced in hypnotization -by suggestion. Do not think of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>My eye fell upon two large oak -logs, which young Severs had brought -for the fireplace, and I said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Schtop!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Back in der coffin,” he said, -pointing a double-barreled shotgun -at me. “Poot him back, or I -blow your tam head off.”</p> - -<p>Then several other men came in -and menaced us with their weapons.</p> - -<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> - -<p>I dropped my uncle’s feet and -rushed furiously at Glitch, but -was quickly seized and overpowered -by two stalwart farmers.</p> - -<p>The professor, however, was more -calm. He laid my uncle gently on -the floor and faced the men.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, “may I -ask the reason for this sudden and -unwarranted intrusion in a peaceful -home?”</p> - -<p>“Ve are going to bury dot vampire -corpse mit a stake t’rough its -heart. Dot’s vot,” replied Glitch.</p> - -<p>“What would you do if I were to -tell you that this man is not dead, -but alive?” asked the professor.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, another had discovered -the wrapped logs, to which -he called the attention of his companions.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said the professor, -“do you realize that you will be committing -a murder if you bury this -man’s body?”</p> - -<p>“Murder, hell!” exclaimed one. -“He killed my boy.”</p> - -<p>“He sucked my daughter’s blood,” -cried another.</p> - -<p>“An’ my brother is lyin’ in his -death bed on account of him,” -shouted a third.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Yah. Ve vill proceed,” said -Glitch. “Vorwarts!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The professor hurried upstairs and, -on his return a moment later, the -funeral cortege proceeded.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Help!</i> Save me—save me!” she -cried. “Oh, my God, will nobody -save me?”</p> - -<p>In a moment, all was confusion. -Stake and mauls were dropped, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I was first to reach her side.</p> - -<p>“Ruth! What is the matter?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that huge bat—that terrible -bat with the fiery eyes! Drive him -away from me! Don’t let him get me! -Please! <i>Please!</i>”</p> - -<p>I tried to soothe her in my arms. -She looked up, her eyes distended -with terror.</p> - -<p>“There he is—right behind you! -Oh, don’t let him get me! Please -don’t let him get me!”</p> - -<p>I looked back, but could see nothing -resembling a bat. The armed -men stood around us in a circle.</p> - -<p>“There is no bat behind me,” I -said. “You are overwrought. Don’t -be frightened.”</p> - -<p>“But there <i>is</i> a bat. I can <i>see</i> -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.”</p> - -<p>Glitch spoke. “It’s der vampire -again. Ve’ll put a schtop to dis -business right now. Come on, men.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The professor stood at the foot of -the grave, looking down calmly at the -men. He appeared almost unconcerned.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I leaped toward him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t strike! For God’s sake, -don’t strike!” I cried, seizing his arm.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, apparently from the -bottom of the grave, came a muffled, -wailing cry, increasing to a horrible, -blood-curdling shriek.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p> - -<p><i>The man in the chair was Uncle -Jim!</i></p> - -<p>“Hello, Billy,” he said. “How are -you, my boy?”</p> - -<p>For a moment I was speechless. -“Uncle Jim!” I managed to stammer. -“Is it really you, or am I -dreaming again?”</p> - -<p>Ruth squeezed my arm reassuringly. -“Don’t be afraid. It is really -your uncle.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“But how—when—how did you -get out of that horrible grave?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Tea was served, cigars were lighted, -and the professor began:</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>The Peoria Times</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But that unearthly shriek from -the grave,” I said. “It sounded like -the cry of a dying man.”</p> - -<p>“Ventriloquism,” said the professor, -“nothing more. A simple little -trick I learned in my high school -days. It was I who shrieked.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Uncle Jim and I convalesced together.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<h3>THE END.</h3> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Can the Dead Return to Life? -Before You Answer, Read</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Conquering_Will"><i>The Conquering Will</i></h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By</i> TED OLSON</p> - -</div> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The northbound train began to -move, and for the last time I caught -her in my arms and pressed my lips -to hers.</p> - -<p>“In June, dear. I’ll be back. I -promise. Don’t worry,” I said again, -as I swung upon the step of the Pullman.</p> - -<p>She was smiling—that brave, April -smile—and I watched her until the -train carried me beyond sight of her.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was a long task that awaited us. -August was already upon us. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Portage?” queried Dan of our -guide.</p> - -<p>Norton shook his head. “Shoot ’er,” -he answered curtly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A splintering crash, and I found -myself in the seething water.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -out weakly, and, blind, breathless, and -beaten, drew myself on a gravelly bar.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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 -<i>would not die</i>!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> -crept through the cabin. Winter had -come.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Waking from such visions, the will -to live burned very strong in me. I -<i>would</i> live; I <i>would</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>me</i> more alive. -I burned fiercely with the desire to -live. I swore I should not die.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In the night the body had died. It -lay there now, stiff, still. It had -ceased to live.</p> - -<p>But <i>I</i> was not dead. I could see -my body lying there, a cast-off thing. -But <i>I</i> was here.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>And so I waited. Night came. The -wind had died a little outside, and -through the cold I heard the distant -howl of wolves.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Round the cabin the wolves circled -cautiously. I could hear them sniffing -at the door.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A gleaming claw shot through, a -pair of slavering jaws followed. In a -minute they were in.</p> - -<p>Can you dream of a thing so horrible -as to watch your own body being -torn apart by wild beasts?</p> - -<p>They snarled, they fought. Their -fangs clipped and tore. I grew sick -with despair. The night was hideous -with their snarls and yowling.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And, with the ecstasy of despair, -there flamed once more in me that -dogged, unreasoning will to live—to -live again, I must say.</p> - -<p>And, with it, I fled the room, guided -somehow, blindly, by a new hope.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The body of Gordon Paige -lay there, inert, lifeless. With -all the power I knew I willed -myself toward it.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“He lives! God knows how, -but he lives. The crisis is past. -He will recover.”</p> - -<p>And he <i>did</i> recover. The -body of Gordon Paige won back -to life and health.</p> - -<p><i>But the soul within his body -was the soul of Malcolm Rae!</i></p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But I—the entity that dwells -in the body of Paige—<i>I am Malcolm -Rae</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I wish I could tell her—that I <i>am</i> -Malcolm.</p> - -<p>But the world is too incredulous. I -do not dare.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>The Strange Tale of a Yellow Man -and His Beloved Reptile</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Six_Feet_of_Willow">Six Feet<br> -of Willow-Green</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By</i> Carroll F. Michener</p> - -</div> - -<p>It was for no love of the Chinese -that Allister risked his life in the -shark-plagued waters off Samoa.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going to launch that -lifeboat?” Allister bawled at him.</p> - -<p>The mate spat over the rail, with a -sullen negation.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>The mate lowered the boat, not so -much because Allister was white -as because he was a brother of the -captain.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Curses, and the muttered insults -that are flung to foreigners, came to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The serpent-eared grandfather of -a skillet is late,” complained the -voice, and there was an answering -murmur from another woman at her -side.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“How long, Tai-tai, must my Crimson -Lotus submit to the vile attentions -of this opium hawker? Surely -it should not be difficult——”</p> - -<p>“It is more difficult than thou -thinkest, mother of no sons.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“He fears the serpent.”</p> - -<p>“The serpent?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“A serpent may be crushed by the -heel——”</p> - -<p>“That shall be thy task, then. Nay, -find the way, and it shall be my heel, -and mine the silver <i>sycee</i> that lies under -the bricks of his <i>kang</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Find the way?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The door closed behind Allister’s -starved figure, and Ssu Yin, conscious<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -of the street-crowd admiration -that followed the unwonted gayety of -his attire, crossed a miasmatic lotus -pool and entered the teahouse.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He <i>would</i> make it! He would get -the money once more—earn it, perhaps, -but somehow he would get it, -and go Home.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Ssu Yin sat gurgling contemplatively -at his water-pipe, his eyes fixed -upon two brilliant points of light in -the half-shadows over the <i>kang</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>A grimace of pain was Allister’s -only answer.</p> - -<p>“And was the sleep of this poor -worm’s wise and illustrious benefactor -filled with the jassmine-incense of -celestial happiness?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p> - -<p>“May your flesh be jellied and -your bones splintered,” was Allister’s -discourteous shot into the trumpet. -“May your ancestors——”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, drop the classics, Ssu Yin, -and tell me what you’re driving at!”</p> - -<p>“The Elder Brother must set his -feet unto new paths, or he will learn -to walk soon in the Eternal Shades.”</p> - -<p>“I’m through, Ssu Yin. No more -chandoo for me. Tomorrow——”</p> - -<p>“The man who overestimates himself -is like a rat falling into a scale -and weighing himself.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The pipe, Ssu Yin—only once -more. And tomorrow——”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No, Ssu Yin, I mean it this -time——”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>This was the tomorrow of which he -had spoken to Ssu Yin.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Tomorrow——</p> - -<p>He sprang up suddenly, the effort -startling his heart into wild uncertainties. -The recurrence of a feeling -of resentment, long nourished, supported -him.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -that hoard of <i>sycee</i> beneath the -bricks of the <i>kang</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For the moment Allister had forgotten -the serpent, and it was only in -the act of turning his darting steps -toward the <i>kang</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>kang</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>Allister watched her in amazement. -Was she unaware of the snake? Or -was she, like Ssu Yin, its master, immune -to ophidian fear?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She cried out, took an involuntary -step backward, tripped upon a <i>sycee</i> -ingot, and a bared arm, thrust outward -to break her fall, met the serpent’s -fangs.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Across the <i>kang</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Well, a simple solution—the fangs -of his serpent, slavering for their -prey....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The poison gripped him, but a -sense of unfinished justice gave him -strength while he battered the cringing -reptile into an amorphous, hideous -mass.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Unabashed, Great Ancestors—into -the Vale of Longevity Ssu Yin -walks without shame.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>The Occultism of Ancient -Egypt Permeates</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Hall_of_the_Dead"><i>The</i> Hall <i>of the</i> Dead</h2> - -<p class="center larger">A Strange Tale</p> - -<p class="center larger">By FRANCIS D. GRIERSON</p> - -</div> - -<p>“You have good nerves?” -asked Professor Julius -March, with a somewhat -cynical smile.</p> - -<p>Annette Grey shrugged her shoulders.</p> - -<p>“People who work for their living,” -she replied, “cannot afford -nerves.”</p> - -<p>The Professor nodded.</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -<p>Annette interrupted him with a -deprecating gesture.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“My former secretary—” the professor -began, and paused.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She smiled faintly, and the Egyptologist -shrewdly eyed her.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Then I may consider myself engaged?”</p> - -<p>March bowed.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“I prefer to form my own opinion,” -said Annette quietly.</p> - -<p>Again he smiled. It was not a -pleasant smile.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -respect by the curators of some of the -greatest museums in the world.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -would bury himself amid his mummies -and papyri, and sometimes, in -his morose moods, even his secretary -was forbidden access.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Once an incident occurred which -revealed yet another side of this -man’s complex character.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I fear we are a little early, Miss -Grey,” said Sturges, when he had -presented his friend.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And most adequately,” murmured -Sturges, with old-fashioned -courtesy.</p> - -<p>Then, as the door closed behind the -servant, he spoke rapidly:</p> - -<p>“We came a little early on purpose,” -he explained. “You are prepared, -Miss Vane?”</p> - -<p>“Quite,” said the girl calmly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The Scotland Yard man smiled.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He bowed courteously to Annette.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The words were polite and were uttered -with perfect civility, but the old -lawyer laughed gently.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>At last the dinner drew to a close, -and March rose.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>seance</i>,” -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.”</p> - -<p>Annette smiled, with something of -an effort, and led the way to the Hall -of the Dead.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The Professor rubbed his hands, -well pleased at the effect he had produced.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I am aware, Professor March,” -said Sims in a hard, level tone that -startled his hearers, “that you are a -skeptic.”</p> - -<p>The Professor murmured something, -but Sims went on, without -heeding him.</p> - -<p>“I feel tonight that I am going to -prove to you that I can see things -that are hidden....”</p> - -<p>He paused, and again the silence -was broken only by the sound of -heavy breathing. As suddenly as before, -Sims spoke again:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p> - -<p>The Professor drew in his breath -with a sharp gasp, but the voice went -steadily on:</p> - -<p>“Beside the table I see a man. He -is bending over something—something -white. It is the body of a -woman—”</p> - -<p>“<i>Stop</i>, damn you!” screamed the -Professor; and Sims, springing from -his chair, took something from the -pocket of his dinner-jacket.</p> - -<p>The Professor laughed discordantly—the -laugh of a madman.</p> - -<p>“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>I don’t -care!</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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....”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Again he paused, and again he resumed, -mastering his emotion:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>A low sob broke from Annette, but -he went on, unheeding:</p> - -<p>“I told you, Hora, I <i>tried</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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>I come</i>!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Parlor_Cemetery"><i>The</i><br> -Parlor Cemetery</h2> - -<p class="center larger"><i>A Grisly Satire</i></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>By</i> C. E. Howard</p> - -</div> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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—?”</p> - -<p>“How much does it cost?”</p> - -<p>“This year they will sell for fifteen -dollars—”</p> - -<p>“<i>Apiece!</i>” she shrilled. “My land -o’ livin’! Whoever buys th’ things?”</p> - -<p>“All the big stores keep them, -especially the drug stores, for the benefit -of the public, you know. Now -your name is—?”</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s it all ’bout, anyhow?” -she insisted. “An’ what’s it -fur? Is it a tillyphone dickshanary?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“<i>My</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I never said yit; but it was -Cook.”</p> - -<p>“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’?”</p> - -<p>“Which?”</p> - -<p>“How do you spell it? ‘C-double-o-k,’ -or ‘C-double-o-k-e’?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span></p> - -<p>“No; not with no ‘e’ on to it! -That would be cooky! It was jes’ -plain Cook—C-o-o-k.”</p> - -<p>I was willing to let it go at that -and wrote it down. “And your first -name now?”</p> - -<p>“My fust name? I don’t tell my -fust name to no strangers—’specially -<i>men</i>!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>After peering at it intently for -some time she relaxed in her chair, -reassured. “Well, ’tain’t no name to -be ’shamed of, if <i>’tis</i> old-fashioned. -It’s Ann.”</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“You have a husband?”</p> - -<p>“No, not now. I’ve had ’em, -though.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“No; they’re all on ’em dead now; -but, Mister, my name ain’t Cook—it’s -Hay!”</p> - -<p>“What!” I exclaimed. “Why, I -understood you to say it was Cook?”</p> - -<p>“Well, yuh understood right. It -<i>was</i> Cook—that what’s yuh asked -me, what it <i>was</i>—but it’s Hay now. -’Bout two years after Cook went up -in smoke I married a feller named -Hay, see?”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“Oh yes,” I smiled cheerfully, -and, reversing my pencil I endeavored -to rub off the former husband’s -name.</p> - -<p>Of course the flimsy paper tore. I -yanked out the sheet and began -again.</p> - -<p>“‘H-a-y,’ Hay,” I put down, -writing lightly with an eye to more -erasures or corrections. “Just the -plain, short Hay, I presume?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“<i>How! What?</i>” I gasped, as every -separate hair on my head arose -and tried to spring from its root-cell.</p> - -<p>“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’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>yuh’</i>—tea standin’ -for both his name an’ his callin’, do -you see?”</p> - -<p>I expressed my admiration for this -delightful idea, and she proceeded -with her cataloguing:</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>’im</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>’im.</i> -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.</p> - -<p>“Well, at last I <i>dee</i>-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?”</p> - -<p>I declared that if Mr. Cook did not -now rest in peace and content he was -certainly a hard man to please.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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 -<i>his</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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”!</p> - -<p>When I could trust my voice, I inquired, -“was he ill long?”</p> - -<p>“No; he wa’n’t ill a-tall. He left -me kinda on’spectedly. However, he -always <i>was</i> 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!</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Send Photographs by Radio</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>A “Haunted House” Story -with a Touch of Humor</i></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Golden_Glow">Golden Glow</h2> - -<p class="center larger">By Harry Irving Shumway</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Judas Iscariot!” he grunted, -slapping the dust from his shoulders -and digging at his eyes. “Some dust -and some breeze!”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not afraid of either,” he replied, -and moved through the high -grass toward the house.</p> - -<p>Lazily, I watched him selecting the -choicest blooms. Then my gaze wandered -over the old squatty-looking -house.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Hunky returned to the car, grinning -at me with a huge bunch of the -golden flowers. He presented them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -with a sweeping gesture. Not to be -outdone in courtesy, I rose and made -him a mocking bow.</p> - -<p>“Accept these tokens of my esteem, -I prithee.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He held up his hand in protest.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Say, Hunky, did you see this old -mantle?” I called, moving toward the -door.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“‘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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>She lowered the gun slowly.</p> - -<p>“Hum. Well, you don’t look like -desperate characters now I take a -good look at you. I was frightened, -I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Sorry,” said Hunky. “No intention -of frightening anybody, and it -was silly of me to break in. I apologize.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -much upset. He’s familiar with guns. -I prefer fishing rods.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll stop here for gas,” said -Hunky, guiding the car around another -which was filling from a tank -by a country store.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Nobody up in that section of the -world ever hurries, and the conversation -between the two was easy and -unruffled.</p> - -<p>“Sure you won’t disappoint us?” -asked the store-keeper.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“So he’s district attorney?” inquired -Hunky.</p> - -<p>“Sure is, and smart as they make -’em.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Hunky to him. “Are -you District Attorney for this -county?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” answered the man, -straightening up and gazing back at -Hunky with a pair of very frank and -fearless gray eyes.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the Old Collishaw House. -It is deserted. No one has lived there -for fifteen years.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Hum,” he said finally. “If that -had happened at night I’d say that -you were seeing things.”</p> - -<p>Hunky laughed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Old lady?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The other man mused over this -without comment. Finally he shot a -question at us.</p> - -<p>“Where are you two going?”</p> - -<p>“Fishing in Cold Stream Pond. -Come up here every year. My name<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -is Doctor Wilbur Hunneker and my -friend’s is Edward Triteham.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” Hunky replied. “Or -I’ll go with you if you like.”</p> - -<p>“No,” the other quickly answered, -getting into his roadster. “I’ll go it -alone. See you later.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>He shot off down the road in a -cloud of powdery dust.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Hunky faced him.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Did you look all around the -house?” inquired my friend.</p> - -<p>“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——”</p> - -<p>“That’s all,” spoke up the store-keeper. -“Then the railroad cuts -through beyond that.”</p> - -<p>“Railroad!” said the District Attorney -sharply. “Why, that’s about -the point where that wreck was yesterday -afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“By George! you’re right,” exclaimed -the District Attorney.</p> - -<p>He seemed to ponder the situation -for a few moments. Then he made -a movement as if to be off.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Hunky smiled.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The District Attorney eyed him -carefully. Then:</p> - -<p>“All right. I’d be glad of your -company if you feel that way about -it.”</p> - -<p>“Something tells me I had better -leave the fish to their watery beds today,” -said I.</p> - -<p>“All right,” answered our new -acquaintance.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In about three-quarters of an hour -we came upon a distant view of the -wreck around a bend. A railroad gang<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -was at work, straightening the tangled -mess caused by three freight cars -which had left the rails.</p> - -<p>The District Attorney approached -the foreman of the gang and made -himself known.</p> - -<p>“Anybody hurt?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Nope. Not going very fast. We -hope to get the tracks cleared by tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mind if I look around—over -the cars?” asked the District -Attorney.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” replied the foreman.</p> - -<p>The three of us began inspecting the -whole train from engine to caboose. -The District Attorney scrutinized -everything.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It is getting dark now,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Hunky smiled. “If it’s all the same -to you, we’d like to stick.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“We’re both armed and we’re both -good shots,” answered Hunky.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Beyond, the other two had surprised -the work gang and we could see -their hands go up in the flickering -light.</p> - -<p>“Let’s get nearer,” whispered the -District Attorney.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In a matter of minutes we had them -all trussed up. The others we carried -into the caboose for the time being.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Turnips!” he exploded. “A whole -carload of ’em! Must be something -else in here.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Yes, indeed. Case after case of -whisky! That was the cargo those -birds were after.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Hum. Changed your sex, I see,” -I snapped at him.</p> - -<p>He didn’t favor me with a reply—just -glared at me.</p> - -<p>“Recognize our old pal, Hunky?” -I said to my friend. “This is the old -lady who gave us the scare in the farm -house.”</p> - -<p>“By George, you’re right,” said Hunky. -“What was the idea of the masquerade?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="box"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><i class="u">America’s Greatest Magazine of Detective Fiction</i></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp75" id="deco" style="max-width: 3.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/deco.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest"><i class="u">In the April Issue</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">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</p> - -<p class="center larger">DETECTIVE TALES</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter box"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Eyrie"><i>The Eyrie</i></h2> - -</div> - -<div> -<img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-h.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="dropcap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>But let’s look through some of these letters on our desk. Here’s something -short and snappy from H. W. of Sterling, Illinois:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>Here’s another:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>So, also, do letters of frank criticism such as the following:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> - -<p>We have received a considerable number of letters like the following -from S. O. B. of Beulah, New Mexico:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Also like this:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Victor Wilson of Hazen, Pa., writes us:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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!’”</p> - -</div> - -<p>And here’s a line o’ type or two from our star contrib, Anthony M. Rud:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Still, we can’t deny that we like to get letters like this one from C. P. O. -of Gainesville, Texas:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -offer something distinctive and worthwhile and UNIQUE in magazines.</p> - -<p>Here’s another letter from Texas:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="footer6" style="max-width: 25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/footer6.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="tp-outer"> - -<div class="tp-inner"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE SKELETON IN<br> -YOUR CLOSET!</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The similarity of these -“skeletons” cannot be other -than remarkable and interesting -to our readers.</p> - -<p>Your “skeleton” should -not exceed 1000 words or -run less than 500. If possible -have them typewritten.</p> - -<p>Your name and address -will not be published with -the story if accepted. For -each “skeleton” published -we will pay $5.00.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>No unpublished stories returned unless requested -and accompanied by return stamped envelope.</i></p> - -<p class="center">THE EDITOR<br> -WEIRD TALES <span class="spacer">854 N. Clark St.</span> CHICAGO</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center largest">21 Jewel Burlington</p> - -<div class="figleft illowp24" id="ad07" style="max-width: 10.9375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad07.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 18em;"> - -<ul class="smaller"> -<li>Adjusted to the Second</li> -<li>Adjusted to Temperature</li> -<li>Adjusted to Isochronism</li> -<li>Adjusted to Positions</li> -<li>21 Ruby and Sapphire Jewels</li> -<li>25 Year Gold Strata Case</li> -<li>Your choice of Dials</li> -<li>(<i>Including Montgomery R. R. Dial</i>)</li> -<li>New Ideas in Thin Cases</li> -</ul> - -</div> - -<p class="center largest"><i>Only $1.00 Down</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">Only One Dollar Down, will buy this masterpiece -of watch manufacture. The balance you are allowed -to pay in small, easy monthly payments. A 21 Jewel -Watch—is sold to you at a price much lower than -that of other high-grade watches. Besides, you have -the selection of the finest thin model designs and -latest styles in watch cases. Write for FREE Watch -Book and our SPECIAL OFFER today.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>The Burlington “Petite”</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">This exquisite little 17-jewel ladies’ wrist watch. -A perfect timepiece. Beautiful. 14K Solid -Green Gold case. Illustration is exact size of -Burlington “Petite”.</p> - -<p class="noindent">Send for this wonderful little bracelet watch. -See how beautiful the dainty green gold case -looks on your own wrist.</p> - -<p class="center largest"><i>Write</i><br> -<span class="smaller">While This Special Offer Lasts</span></p> - -<p class="noindent">Get the Burlington Watch Book—write today. Find out about -this great special offer which is being made for only a limited time. -You will know a great deal more about watch buying when you -read this book. You will be able to “steer clear” of the over-priced -watches which are no better. Write for Watch Book and -our special offer TODAY!</p> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center">Burlington Watch Company<br> -Dept. 13-96, 19th St. & Marshall Blvd. Chicago<br> -Canadian Address 62 Albert St., Winnipeg, Manitoba</p> - -<p class="noindent">Please send me (without obligations and prepaid) your free -book on watches with full explanation of your $1.00 down -offer on the Burlington Watch.</p> - -<div class="form"><i>Name</i></div> - -<div class="form"><i>Address</i></div> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp81" id="ad08" style="max-width: 18.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad08.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest">SEND NO MONEY</p> - -<p class="center largest">$4.98</p> - -<p class="center larger">Startling WATCH Offer!</p> - -<p class="noindent">This beautiful high grade ladies’ small -size, octagon watch, with choice of gold -finished link or ribbon bracelet guaranteed -gold finish ($15 value). Special advertising -price $4.98. Stem wind and set, beautiful -case, attractive gold dial, splendid movement, -good timekeeper. Sent in Morocco -finish, silk lined gift case.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Beautiful Gift</p> - -<p class="center">Don’t Send a Penny<br> -Just Write!</p> - -<p class="noindent">Just send name and address. Pay postman -on delivery our Special advertising -Price $4.98. Satisfaction guaranteed. -Write TODAY.</p> - -<p class="center">THE CHARLES CO.<br> -1440 S. Mich. Ave. Dept. 219, Chicago</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad09" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad09.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center larger">CATARRH</p> - -<p class="noindent">TREATED FREE 10 DAYS to -prove quick relief. Dr. Coffee had -catarrh, deafness, head noises. He -found a treatment that gave complete -relief. Thousands used it successfully. -Want you to try it free. Write</p> - -<p class="center">Dr. W. O. COFFEE<br> -Dept. 1726 Davenport, Iowa.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad box"> - -<p class="center">Are You Reading</p> - -<p class="center">FRANCIS D. GRIERSON’S</p> - -<p class="center">New Series of</p> - -<p class="center largest">Short Detective -Stories?</p> - -<p class="center">They Are Published in<br> -<span class="larger">DETECTIVE TALES</span></p> - -<p class="center">A Complete Story in Every Issue</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp80" id="ad10" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad10.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center">IF YOU CAN TELL IT FROM<br> -<span class="largest">A DIAMOND</span><br> -SEND IT BACK</p> - -<p class="center">LADIES <span class="spacer"> </span> GENTS</p> - -<p>A genuine full carat -size sparkling gem full of -life and fire. Set in Ladies’ and -Gent’s handsome Platinoid finish mounting -as pictured. Startle your friends and relatives! You will -be proud to own a DIAMOGEM. Buy direct from Importers. -Do not be misled by offers of similar appearing gems. Buy a -genuine DIAMOGEM. Others ask twice and five times as -much for inferior gems. We are the sole and only importers -of DIAMOGEMS. We offer Radiant Rings within the reach of -everyone! BECAUSE—WE DEFY THE DIAMOND TRUST! -THE CASTE WALL OF THE DIM AGES IS BROKEN DOWN—AT -LAST—YOU can wear a ring glittering with the prismatic -fury and white blinding light shot forth from a flawless -DIAMOGEM INDISTINGUISHABLE from the radiant Kimberley -Cut Diamonds so costly that they graced the arms and -fingers of only the Queens of the past and the Great Wealthy -of today. YOU are the one benefited! The fight -is for you! SPECIAL ADVERTISING OFFER. -For a short time only, as an advertising offer you -can get the ring without sending one penny! -Send paper strip around finger for size. Pay postman -$1.97 when ring is delivered. We pay postage.</p> - -<p class="center">$1.97 C. O. D.</p> - -<p class="center">GENERAL PRODUCTS CO.<br> -1333 Fulton Street <span class="smcap">Dept. 12</span> CHICAGO</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp80" id="ad11" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad11.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest">Pay Cash—Save 50%<br> -<span class="smaller">10 Jewel 20 Year Case</span></p> - -<p class="center larger">$7.45</p> - -<p class="center">BRACELET <i>FREE</i></p> - -<p class="center">SEND NO<br> -MONEY</p> - -<p>We are offering our -finest ladies’ watches below wholesale cost. -20-yr. guarantee. 10-jewels, 14k, gold-filled -watch, silk grosgrain ribbon and clasp. -ALL for $7.45 prepaid. $15 value. Stem wind and set. Stylish octagon -surround case. Gold dial. Splendid time-keeper. Sent in velvet gift case. -Order today and get gold bracelet FREE. Send no money, just name and -address. Satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded. Write today.</p> - -<p class="center">SUPREME JEWELRY MFG. CO.<br> -Dept. 318 434 Broadway New York</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center larger">“The Devil’s Fingerprint”</p> - -<p class="center">By LAURIE McCLINTOCK<br> -and CULPEPER CHUNN</p> - -<p class="center">Is a Story of Thrills and Mystery</p> - -<p class="center larger">YOU’LL FIND IT IN<br> -DETECTIVE TALES</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad12" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad12.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center larger">$1.00 BRINGS YOU THIS FINE GUN!</p> - -<p class="center">ORDER No. 3713</p> - -<p class="center larger">WESTERN SPECIAL</p> - -<p class="center">32 or 38 CALIBER</p> - -<p class="noindent"><i>A real man’s gun.</i> A hard hitting, straight -shooter, 6 in. barrel top-break style with automatic shell -ejector. American made, double action and special -grips. Handsomely finished in fine blue steel. Protect -yourself and home. Just mail a dollar bill and we will -send you one at our <i>low bargain price</i>. Order NOW.</p> - -<p class="center">Balance only<br> -$10.95<br> -C. O. D. plus postage</p> - -<p class="center">FREE GUN AND NOVELTY CATALOG</p> - -<p class="center">AMERICAN NOVELTY CO. 2455-57 Archer Ave., CHICAGO</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp45" id="ad13" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad13.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest">DIAMONDS<br> -WATCHES on CREDIT</p> - -<p class="center larger">LOFTIS<br> -BROS & CO. EST 1858</p> - -<p class="center">Genuine Diamonds<br> -<i>GUARANTEED</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>SEND FOR<br> -CATALOG</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">Over 2,000 bargains. -Select as many articles -as you wish and -have all charged in -one account. Sent -prepaid for your -Free Examination. -Catalog -explains -everything.</p> - -<p class="center">LIBERTY -BONDS -ACCEPTED</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">JEANETTE<br> -Diamond Ring</p> - -<p class="noindent">Blue white, radiant, perfect -cut Diamond. The ring -is 18-K Solid White Gold, -curved and pierced. -Extra special at.... $100</p> - -<p class="noindent">We import Diamonds direct -from Europe and sell direct -to you. Our immense -buying power is a great -saving to you. Customers -testify to -Loftis values.</p> - -<p class="center">Diamonds -Win Hearts</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center">17-JEWEL -ELGIN</p> - -<p>No. 15—Green Gold, -engraved, -guaranteed -25 years, 12 -size, gilt -dial. Assorted -patterns, -$35</p> - -<table> - <tr> - <td>No. 16—Wrist Watch, 18-K Solid<br>White Gold, 17 Jewels,</td> - <td>$30;</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>14-K, 15 Jewels</td> - <td>$32</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="noindent">CREDIT TERMS on all articles: One-fifth -down, balance divided into equal payments -within eight months. <i>Send for Catalog.</i></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="largest">LOFTIS</span><br> -Bros. & Co. 1858</p> - -<p class="center">THE OLD RELIABLE ORIGINAL -CREDIT JEWELERS</p> - -<p class="center">DEPT. M-376<br> -106 N. State St., Chicago, Ill.<br> -Stores in Leading Cities</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad14" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad14.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest">MYSTIC EGYPTIAN LUCK RING</p> - -<p>Good Luck, Long Life, -Health and Prosperity are -said to come to those who wear -the Egyptian Luck Ring. Cleopatra is said to -have worn one of these rings to protect her from -misfortune. Many people wearing them today claim -they bring power and success to men—charm, -admiration, and love to women. This guaranteed -Sterling Silver Egyptian Luck Ring -is of unique design and beauty. Send -strip of paper for size. Say whether ladies’ -or gents’. Cash $1.45; C. O. D. $1.55. -Order today. Money back if not pleased.</p> - -<p class="center">EGYPTIAN GEM IMPORTERS<br> -651 Maxwell St., Dept. 163, Chicago</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad box"> - -<p class="center larger">Tailoring Agents Wanted</p> - -<p>Make $75.00 per week and up selling our -fine, made-to-measure, all-wool suits at -$39.50 retail, direct to wearer; biggest value -ever offered; positively sell on sight; liberal -profits paid in advance. We attend to delivery -and collections. Write at once giving -full particulars as to your past experience. -Full line of samples and everything to work -with will be sent with the least possible delay.</p> - -<p class="center">W. Z. GIBSON, Inc.<br> -Dept. P-1001, 161 W. Harrison St., Chicago, Ill.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figleft illowp29" id="ad15" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad15.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center larger">Great <i>New</i><br> -Invention<br> -<i class="smaller">for seekers of</i><br> -Health<br> -Power<br> -Beauty</p> - -<p class="noindent">Elco Health Generators at last are -ready for you! If you want more health—greater -power to enjoy the pleasures -and delights about you, or if more beauty -is your desire—write! Ask for the -book on these inventions which has just -been prepared. It will be sent to you -without cost. It tells you how Elco -Health Generators aid you in leaving -the lethargy and hopelessness of bad -health and weakness behind forever. -Re-vitalize yourself. Bring back energy. -Be wholly alive. Write today!</p> - -<p class="noindent">10 Days Free Trial—Write for Free Book!</p> - -<p class="center largest">Elco<br> -Electric Health<br> -Generators</p> - -<p class="noindent">These great new inventions generate -Violet Ray, Vibration, Electricity and -Ozone—combined or separate.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Free Trial</p> - -<p class="noindent">They operate on the electric light in your house or on their -own motive power at less than 50 cents -per year. Elco Health Generators are -positively the only instruments which -can give you in one Electricity, -Violet Ray—Vibration and Ozone—the -four greatest curative agents. -Send the coupon below. Get the -Free Book NOW!</p> - -<p class="center larger">For All These:</p> - -<table> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>Paralysis</li> -<li>Pimples</li> -<li>Pulling Hair</li> -<li>Headache</li> -<li>Lumbago</li> -<li>Nervousness</li> -<li>Rheumatism</li> -<li>Sore Throat</li> -<li>Asthma</li> -<li>Black Heads</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>Catarrh</li> -<li>Insomnia</li> -<li>Skin Diseases</li> -<li>Hay Fever</li> -<li>Neuralgia</li> -<li>Deafness</li> -<li>Pain</li> -<li>Development</li> -<li>Neuritis</li> -<li>Obesity</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<p class="center larger">Mail Coupon -for FREE Book!</p> - -<p class="noindent">Do not put this paper down without sending -the coupon. Don’t go on as you are with pains and -with almost no life and energy. You owe it to yourself -to be a better man or woman. You were put here to -enjoy life—not just to drag through it. So do not -rest another day until you have put your name on -the coupon here. That will bring the whole story of -these great new inventions. Do it today—now.</p> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center">Lindstrom & Company<br> -438-448 N. Wells Street, Dept. 13-94 Chicago, Ill.</p> - -<p>Please send me your fine book, “Health—Power—Beauty” -and full information on your 10-day Free Trial Offer.</p> - -<div class="form"><i>Name</i></div> - -<div class="form"><i>Address</i></div> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figleft illowp32" id="ad16" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad16.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest">SERGE DRESS</p> - -<p class="center larger">Fringed PANELS</p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Elaborately -Embroidered</i></p> - -<p class="center">Lace Collar FREE!</p> - -<p class="noindent">Write -for -this -stunning -dress today -and we’ll give -you FREE the exquisite -lace collar! We -guarantee you will say -this is the most becoming -dress you ever wore and -the biggest bargain you -ever saw. Money back -quick if you can match -the style and quality -anywhere for less -than $3.98. Save $$—prove -it at our risk!</p> - -<p class="center largest">SALE<br> -$3.98</p> - -<p class="noindent">Material guaranteed! -Ever-Wear Serge, soft -and fine quality. Two -panels, elaborately embroidered -with wool -French Knot medallions -and gold-stitched black -silk scroll design, are finished -with black silk -fringe. Silk braid pipes -panels and sleeves. Long -bolt of silk material forms tie -and streamers. Elegant workmanship -and full cut!</p> - -<p class="center">Don’t Send a Penny!</p> - -<p class="noindent">Next Season’s prime style and -worlds’s biggest money’s worth—this -surprise bargain will bring -us 100,000 permanent customers. -Rush name, size: Women’s -28 to 40 inch bust. Misses’ 16 -to 20 years. Deposit $3.98 -and postage and try it on! -Remember beautiful lace -collar FREE if you order right away! -Pay on arrival!</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Your money back if you aren’t delighted!</i></p> - -<p class="center">Navy Blue or Brown</p> - -<p class="center">State Color</p> - -<p class="center">INTERNATIONAL MAIL ORDER CO.<br> -Dept. E201B CHICAGO</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp95" id="ad17" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad17.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center">Complete Shaving Set</p> - -<p class="center larger">$8 VALUE for<br> -ONLY $2.88</p> - -<p class="noindent">CHOICE of Latest Style Safety Razor -or Straight Razor, together with 16-in. -highly polished nickel plated stand, -plate glass adjustable mirror, porcelain -cup and rubber-set brush, all for ONLY -$2.88—postage paid.</p> - -<p class="noindent">FREE! With safety razor, 1 doz. blades. -In ordering state style razor wanted. -Send No Money. Order now.</p> - -<p class="center">PEOPLES MAIL ORDER HOUSE, Dep. M-178<br> -1145 Blue Island Ave. Chicago, Illinois</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p> - -<div class="ad box"> - -<p class="center largest">Berton Braley’s</p> - -<p class="center"><i>New Story In</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">DETECTIVE TALES</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Will Keep You Laughing -From Start to Finish</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">DON’T MISS IT!</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp52" id="ad18" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad18.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest">2 TIRES FOR $9.95</p> - -<p class="center">(SIZE 28 × 3)</p> - -<p class="center larger">FREE TUBE WITH -EACH TIRE</p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="larger">Standard Tire Prices Smashed Again!</span>—and -some sensational cut, too! Think of it—two -tires for almost the price of one and a FREE inner -tube with each tire. No double treads or sewed -tires. Thousands of customers are getting maximum -mileage out of these tires, and you, too, can get up to</p> - -<p class="center largest">10,000 MILES</p> - -<p class="noindent">Here’s your opportunity—if you act at once. This is -a special lot selected for this record-breaking sale. -Order today—right now. They’re going fast.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Compare These Amazing Reductions -on Two Tires of Same Size</i></p> - -<table> - <tr> - <td>SIZE</td> - <td class="tdr">1 TIRE</td> - <td class="tdr">2 TIRES</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>28 × 3</td> - <td class="tdr">$6.75</td> - <td class="tdr">$9.95</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>30 × 3</td> - <td class="tdr">7.25</td> - <td class="tdr">11.95</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>30 × 3½</td> - <td class="tdr">8.25</td> - <td class="tdr">13.95</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>32 × 3½</td> - <td class="tdr">9.45</td> - <td class="tdr">15.95</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>31 × 4</td> - <td class="tdr">10.65</td> - <td class="tdr">17.45</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>32 × 4</td> - <td class="tdr">11.85</td> - <td class="tdr">19.75</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>33 × 4</td> - <td class="tdr">12.45</td> - <td class="tdr">20.90</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>34 × 4</td> - <td class="tdr">13.25</td> - <td class="tdr">21.95</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center">Prices on larger sizes quoted on request. Prices f.o.b. Chicago.</p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="larger">SEND NO MONEY!</span> -We ship subject to examination by -Express before payment of C. O. D. -charges, or by Parcel Post after payment of C. O. D. charges. -Examine tires on arrival, and if not completely satisfied, -return same unused and your money will be promptly refunded. -Specify straight side or clincher. ACT NOW.</p> - -<p class="center">ROCKWELL TIRE COMPANY<br> -1506 S. Michigan Ave., Dept. 40-D, Chicago, Ill.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad19" style="max-width: 21.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad19.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center larger">Beautiful Guaranteed Watch<br> -$3.30</p> - -<p class="noindent">Here’s your only opportunity to get this elegant -high grade thin model watch with choice of -gold, silver, radium, or fancy engraved dial -for only $3.30 C. O. D. Open face, stem wind -and set. Adjusted. Fully tested. Guaranteed -perfect timekeeper. A watch you’ll be proud to own.</p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="larger">FREE</span> -If you write at once—beautiful waldemar knife -and chain with your order. Send No Money. -Pay postman on arrival only $3.30 and the watch, -knife, and chain are yours. Satisfaction Guaranteed. -Order today sure.</p> - -<p class="center">First National Watch Co., 651 Maxwell St., Dept. 116, Chicago</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center">HENRY LEVERAGE<br> -Author of “Whispering Wires”<br> -Has Another Exciting Story in this Month’s<br> -DETECTIVE TALES</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ad20" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad20.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="center largest">WANTED! U.S. RAILWAY MAIL CLERKS</p> - -<p class="center larger">Get $1600 to $2300 a Year</p> - -<p class="center">STEADY WORK <span class="spacer">PAID VACATIONS</span> NO LAYOFFS</p> - -<p class="center">Common Education Sufficient</p> - -<p class="center">Travel—See the Country</p> - -<p class="center">MEN 18 OR OVER SHOULD -MAIL COUPON IMMEDIATELY</p> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center">Franklin Institute, Dept. R253.<br> -Rochester, N. Y.</p> - -<p>Sirs: Send me, without charge (1) -specimen Railway Mail Clerk Examination -questions; (2) list of -Government jobs obtainable, (3) -tell me how I can get a position.</p> - -<div class="form">Name</div> - -<div class="form">Address</div> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="center largest">What Would You Give to Become -A Really Good Dancer?</p> - -<div class="figright illowp75" id="ad21a" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad21a.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">How much would it be worth to you to -make yourself so popular through your -ability to dance all of the very latest -steps, that everyone would be anxious -to have you attend their social affairs?</p> - -<p>Good dancers always have the best time. The -best dancers and the prettiest girls always -want a good partner. 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figleft illowp60" id="ad21b" style="max-width: 6.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ad21b.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">Arthur Murray</p> - <p class="caption">Dancing Instructor to the Vanderbilts</p> -</div> - -<p class="center larger">Learn Without Partner or Music</p> - -<p>Arthur Murray’s remarkable -method is so clearly explained and -lucidly written that you don’t need -any one to explain the instructions. -The diagrams show every movement—just -how to make each step -of every dance, and the written instructions -are concise and easily remembered. -After you have quickly -learned the steps by yourself in -your own room, you can dance perfectly -with any one. It will also -be quite easy for you to dance in -correct time on any floor to any -orchestra or phonograph music.</p> - -<p>Arthur Murray is recognized as -America’s foremost authority on social -dancing. Such people as the -Vanderbilts, Ex-Gov. Locke Craig of -North Carolina and scores of other -socially prominent people chose Mr. -Murray as their dancing instructor. -Dancing teachers the world over take lessons -from him—and it is a fact that more than 50,000 -people have learned to become popular dancers -through his Learn-at-home methods.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Free Proof You Can Learn the Latest Steps in -an Evening</p> - -<p>Private instructions in Mr. Murray’s studio -would cost you $10 per lesson. But through his -new method of teaching dancing at home, you -get the same high-class instructions at a ridiculously -low price. And if you aren’t delighted, the -instruction doesn’t cost you one cent.</p> - -<p>To prove that he can teach you, Mr. Murray -will send you his full sixteen-lesson course for -five days’ free trial. Through these sixteen lessons -you will learn, The Correct Dancing Position—How -to Gain Confidence—How to Follow Successfully—The -Art of Making Your Feet Look -Attractive—The Correct Walk in the Fox Trot—The -Basic Principles in Waltzing—How to Waltz -Backward—The Secret of Leading—The Chasse in -the Fox Trot—The Forward Waltz Step—How to -Leave One Partner to Dance with Another—How -to Learn and Also Teach Your Child to Dance—What -the Advanced Dancer Should Know—How -to Develop Your Sense of Rhythm—Etiquette of -the Ballroom.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Here’s What a Few Say</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>I practiced yesterday -and learned the Fox -Trot through the night. -Tonight I danced a -number of times with -a good dancer to the -music of a phonograph -and had no trouble in -leading or balance.</p> - -<p class="right">J. M. Mealy,<br> -Flatwood, W. Va.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>I am getting along -very nicely with the instructions. -I have so -many pupils I have to -have a larger place.</p> - -<p class="right">Albert J. Delaney,<br> -Bay City, Mich.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Before I got your lessons -I couldn’t dance a -step, but now I go to -dances and have a good -time, like the rest of -them. I’ll always be -thankful, that I have -taken your course.</p> - -<p class="right">Beggi Thorgerison,<br>Ethridge, Mont.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center larger">Special Proof -Offer</p> - -<p>Satisfy yourself -that the -new course -can quickly -teach you all -of the new dances and latest steps. See for yourself -how easily you can master all of the newest -dances and be able to enjoy yourself at the very -next affair to which you are invited. Just fill -in and mail the coupon—or a postcard or letter -will do, enclosing $1.00 in full payment—and -the special course will be -promptly sent to you. 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.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Your Satisfaction Guaranteed</p> - -<p>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. And so positive -is Mr. Murray that he can -teach you that he absolutely guarantees -your complete satisfaction or -your money will be fully refunded.</p> - -<p>You have always wanted to learn -to dance—you have always promised -yourself that some day you -would learn. Here is your best opportunity. And -remember, you now receive the 16 lessons for -only $1.00.</p> - -<p class="center">ARTHUR MURRAY<br> -Studio 653 801 Madison Ave. New York</p> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center">Arthur Murray, Studio 653,<br> -801 Madison Avenue, New York</p> - -<p>To prove that you can teach me to dance in one -evening at home you may send the sixteen-lesson -course in plain cover. I am enclosing $1.00 in -full payment, but it is understood that this is not -to be considered a purchase unless the course in -every way comes up to my expectations. If, -within 5 days, I decide to return the course I may -do so and you will refund my money promptly -and without question.</p> - -<div class="form">Name</div> - -<div class="form">Address</div> - -<div class="form">City</div> - -<div class="form">State</div> - -<p class="center">(Price outside U. S. $1.10 cash with order.)</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> - -<div class="ad"> - -<div class="figcenter box illowp100" id="ad22" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - -<img class="w100" src="images/ad22.jpg" alt=""> - -<p class="center largest">$1000 REWARD<br> -For the Capture of This Man</p> - -<p class="noindent">Convict 6138, escaped from the State Penitentiary; -Name, Charles Condray; Age, 37; Height, 5 ft. 8 in. -Weight, 141 pounds; Hair, light brown; Eyes, gray.</p> - -<p class="noindent">Easy enough to identify him from his photograph and -this description, you may say—but, Condray took the -name of “Brown”, dyed his hair, darkened his skin, -grew a mustache, put on weight and walked with a stoop. -Yet, he was captured and identified so positively that -he knew the game was up and returned to the penitentiary -without extradition.</p> - -<p class="noindent">How was it accomplished? Easy -enough for the Finger Print Expert. -They are the specialists, -the leaders, the <i>cream</i> of detectives. -Every day’s paper tells -their wonderful exploits in solving -mysterious crimes and convicting -dangerous criminals.</p> - -<p class="center larger">More Trained Men Needed</p> - -<p class="noindent">The demand for trained men by governments, states, -cities, detective agencies, corporations, and private -bureaus is becoming greater every day. Here is a real -opportunity for YOU. Can you imagine a more fascinating -line of work than this? Often life and death -depend upon finger print evidence—and big rewards -go to the expert. Many experts earn regularly from -$3,000 to $10,000 per year.</p> - -<p class="center larger">Learn at Home in Spare Time</p> - -<p class="noindent">And now you can learn the secrets of this science at -home in your spare time. Any man with common -school education and average ability can become a -Finger Print Detective in surprisingly short time.</p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>Why don’t <span class="u">You</span> be a Finger Print Expert?</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">Free Course in Secret Service</p> - -<p class="noindent">For a limited time we are making a special offer of -a <i>Professional Finger Print Outfit, absolutely Free</i>, -and <i>Free Course in Secret Service Intelligence</i>. -Mastery of these two kindred professions will open -a brilliant career for you.</p> - -<p class="noindent">Write quickly for fully illustrated free book on Finger -Prints which explains this -wonderful training in detail. -Don’t wait until this offer -has expired—mail the coupon -now. You may never -see this announcement again! -You assume no obligation—you -have everything to -gain and nothing to lose. Write at once—address</p> - -<p class="center">University of Applied Science<br> -Dept. 13-94 1920 Sunnyside Ave. Chicago, Illinois</p> - -<div class="coupon"> - -<p class="center">UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE<br> -Dept. 13-94, 1920 Sunnyside Avenue, Chicago, Illinois</p> - -<p class="noindent">Gentlemen:—Without any obligation whatever, send me your -new, fully illustrated, FREE book on Finger Prints and your -offer of a FREE course in Secret Service Intelligence and the -Free Professional Finger Print Outfit.</p> - -<div class="form"><i>Name</i></div> - -<div class="form"><i>Address</i></div> - -<div class="form"><i>Age</i></div> - -</div> - -</div> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WEIRD TALES, VOLUME 1, NUMBER 2, APRIL, 1923 ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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