Uncanny Tales 1940 11

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NOVEMBER, 1940 15 CENTS MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD Thomas P. Kelley SHARKS William Weldin' THE LOVER AND THE BEAM Anne, Lady SeLdcn U DAY ZAUNG C. H. Robertson Starting In This Issue "The TALKING HEADS” By THOMAS P. KELLEY Creator of the Original Stories Adapted to Radio in " Out Of The Night"

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Murder in the Graveyard An Original Story by Thomas P. Kelley, America's Foremost Weird Story Writer I PLANNED and perpetrated the perfect crime. A crime so r unique, a crime so flawless, Ef. as to defy detection, Who would E'. guess it was 1, the heart-broken I husband, who murdered Sarah Foster? Why the act I put on at wf her funeral would have done E;. credit to a Barrymore! * As to those brains in the grave- P yard and the centuries of torture I- . they say will he mine — don't ft make me laugh! Let them plot E and plan their dismal vengeance. E* Let them hope and wait, six-feet j below, within the skulls that are K their homes. They wait in vain! ‘ And as for the present: You've E got to get up pretty early to put RV anything over -on Martin Blanc. K I'm safe. Sure, I killed Sarah Fos- E. ter but I'm safe — Sarah told me Ki. so herself last night! Surprises you, eh? Well, brace IP yourself for a lot of 'em before you read this story. I first set eyes on the Foster farm some nine months ago. It was around sundown when, dusty and tired, a three days growth of whiskers on my face, I came up the front pathway and entered through the gate. The yard was fairly alive with cheeping chicks and fat, clucking hens. A newly erected silo stood beside the large, well-kept barn, behind and around which wide, surrounding fields reaching to the skyline, showed their waving crops of corn and buckwheat, From the distance came the fragrance of an orchard. In brief, the very air shouted that these were the acres of a more than the average well-to-do farm- I made my way to the rear of the red-bricked, two storey house. There I saw Sarah. She appeared in the open door- way as I mounted the steps; a tall, thin, hard-faced woman in her

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UNCANNY TALES forties, with a pair of eyes that saw everything. Thin, gray- streaked, black hair was screwed in the knob at the back of her head — a cross between a welfare worker and a small town gossip, I thought. But I had come there because 1 was hungry. I removed my bat- tered felt, managed a smile and began a, "any chances for some — ", when she broke in with her sharp : "You're wastin' your time if you expect a meal. I know your kind. We've jails for 'em." Her face was immobile, the voice about as pleasant as the rasp oi a file. It wasn’t an encouraging begin- ning. 1 mentally wagered her name was Abagail and she starved her cat, but I said, “I'm not ask- ing for charity. Mam. I'm willing to work for it." One has to ex- pect a certain amount of tough sledding in such a spot, but I could feel an anger mounting when there came that repeating of: “I know your kind. We've jails for 'em," This time it was accompanied by her characteris- tic foot tapping. I swjrng my hat back on my head. I dropped the smile and shrugged. '‘OK, Lady. If that's the way you feel about it, it's alright with me." I added as I turned away. "I don't think I'd like the meal - But a surprise awaited me. I hadn't taken a dozen steps when I heard her call, turned to find her framed in the doorway, one hand half-raised and an uncertain- ty on her face. "Your called me, Mam?" I ask- ed hopefully. "If you meant what you said about being willing to work — well, yes." She spoke the words in a halting manner, and 1 could sec those shrewd eyes sweeping from my hat to shoes. I'm certainly not a bad looking fellow, although my clothes were not much at that moment. Thirty two, six-foot, broad shouldered and husky. I've heard the nervous giggle of more than one high school girl as I passed; and the throaty-whispered opinion of a garage-man's wife one night, as we parked in a lane on the out- skirts of Atlanta was, "Honey, you look just like Brian D^mlevy.” Yes, I've always found women pretty easy to handle, but I'd never had any love for work and opine a man's a fool who has. Yet there are times when it is neces- sary. I knew this was one of them, “Of course, Mam," I said, "I'm willing to work." Then fol- lowing the gesture of her arm with my eyes, saw the nearby -woodpile and the axe that was there. I smiled, went over to it, tossed off my coat and wet my palms. That's how it all Began — the first of a series of events which was to be terminated by death for one of us and riches for the other. That night I not

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MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD only got a meal but a job as well; for it was harvest time and the woman, Sarah Foster, I learned her name was, needed an extra man to assist the two poor, work- ed-to-death devils who were her God, those first two weeks! How did I manage to stand it? Up at dawn and in the fields by six, with' hardly a let-up till long after sundown. For the hardened thews of the hired man it was bad enough, but to my own soft muscles it was torture. Time and again I would promise myself each day would be the last, but always at the close of it I would think of the next two dollars that could be mine in another twenty- four hours, apd so it went on. Then again, there was that piece of information I was gradu- ally gathering from the bits of speech let drop by my fellow workers — that Sarah Foster was a wealthy woman. That as well a being sole owner of this farm, she held a mortgage on at least four others, as well as possessing bonds and a bank account that was said to go high in the five figures. And it was well known that she had neither kith nor kin Neither kith nor kin! ^It^was that which first set me One day Jess, the oldest of the her father. It seemed that old Foster made most of his money in the Texas oil fields, years ago. But Sarah, an only child, handl- ing her inheritance with the same shrewdness which always marked her father's dealings, had almost doubled that wealth since the old man's death, fifteen years back — his miserly spirit well represent- ed by her. And as for love — -. Oh to be sure, more than one hopeful suitor had sought to win her hand in bygone years, I learn- ed, but she soon made it plain she wanted none of them. However, while this might have seemed a barrier to others, it didn't discour- age yours truly. To me every woman is a chump if. you just know how to play her, and I've been around in my thirty-two years and learned about all of the 1 began in a quiet manner, vol- untarily doing little odd jobs around the house which would lighten her own tasks — -filling the wood-box, sweeping the kitchen, pumping and carrying in the wat- er from the well. It must have been a week before she gave anv sign of noticing these small at- tentions. But one night as we were temporarily alone and I passed her with an armful of wood for the box, she acknowl- edged it with a nod, a semblance of a smile, and a brief but not curt, "that's kind of you, Mr. Blanc." “Fine," l thought to myself, "so far, so good." Of course I knew I mustn't rush things so as to arouse her suspicion, but later, as 1 sought my bed, dog-tired and aching, I felt it might now be safe

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UNCANNY TALES to press my advances, if only just a little. It wasn't hard; it was simple. Yes, where the' others had failed it was easy for me — right from the start! Oh, but I was careful, and played my cards with the pre- cision a gambler might with the prize-winning lottery ticket for a stake, First' I made it a point to do more than my share of the world in the fields, then made cer- tain a ihention of it always man- aged to reach her ears. Then I took to seeing and talk- ing to Sarah more. Once I had accustomed myself to the general work of the farm and was able to stay awake after supper, I found that this, too, was a cinch. Both of the hired hands, Jess and Bernie, were dull, stolid fellows, with little or no imagination for more than a general farm supper- table conversation; and though I make no pretence at being a col- lege man or polished, I did spend two years in a high-school back east and the world has taught me plenty. In the evenings the two men spent their time either in the kit- chen, or occasionally, at a small pool-hall in the nearby village of Milvale. This left the coast clear. In less than a month, every night saw me in the parlor with Sarah, listening to her Victorian com ments with seemingly admiring attention, laughing uproariously at the dull remarks she intended ' as witticisms. Then I got to telling her about myself— oh brother, did 1 lay it 1 would start oil in a reluctant, almost timid manner. Yes, I had been the martyr and actually the unnamed hero in all the ex- ploits. but 1 didn't really wa-.t to talk about it. You've got the idea — that modest "diamond in the rough" stuff. Course I had to be careful not to tell the same story different, and wound the facts around and out of those better forgotten periods of my life. It wouldn't do for the old gal to know I had once done a two-year stretch up the river, or that my twenty-third birthday had been marked with a dishonorable dis- charge from the array. No, the way I told those yarns played me up like I wanted them to. Sarah would sit there, wide- eyed, interested — believing every- thing I said. Once there had been a suspicious moisture in her eyes when 1 told that one about getting some job in a lumber-yard just before the employment wick- et closed, “but I turned it over to a poor guy who had a sick wife and four kids," And the night I brought her that box of candy from the village the old fool blushed like a school-girl. Oh, I told you Martin Blane was clever. Got to get up pretty early to put anything over on him. One day I felt it was safe to question Jess, “Is it true,” I ask- ed; "all that talk I hear in the village and what you fellows say

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MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD at times— that Sarah Foster has a lot of money?" He looked up from the binder canvas he was mending. “No doubt of it," he answered prompt- ly. “With her bank money, mort- gages, stocks and all that, I'd like to have all she has over a hun- dred thousand." He cursed 'wear- ily. “Why I’d leave here so fast 1 smiled as I gave him a hand. One thing alone had me wor- ried. Sarah Foster was not a well woman. Bit by bit I learned that some heart ailment which had been prevalent, even in her youth, was gradually mounting to actual ]y dangerous proportions. That alarmed me. Here 1 was on the verge of making a life-time kill- ing, and this old hen might up and croak before I could get my mitts on it! Often in the fields, awaiting the oncoming hay-rack, I would think of it, and leaning on the pitch- fork, get to trembling all over. July, then August passed as did September. We were well into October now, and though the har- vest was over I still stayed on the farm, although 1 had been: taken on “only for a while.” But with all that I somehow couldn't quite get to my goal. Then came that eveniftg when we three men en- tered the kitchen to find Sarah lying on the floor, out like a light That night 1 drove her over to Milvale in the old jalopy which should have been gracing a junk heap, The doctor's words echoed in my mind for hours. “That heart of yours. Miss Foster — frankly, it's very bad." He had shaken his head with professional pathos. “With rest and quiet it might last for years — " He raised a warning finger. "Yet I know you," he began, then smiled. - “But I have to keep on going. Doctor Thomas," Sarah's words were a finality. The medico's answer was to flash a glum look then emit a re- signing sigh before pronouncing: “Then I'm afraid 1 can't be res- ponsible. Rest arid quiet might give you years. Lord knows you can afford to," he said. “But anv undue effort, any excitement, strain or shock — well, er — -just re- member I warned you," he con- cluded. 1 could hardly keep my mind on the wheel as we began our homeward drive. Sarah sat with crossed hands beside me, staring ahead through the windshield in almost pathetic silence. My own brain was racing so 1 could feel my temples throb. Every moment the pounding motor was taking us nearer to her home. Every in- stant, every turn of the wheel meant the passing of those prec- ious seconds which now seemed so few. Before us the headlights streamed in two pale, golden vis- “You heard, Martin?" It was Sarah's voice and it sounded helpless, puszled like pupil giving a doubtful

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UNCANNY TALES a stern teacher. "You heard what he said when we came out of his office?" I nodded. She had been calling me “Martin" now for -the past 'two weeks. I knew I should say something, but 1 couldn't. I just sat there, staring into the flare of the lights. A spray of water splashed up to the fenders as we passed through the small puddle a recent rain had left. “It — it might not be as bad as he said?" I knew she had turned towards me, could feel her eyes seeking mine as she awaited some “He might have been mistaken. He could have been wrong,” she added. Could have been wrong — yeah. But the chances were a thousand to one he was right. Oh I wasn't kidding myself. This old dame was as good as dead and I knew it. If only we had been married — great! The sooner she kicked off then, the better. But for her to everything seemed right in my To hell with delay! Caution and tact be damned! They're al- right in their place and I hadn't intended to rush things. But cau- tion and tact ain't worth a whoop when your prospect's a toes-up corpse. Now was the time and I must risk it. If I was to get any where 1 had to get there pronto. I wheeled to the side of the road, pushed in the brake and brought the car to a standstill. Then I turned and the next in- stant, with the skill of long prac- tice, her hand was in my own. "Yes, I heard. Miss Fos— Sar- ah! Yes, I heard what he said, but it isn't going to happen!" I was giving it everything I had, in the manner of the torture-racked lover. “You— you're not going to die, Sarah. You're not going to. “Mar — Martin!” As a surprised gasp it was perfect, the eyes large and staring, her mouth half-parted as if doubting her ears. But I went on with: "No, I won't let you die, Sar- ah!" I said the words with just the right fierceness, "You're go- ing to live, you've got to live--" then added with the tenderness of the love-story hero — “for me!” There was that brief silence from the woman beside me, while she made the decision which seal- ed her doom. But it was not long, just a faint resistance before her thin lips rose to mine, and my arms went around her as she whispered her surrender. The sur- render that others had sought to gain for years. Somewhere from the distance came the lonely cry of a night-bird. And I? I smiled and winked my triumph to the stars! WE WERE married, quietly the following week. Since I had to ixish matters, I figured I might as well make a thorough job of it. And the hon- eymoon? You guessed it — a week-

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MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD end trip to South Bend, with Sar- ah in silent torture over the hotel hill and expenses. But I was agree- able enough. I could afford to be, 1 thought. Six months from now I'd hit New York and toss a (lock of parties that would make old Nero turn over in his grave. Then we came home and win* ter set in. At first it wasn't bad. Any day might be Sarah's last and leave me richer than 1 ever dared dream of. But day followed day, week followed week, one month dragged into another, then changed to the next, but still she was there. Oh feeble to be sure, and sickly as well, sometimes ser- iously so — but never dying. Go- ing slowly about her work, often having to pause and rest, always ghostly and twice more fainting, but somehow or other she always lived. I got to wondering if she always would. Damn her., how she clung to life! And those long winter nights in that farmhouse, as the winds whistled while the snow-drifts piled deeper till they rose up to the windows. Night after night Sarah would sit in that rocking- chair by the big oil-lamp, with the family bible in her hands. And she'd read and she’d read and she'd read and she'd j-cad till God, 1 felt I would scream ! I can see her now. Upright like a board, that's how she always sat, in that same black dress which must have come out of the Ark. Lord how my hands itched to seize her, to wrap themselves around that scrawny neck and break off her endless croaking about, "how a good deed shone like a candle in a wicked world of darkness," or some such rot. Then she'd occasionally glance up at me with that foolish look she intended for wifely love and, with an inward groan I'd have to drown my true feelings, grasp the handles of the chair and force a Winter was over, there came the first warmth of spring, but Martin Blanc was still a married man. I began to wonder if I should give nature a hand in her task. ~ Sometimes when 1 was chopping the wood I would gel to looking at the axe. What a perfect weapon. But no — no! I wasn't going to do it the messy way. If I did it at all, it would be in the same manner I had man aged everything so far— skilfully, quietly, and carefully. But just how, puzzled me for several weeks. Then one day,, early in march, I had that sudden flash of light which showed how it could be done. A mile and a half up the road is the lonely Milvalc cemetery Three quarters of a mile beyond it is the little village itself. Well protected from the highway by a line of sturdy oaks, one has to follow a narrow road which winds around several hills before reach- ing the grave-yard. Once, shortly after my arrival at the farm, Sar- ah Tiad spent an entire evening

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UNCANNY TALES there, trimming the grass and cut- ting away the weeds from the family plot. She had been alone, of course, for not a soul goes there for weeks on end. Funny how quick they forget you when you're laid six feet below. But that was all beside the mat- ter of the moment. When Sarah next went there, and if she was to go alone— I started to breathe a little harder as I got to think- ing what 1 could do. IT happened three weeks later. We were near the end of "sup-, per when Sarah casually men tioned something about it being a good everting for her to visit the family plot. "It will be warm and clear tonight. Martin. I'd like to fix it up before the spring work It had come, sudden, unexpect- ed. I could feel a rush of blood mounting to my face, but I an- swered as I looked up from my plate and tried to put a mild su'- "Kinda early for that, isn't it, Sarah? Oh, it's warm alright." I said, "but it's still spring. You might catch a cold — er -but you could wrap up good, 1 guess." Was Jess staring at me? Did I see or just imagine a suspicion in his griillcd face? There seemed to be a sudden tension in the air. Now Bcrnic was saying something but 1 didn't even try to get it. 1 had turned my attention to my tea-cup, inwardly cursed the un- steadiness of the hand which brought it to niy lips "Oh, I'll be alright, Martin." It was Sarah's voice and it meant she was going. It was like lifting a ton from my heart, "Besides, the boys want to go into town tonight, and they can go that far with me - probably be able to thumb a ride the rest of the way." Then she said, "Would you like to go with me, Martin?" It was a critical moment. Nat- urally all eyes went to me in the instant that followed, I had to meet their gazes. It was an effort to raise my eyes. And that damn Jess! Yes.- there was a suspicion on his face, I was sure of it now. Once everything was over, I would fire that old prune and give him the beating of his life in the bargain. I tried to register a tired good- naturedness, and manufactured a yawn as I smiled. "Not if you don’t mind, Sarah." I raised my arms in a lazy stretch. "Guess I'll read the papers awhile and turn in early. Got to get the plow in that north field tomorow - late enough about it now." And arising from my chair, I walked over for my pipe on the nearby window-sill. THE car was hardly out of the vard before I was follow- ing it. Under one arm I car- ried tile carefully wrapped sheet that would be my weapon. Of course I didn't dare travel along the roadway. A new face in i farming -vicinity is quickly nbtic- '

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MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD cd. I was fairly well-known by this time and from any passing car it was possible to be recog- nized, and the remark could later be spread around that Martin Blanc had been seen on the road and heading towards the cemetery the night his wife was found murdered. No, that would never do. Hur- riedly, 1 jogged along, just inside the fences that paralleled the road — several times dropping to the ground at the approach of passing cars, and pasing under or over the fences from one field to another. The one awkward thing about the whole set-up was that some neighbour might phone the house while 1 was away. How- ever, I could always explain that by saying I had gone to the stable or to the tool-shed, and had not -heard the phone. Luckily, there had been a strong spring sun for the past several days, and the ground had a dryness that oblit- erated footsteps. Tlie shades of eventide were changing across the heavens to the darker hues of night when I finally reached my destination, and quietly parted the hedge be- fore me to lixik into the grave- yard beyond. Yes, there was Sar- ah on her knees, busily trimming the grass around the family head- stone— and she was alone. From where 1 crouched I could plainly hear the sharp snip of the clip" pers as her tireless hands worke-J along and around the grave. And she was alone. That spell- ed her death! For a moment 1 crouched there, watching her all the hatred I felt and had been forced to hide for those many months, fairly scaring the air in the narrow- eyed glare that passed from me to her. "Look at her," I thought, and 1 know I must have bared my teeth. “Look at the damn thing! Taking such pains and care in the way she cuts a bunch of dead weeds. Precision and order must regulate every moment in her life, even if it is her last.” And then I went into action. Quietly I stole through the thick- et and closed the branches behind me. Her back towards me, Sarah could not have been more than thirty yards away. With a few deft movements the sheet I car- ried was hastily flung around me. Then on tip toes I began a swift advance towards her. If unseen eyes had been there, they would have witnessed an eerie sight. Busily, on her knees, a faded black hat pulled down on her head, a slender woman plied a pair of rusty clippers. And ap- proaching her was the powerful, white-shrouded form of one in- tent on murder. I was quite close - to her now, then gave the intend- ed tap with my foot I knew that she would hear. Then as she turn- ed, half-rising as her surprised gaze swung upon me, I gave the loud "Boo!" which rang out in the stillness before I sprang towards her.

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UNCANNY TALES What I expected, happened. For a fleeting instant Sarah stood there in horror, then with a low moan fell, crumpled and limp, over the grave of her own. In a moment I was bending over her, my ear going to her breast. Old Doc Thomas had said that even a slight shock might prove fatal. This had been a man- sized one, so there was every reas- on to expect that— but no. No! That damnable heart was still ticking. Still ticking! Faintly7 weakly? Yes, that's true — but it was still ticking! At that instant I think my mind tottered over the brink of sanity. I looked around me with the glare of one demented — unable to be- lieve what my ears had told me. ( o’d. was she still going to live? No! No! T wouldn't let her! That weak heart was going to be stopped and stopped right now even if I had — well, no matter wh.it I had to do. Sarah Foster must die! And then nty eyes fell upon the headstone before me, grayish and massive in the fast falling night, I dislike to dwell on the events of the next two minutes, for they certainly weren't pretty. But Sarah Foster had to die, and those fainting spells of hers were well known in the community. It was possible she could have come, up here, fainted, and in falling her head had struck the grave-stone. Quickly my hands went under her armpits. I raised her limp body to her feet, steadying them, then aiming it as an archer might ing that powerful shove which sent her flying against the head- There was that sickening thud of human bone crashing against stone. Then the body slumped onto the grave mound, to roll slowly off, then down and beside it, in grotesque awkwardness — Sarah's little black felt hat push cd forward on her face, and a large gash in the back of her head, out of which a dark crim- son was slowly welling. Quickly I removed all evidence of tell-tale footmarks. Even in that ' moment my wits were with me I forded and returned the sheet to my coat. Then without a back- ward glance at either the grave or my victim. 1 slunk swiftly through the bordering hedge, and began my hurried journey back to the farm — like some thieving ghoul making off \yith his plun- der, I HAD been back at the house about two hours when they brought in Sarah's body. The two men had seen her park- ed car by the roadside on their return from the village, had rec- ognised it and investigated. Au- thorities were called, a consulta- tion held, and the verdict I had expected was reached — Sarah, they agreed, had been seized by one of her spells, and in falling her head had come in violent contact against the grave-stone.

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MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD "We .ill know how you feel, Mr Blanc," old Doc Thomas said to me, "but you must try and pull yourself together." For what an act I was putting on! At that. I think I overdid it just a bit, but then, when one is trying to portray frantic grief, they're apt to overstep the bor- der. At the wake the neighboring farmers offered quiet consolation and steadying shoulder-taps. And the women? You'll laugh at this. They said, "it's a pity to sec Mr. Blane suffering so." They brought me pies and sweetmeats. They fluttered in and out of the' kitchen like nervous, cackling hens, to wash my dishes, to tidy the rooms and make themselves generally useful. And how my tears impressed them, nor did I find that part of it difficult. Gin always does make me sentimen- tal, and I had a little stock hidden out in the granary. • 1 Of course Sarah's entire for tune reverted to me— 1 had seen to that the week after we were married as well as to have myself made the sole executor. And now all I had to do was to lie in the hammock and wait for the will to be probated — borrowing from it only what was absolutely neces- sary. I was content to wait till it would all be mine with no strings attached. No, 1 would just sit still till all was settled, then sell the farm, cash in on the bonds and mortgages, and fold my tent and blow — richer by about a hundred and twenty thousand lovely dol lars! We buried Sarah two months ago yesterday. Two months that have given me time to plan for the future. Yesterday the lawyer phoned to say everything was ii) order, and if I would drop around this morning the final “papers could be signed. Yes, everything seemed to be clear sailing — And then last night it happen- ed! Now before I go any further, I want anyone who reads this story to get one thing straight. I’m not one of those imaginative, nervous guys — one of those fellows who figures there's a ghost behind every tree when he goes down a dark lane at night. To me, all that "haunted house" and "return from the dead" stuff is a lot of hooey. I come from Missouri in the mat- ter of viewpoint, and I don't scare easy or jump to conclusions. But what I’m going to tell you now, did happen right here less than two hours ago! I had retired late last night. Planning just how soon before I could get out of here, it must have been well on to twelve he fore 1 finally sought my bed and blew out the lamp. How long I slept 1 can’t say for certain but it could not have been very long when suddenly, with a gasp and a quick intake of breath I came to myself and, half involuntarily, sat upright in bed. Through the nearby open win- dow 1 could see the outside worIJ.

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UNCANNY TALES Though the night was clear a soft wind sobbed, and cool pre- dawn air was blowing into the room. Up in the sky, dirty clouds were drifting across the moon- a ghostly light in a half darkened world, making shadows of the trees. The silence around me was as the tomb, through somewhere from the distance I could hear the bay of a farmer's hound. For a moment I just sat there, puzzled by this strange awaken- ing. Then in the night I realized its cause, and I think a slight gasp must have escaped me. For some- thing suddenly told me I was not alone in the room! Slowly I forced my eyes from the window. Slowly they travel - led down the length of the bed. I felt they would see something. I somehow felt they had to, The sheets around my legs wen- rumpled, as though my sleep had been a restless one, and I half raised one hand in a meaningless gesture only to let it drop at my side. Then my puzzled gaze reached the end of the bed and tppped it. and right before me, i faint smile on her Ups — stood Sarah! Yes, Sarah Foster! She stood there before me! The same Sarah Foster I had laid to rest, two months ago. She still wore the black silk dress we had buried her in, and around her neck was the thin golden chain with the little cross that had been In- mothers, But her face was dilf erent. It seemed sorta extra white — it kinda glowed and it was al- most beautiful. The hair, too,' that surrounded her head was thicker, blacker and wavy. For what seemed an eternity passed in that room of semi-dark ness as we stared into each others eyes. Finally her lips parted, I could sec the whiteness of her teeth; then came a little, icy laugh, that sounded as the jingle of far-away sleigh bells. It tinkled across the room and floated out of the window beyond. Then - then she spoke! "You did it well, Martin. Very cleverly. And no one will ever, know. You're quite safe for the present." There was a calm in her voice that no pen could describc--a res- ignation which told of an un- thinkable agony, of a suffering that has burned itself to ashes and And I? I don't know just what I did, though I faintly recall try- ing to rise then falling back to my former position, upright in the bed. No! No — this couldn't be real. It was some ghastly hoax or a nightmare. Yes, that's what it must be, I tried to tell myself- - a nightmare. Sarah was dead. Sar- ah was dead! I had killed her and seen her buried myself, tw i months ago! But even as I assured myself, she spoke again, and any doubt 1 may have had vanished I "Oh yes. it's me, Martin And you're not dreaming. No, you're awake, really awake for the first

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MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD time since you murdered me more awake than you've ever been since you began your wick- ed life." I leaned forward. “Sa— Sarah!" I gasped. “Sarah!" But she went on as though she had not heard me. “And today you will come into my money — all of it. It will he yours and not a voice can be lifted to say dif- A wan smile flitted across her white face. "Enjoy it if you can, Martin. Enjoy every dollar of it in those dissipations you, have planned, if you are able to. For oh, Martin, Martin, if you but knew what awaits you beyond the veil!" One slender arm pointed to- wards the open window, in the gesture whose objective, I knew, was the grave-yard where we had “Out there— were not dead, Martin," she said. “We're not dead, as you of this world know- death. Our thoughts, Martin, are bodies crumble: our brains decay, the tissues fall away, and only our white skulls are left. But in those seemingly barren skulls re- main the essentials of thought." "No!" It was a hoarse protest, but it died on my lips as it was uttered. She gave no evidence of hearing it. "No, we're not dead out there, Martin. We talk to each other by thought-waves by a strange mental power we first discover when we're laid six-feet below. “And I have talked to all of them, Martin. To former neigh- bours, to my mother, to my fath- er. Even to my long-dead grand- mother whom I never knew in my earthly life. They love me. those out there. They love and sorrow for me as well. For you see, Martin," she said slowly, "they know what you did to me!" '•‘Yes, they know," Sarah went on, "and they’re waiting for you. Waiting for the hour till you arc laid beside me and your torture can begin." The night wind float- ing into the room whistled in weird crescendo. "And what torture, Martin - agonies undreamed of in this world await such a murderer, six feet below. Mental torture, Mar- tin. Hours, years, centuries of mental torture, surpassing any physical pain. Minute after min- ute without ending, ceaselessly, never stopping, the thought-waves of the others will grind against your „own — recalling over 'and over your horrid crime. Bringing it again and again to you; abus- ing, threatening, reminding and taunting of what awaits on that final day, till your eyeless skull will be fairly quivering- —threaten- ing to burst from the anguish it endures. "Oh it may seem as nothing now. Martin. Only wait. Only wait till life has gone and you are placed beside me. Even if you arc buried at the other side of the

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UNCANNY TALES earth the thought-waves will find' "No!" I shouted the word and andTknew it. It to Sarah^ab right — but the things she was saying, "No!" I cried again. "They will not torture me. Why should they? True, I killed you, but what of it? There's been thousands of murders before. Why should I be tortured because — ” "Because yours was the black- est '^murder of them all." The voice was still calm, yet it stabbed like a dagger. "You murdered in the sanctuary of the dead. Your crime was committed in that spot reserved for them. In that place which should know only respect, peace and quiet. "That is why they will torture you, Martin. It is for that you will be judged." Her voice trail- ed off and there was stillness once And then she began an ad- vance towards me! Yes, right be- fore my eyes, Sarah Foster start- ed to walk slowly towards me. Plainly I could see her — could hear that faint rustle of the black silk dress she wore. There was no hate, no vengeance on her face. Just a quiet dignity. But by now my nerves were shattered. 1 tried to scream but 1 couldn't- It was as though I were a thing of stone, with only my wild glare to denote life. She was what was she going to do? Then suddenly I found mv voice and screamed. I screamed loud and wildly. I shrieked and shrieked like a mad, erased thing, like a lost soul might with all hope gone and hell's fires ap- proaching. And then, for the first and only time in my life, I fainted. HEN I came to myself the room was still in semi- darkness and I was alone. 1 could not have been uncon- scious long, hardly more than a minute, I think, for as I bounded from the bed and flung back the door to leap out into the hall, Jess and Bemie, half-dressed, came running from their room, "We heard you shouting, Sir — what's wrong?" exclaimed the Bernie held a lamp. “Why you are as white as a ghost, Mr. Blane!" he ejaculated. They were staring as though expecting me God, this would never do! To arouse their suspicions — no, I must not! I made^a frantic ef- fort to get hold of myself. “No, no.” I Could barely force the word from my lips. "No, I'm al- right—alright," I gasped, “Just a —a bad dream. That's all!" But they continued to stand and gape like the two big gawks they were, and 1 couldn't hold it ’’"Get back into your room!" I roared and turning, sprang to Wards the stairway. Down the steps I bounded, three at a time. If over’ a man needed a drink, 1

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MURDER IN THE GRAVEYARD needed one now. I found the hot' tie, poured out a stiff three-fing ers and a moment later downed a second. Then I sat in the old rocker, began to think, then start- ed to write this story. And now I'm smiling, it's dawn and the bottle is empty. Sure I'm smiling, I'm starting iu to chuckle then laughing loud- er and louder as I write. Why? No. I'm not mad. I'm not kiddin" myself. But all the time I've been writing this I've been doing a heap o’ thinkin-. Yeah, and now I've got it all figured out — how I'll not only have a good time in this life but be able to go into the next without a worry. Oh Sarah, oh you fool! You thought your coming back would always haunt me. That I would be condemned to spend the rest of my years in mental torture - - thinking of what would await me when I was finally laid to rest. But you're wrong. Sarah, you're wrong. Why in hoping to bring anguish to me, you have given me the very key to my freedom! And you, the reader, ask how? Just go on with the next few lines and you will learn. Didn't Sarah say when I died it was my mental powers that would be tortured — that within the skull remain all the essentials of thought which could reach me, even if I died op the other side of the earth? Sure she did. But what if I was to have a special clause put in my will which read, [hat upon my death my skull was to be ground into fine dust, then cremated? Do you get that — crushed and burned! What could she do then? And that's just what I’m going to do now! I've already phoned Grant, the lawyer, and made an appointment for nine this morn- ing. And I'll have that clause put in my will and I'll laugh when 1 think of it. And I'll have a good time with her money in this world, then ulhen I die we'll see what Sarah and her mouldering friends can do about it! You gasp. You stare in admira- tion. You wonder how I could have thought of such a way out. Pretty clever, eh! Oh I told you Martin Blanc was clever. Got to get up pretty early to put any- thing over on him! THE following item appeared in the Milvale Weekly Stan- dard. A TERRIBLE TRAGEDY Martin Blanc, a young farmer living some two miles west of the village, was instantly killed yesterday morning, when the car he drove was struck by thp 8.15 express. Blane was evidently com- ing into town on business. Lawyer Grant says Blane phoned him earl- ier in the morning and arranged for a meeting at nine — adding that Blane sounded as though he were in the throes of some great excitement. The body will be laid to rest today beside that of his recently deceased wife. THE END

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Sharks THE Malay tightened the last connecting screw and Boyd Howett was hermetically sealed off from the outer world. Through the glass window of his diver's helmet he gazed into the narrow, sunburnt, malicious face of Carson. The Malay, inscrutable as ever, signalled that all svas ready for the descent. Only Leila Craig smiled encouragingly at Howett, ignoring Carson's attempt to dis- :t her ai In spite of himself, a feeling of uneasiness assailed Howett as he climbed over the side. There had been a hint of purpose in Car- son’s farewell look, something rather too possessive in his play* ful tap on Leila's shoulder. So like Carson! he thought. Then the dark blue waves of the In- * dian Ocean closed over his head, changing immediately to a clear, fluorescent green. In a moment or two he heard Cirson's ironic voice through the microphone. "Hullo, Howett, how does it feel in the aquarium today? You'd make a fine bit of chewing-gum for the sharks in your diving- dress — they're" as thick as flies round the Nicobar Islands. Every- thing still O.K.? Fine weather down there?”

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SHARKS "Topping,*’ said Howett. His voice within ihe narrow walls of the helmet sounded unnaturally hollow, "It's not raining here: why, crossing the wet asphalt of , Piccadilly Circus in crcpc soles would be an exciting business in comparison." “I can hear the fish laughing," >'v said Carson. “Especially the i, sharks. They're about seven yards !' long in these waters, and can j swallow a grown man like a pill." A malicious chuckle, then sil- ence. Howett sank deeper, and j the clear green round him grew darker and denser. Strange tropi- f . cal fish, of fantastic shapes and gorgeous colours, became aware L of his presence and swam round ' him inquisitively. It was a strange world, this, i. between the surface of the sea and its bottom an unstable , ■ world, - where you swayed, rose and sank in a phosphorescent, ghostly shimmer, that grew ever duller, and at length died away Down. down. down. Howctt's i thoughts returned to the ship K above him — an uncomfortable af ►V fair, but still a bit of home in the vast expanse of waters. What a curious collection of people they L were, \yhcn you came to think of £ it! Take himself, half scientist. half camera-man, drifting about •: at the bottom of the sea near one j of the little Nicobar Islands. He was making a film that a: should eclipse all previous r achievements in that line, a film showing the creatures of the trop- ical sea in their own deep sea background of shells, coral and enchanted growths. Then there were Carson, the adventurer, who was jack of all trades and master of none, and Leila Craig, supernumerary and film-cutter, with that drop of ad- venturous blood in her veins which sends its possessor on wild- goose chases round the world. The rest of the crew were Mal- ays. with the exception of the three European ship's officers— an Englishman, a Portuguese and a half-caste. Howett and Carson were on their own, and the strict keeping down of costs was nec- essary for the success of tlwr expedition. The cable slackened as How- ett's feet sank into the soft mud. He signalled up his arrival, and a moment later the powerful r3ys of an electric lamp she’d a fantas- tic light on his surroundings. Howett had constructed a spe- cial watertight camera: this he now took from the pocket of his diving Suit. Soon the glare of the lamp had attracted a number of fish. A large electric fish swam into focus, and he was about to set the apparatus in motion' when he heard Carson's voice. "Leila's just landing." "Don't disturb me!" retorted Howett impatiently. “I was just starting.” "Oh, I thought it might inter est you to know." was the cool ■ answer. 'Tve sjnt her on the

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UNCANNY TALES Set, coconuts from "Can't you keep back your news-chronicle for five minutes?" "Now we're as you might say by our two selves," continued Carson, and his malicious laugh echoed unpleasantly. ' Now we can unburden our minds.” "It's hardly a suitable moment with 15 fathoms of water be- tween us," said Howett drily as he pressed the camera button. "For some discussions the priv- acy afforded by 15 fathoms of soundproof water can be very convenient," replied Carson. "Only the sharks will hear us, and the Malay beside me under- stands no English." Carson's voice had lost its us- ual slightly sarcastic tones; it had indeed become almost diabolic. Howett pricked up his ears. “Whatever's the matter?" he asked in astonishment. The cam- "You'vc been flirting with Leila a good deal lately, haven't you?" “Even if I had done so I should not discuss the matter with any- one, least of all with you," said Howett coolly. “I saw you together on deck late one moonlight night. How romantic! Young love and so on." Then Carson's voice hardened. "The choice lies between you "Yes, that was what l was afraid of." "But it won't be so any longer." "Really?” said Carson ironical- ly. “I didn't know you had sui- cidal tendencies. Because you sec, from now onwards it's going to 'be Leila's and my show, and you will no longer be in a position to interfere." "What do you mean?" Howett asked sharply. "I mean that dead men have nothing to do with living men's love affairs," said Carson. "There is going to be an unfortunate ac- cident. In, say, five minutes the air-pipe will spring a leak. In five - minutes the Malay helping me to work the diving apparatus will have gone to my cabin to fetch my cigarettes. Everyone on board will think the little slit in the pipe is a tear. There will be no- body to hear your protests except perhaps an occasional shark. And sharks are. dumb, you know. Good plan, isn't it?" For a moment Howett 's brain ceased to function; his thoughts were a blank. Then, with startling swiftness, a word passed across his mind, galvanising it into ac- tivity- Sharks! Suddenly he knew why the fish were fleeing. If Car- son didn't finish him off the sharks probably would. “Carson arc you mad?" No answer. "Carson!" Against all hope he presently heard Carson's voice close to his "I've just sent the Malay away. Have you any last wishes? They'll \bc conscientiously carried out."

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SHARKS "You're perfectly mad. Car- son!" gasped Howett, gazing in horror at the great body that had once more darted into the' light. "Mad! I"m as good as engaged to Leila." “In a few moments the devil himself will break off the en- gagement with his own hands," was the ironic answer. "Have you anything else to say?" "You’re a fool, Carson. Leila won’t have you, even if you do clear me out of the way.” "My friend," said the cynical voice above, “one educated Euro- pean among twenty Malays who don’t speak a word of English is a person of importance where women are concerned. Such sit- uations will work wonders in the middle of the Indian Ocean." “You’re • mistaken, Carson,” Howett said. "Some of the Mai ays understand English very well. At any rate, the man who’s help- ing you does. Leila told me the other day in his presence where she kept a certain not very valu- ’ able piece of jewellery, and that same evening it was gone." For an instant the microphone was silent. Then came Carsons "What's that you said?" "I 'said that the Malay who works the winch understands English." “That’s a lie!" hissed Carson. "Does a man in my position lie?" asked Howett quietly. "I don't want Leila to get entangled with a man who sooner or later will be tried for murder." For a whole minute Carson was silent. He seemed to be thinking. "If the fellow .really understood English I'm sure he'd have tried to stop me," he answered uncer- tn'"No, he'll just let you fall into the trap. These fellows won't raise a finger to save a white, but they'll make use of any dodge to get him into an awkward posi- Another pause, then Carson spoke again. "I'm going to pull you up," he said. Howett sighed with relief — but too soon. The shark swam into view, coming straight to- wards him. He flung himself down and the creature shot over his head, striking against the rock. Then it turned round quick as lightning, and plunged up- wards into the darkness. Howett felt the pulling of the cable. "Stop!” he shouted. “Wait till I give the signal." "What's up?" asked the aston- ished Carson. "Sharks?" “One down here and another up there," said Howett laconical- ly. "You've still got a chance, Carson." He raised himself cautiously, and. camera posed, leaned against the rock, awaiting the shark's next onslaught. Once morel it came to- wards him, but seeming-to remem- ber the failure of the last attack, turned away undecidedly. Howett switched off the camera and put IB

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UNCANNY TALES urn the light, a precaution which the double danger had previously caused him to forget. For what seemed an eternity he waited in the darkness: then, as the mons- ter did not reappear, he signalled to he pulled up. Half-an-hour later, dazzled by the tropical sunlight. Howett stood on deck. Carson, his hands in his pocket, watched them take off the diver's helmet. Then he suddenly addressed the Malay in English. "Ask the captain to get me a boat ready with a gun and some tins of food, Kwala." he said. “I'm going to settle down on one of these islands. May the devil take the whole expedition!" The Malay stared at him un- , comprehendingly. "(.let on with you, you swine." shouted Carson in a sudden pas- sion. "Don't you understand me?" "No," said Howett. "He does not understand a word of English. Your trouble is in vain, Carson.” Before Carson could answer Leila Craig came down from the upper deck with two huge coco- nuts under her arm. "Aren't they line ones?" she cried, .radiant. And turning to Howett! "How was it below to- day?" "So-so." said Howett shortly, and Leila's frightened look made him curiously happy. . He looked the other in the face. "Funny thing." he said. "Saw a couple of sharks." He paused a second. "Ever seen a yellow shark, Leila?" he added.

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- • '• ™ The Lover and the Beam A True Chose Story by Anne. Lady SeUdon MR. OSBERT SITWELL said recently that “ghosts and spirit phenomena gen- erally are very often the produc- tion of ennui. Imagination, gen- erally of an elementary kind, as- serts itself to relieve tedium: and then self-deception follows.” While admitting that some ghost stories are fabricated to "re- lieve tedium,” or to stimulate the imagination of others, I must dif- fer from Mr. Sitwell, as my own experiences of psychic phenom- ena were not connected in any way with ennui. They just hap- pened, and (if one can apply the word normal to the supernatural) in a perfectly normal way. A few years ago some friends of mine bought an old house in Buckinghamshire; for various The Hall is situated in one of the loveliest spots in the many still untrodden ways of Bucking- hamshire. The house, originally late Carolean added to by some eighteenth-century owner uncon- nected with this story, dominates the beech woods which surround it on either side until they grad- ually give place to undulating park lands. The grounds abound in imitation ruins, Greek temples, leaden and marble gods, and last, but not least, a lake of dreams, approached in springtime through groves of lilac, spilling fragrance and color on the path. There is an old tradition that no ghosts will venture into a gar- den when lilac is in bloom, but tradition must be wrong, as any harmless “return” could not have a better mis en scene than a gar- den where lilac shows itself in

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UNCANNY TALES* clouds of rosy pinkish mauve, gleaming like white coral in a sea of emerald leaves, or flaunting the sullen stormy reddish purples of the East. The H.'s are immensely popu- lar, the Hall isn't difficult to loc- ate, you receive a welcome that gladdens your heart, so no won- der most people discover some pretext or another to motor often down from town, (It has since been sold and altered.) One May, when I was feeling more than usually tired, it occur- red to me that a week-end with the H.'s would be the ideal rest cure. I rang up Dorothy, and pro- posed myself. "I'm terribly sorry, Anne darl- ing," she said, "but we have a house full — won’t next Friday do as well?" I told her how weary I was of London and added, ”1 don't care if you put me up in one of the at- tics, I simply must come." After this SOS I heard a hurried con- sultation, an appeal to Robert H., and then Dorothy said if I didn't mind sleeping in the Long Room I should be as welcome as the flowers of the month. I arrived in time for tea and small talk. The square galleried hall from which one could look up to the-top storey provided the setting for an effective conversa- tion picture. The house party was in the best of spirits, preparing to enjoy every minute of the crowd- ed hour, but, to my surprise, Rob- ert, usually one of the most char- mingly selfish of mortals, went out of his way to apologize for the impossibility of putting me anywhere except in the Long Room — to be more exact, he fus- sed. "I never knew there was such a room, and I've stayed here many times," I said. "We never use it,” he replied, "you probably won't like it a bit" However, I liked die Long Room, which we reached after a stiff climb to the top of the house. True to its name, the Long Room extended under the roof and ran ’ the entire length of the frontage. It was narrow as well as long, and the square windows, like slcep- les, lidless eyes, looked down die beech-bordered avenue. It was comfortably furnished, and there was nothing unusual about it. ex- cept an immense beam which crossed the ceiling immediately over the bed. "Are you sure you don't mind sleeping here?” asked Robert. “Mind — why should I mind?" I retorted. The evening passed in the pleas- ant intimacy usual at the H's week-end parties. We were not hurried off to dine and dance in some strange house, or driven forth into the wilderness to the nearest cinema. We rested, talk- ed, listened to good music, enjoy- ed the peace of the countryside, and realized that the H.’s were past-masters of the art of enter- taining. 22

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THE LOVER AND THE BEAM Robert still persisted in his pro- fuse apologies for the Long Room: I saw Dorothy look at him with an unspoken prayer for silence, but he paid no heed, and when good-nights were being said, Rob- ert almost insisted that he should the Long Room. The night was chilly, and a wood lire burnt on the open hearth. The dancing flames showed up every corner, and I wondered, as I took stock of my surroundings, why Robert had protested so much. The oak fourposter was evi- dently a survival of the Carolean era of the house, the crewel- worked hangings were admirably preserved, and the colours of the exotic flowers - glowed as if they had been embroidered yesterday. The rest of the furniture was modern, and the only archaic note was struck by the absence of elec- tric light. "Too near the rafters perhaps." I thought, when I saw the tall wax candles in the silver candelabra, which had been put ready to light me to bed. Now let me assure Mr. Sitwell that at this moment there was no vestige of ennui about me. I was comfortably tired. I had pleasant memories of the good compan- ions I had left downstairs. I got into bed, and drifted into dreams as soon as my head touched the , pillow. I do not know how long it was before I awoke with a sickening sense of terror the like of which I had never experienced. It was as if existence had been suddenly destroyed and laid about me in ruins by a ruthless being who knew neither pity nor remorse. Added to thi3 mental terror, I was physically afraid, in dread, not only’ of my own life, but of that of .someone inexpressibly dear to me. I tried to control my nerves — when suddenly the bedclothes were literally dragged off. I strug- gled to retrieve them. Useless, Somebody unseen was stronger than myself. So 1 lay in a huddled heap, my face buried in the pil- lows, while the heart-throbs of i hitherto unimagined passion vib- rated around me and formed dark. and despairing love. At this moment 1 felt a cold rush of air from a hastily opened window, and, in the expiring gleam of the lire, I noticed some- thing dark swaying to and fro from -the great beam — something that twisted and struggled. What was it? What re-enacted horror from Beyond was I wit- I was now far too frightened to take refuge in the obvious and faint, so by some effort of will power I clutched the bedclothes, wrapped them around me like a cocoon, and waited, hardly daring to breathe, for what might come next. Nothing happened, I was left undisturbed, and at last 1 ventured to light the can-

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gtSARUte VzXitSVtt - bed. Long Room ' ijEEfc$£& .«,« - J II ^SS£-2H&S«- cold ashes on the hearthstone. "I was sure you I But nothing on earth would u through it. Lady Selsd a sinister record of a drama af- I told mm=i » B?± gaFAStfS: s££” "ish‘

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THE I.OVER AND THE BEAM 51. - one to see how terrified the dogs would become if they were to re main until midnight. I saw it once, couldn't do anything with them, the brutes were literally be- side themselves with terror; and why? Because they know who conies back to the Long Room. There's no getting away from it. "The beginning is the story of an old man's infatuation for a girl of 18, somewhere about the late 17th century. At that time the Hall belonged to the last of the family, a detestable individual whose sole idea in old age was to amass more anfl more money, and to beget an heir. The 17th cen- tury Beauty, who loathed her Beast, and failed signally in her duty to carry on the direct line, was virtually kept a prisoner at D., her aristocratic husband being a moneylender to young bloods with prospects, and also to gamb- lers and high livers at Whitehall, whose extravagant pasts made it" necessary for them to face the present at an unholy rate of in* "Nobody suspected that Sir J. D. was the person known as Mr. Silas at his chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and no one at D. was told whither he went on his fre- quent absences from home. "I don't know how love even tually came into the girl's life. At first the lovers used to meet sur- reptitiously in the Park, after- wards in the Long Room, as the pld housekeeper was a martinet where her lady's outside liberty was concerned. "One night Sir J. D. returned two days earlier than he was ex- pected. He entered the Hall by a side door of which he alone pos- sessed the key. "Having completely ruined a promising young peer, he had supped well, and now, flushed with wine and in fine fettle, he went into the great bedroom in a “pleasant humour to awaken his wife, doubtless fast asleep in -the canopied fourposter. But the bed had not been slept in. “Fuming at the whimsies 'if women, Sir J. hurried from bed- chamber to bedchamber, but could discover no. trace 'of his missing wife. Then he sat down to think things over, and, putting two and two together, he remem- bered that there was an upper room as yet unexplored. Wishing to leave nothing to chance, he first passed into the library, where he unearthed a stout steel chain and a pair of handcuffs; he then made his way silently to the Long "The lovers were asleep in each other's arms, and at that moment the hard old man must have real- ised what he had missed in life. The knowledge made him see red. He slipped the handcuffs on the wrists of the unconscious lover, and the wife awoke, to sec Death staring at her out of her husband's eyes. “Sir J, dragged the young man across the floor and hanged him

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. UNCANNY TALES from the beam with the steel chain. You sec. Lady Sclsdon, the victim couldn't lift a hand to save himself, and Sir J.'s superhuman strength enabled him to truss him "The terrified girl covered her head with the bedclothes and her husband' left her undisturbed un- til his final preparations were complete. Then, when the some- thing that had once been a man was throttling and turning in ag* ony, he tore the bedclothes away from the wife’s face and bade her look at her lover; and every time she tried to hide her eyes she was forcibly persuaded, until in a fit of maddened desperation she eluded her husband, opened; one of the windows, jumped out, and was killed instantly when her body hit the stone steps below." "So that explains the sudden in- rush of air," 1 said. "But there isn't any trace of a window.” "It was bricked up from the outside in recent years. However," continued the colonel, "the haun- tings have always persisted in the Long Room, and that’s the reason the H.'s keep it locked up." 1 said most people would surely wonder why the H.'s continued to live there. "Well," said the colonel reflec- tively, "it's a lovely place, the hauntings are only acute in one room, so, barring the little trouble with the bulldogs — why not? Af- ter all, if you hadn't sampled" the Long Room you would have known nothing about the Lover and the Beam. Leave it at that." And I have done so until 1 was asked to contribute a true ghost story to this collection.

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U DAY ZAUNG An Oriental Mystery A Tom Greyburn Story by C. Harcourt Robertson GUARDIAN OF TREASURE l CIS. /T R GREYBURN," said ]V1 U Tin Gyi, “you will think me a credulous old fool, but did you ever, by any chance, come across a trace of the U Day Zaung in your travels?" “Wait a minute," broke in Par- fitt, the ricc-broker, "I'm only six months out, so perhaps you'll ex- cuse me for asking what the U Day Zaung is?" It was Tom Greyburn who an- swered. “U Day Zaung, in Burmese folklore," he said, “is the guard- ian spirit of a buried treasure. In the old days under the Burmese kings rich men were anything but safe, you know. What with requi- sitions and invasions from Siam and so forth there were frequent occasions when a man found it wise to hide his property in the earth, and then sometimes he was killed or died without telling any Old U Tin Gyi nodded his grey head in emphatic agreement. "That is so." he interjected, "Burma is full of such buried 27 treasures, and every treasure is guarded by! an U Day Zaung." “A ghost?" suggested Parfitt. “A fairly solid one, according to tradition," said Greyburn, smiling. “The lady — for the spirit is a female — has been known to enliven the monotony of her task by falling in love with a hand- some young hunter if such should cross her path." “And then," added U Tin Gyi eagerly, “she not only gives him possession of the treasure, but also confers on him the gift of immortality — but on condition that he stays always with her." "Then the treasure isn't much use to him," suggested the prac- tical Parfitt. “Oh! he is allowed to revisit the haunts of man occasionally," said Greyburn, “provided he keeps his mouth shut about his good luck." U Tin Gyi bent forward, "There are many such," he said mysteriously. "They are silent men with eyes full of dreams. They will come to a town or vil- lage and stay for a few days, but they cannot bear to be away from

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UNCANNY TALES U Day Zaung, and sewn the jungle claims them again." "Well, the jungle" takes up most of my time." said Greyburn, smiling again, "but I give you my word I've seen no U Day Zaung.” NOT CLEAR OF SUSPICION "Yet you have found a treas- ure," U Tin Gyi pointed out, “and according to tradition an U Day Zaung's lover must always deny the fact of being so. My friend, you arc not clear from suspicion!" "But Mr. Greyburn's English!" exclaimed Parlitt. "That makes no difference, I believe," admitted Tom, "The sprite is reputed to have a cath olic taste in nationalities. But I am flattered. U Tin Gyi, at your suggestion, because I believe that U Day Zaung only falls for hand- some young men, and I can't real- ly call myself either!" The old Burmese magistrate chuckled. "I know of one or two Burm- ese ladies who consider you quite young and handsome enough — but 1 will spare your feelings, Mr. Greyburn, or you may be afraid to walk through the Moulmein bazaar in future!" "I hope you’re only joking!" exclaimed Tom in great alarm. I joined Parfitt and U Tin Gyi in their homeric laughter. Tom glared at us for a moment, then liis face relaxed and he laughed "You old scoundrel," he said to U Tin Gyt, “you certainly had me on toast that time!" "Please excuse Mr. Greyburn,” apologized the Burman. "I am seventy years old and already weak in the head,' so that I can- not help joking with my betters.” “You’vc no betters, U Tin Gyi." said Greyburn handsomely - and indeed he spoke truly, for the old magistrate had the repu- tation of being the "best-loved "But, Mr. Greyburn." said the old man, "you have not yet an- swered my first question. Have of U Day Zaung? I ask it quite seriously." The four of us were sitting in my veranda overlooking the har- bour, and the time was that bless ed hour of cool and peace be- tween sunset and dimier. Tom was silent and I took the opportunity to see that all my guests were well supplied with whisky and soda and cheroots. At last Greyburn spoke. “I don’t know," he said slowly. He paused and then added sud- ’Tll tell you a rather queer Tom’s pale-blue eyes stared Ull- sceingly over towards the sunset. Presently the words came. “It was about five years ago,’ he said, "that 1 met Mrs. Fitzger- ald at the Pagan D,lk bungalow. You all know Pagan, I suppose: that strange city of the past with its thousand pagodas and palaces,

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\ • U DAT ZAUNG now inhabited only by snakes and scorpions. The government have cleared the roads, and one can walk amid the ruins and mar vel at the royal whims which could build such a city in the jungle and then leave it to decay. "She was a little, bird-like old lady, with bright, silvery hair and a face like a ruddy winter apple, and at the dinner table she plied me ceaselessly with questions about the forest, I had to aban- don my first conclusion that she the ruins when she asked m; point blank for instructions how to get to Parakh. " ‘But you’re never going there?’ I said, surprised. ‘Why it’s right in the heart of the jun- gle, and there's nothing but a timber camp when you get there ‘ “ ‘I know,' she said, 'but I must go. My son is there.' " 'Aren't you mistaken?' I ask- ed. ‘The only white man there was Fitzgerald, of Steel's forest, and he's gone now. because the camp's closed down.' "I saw her turn pale: then she forced a smile and looked me straight in the eyes, " 'He's my son — and he's still there: that's why I've come out. I'm going to take him home,' she said. "The thought of the brave little old lady 'going all that way through the jungle alone was too much for me. I said: " 'Perhaps I can see you there? I'm going to Parakh, too.' "The look she gave me was thanks enough, without what she "Later that night I heard her story; a long one, starting with young Fitzgerald's boyhood: all his early escapades and. the prises he won at school: how keen he was on adventure stories set ill the tropics; how interested in the jungle. "Then he had got his chance: a job with Steel's in their Forest Department. He worked well for the first three years and got his second contract — was put in charge of Parakh. All this time he was writing every week to his mother in England, long letters, describing his life. He spoke of the U Day Zaung, too, jokingly. "Suddenly the letters stopped. The little mother got anxious When she'd heard nothing for the best part of a month she cabl- ed the firm. They were very de- cent: set the wires working and cabled her back that her son was alive and well. They didn't tell her till afterwards, when she came out, that he was ignoring the firm's letters, too: hadn't sent a report in for weeks. "They sent another fellow to investigate Fitzgerald, who was a biggish chap, gave him a dickens of a hiding and then chased him back with a shot-gun. Then he wrote a letter to the firm, chuck- ing up his job and telling them he didn't want to hear from them again. A Burman subordinate afterwards told the firm that there

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was some woman in a red iongyi mixed up with him, the Burman hadn't seen her, but he'd over- heard Fitzgerald talking to him' self about her. FITZGERALD GIVEN UP "The firm decided that he'd gone native and gave him up as a had job. Also they abandoned the camp. "Then Mrs. Fitzgerald came nut, paid a visit to the firm's Ran- goon office, and started up river for Pagan (which is the nearest township to Parakh) two days later. Which brings us, of course, to where I met her. "It was a rough journey from Pagan to Parakh, going through the jungle. Most of the way it's only an elephant track. So little Mrs. Fitz had to foot it with me along the dark forest trail. "I got to love that little woman before we'd been two days out, for she never grumbled, however hard the going. "What worried her was the thought of her boy having to live in such surroundings. I reminded her that he wasn't exactly deli- cate, but Mrs. Fritz refused to be comforted. “ 'He's got melancholia,' she declared, ‘and no wonder, in such “Well, eventually we got through, un the afternoon of the fourth day. and there was the camp and Fitzgerald's temporary bungalow, with a scared Looglay in charge, but Fitzgerald himself was nowhere to be seen. " 'Where’s your master?' I ask- ed the man. “ ‘Thakkin he is gone, as ever, to the jungle,’ he answered. “ 'For what?' I said. To shoot?" The Burman shook his head. “ Thakkin,’ he said, ‘he does not go to shoot, nor yet just to walk. 1 followed him one day and I saw him go to a little clearing where he sat down on a log. Then he started to talk in Burm- “ 'And what did he say?' I asked. •• ‘Thakkin, he was making love — and there was no one else there that I could see. I was afraid, so I ran home. Now the Thakkin is always talking like that — sometimes in English and sometimes when he is in that place in Burmese.' “ ‘What is your idea?’ I ques- tioned him. " 'I believe. Thakkin. that my master has fallen in love with a U Day Zaung— and. if so. she will take him away one day to live with her.' " 'What does the man say?' asked Mrs. Fitzgerald. "I decided to tell her the truth. " ‘It is a girl,' she said, when I had finished the translation. 'I have heard bad things about these Burmese girls — how they give men drugs that drive them mad. Thank God, I have come in time. Ask the man to take me to the place where his master is.'

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U DAY ZAUNG "I gave tlie necessary order and the Looglay led off along a well- worn footpath. Mrs. Fitzgerald followed, and I brought up the EERIE SCENE "We walked about two miles through country as wild as any I've seen, and then suddenly we came to a little clearing. And there, just as the Looglay had said, was Fitzgerald, dirty, ragged, and unshaven, sitting on a log and jabbering away in Burmese as hard as he could go— to no one! "There was something so eerie about the whole thing that I just stood still where I was. The Loog- lay pulled up, too; but the old lady pushed forward. "She walked right up behind the sitting man and put her hand On his shoulder. “ 'Disk, my darling boy,' she said. “ I expected to see him jump a yard. Instead he took no notice: just carried on staring in front of him and talking as though to someone who might have been hidden from us by a clump of " 'You are my queen,' he said in Burmese, 'and I will be your king. We will rule over the ani- mals, and the spirits of this jun- gle: we will drink from golden cups and eat from ruby-studded plates’— and so on in the same "1 felt as if someone had put a piece of ice down my back: Sup- pose the fellow was dangerous — suppose he turned round on his mother, not knowing her? I tried to move to assist her, but my feet seemed rooted to the ground, just as in some horrid nightmare. The Burman beside me was trembling violently. "I looked at Mrs. Fitzgerald. She still had her hand on her son's shoulder, but she was star- ing too, in the same direction as her son. Suddenly she raised her right hand in the air and made the sign of the cross. Then she spoke again— but not to her son. “I took off my helmet. She was praying. \ that wonderful prayer. I don't think, somehow, that I've any right to remember it. But when she'd finished she held her hand out before her as if pointing at something, and she said:— ” 'Get thee behind me, Satan!' "As she uttered thfe words her son gave a violent start and a great shout. The Looglay beside me threw himself on the ground and momentarily distracted my attention. When I looked up again Mrs. Fitzgerald and her son were locked in each other's arms. "I pulled the Looglay up and made him come back with me to the bungalow. About half an hour later Fitzgerald and his mother came in. He looked ill and weak, but quite sane and nor- mal and eagerly agreed to accom- pany us back to civilization. As a

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UNCANNY TALES matter of fact tiic firm offered him his old job back, but his mother insisted on taking him back to England. 1 think she was right; the jungle's not for every "Before they sailed I had a talk with the old lady. She said: " ‘I was right; it was a girl, and she had bewitched him; but God is stronger than the powers of evil and she could not stand against my prayer. Do you know, site seemed simply to disappear vshen I said 'Get thee behind me, Tom took a pull at his whiskv and soda. U Tin Gyi leaned for- ward. "Did she," lie asked anxiously, "describe the girl?” “She did," he said. "She said the girl was fair of complexion, had long black hair hanging down her back and was dressed in a red silk longyi." LI Tin Gyi drew a deep breath. "Yes," he said. 'That is the, traditional description of the U Day Zaung!" "Very remarkable," said Par .— lilt, "but Greyburn saw nothing; he admits that the foliage might have prevented him. I agree with Mrs. Fitzgerald: it was a girl." "It was LI Day Zaung," said old U Tin Gyi obstinately.

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The Talking Heads by THOMAS P. KELLEY. Ame/icos Foremost Writer of Weird Tales 1. The Lady on the Liner On the West African Coast . -Sept. 9th or 10th, 195-1. OH COD! that it were all but a dream! If only I could arise to find that it had been some horrible night mare, and that now, safe in mv hotel room, 1 would shortly be dining with my Carol. I would shout with joy. I would fall on my knees with prayers of thanks for my safe deliverance. All is quiet within this great castle of death. No sound, no faintest whisper echoes through its age-old halls. From the loftiest turret to the deepest dungeon a tomb-like silence prevails. Even the squeals of the rats have ceas- ed. That, of course, is to be ex- pected. They have fed well! A glorious moon shines through the open window to light the in- terior of the ancient throneroom From without comes the coo! swish of the Atlantic. High over- head, and mysterious as the dark continent itself, are the burning desert stars. The very night that surrounds me teems with a weird Before me, in. a flood of lunar rays, lies Atma, the incompar- able, The scantily clad body of the love-maddened Princess makes a picture of beauty and passion, while that wondrous face, youthful and unchanged by the centuries, still holds the same Sensual charms that once aroused unholy desires in Thothmes, Pha- raoh of Egypt, thirty-four hun- dred years ago! How can I tell my story, how can 1 ever begin the narration of this tale? What words can de- scribe the indescribable, or relate that upon which I have looked during the past ten days? Sights unbelievable, unthinkable, scenes that were never meant for. the eyes of mortal man. No, I am not mad. This record is not the ravings of an imbecile. On the contrary, it is the authen- tic data of one who has passed through the most horrible experi- ence a relentless fate could or-

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UNCANNY TAL I will write my story — the ns it actually happened to me. Nothing omitted, you shall hear the age-old history of Karamour as he himself told it. When 1 have finished, I will seal my story in this old wine-bottle, cast it into the Atlantic and take the one course left: I will fire this hellish rendezvous of the ages! The destruction of these great portals alone can save an unsus- pecting world from an unthink- able horror. Carefully must I feed the flames till there can be no chance of failure: then, with the burning well under way, I will grasp the modern pistol of an ancient Pharaoh, breathe a short prayer to my maker, and send a heavy bullet crashing; into my tortured brain. It is not through fear that I take this step. Certainly nothing the future might hold could ever compare with the' terrors of the past. It is necessary to blot out, to erase those horrible memories. And now to my story. M Y NAME is Neil Bryant. twenty-seven years ago. No. need to weary you with the details of my early years; they were those of the average young American whose people were - fairly prosperous. Suffice to say that the death of my father, five years back, found me owner and manager of a well-established lumber concern. For live years 1 toiled in the yards and offices of my late sire, learning the business from experience and the wise counsel of an old employee. Then came that fatal vacation. Feeling the need of rest and a change, I booked passage for England. It had been my inten- tion to travel extensively, with later visits to Paris, Rome, and possibly Madrid, but these plans, alas! were never realized. It was the second day out from New York. Leaving the smoking- room en route to my cabin I had stepped into the path of a tall, willowy girl. "Pardon!" I ejaculated. For an instant two blue eyes looked at me quizzically; then the pretty face broke into a smile. "It is nothing," she laughed. "I am quite all right." "Thanks to a merciful provid- ence," I answered, eager to keep up a conversation with my fair shipmate. “I really should have been more careful." Still smiling, the girl continued her interrupted walk toward the dining-saloon, 1 watched her re- treating form approvingly, then beckoned a passing steward. “Who is that young lady?” I asked. “She is booked, sir, as Miss Carol Terry, of Southampton, England," answered the steward. I saw no more of the pretty blonde stranger that day, and though I lingered over my meal a good hour. I missed her com- pletely at dinner that evening.

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THE TALKING HEADS Later, 1 ventured for a stroll on deck, hoping for a chance meet- ing, but failure again was mine. Unexplainably disappointed, I lolled in a deck chair, watching the play of the moonlight on the water and smoking innumerable cigarettes. The next morning fate was more kind. Early, and quite un- expectedly, I came upon , her standing on deck at a point which was temporarily deserted. She was leaning against the rail look- ing far out to sea, and the richly appareled, well-modeled figure denoted wealth as well as youth. "Good morning, Miss Terry," I began, half expecting a startled exclamation or a look of ice. "En- soon? 1 had hardly hoped to find you such an early riser. And the salt air — tell me, do you find it remindful of Southampton?" "Why, yes. Mr. Bryant, de- lightfully so," came the dear, un- expected answer. She turned toward me, so cool and fresh in the morning sun- shine, smiling at my palpable be- wilderment. "How on earth did you know that?" I asked. - The girl gave a silvery laugh “Of course, I should ask the same question of you. However, it would really be quite needless, as I already know the answer. As to yourself, I fear your choice of a confidant was a rather poor "My confidant?" “The steward you questioned. He told me of your inquiry, and also who you were," "He has betrayed my trust, but I forgive him," I answered, lean- ing beside her. “Perhaps it was the best thing he could have done — at least we know each other "Only the names," "Of course," I agreed. "We really know nothing of each other, and I suppose that is im- portant.” The pretty face looked quit- “Well, yes," she admitted: "it does have its advantages." "Undoubtedly. One must, es; [facially a young lady, be careful of chance acquaintances. In such unchivalrous times as these, treachery and misrepresentation are everywhere. Of course, I could be a banker, a financier or a ridiculously wealthy prince traveling incognito. But again, and to put a strong dash of the drama into it, I might be a racket- eer: a bold heartless villain, who has eluded the American author- ities, and is now headed for Eng- land and new fields of plunder." "Oh, dear no! Surely nothing so horrible as that." "One can never tell. Tt is all quite possible. As for yourself: you might be — er — well, you could be rupted, with mock seriousness: "a clever jewel thief who beguiles men's hearts, while stealing their 35

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UNCANNY TALES treasures. Or perhaps a spy. Yes - that would he better and much more thrilling. A spy; a second Mata Hari in search of a victim.” We both laughed. “In that event, I am afraid you will find me uninteresting com- pany, Miss Terry. Unfortunately, I am not a general, have not been intrusted with any Government plans, nor do I know a single military secret." “Not even a small one?” "Not even a small one," I an- swered' dejectedly, "Also, I feat that my case is quite hopeless. But to put me in the role of vil- lain; In the event of my kid- napping you, who would pay the ransom, and what price should I The girl shrugged her graceful shoulders. "There is only one, I fear, and the amount would have to be a cut-rate. You know — depression, present wage scale, and all that sort of thing. No, I' am afraid, Mr. Bryant, that you would find me a very poor hostage." "I would be quite willing to "Then you must be a gambler - -no one else would possibly be so rash. Of course," she con- tinued, “ of course, you know we are being very silly." "Perhaps," I admitted, "but ;t really is lots of fun." The lovely blond girl looked far out over the tumbling waters “Tell me." she inquired, aftrr a slight pause, “do you make it a practice of asking the name of every strange girl you see?” For an instant, as the blue eyes looked qucstioningly at me, 1 di- rected a slight anxiety as well as "No," I confessed. "No. Miss Terry,.! do not. There arc times, I assure you, when I really am quite formal. I do hope you will forgive this awful breach ol etiquette— it must have been the voyage that caused it. This is my first trip, and I’ve heard that the sea air encourages quick' acquaint- "So it would appear. However, you were so caught in a mesh ol circumstances, I suppose I must forgive you. No doubt the sea has its faults as well as its charm." "And they arc not all bad ones," I replied. "This morning wind arouses a keen desire for breakfast.” "Its effects on me have been strikingly similar." Only for a moment I hesitated, “No doubt this is all very im- proper on my part. Miss Terry." I ventured, “but. if I were to be so bold as to ask you to breakfast with mc- "Perhaps,” waine the smiling answer, "perhaps with an equal boldness, I might accept." TdUS began my acquaintance with Carol Terry; ait ac- quaintance that was to last for too short a period, That morning breakfast aboard the great ocean monarch marked the 36

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THE TALKING HEADS beginning of a friendship with one who was soon to prove the bravest and sweetest girl I ever knew. Little did we realize, as I laughed and chatted with the golden girl on that bright June morning, how soon our mer- riment would give way to terror — that in a few days her viv- acious gaycty should turn to a black, nameless horror. Nor did she, poor child, have the faintest idea of her own ghastly future. Youth, sunlight and beauty, to- gether with our cheerful sur- roundings, made' all thoughts of tragedy very remote. The next few days passed un- eventfully. The great white ship plowed rapidly on without a pause. I spent practically all my time with Miss Terry. We whiled away the pleasant hours on board reading, talking or taking pictures with the girl's tiny camera. In the evening we danced or walked the deck. Siam T learned her history. Her father. Major Douglas Terry, late' of the British army, had recently died. Her mother, an Egyptian woman ol noble birth, had pass- ed away some years ago at Cairo, while Carol was still a baby. The girl had finished two years study of music in Berlin, and jyas now Jiving with her brother. Bob Terry, promising young architect, four years her senior, at South- ampton. We were sitting in our com- fortable deck chairs late one afternoon, watching the roll of the sea as it sparkled in the rays of a descending sun. The girl, usually so gay, for once was sil- ent. Lounged deeply in her chair, with long-lashed eyes half closed, she seemed lost in revery. What her thoughts were I could not guess, and yet that they were pleasant seemed obvious by the faint half-smile that played on her lips. My own mind was none too cheerful, for tomorrow we would land, and the end of the voyage would doubtless mean a termin- ation of our quickly formed friendship. It was not a pleasant thought. "Your stay in America was short," I remarked at length, “but six weeks. Docs that mean you do not like my country?" The girl turned slowly toward “On the contrary, I liked America very much. Its ways and customs were delightfully differ- ent. I enjoyed every moment of my visit. There is nothing I would have loved better than to have stayed a whole year, but 1 must get back to Bob. He's all I have now, and the poor darling is lost without me." "Sort of mothering the big brother?" The girl gave a pretty smile. "It's what every man needs. But seriously. Dad's death has drawn Bob and me very close. For the first six months following it we were constantly together. And how I had to coax him for

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UNCANNY TALES the trip! He's all alone, you know, and does not like to share me with anyone." "We all treasure that which we love,” I said. “He's a mighty lucky man having someone to worry over him. How fortunate- ly different from others! Take me for instance: I have no one; that is, barring an aunt in Brooklyn whom I have never seen." "No brothers or sisters?" "None," I replied. “I could leap over that railing there, and no one would really care." "Heavens, Neil!" she exclaimed, “Please don't do anything so "Perhaps it would be best not to," I agreed, laughing. “No doubt I would find it a weary swim to New York — and dinner ed my companion, glancing at her jeweled timepiece. "In this watch," she continued, “you behold an instrument that does more than tell me the hour. That shining case conceals a specimen of youthful skill as an engraver." “Indeed," I answered, interest- ed. “An accident in childhood," she explained. "We were child- ren, Bob and I, celebrating Queen Vic's birthday. Bob threw a tiny firecracker that landed on my wrist as it exploded. The re- sult was a painful and perman- ent impression." The girl unbuckled the silver dial and extended her arm. On the white wrist was a tiny blue black, semicircular mark. Scarce half an inch in length, the little brand resembled the clever work "Why, it appears like the letter C!" I remarked at length. "Yes. like a perfect letter C. And your first name is Carol, What an odd coincidence," I smiled, “branded with your own initial!" "So Bob said at the time," an- swered Carol, laifghing at the memory of the incident, “as he tried to convince Father that it was no mishap. Unfortunately for him, however, Dad thought differently." “The rest is easily imagined," I replied, “and it doubtless re- sulted in a trip to the woodshed for your unhappy brother. How- Even without your watch as a covering, I doubt if it could ever be noticed. So small that “ A gasp of consternation had escaped my lovely companion. "Look, Neil! That man there!" The girl's little hand, trembling with excitement, seized my arm, and her eyes swiftly signaled ahead, as her face changed to a sudden puzzled fear. AT THE exclamation I turn* ed, to behold a -tall man watching us intently. The observing stranger stood at the far end of the deck, and though a dozen passengers lolled be tween, I instantly knew that it 38

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THE TALKING HEADS was he to whom Carol referred. So swiftly had I wheeled about, there was no time for him to drop his eyes, and the gaze that had met me was a cruel, menacing one. For a moment he stood thus; then seeing himself observed and wheeled and walked rapidly I turned toward the girl in mild surprise. "And who is that fellow?" I asked. “He certainly shows re- markable interest in the affairs of She hesitated a moment before replying. “I do not know," she admitted, in a perplexed manner. "I really do not know, and yet I am sure I have seen that face before. It is strangely familiar. It could not be — oh, I only imagine it perhaps, but he certainly does appear sim- ilar to the man Lucy noticed around the house before I left." "Lucy?" I answered. “Oh, yes — that is your friend, the girl you visited while in America." Carol nodded. “She called my attention to it the day before my departure, stid that a man had passed the house several times. I looked from the window, but obtained only a fleeting glimpse of him. Then last night, as we danced, I suddenly beheld those same dark eyes upon me. but it seemed so trivial at the time, I made no comment to you “Then it's time thing about it now," I said, start- ing to rise. "You stay here, Carol, while I find that fellow and take him to the captain for question- ing." _ 1 had risen from the chair and started after the man, when the girl seized my hand. "No!" she protested hastily. “No, Neil — please don't! I may be wrong, you know. Perhaps he meant no harm. The poor fellow might have mistaken me for someorfe else. No, we must not borrow trouble. Please stay." "Why, of course," I answered, surprised at her determined man- ' ner. “Of course, if you wish it." My surrender pleased her. "I do. A false accusation would be terrible, and we have no real “No real proof, perhaps," I murmured, resuming my deck chair, "but he certainly did act in a suspicious manner. Why, that evil retreat was an open con- fession of guilt of some sort. I really think he should be found and an explanation demanded." The girl had now recovered her vivacity. “Oh, let us forget the whole silly thing, and talk of something pleasant," she broke in, laughing- ly. "Our minds have become as morbid as the grave. We must not destroy what remains of a perfect voyage with groundless ■ fears and worries." “But very little remains," I re- minded. "We dock tomorrow." "It could not last for ever.”

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UNCANNY TALES "Anil I suppose its ending means that I shall never see you again." Somehow my efforts to make the remark appear casual were not convincing. The girl’s lingers rested lightly on my arm. "I see no reason why it should," she replied softly. "Our past few days together have been pleasant ones, nor is my home a great way from your present des- tination. 1 will give you my card, and if you ever come to South- ampton " “You know I want to." “There will always he a wel- 2. The Devil's Ambassador MY STAY in London term- inated at length. I was ready to proceed on -to, Paris, but again fate intervened. Memories of a blue-eyed English girl were constantly before me Indeed, it was only since our part- ing that I had come to realize how much she really meant to me. It was then that 1 made the fatal decision that was to result ill such chaos. Paris could wait, I decided, but Carol Terry — never. And so it was, that acceding to my alluring reveries, I at length took train for Southampton. The evening of my arrival in the seaport town I had phoned Carol, who was plainly quite pleased, though not surprised, at hearing from me so soon. Again came that friendly voice of wel- come, and I was soon speeding towanl the comfortable brick bungalow, where I met her broth- er, Bob Terry, a tall, broad- shouldered, smiling young fellow, the sort of chap of which the world holds only too few. For a few minutes our talk had been general — of the events that were then occupying the attention of Great Britain, of the theatres, and lastly, .the renewal of our former brief acquaintance. Tile friendly atmosphere of the cosily furnished room, and the smiling faces of my companions, invited instant congeniality. “I am pleased you came to- night, Neil," Carol was saying presently. “Your visit is well tim- ed. There is an old friend of Father's, a Doctor Zola, calling, whom 1 want you to meet. He is an unusual man, a sort of soldier of fortune as well as a physician, who seemingly has travelled everywhere, and he's very inter- The girl looked smilingly at her brother, then back to me. "Incidentally you can save a rather awkward situation, that is, if you will agree to going to the “Of course," I had answered. "I would be delighted." ‘^Doctor Zola is a friendly man," she explained, "and the private yacht on which he is en- gaged has put into port for sever- al weeks. Last evening he called and invited Brother and me to 40

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' THE TALKING HEADS the theatre -an invitation that was promptly accepted. But now Bob finds he has to go over some drawings- — his usual excuse to es- cape anything distasteful to him; so I really do need someone to take his place." “My knowledge of opera is somewhat limited," 1 replied, smiling, "but if my presence alone can be of any help, you are sure- "It is settled, then," decided the girl. "You will come with us, and we will leave Mr. Bob to worry over his plans." Bob Terry, who had been listening quietly, now laughed in a good-natured manner. "It all suits me tip-top," he announced. "Confidentially, I had put in a dreadful twenty-four hours worrying over it, and when the additional charts came in at the office, I gave a whoop of joy. Much as 1 abhor work of anv kind, it is always preferable to the elite company of Doctor Zola." "Boh," protested Carol, "you “But it is the truth, dear," he persisted. "1 just can not warm up to rhe man. Oh, I know, he's gentlemanly, cultured and all that, and no doubt he was a great chum of the Governor's — though I never .heard his name mention- ed till five weeks ago when he first called and introduced him- self. I grant all that and a lot he's just too polite; too neat and mannerly to be real-" "That is hardly a fault," she reminded. "It becomes one when it is overdone," continued her brother "I honestly don't believe that Froggy ever said 'damn' in his life, either in English or French. He walks like a ballet dancer, and that greased hair — I know it was never mussed. What is that expression you Americans have," he continued, turning to me, "for someone who annoys you? Oh, 'He gets my goat'; that's the ex- pression." "Bob, Bob," spoke Carol, "you should not talk that way about the poor man - Dad would not like it. Don't mind him, Neil," she continued, "he's only trying to tease me. The doctor may be somewhat too sedate, perhaps, but then, gallantry should never be criticized. Besides, his stay in Southampton will be so short that we can surely afford to overlook a few little eccentricities." "You have not known him long?” I asked. _ “Scarcely a week. He called first while I was still in America. Through some old acquaintance of Dad's in Paris, he learned oqr whereabouts. Naturally, he wish- ed to see the children of the .lute friend he had known years before in Egypt. Bob says he appeared most anxious to meet me, and seemed much put out- at my ab- "Put out is hardly the word,"

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UNCANNY TALES spoke her brother. “Why. he worried more about you than I did. At least twice a week he would call, and continually it was the same thing: 'Where is Made- moiselle Terry?' ‘How soon do you expect the return of Made- moiselle Terry?' ‘Let us hope 1 — do not miss Mademoiselle Terry ' One would have thought you were his long-lost child." “He must be a unique char- acter," I laughed at length. "1 shall enjoy meeting him." "Then you will shortly have your pleasure," said Bob Terry, rising, “for it is doubtless he that I hear on the steps. I will let him in, dear," he turned to Carol, "while you make ready. It must be well past eight." Thirty seconds later I w.as be- ing introduced to a tall, immacul- ately dressed man. Doctor Etienne Zola, who must have been past sixty, carried his years with the vigor of a schoolboy. The trim mustache and beard denoted the professional man, while the still handsome face, admirable ease and sophisticated manner told ■■( culture and refinement. "This is Neil Bryant, Doctor — a friend of Carol's." spoke Terry by way of introduction. "They met aboard ship on the trip “Indeed!" exclaimed the phy- sician, grasping my hand impuls- ively. “Then you are to be con- gratulated, Monsieur. Those who have met the charming Mademoi- selle Terry should consider them- selves most fortunate." Bob Terry gave a soft whistle at this' exaggerated flattery which caused the sleek Frenchman to regard him quizzicaly for a mom- /'Ah, Monsieur Terry," he spoke at length with a puzzled half-smile, "always you will have your little joke. Oh. what a race, what a droll race, you English! Even your ways of humor are un- certain. It is strange that while but a few miles of water separate our countries, the ideas and man ners of your people and mine arc as far apart as the stars, a dis- tance that the nearness of centur- ies has not lessened. But come," he added earnestly, “you must hasten to dress. Monsieur; lb “Unfortunately, I shall be un- able to go with you tonight. Doc- tor," came the drawled answer; “an unexpected blueprint that must not be neglected has come from the office. However, that need not disarrange your plans. Mr. Bryant, I am sure, can be prevailed upon to go in my stead." Perhaps I only imagined a fleet- ing look of disappointment. “Of course, of course! Mon- sieur Bryant will please consider himself a thousand times wcl- FOG! Cold, damp, dismal fog. Swirling mists of whiteness that effectively hid the world of a few feet beyond, rose gloomily in the night, as though 4 2

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THE TALKING HEADS to mock our straining eyes with its blankets of concealment that floated before the window. Carol was speaking: "And do be careful, Neil. These horrible mists have caused innumerable accidents. There is no telling when they lift, and the strongest light penetrates only a few feet against them. Walking is bad enough, but to be dashing through a Southampton fog in some reck- lessly driven cab, is to court dis- aster. Perhaps” — the pretty face looked distrustfully at the silent clouds of moisture without — "per- haps you had better stay here to- The past nine days in the sea- port town had found me almost constantly in the company of Carol Terry. Theatres, clubs and motor rides had beefi the general routine, and now, after a night's review of "Grant's Merry Mak- ers," I had escorted the girl to her home, and was ready for my own departure. "Hardly as bad as all that," I smiled at my companion's un- easiness. "I imagine tomorrow's sun will find me still safe and un- harmed. However, if it will calm your fears any, 1 can dismiss the cab and walk to the hotel." "I do wish you would.” It was not until I had left the house and emerged into the steaming whiteness that I realized the full strength of the fog. Here a mist of obscurity prevailed. Houses showed only- as faint golden glimmers — pedestrians were heard but not seen. A damp, heavy smell arose from the side- walks, while out of the hazy blackness of the night came the melancholy wailing of a fog-horn in the harbor, and occasionally the purring swish of a passing vehicle. Paying the waiting driver at the curb, I made my slow way through the mists, recalling the girl's parting words: "Be at the docks before twelve, dear; we are going aboard the yacht to wish farewell to Doctor Zola. He sails Twice 1 had seen the French physician during the past week. Though our greeting on both oc- casions had been mutually friend- ly, I felt a strong dislike for the man, a vague suspicion in spite of his courteous manner and «oft words. Tomorrow he would sail. I suddenly became aware of soft-treading foot-steps behind The fog had so thickened, the feeble rays cast from the occasion- al lamp-post were almost useless. Alone in this gloomy world of mist 1 should have felt safe from any midnight prowler; but the cautious tread beyond the white- ness seemed unlike the honest walk of an ordinary traveler; so, halting beneath the faint glow of a corner globe, I awaited my un- For a moment the foot-steps grew forebodingly louder, and then several things happened simultaneously. A command was

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UNCANNY TALES shouted out in French, there was a sound of running feet, and out of the night, with the agility of a panther, sprang a tall dark man; a thin-lipped, powerful assailant, whose uplifted knife, gleaming cruel and sharp in the moisture, told plainly his inten- For an instant the searching eyes from the fog paused in sur- prise at my preparedness; then, with the wailing yell of a savage, the swarthy assassin bounded forward. As he sprang upon me, my left hand shot out and caught the descending wrist, while my right arm swung around his waist. For a moment we stood locked and swaying in a deadly embrace, he trying to bury his shining knife in my body, and 1 trying to dis- arm him and crash my right fist into his chin. Though the wiry murderer was muscled like a Trojan, my athletic training came to my aid. At length, after several attempts, I succeeded in tripping him. We crashed to the pavement, to con- tinue our silent struggle on its wet bricks. The fight grew des- perate. I could hear the laboring gasps of my attacker. The face that looked into mine was human, but the eyes were not; they burn- ed with a weird, sea-green, un- earthly stare. And then, as we wrestled .and strained in the mists, out from the blackness be- yond came the sharp trill of a police whistle. During the fall to the pave- ment the man's hold on the knife had loosened, and with a loud clatter it had fallen on the bricks. A repeated whistle told of ap- proaching succor. Its shrill warn- ing spurred him on to a supreme effort. Frantic to avoid capture, with a heave he rolled himself from beneath me, and then gi"- ing a fearful wrench succeeded in ‘pulling away from my weakening grasp. Hurrying foot-steps sounded near by. Stopping only to kick viciously at my upturned face, the stranger lied into the night. An instant later the great form of a blue-coated “Bobby" broke through the fog. Bruised and shaken, 1 rose slowly, denying to the inquiring officer the identity or knowledge of reason as to the attack, but I had recognized the man. Once during that brief struggle the face had been outlined clearly enough for me to realize what f vaguely suspected, and I knew that the stranger from the mists and the unknown watcher on the ocean liner had been the same man. THE following noon I was driven to the great South- ampton docks, where a few inquiries soon found me the Star of Egypt, a trim little craft whose berth as private physician 'to its wealthy owner was held by Etienne Zola. Earlier that morning Carol Terry had phoned to remind me

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THE TALKING HEADS £ of I lie appointment at the yacht. £ That she had heard nothing of ■ last night's occurrence was evid- £ ent, nor did I mention it. know- t mg that it would only distress si *’er- •- • On deck 1 found the French 5 physician himself and seven or £■' eight dark, rough-looking fellows; * the latter hard at work grooming F the tiny vessel and making her jT readv for sea. He greeted me t pleasantly .and led me down to "his cabin where sat the ship's h commander. Captain Barakotf, a tall, black-bearded Russian, who » nodded in a cold, disinterested "Monsieur Bryant,” explained >; Zola, "is a friend of Mademoi- selle Terry and her brother who » will be aboard shortly. A wel- E- come guest, though his coming is E' unexpected." The physician smil- B, ed pleasantly. The splendors of the large E quarters were extraordinary. That was evidenced by the room, t which was newly fitted with velvet . ' and gold in a manner that would f. become the yacht of an emperor. On board the ship I had notic- i ed the rising clouds of smoke, and other indications of an immediate F preparedness for sea. "You will be sailing shortly, ‘ Captain?" I asked presently, dui- jf ing a lull in conversation. "Within the hour, Mr. Bryant, Ei within the hour. We are bound fc- for Rio — that Eden of the South, i where tropical nightingales sing in the twilight. You have been there, perhaps? No? Ah, well, in that respect you Americans are somewhat like the French — poor "Softly, mon capitainr, softly," answered Zola in a querulous voice, leaning forward in his chair. "As history will tell you, it was but a short century ago that a certain little man led the armies of my country into nearly every capital in Europe. Moscow, I believe, was paid its visit, de- spite several efforts on the part of your own people to halt their uninvited guests. Cairo, Berlin, Venice — to all of them he render- ed social obligations. It will be a bad day fo^ the world when the French start traveling again, I "Ah, . I a t the o who will hold an anee. Open yon cabinet and you will find me ready to drink a toast to your beloved France with your own sparkling wines, the Bourbon of America, or strong Russian vodka." Doctor Zola rose with a faint "To the success of our voyage would be a toast more appropriate "As you will," said the Russian drink, the reason matters little. But what-about you, Mr. Bryant? Is your patriotism to America equally loyal and fervent?" as

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UNCANNY TALKS Whatever answer I might have given to the question was never uttered. A high-pitched voice suddenly sounded above us. The next instant running footsteps came flying down the corridor, and a tall man burst excitedly in- to the cabin. "They are here!" he cried. "They are here!" He stood on the costly rug, panting and unable to find words. Then again he broke out: "Even now, oh master, the fair one and her brother mount the gangplank. They " and then as the man’s eyes fell upon me, his face went livid. "You!" he gasped. Doctor Zola looked at the new- comer in anger. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "It means," I answered, spring- ing to my feet, “it means that this man is an attempted murderer. Last night during the fog he sprang upon me " "Ten thousand hells!” shrieked Zola, and the man cringed before the rage of his flashing eyes. “So you have allowed yourself to be recognized as well as to miser- ably fail in your sacred sworn duty! You have handled your mis- sion like a blundering fool!” “Stay where you are. Mon- sieur!" he ordered, wheeling quickly toward me, as a small automatic appeared in his hand. "Stay where you are as you value your life. One shout, one single move — and you die!" Dazed at this turn of events, I raised my hands as I gazed in speechless wonderment at the Frenchman. "But the girl, oh master; the girb and her brother — even now they are asking for you. What will I tell them? What are we to do?" Doctor Zola stared mutely at his inquirer. For once his nimble wits had deserted him. The man seemed bewildered, uncertain. He cast a worried glance overhead. "Sapristi!” wailed Barakoif. “Is this muddling American to thwart our plans at the last minute? Must the schemings of countless centuries be made futile by the curiosity of one man?" "No, nothing will stop us. The commands of Karamour must be obeyed though the heavens fall!" The physician was talking in an earnest, assured tone. "Here, Captain, take this gun and keep him covered while Ab- dul binds and gags him. I must present myself to the Terrys above and prevent any suspicion. Do not be afraid to shoot if neces- sary. Too much is at stake to be halted by a little bloodshed.” With a brief order to the watching lackey, Zola hurried from the room. Overhead, I knew the unsus- pecting Carol and Bob were de- stined to meet some unknown, perhaps horrible fate. And here stood I, the only one who could possibly warn them, as powerless as though I were on some distant

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THE TALKING HEADS planet. The tall Abdul had pro- cured a stout rope and was mov- ing toward me< The ready auto- matic pointed at my head, and to resist him would mean instant de- struction. Yet I could not submit to the swarthy assassin and relin- quish the one chance of aiding my friends. Perhaps "Don't do it, Bryant!" snarled Barakoff, guessing my intentions. “Don't try shouting out a warn- ing to them above. It will mean your death, and the glib Doctor Zola can quickly explain it as the meaningless yell of a rum -be- fuddled sailor. Be silent, man. Be silent and sensible — it's your only hope! Turn around," he continu- ed. "Turn around and face the wall. Hurry! There now — raise your hands — higher!" Helpless, I turned my back to- ward the grim Russian. Softly a quick whisper. There was a brief, terrible silence. Then a body moved suddenly. An. agoniz- ing pain shot through my head, the room spun crazily around, horrible red waves sprang before my eyes, and I sank to a dark oblivion. 3. Shanghaied. IT WAS, as I afterward learn- ed, some two hours later when I regained conscious- throbbing pain in my head. The room appeared unsteady, while my eyes seemed almost too weak to lift the lids. Gradually I be- came aware that I lay on a hard bunk in a tiny cabin-like room. The dull rumbling of machinery sounded far and distant. Minutes passed. At length, with a low groan, I sat up. Slow- ly my eyes traveled around the bleak interior of the chamber. It was then that I first noticed the small port-hole on the far side of the room. Beyond was a patch of blue sky. Instantly my haziness cleared, and leaping from the cot I sprang toward the tiny opening, my heart heavy with dread. One brief glance confirmed my sus- picion. As far as the eyes could see was naught but a tumbling waste of water. We were at sea! Dazed by the discovery, I'glanc- ed around the chamber for some quick means of escape. The only exit, other than the port-hole, was a small oak door which prov- ed, upon examination, to be sec- urely locked on the outside. The contents of the room were few. A chair, a small table, together with a cot, comprised the simple furniture, while a tiny closet, evidently a clothes-press, was The port-hole could be dismis- sed as useless, its tiny opening be- ing much too small to permit es- cape. I could, of course, wrench a leg from the table and try my luck at battering in the door, but this would surely cause an im- mediate investigation from with- out. There must be another way. I thought of several wild plans, 47

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'NCANNY TAI,F,S lilt other when the question was decided for me in a simple but unexpected manner. Heavy foot-steps sounded in the corridor without. The door of the cabin was suddenly flung back, and following a gigantic Negro who bore a tray of dishes, there entered the one person in all the world I desired most to see — Doctor Etienne Zola'. Standing languidly in the small doorway, the sleek Frenchman appeared 5s a framed vision of satanic evil. A nasty smile lit the malevolent features, "Ah, Monsieur Bryant," he be- ■gan, “how often will a considerate fate throw us together? First at the home of the charming ma- demoiselle. Again, on the South- ampton streets, and how I find 1 am to be honored with the un- expected pleasure of your com- pany on this voyage. Wallah! Is it not perfect? The crew too (thoughtful fellows all of them) have risen to the spirit of the ing preparations for your enter- tainment. Mon Dicu! What could possibly be more touching than — ” “Cut it!" I snapped, rising to my feet. 'That cheap line of yours is neither funny nor helpful. Just what is this all about, and why am I here? And Carol — what has become of her? Where is Miss Terra-, and her brother?" The physician gave a mirthless laugh and seated himself on the "Oh, Monsieur, but you are impatient! Here, thinking only of your comfort, I bring you a splen- did dinner, and you say nothing — not even a mere 'inerci.' Come, come, you must be different. Have the goodness to wait and I will explain everything — that is, every thing 1 think you should know." At a quick gesture from Zola, the huge black set his tray upon the tiny table; then leaning re- signedly against the wall, he con- tinued to stare at me in a stupid, Doctor Zola extended his cigar- ette case toward me. “No?" he remarked, as I shook my head. "Then later, perhaps; they are an excellent blend.” He seemed master of the situa- tion, this sleek Frenchman. The suave manner was almost admir able. Here was one who could not be easily bullied or frighten- ed. Comfortably seated on the tiny chair and slowly puffing a cigarette, one might have imagin- ed that he had not a care in the world. "You have not answered my questions," T reminded. "Of course, of course. Mon- sieur." he replied breezily. "A thousand pardons for the inatten- tion. My mind had inexcusably wandered elsewhere, but I am now yours to command. How- ever." he added with a sly smile, “pray do not be too inquisitive, as your curiosity might cause me_ to 'commit an indiscretion.” "Where is Carol Terry?” "Mademoiselle, as well as her

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■ THE TALKING HEADS brother, is aboard the yacht. Neither has been harmed or mo- lested. Both are safe, and will continue to be so during our long voyage. That much, for the peace of your mind, I truthfully tell you. It is quite needless to worry over their welfare." "What about myself?" Doctor Zola looked meditative. “That is somewhat difficult to say. Monsieur," he answered slow- ly. "Your position is decidedly awkward, like that of the unin- vited guest. You see, he does not expect you." "He?" “The one who made this all possible — tlie powerful ruler whom I serve. Your coming will be a surprise to him. Let us hope that it is a pleasant one. Your fate would not be easy should it prove otherwise." ''Be' more explicit, Doctor Zola. It is quite obvious that we have been shanghaied. What 1 wish to know is why it happened, and what you intend doing with us." "As you wish, Monsieur," he answered with a shrug. ''Briefly, it is like this: 1 was sent for the sole purpose of bringing Ma- demoiselle Terry and her brother to him. The reason, I do not care to divulge. For weeks I was forc- ed to wait while the fair one Visited in America, but my pur- pose was not to be denied. Un- fortunately for you, when 1 laid my plans to entice them aboard, you came also, in spite of my trying so hard to have it other- voyage, Monsieur, and 1 hope it will lie a peaceful one. The handling of this yacht with our limited crew will be in itself a difficult task, and one that can stand for no interruption. Thus, your position is made quite plain. Be sensible, cause no trouble or disturbance, and you will be well treated. On the other hand, any rebellious or unruly conduct, and you shall be severely punished. .There now, 1 think that just about takes in everything.” "Not quite," I answered. "There are still a few more things I would like made dear. First, just where is the destination of this so-called long voyage?" "That 1 must not tell you." "Then, as to our fate when we get there," I demanded im- patiently. "You can surely tell me that." "1 can. Monsieur," came his cheery answer. "Doubtlessly 1 could tell you many things you wish to know, if I but chose. However " A defiant snap of his Iqng fingers finished the sent- "Listen, Zola," 1 warned, lean- ing forward, "if any harm comes to Carol Terry, I will kill you. If you or anyone else so much "Don't do anything rash, Mon- ■19

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UNCANNY TALES sieur Bryant," he hissed, "Don't do anything you may later have cause to regret. One word from me, and Zena will break you! He has the strength of a gorilla and obeys me implicitly.” One had only to look at the giant to realize the truth of that statement. Never had I seen such an enormous man. Standing near- ly seven feet in height, and weigh- ing well over three hundred pounds, he resembled a huge tow- er. Great, rolling muscles played on his massive neck and chest, while the arms and legs, long and powerful, were swollen with thick, heavy sinew. "There now," purred Zola, "I knew you would be sensible — it is the only way." A taunting smile lit his thin face. "But come," he continued, rising, "I am afraid this enjoyable chat is causing me to neglect important duties else- where. Be of good cheer though, you will be seeing me quite fre- quently, and in the meanwhile I shall have some reading-matter sent to you. Au revoir, then, for a short time. Come, Zena." At the doorway he paused. “One last bit of advice. Mon- sieur: do not attempt to speak with Zena, for you will find it useless. The poor fellow is a hor- rible example of the treatment to talkative slaves in the distant past. Balkis, Queen of Sheba, had his tongue cut out over three thousand years ago when he told of a witnessed intimacy between her and Solomon!” T-fE afternoon dragged slow- ly by, each hour seemingly a century. The awful un- certainty as to the future was enough to try the strongest nerves. Amid the creaking of timbers and splashing of the waves, the little ship plowed its way toward At sundown the giant Zena came again with food and drink, Wordless, as before, the black set the tray upon the table, retrieving the one he had left there. Of course, 1 had not believed the wild tale Zola told about him. It had been related solely to add a spice of horror to the dark mys- During the next five days the great black was my only visitor. Twice daily, at noon and again at sundown, he would make his speechless entrance. At first I had bombarded him with questions, but to no avail. Always his an- swer was the same: a dull stare, and a slow shaking of the mas- sive head. At length, realising the .helplessness, I had dgsisted, so that now my manner had become as silent as his own. My indifference had in no way lessened his vigilance. No matter how brief his stay, the black Her- cules always managed to keep his mighty form between me and the doorway. It was evident that he neither liked nor trusted me. Never for an instant would his eyes leave mine, and the glare was always hostile. 60

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During the past forty-eight hours there had been a steady rise in temperature, so that now — the end of our fifth day at sea— the heat within the stuffy little cabin was alipost unbearable. The slight breeze that reached me from the port-hole was hot and sultry. It was evident that we were being taken far to the south. It was quite late that night be- fore I turned off the single little bulb that gave light to the cabin and sought my berth. I had scarce- ly closed my eyes when a strong hand was shaking my shoulder, and a quick command of warning hissed into my ears. “Quiet, matey! For God's sake Where I lay it was dark as Erebus. Vainly my eyes tried to penetrate the blackness. A strain- ed breathing was just above me, and I could feel the animal warmth of a hovering body. Noiselessly I pushed my hand forward till it came in contact with a human face. "Who are you?" I whispered. "A friend, matey, a friend!" came the tremulous voice from the dark. “Just keep your words lowered and everything will be all right. Tell me, first of all, who are you, and how did you get here? Be quick about it though— aboard this yacht to meet some friends who knew Doctor Zola. While awaiting their arrival I accidentally learned of a plot to abduct them. To keep me silent, I was _ slugged and put here. I don't know what happened to 'my The man gave a soft whistle. "So that's the way it is, eh? Get you aboard, then dish out the old k.o. I knew there was some- thing rotten in Denmark right from the start, but I just couldn't make it all out. So they shang- haied you," and then suddenly: "Do you know why?" "No more than you do," I an- swered truthfully. For a moment there was silence as he meditated my answer. "Oh, I knew we shouldn't have sighed on — but what else was there to do? Harry and me (that's my matey, Harry Tompkins) — we are both broke and have to get a berth somewhere, so we joins on here an hour before sail- ing. You know how it is with the pocketbook empty — you'll take anything. Well, we signs on, but it's not till we get aboard that I notice the crew’s all Arabs, ex- cepting Zola, the captain add the "How did you know about me?" I asked. “That wasn't hard. I noticed the big fellow was always luggin' grub into the lower cabin. The fact that I never seen or heard anyone, led me to -believe they were holding somebody a prison- er. I told Harry about it yester- day, but he said for me to mind my own business and be glad it wasn't one of us. That did seem 61

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UNCANNY TALES rr.e best thing to do. hut now, after what Harry heard, it looks like the jig is up for all of us." ' “What was that?” “Plenty!" answered the sailor. "Early this evening Harry is doin' some deck work when he heard Captain Barakoff talkin’ to the doctor. The old boy is cellin' the Frenchy he didn’t want to hire any new hands, but being a few seamen short, was forced to.. He . said he did not trust the two newcomers, and wondered what he should do with us after they landed. Then Doctor Zola laughs like the very devil, and says there is only one thing to do with sail- they are talkin' in French and figured that no one could under- stand them, but Harry, who's been up and down these waters since he was a nipper of ten, speaks their lingo fairly well, and savvies the whole business. "Tonight, when I gets off duty. Harry tells me all he heard. 'Wc are gonners,' he says. 'We are gonners, Jeff' (that's me — Jeff Adams), ‘if we don't make a break for it.' But I tells him to wait — I'll sneak in and see the prisoner they have and find out if he wants to string in with us. So 1 stays up tonight till Zena turns in. Then I sneaks the key — and here I am." , There was something pleasing about this voice from the Jark ness -something that inspired faith and confidence. At first I had been dubious, wary of some kind of a (rap. but the tones hav- ing banished skepticism, I now- felt for his hand and squeezed it warmly. "You can count on me to the last, Jeff, although it does look pretty hopeless. The Lord alone knows how far we are from the nearest land." "Not a great way. Not a great way, matey," came the soft assur- ing answer. “Around midnight- tomorrow, or shortly after, according to Harry's calculations, we should pass the Cape Blancn light. If so, the rest is easy. First, wc will overcome the pilot; then Harry will steer us in while yon and I keep the crew covered. After all, there is only twelve of them, and if we take 'em by sur- prise, three well-armed men should be able-to turn the trick." "The plan sounds good, Jeff, and I am all for it," I agreed, "but where can we possibly hope to get guns on this yacht?" The sailor gave a gasp of sur- "Get guns!" he ejaculated "Where can we hope to get guns? Then — then you don't know? Why. man, this ship is a floating arsenal! There’s over five thousand rifles and half a million rounds of ammunition aboard “Maybe they're a bunch of gun runners," he continued; "heard there was a gang of them operating somewhere on the West Coast between Rio de Oro and Guinea Gulf. But I have to hurry

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THE TALKING HEADS back. They mustn't wake up and j- find me gone. Once they saw my ■ empty bunk, a search would fob s low, and that would mean dis- is covery. Good-bye for now. I will come for you tomorrow at mid- night, or as soon after as we sight Cape Blanco light. It is our only chance. We will make that Afric- S an coast or die trying. Keep • " awake and ready!" 4. A Break for Liberty The following day passed l with a dull monotony, brok- en only by the brief visits of Zena. I had expected this, of j course, and scrutinised the black r- face closely for some sign that if might betray his knowledge of b. my midnight caller, but none »• came. Apparently, the giant knew | nothing. This was comforting, to t be sure, while not altogether con- i' vincing. The calm serenity did R. not necessarily mean ignorance L on the part of the others. The C ship's crew might be well aware of the plot, and fully prepared, but waiting for us to exercise it. F There was a possible one B chance in a hundred thousand for P the success of the venture. The S' main difficulty was its countless ■jangles. The whole plan com- r prised a series of smaller enter- f,. prises, each in itself a dangerous b one. I strongly questioned the S ability of Jeff Adams to smuggle B three guns from under the very K eyes of the Arabs. Concealing the Ec weapons till nightfall would be RSnother problem. Then the pro- bability of the three nt us suh duing twelve swarthy sailors was in itself a remote one. No need for any false delusion— the odds against us were enormous. But at least there was a fighting chance. Night came slowly on. The sun, large and golden, sank low- er in the sea to presently disap- pear with that quickness so -com- mon in the tropics. As on other evenings, I could hear the soft singing of the Arab crew, who, with their day's toil, completed, were wont to gather in the quiet hour of dusk and croon their plaintive songs to the stars. At length quietness pre- vailed upon the vessel. It was well past eleven before I put out the cabin bulb. I stood beside the port-hole, fully dressed, to begin my weary vigil. Shall I ever forget that dread- ful wait? Lonely the hours crept slowly by. Twelve — twelve-thirty — then one. Within the tiny room was a death-like stillness, broken only by the faint rumbling of the ship's engines. The uncertainty of the lonely watch was maddening. Two o'clock came, as did three, with but blackness on the horii- on. Had the Englishman erred in" his judgment? Did I look for a light that would never come? The tiny hands on my wrist watch, made clear by the moon rays through the port-hole, showed the hour to be some minutes after four. Already the first streaks of gray were whitening the east. -In half an hour it would be dawn.

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UNCANNY TALES My long hours of waiting appear- ed to have been useless, when, lo, a golden twinkling suddenly shone out in the east. Cape Blanco light! There it was, out over the dark rolling waters, my star of hope. "With a deep sigh of relief, I turned from the port-hole that had so long been my station. The momentous hour was now at hand. It only re- mained for my fellow-plotters to join me; but even as I thought fhis, the small door quietly open- ed and a figure entered cautiously, as a scarce audible murmur pro- nounced my name. Instantly I recognised the fam- "Right here, Jett,'' I whispered. "Good!" came the tense reply, and I felt the hard outlines of a revolver thrust into my hand. "Now listen carefully, matey, here's the lay of the land. Harry First, we will sneak up to the pilot-house and Overpower the steersman. The guard has gone below for coffee. It will be an easy matter to nab him when he comes back. Then, while Harry turns east and steers in, you and I will go below, wake and tie up the crew one by one. You just keep 'em covered, and let me do the hitchin'. After that we can go to the upper cabin and put the skids under Zola and the cap- tain. Harry will have us pretty well in by then, and the rest won’t be hard." “But my friends?" "We had better leave 'em where they arc. They can't help us any, and it will be a lot safer in the cabins. No telling just how this thing is gonna turn out — might be some hot lead flying around. All set? Well"— Jeff Adams breathed deeply — “here's hoping for the best anyway. Let's go!” Steadily we crept from the cab- in that had so long been my prison. Down the narrow passage way I followed my guide, to emerge presently on the foul- smelling: quarters of the crew, Here a dim bulb cast its feeble rays on ten repulsive figures, the slumbering cutthroats of the Star of Egypt. Scarce daring to breathe, we began a careful tiptoe into the chamber. On all sides rose the subdued breathing that denotes slumber. The rumbling engines drowned the almost noiseless en- trance; yet, despite our most Her- culean efforts, would come the occasional squeaky tread that might well awaken a light sleep- er. Could we make it? Arabs have notoriously sharp ears, and their treatment of an intruder is swift and deadly. Further, ever further we are advancing into the apartment. Three-quarters of the room have been traversed. Only a few more steps now — and then a huge sailor from a near-by bunk murmured sleepily. 51

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the Talking heads WITH th,e agile bound of a tiger, Jeff Adams sprang quietly toward the dark seaman who might prove our ruin. For a long, nerve-racking moment, as we waited with prtunding . hearts and straining eyes, the muscular hands of my companion hovered but an inch above the swarthy throat of the sailor. Now the man gave an audible sigh as though in the throes of some bad dream. The eyes partly opened; then, slowly turning upon his side, he resumed his interrupted slumber, A mo- ment later there came once more the sound of regular breathing. ■ In the dark passageway beyond, we crossed a tiny intersecting corridor, coming at length to a narrow stairway up which, on cupelling another door, we found ourselves out on a silent deck. Here a tall figure joined us, his revolver gleaming coldly in the "It's- Harry,” reassured Adams at my startled exclamation, and then: “How’s everything up here, matey-O. K.?” “Quiet as a bloomin' mill- pond," came the answering whis- per. “Onurb is at the wheel alone The other bloke is still below." Jeff Adams gave a soft exclam- ation of joy. "What could be sweeter? Boy, oh boy, if this luck only holds out we'll turn the trick in jig-time. Oh yes, here's that Bryant fellow, and he's with us to the end. You know what to do now, Harry," he continued, and as the other nodded: “Good! Come on then, and for God's sake be careful!” Crouched like escaped felons in the shadows of the deck, we made our quiet way toward the pilot-house. Despite the many dangers, 1 felt a strange thrill. This was life! Here was adven- ture! With ready revolvers we drew nearer to the doomed Arab Suddenly Jeff Adams, who was in the lead, motioned a quick halt. One look forward made his reason apparent. We had reach- ed the pilot-house. Through the open door 1 could see the intend- ed victim within; a broad, swar- thy Arab, steering lazily by the The tall Englishman crept for- ward with the stealth of a cat. At the door he grasped his revol ver by the barrel in club fashion, and had stepped quickly within, when the man, warned by some subtle sense, turned suddenly and faced him. A wild cry rang out to the night, a piercing yell of rage and fear. Muttering a curse, Harry sprang upon the man to club him into unconsciousness before his shouts could arogse the sleeping crew below, but again luck play- ed us false. With a desperation born of his great fear, the swarthy man grabbed the descending gun arm, and raising his own power- ful fist aloft, sent it crashing into the Englishman's unprotected jaw.

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- UNCANNY TALES Like ;i sack of meal the sailor dropped iti his tracks. With a leap I was in the pilot- house, stepping over the inert form at the doorway. The wild- eyed Arab, to whom everyone was now an enemy, sprang to meet me, and armed as I was, it would have been a simple matter to have stopped him: yet I could not bring myself to shoot down a defenseless man. Shifting quickly to the right, I evaded the out- stretched arms and met the on- rusiilng body with a left hook that sent him crashing into the frail wall, to fall dazed to the floor. At the same instant, lights flashed below as the awakened crew rushed out on deck. Jeff Adams gave a bitter laugh "The breaks seem to be going against us, Bryant," he announc- ed calmly, taking aim and firing into the little group. A howl of pain told he had scored a hit, and thert the startled crew, realizing we had already gained control of the pilot-house, rushed madly to the stairs. Up the steps they came, a cursing, yelling band of cutthroats, some drawing knives, a few with guns, while the leader, a surly brute of a man with a huge bludgeon, made straight for Adams. The fallen steersman had now staggered to his feet, and with a loud yell, rushed fearlessly upon me. This time he closed in, and despite my desperate efforts to club him, succeeded in grappling me in a fierce embrace. Around the small room We wrestled as I sought to free my arm for the brief instant it would take to crash home the revolver. Out on deck the din was ter- rible— shouts and curses, to- gether with the loud reports of • roaring guns, split the early dawn; while high above all could be heard the horrible shriek of one in mortal agony. At last I succeeded in freeing myself from the grasp of the clinging Arab. Shoving him forc- ibly from me and raising my heavy revolver, I brought its butt end down into the man's face, ' breaking his nose as he fell to the floor in a crimson mass. Then two mighty hands seized my wrists in a vise-like grip, and I was held as though I were but a child, while a black stupid face looked curiously into mine. And now, as the din suddenly ceased, a commanding voice rang out) "Desist, you fools! Desist!" Pushed quickly' from the pilot- room by the, great Zena, I saw an appalling scene. Sprawled on the crimson-stained deck in a grotesque heap lay Jeff Adams, while near by, three blood- covered men were carefully bear- ing a silent figure below. Farther on stood the hastily dressed Zola and Captain Barakoff, grim and serious in that cold dawn. . "Monsieur Bryant soon forgot my warning." began Zola i voice that trembled with an„ "I assure you that not so quickly will you forget your punishment

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THE TALKING HEADS for this night's work. Its unique methods will doubtlessly remain for the short space of life that is still yours." I did not answer, being much too sickened by the woeful ter- mination of our rash venture This, then, punishment and death, was the end of our plans and schemings. What a terrible finis to a plot so hopefully begun! With a tired shrug I turned toward the cast that might have been our haven. A light blue sky rose from a dark blue sea. and far away at the point where thev met, lay the faint marks of a long black line. “Yes," spoke Barakoff. follow- ing my gaie, "it is indeed the African coast. I have no doubt that your learned English friend has already told you as much." Captain Barakoff looked ques- tioningly at the French physician. “It will he the last bit of in- formation he will ever give any- one." said Zola dryly. “Captain Barakoff. summon your crew." THE order was soon effected. A few minutes later, I, poor Jeff Adams and Harry, the English sailor, each gripped in (he strong arms of two muscular Arabs, were held before Doctor Zo|a as condemned prisoners might have stood before the dreaded inquisition. Adams, ghos; ■ ly in the morning light, could scarcely hold up. because of his wounds. Harry, too. looked bruis- ed and disheveled, while my own knuckles were burst and bleeding. Wc had tried, we had failed, and now like grim specters we stood awaiting the words that should 'Men of Karamour," shouted the garrulous Zola, getting that attention he so dearly loved, "you see once again the folly of rebel- lion—the utter futility of trying to thwart your Master. Prince Karamour must be served. To gain that which has been promised you in the life beyond, your minds, your bodies, your very souls must be given unquestion- ably to him. “You know this, and you obey. Yours, then, will be the paradise and glory. But these strange ones, these three unbelievers — they do not know, they do not obey. They would but scoff at the wis- dom of th» past, only jeer at the teachings of Anubis, Knowledge, then, is not for them, but they will not be denied punishment. They have sinned, and they must pay! The Lion-headed Sekhmet must have her just dues. We will try the courage of the modern Ones who worship only Bastrl, the ancient Goddess of Greed and Passion. Their bravado has been open— let us test it and sec how bravely they will face, the bright steel. Come, Zcna — the blade!" The black, who left the deck after handing me over to mv captors, had now reappeared. Naked but for a loincloth, the giant negro might well have passed for a walking statue of

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UNCANNY TALES Hercules. Across one brand shoulder rested a great, two-hand- ed sword such as had graced- countless scaffolds in the past. The grim appearance left no doubt as to his meaning. « I spoke the disgust I felt: ‘‘What are we supposed to do now, Zola — look frightened?" The remark appeared to amuse the Frenchman. “Still calm and heroic, Mon- sieur? Well, in this case I sup- pose jtou can afford to be, as it is only your companions who arc to suffer. Later, perhaps, after I have talked to the Master, will come your own turn. Meanwhile, you will pardon the discourtesy if I employ effective methods to silence you — your oratorical ef- forts are somewhat tiring." Doctor Zola spoke a few words to one of the Arabs, who, producing some cloth strippings, effectively gagged me. Then, se- curely held from behind, I could but mutely look on at the horrible scene so soon to be enacted. Barakaff and the French phy- . sician had gone into a short con- ference with much whispering and gestures. An agreement reached at last, the captain now turned to my unfortunate com- "Seamen Adams and Tomp- kins," he announced, "you are guilty of mutiny. An ancient rule commands that he who has pun- ished shall himself be punished in a like manner. It is the creed of Karamour, Seaman Abdulla, who was twice wounded in the recent skirmish, has lost the per- manent use of his right hand. It is, therefore, our just decree that you must suffer the same loss. That is all.” “Not quite, mon capitaine," drawled Zola in his languid man- ner. “You forgot to mention that we can have no use for disabled pletcly ignored my own kind in- tercession for the prisoners. Mon Dieu, how could you possibly be so thoughtless? However," he continued, with a wicked smile at the two unhappy wretches "perhaps it is best that I en- lighten them. Messieurs, you wish- ed to reach Cape Blanco. Ora ciously, I now grant you that de- sire, As soon as our just sentence has been duly carried out, you may proceed, unmolested, to the The two men, who had heard the dread sentence passed without a tremor, now showed fear for the first time. “God!" gasped Adams hoarsely, realizing the awful significance of the words, "you don't mean you're going to— to throw us overboard after it's done?" “Why not? Only a short swim for two stalwart sailors." laughed the Frenchman, pleased at the visible terror of the doomed men The two prisoners exchanged silent, fear-widened stares of hor- thc agonized plea of the English-

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- THE TALKING HEADS s too far. Gawd, sir, it's > far, and even if we could — the sharks!" he shrieked, “The alive with them!" I have heard, Monsieur — the creatures are quite numerous. They tell me too that the smell of blood attract?. them.” A wild shout from the Arab crew, who had been listening in eager anticipation, showed their cruel appreciation of the grim humor. Whatever further mercy the sailor might have begged was cut short by Adams. "Stow it, Harry!” he snapped. "Can't you see what a big kick that devil's gettin- out of your whining? There’s as much chance of mercy from him as a snowball has of goin' through hell! — Come on, fellow." he turned to the- waiting Zena, “let's get this over THAT which followed has been burned in my memory. Helpless, 1 watched the de- struction of my unfortunate com- panions. As Adams was dragged toward the negro, the tip of the rising sun rose up from the waters of the east, as though to lighten that awful tragedy on the spark ling blue. Slowly Zena raised the heavy blade, while three swarthy sail- ors, forcing poor Adams to his kness and grasping his right arm, held the wrist (irmly on a heavy wooden block that had been dragged forth for the purpose. thre: ningly t "Rem, : the the prisoner to his cell. If he re sists, bury your knives in hi: At the stairway I paused for ; “Watch closely. Monsieur Bryant," came a taunting voice. For a brief instant there was a pause while the heavens blush- ed at the sight: the watching Arabs, the smirking Zola and, towering above all, the mighty figure of the black swordsman. The great muscles tensed. There was a whirring of steel, a flash- ing light, and the hand was sever- Justicc having been administer- ed. the two guards hustled the unhappy Adams to the ship's rail- ing. A merciful unconsciousness had luckily claimed him, and he was blissfully unaware of the jibes that escorted him. There came a shout, a quick heave, and Jeff Adams was claimed by the clear waters of the Atlantic. The merciless crew had turned to Tompkins, and once again the horrid scene was enacted. When at last the Englishman had been tossed, still shrieking, to the Captain Barakoff wheeled yourself most fortunate that yours has not been a similar fate. Next time it shall not go so easy. Another attempt like this, and I will have you flogged." The bearded brute turned to his swarthy c

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UNCANNY TAI.ES last look seaward. The ship was rapidly drawing away from Tomp- kins (Adams had already sunk) who was now attempting the al- most impossible task of reaching the distant coast. Could he make it? Was it possible that he might still be saved? And even as I wondered and hoped for the poor, half-butchered devil, large black fins cut through the water, mak- ing rapidly for the struggling sailor. 5. The Castle of Gloom EARLY that evening a visitor came to my cabin: a tall, thick-sct man, with flaming dark eyes and bearded features, whose sharp voice rang like the angry-bark of a hound. The' in- trusion itself was unusual. Ex- cepting Zena, and the one brief visit from Doctor Zola, no one had entered this cheerless little room. So it was with some sur- prise that I now beheld the ship'.- grim commander. Captain Alexis Barakoff. Standing in the doorway, his giant shoulders turned sideways dial he might enter at all, the gifcat Russian regarded me with, a sinister sneer. “Perhaps you can guess why 1 am here?” he asked at length. "No, 1 cannot tell." "It should be to punish you," he snapped. "I only wish it were so. Quickly would 1 teach you the first law of the sea— subordin- ation; teach it in such a manner you would never forget." I made no reply -had not even -'jj deigned to look upon him after 5 the first brief glance of rccogni- 1-fl tion. This was not merely a show of bravado on my part. Somehow, Captain Barakoff could never in- "It may yet come," he con- tinued, his voice rising in anger at my apparent indifference. "Don't be deluded by any false hojes. The mercies of Karamour are seldom tendeij. Who knows but that some day mine may lie the hand to hold the knout that will lash the last breath of life from your quivering body; that to me. perhaps, shall the brave American whine for mercy." He gave a short laugh_ at the j thought. "Ah yes, the paths of the fut- ( | urc arc strange and baffling, while those of the present appear serene. . ’ However, it is of another matter ''jj that I come to sepak. You are to V; huld yourself in readiness for dis- -fj embarkment. In (wo hours we v] shall have landed, and you are to -ri be sent ashore." To disembark? to be sent A ashore? Then— the trip was over! £ Our mystery voyage at last had ended, and we were now at its i unknown destination. I turned to the commander. J "You say I am to be sent ashore .y Does this mean I shall be alone?" Captain Barakoff paused in his .V' "Then you do feel some inter- . • V est, eh?" he asked, with a nasty smile that showed the white teeth .5 60

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THE TALKING HEADS gleaming through his black beard. “Not so cool and indifferent after all. A little worried too. perhaps? Yes, 1 thought you would come around to it. But it is needless. You will have company — lots of it. Really. Mr. Bryant, that might prove to be the one grievous fault — too much company!" With the passing of the hours a dismal rain had set in. Soon would my anxiety be satisfied. Suddenly there came the rapid tinkling of a silvery bell, and then the engines ceased rumbling. Springing to the port-hole. I was trying to * pierce the wet blackness without, when m y cabin door was again suddenly opened. This time the intruder was Zena, and acting on the im- patient gesture of the giant black. I followed him down the small corridor and up the stairs to the deck. All was hustle and excitement. Running Arab sailors were scur- rying to obey the. loud oaths and yells of .Captain Barakoff, who roared his orders from the pilot- house above. The mist-drenched skins of the half-naked sailors glowed like dull bronze in the feeble deck lights. Just beneath the bearded com- mander, the languid Zola leaned" lazily against the stairway. Now, on noticing me, a quick smile lighted his dark features and he pointed eastward. “Our destination!" he shouted. Following the gesture, I look- ed, and there, not a hundred yards away, was the blackness ot a high reaching coastline. Despite the gloom of the night, its rug- ged outline was plainly visible. But it was not the sight of this strange land alone that held mv stare. One cliff rose above the others, and high on top of this towering bluff was a mighty castle, its massive portals agleant with countless lights that shim- mered and sparkled through the ra'“Ncil!" I turned quickly at the sound of that dear voice. There, emerg- ing from the stairway, was Carol Terry, pale and frightened, with disheveled hair, and clothing, hut alive, thank God, alive! "You are safe!" she cried, Tun- ing quickly toward me. "Oh my darling, you are really safe!" Two slender arms encircled my neck, as her tremulous face look- "How 1 have hoped, how F have prayed that they would spare you! Doctor Zola had as- sured me that you were unharm- ed, but, of course! 1 could not believe him. I can hardly believe my own eyes even now. Oh my darling!" She put her head on my should- er and cried softly. "I have been quite safe, dear," I assured her, as I held her slen- der body closely, "safe and un- harmed. You must not trouble yourself with such needless wor- Gently she disengaged herself

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UNCANNY TALES from my arms, then slowly push- ing me from her and holding my hands in hers, spoke in a soft "God alone knows what these men will do, or what our own fate shall be. I realise, dear, that this is a time when a smiling face is needed more than a trembling chin, Forget my silly little cry. it will not be repeated, 1 promise." "I have never worried on that score, Carol," I answered, giving the tiny hands a squeeze of en- couragement, "My one hope is that I may be able to show one- half the courage I know you will." SILENTLY we stood on the rain-drenched deck, looking over the desolate waters to the great castle that loomed so high above us. A cold, penetrat- ing wind had risen, and the sway- ing branches of the trees at the bluff's edge seemed like ghastly arms, frantically waving us from this massive palace of gloom. Somewhere within that vast this mystery, the solution for all our queries. As to what future we might find within those frown- ing portals, I could only guess. Carol turned suddenly. "Bob! Where is Bob? Neil, we have for- gotten my brother." “But I have not. Mademoiselle." came an oily voice from behind. “Like Monsieur Bryant, he has been held somewhat against his will," continued Zola, "but in no way harmed or molested. I have. you will recall, mentioned that fact several times. Presently I shall have him freed and then one of the small boats can row 11s host waiting." Fifteen minutes later we had landed on the sandy beach, and were climbing a long series of winding stone steps that led to the top of the steep cliff. Doctor Zola headed the silent procession, followed by the great Zena. Be- hind them, in single file, came the liberated Bob, with Carol and me, while four Arab sailors brought up the rear. Reaching the top step, we emerged into a fairlyland of beauty. The dazzling loveliness of the scene almost baffled descrip- tion. To the wondering eyes of us threey strangers, it appeared un- real, as though we had been sud- denly transplanted to a distant world of dreams. Wordless, we could but stare at its unbelievable grandeur. Stately trees on a well-kept terrace glowed crimson and gold from the soft beams of oriental lanterns, while higher above, countless glass balls, gleaming blue, yellow and bright red, glit- tered from among the branches. Lights! Lights! Shimmering brightness everywhere. Numerous delicate streamers of pink and emerald bulbs twinkled through the dismal mists, clearly illumin- ating the spacious pathways that led to an elaborate marble foun-

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THE TALKING HEADS “It's lovely," gasped Carol. “So andrously lovely!" Before us, at a distance, rose e great castle itself, toward whose frowning portals we were now led. At the' massive entrance stood two armed sentinels — the first sight of habitation we had seen in this weirdly beautiful land. Our coming had been ex- pected. Quickly one of them swung open the mighty bronze en- graved door, and acting on a word from Zola, we followed him into the mysterious fortress. Down a long hallway of marble pillars we made our silent x joining at length to an enormous room of strange, barbaric beauty. Its golden cornices, its painted walls and ceilings, together with the costly rugs and tapestries, plainly showed xt to be the recep- tion hall of this towering palace Doctor Zola turned toward us. How insignificant, how small we must have appeared to his sar- donic eye, as we stood so help- less before him in those age-old halls of time. short while. You will await my return. Do not be so foolhardy cape during my absence,” he warned. "The result can only be disastrous." "It is all so puzzling. Neil." Carol exclaimed with a quizzical smile, after the physician had left us. “If only I could understand the meaning of it all!" "I do," spoke up the practical Bob, whom nothing could greatly frighten or surprise. “It means we have fallen into the hands of a balmy lot, who are trying to re-enact some scenes from- the Arabian Nights with us as the principal characters." “Let us hope it is nothing more serious^. than that," I said. "Dur- ing the past six days I have haz- arded a thousand guesses as to what it's all about, yet I am still as much puzzled regarding their stepped on board the Star of Egypt." Bob Terry nodded toward the four sailors, who were regarding us suspiciously. “Less than useless to question them, I suppose?" "Quite," I agreed. "Doubtless they themselves do not know, and if they did, hot irons could not force it from them. No, I am afraid we will have to wait till the powers that be choose to en- lighten us." “Then there is nothing we can do till that time comes," spoke Carol gently. “But it's comfort- ing to\know that my two men rc- for myself, no queen could have had more careful attention. The only loss was the misplacement of my wrist watch — misplaced, or She held up her wrist on which the tiny C mark showed plainly. "And now I have nothing to hide my identity." she smiled. '

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UNCANNY TALES “If we .ire fortunate enough to ever sec Southampton again, there will he another," I promised. “A gold one, a solid gold one." "Inlaid with diamonds as a special gift from me," put in Bob with boyish eagerness. Further conversation was cut short by the sudden appearance of Zola. For once the Frenchman had dropped his serenity. The dark face appeared harassed and excited, while the usually firm voice now spoke in a halting, un- certain manner. "You will follow — yes, you will come with me.” He paused to wipe his moist brow with a silken handkerchief, although the night was cool. “The Master will not see you till tomorrow — God alone knows why. Some word, some false rumor, perhaps, must have reached his ears. But you are to come with me. Rooms have been prepared for you." Up the grand staircase, then 'on through a pair of folding doors we followed the Frenchman, to halt at last in a long, broad cor- "You, Mademoiselle Terry, will occupy that chamber, your brother the adjoining one. Mon- sieur Bryant will have the good- ness to use the room at the far end of the hall? You may be assured as to your safety. For the next twenty-four hours at least, the halls of Kar, amour will be a luxurious haven. But again"— he raised a forbidding hand -"again let me warn you of the folly to escape. This passage as well as the grounds below will be patrol- led by native soldiers with orders to shoot on sight." "And this master of yours?” asked Bob. “We are to sec him tomorrow?" "Tomorrow night without fail." replied Zola. "The great honor is to be yours. Meanwhile, rest, and I will have fresh clothes supplied you. Your appearance must be only the best when meeting the ruler. A good sleep, with a hath and clean wearing apparel, should work wonders." Bidding good-night to the Ter- rys, and with promises of a quick reunion, I was taken to a spacious bedroom, where, despite the dark mystery and strangeness of my surroundings, I was soon lost til a deep slumber. EARLY morning sun rays, shining through the open window in golden splendor, awakened me. From without, mingled with the cool murmur of the sea. came the sharp clip of a gardener's shears. Lying in the great bed 1 leisurely inspected the surroundings of my room. Its grandeur was almost unbelievable. Large oriental paintings, so wo:i- drously real one might have pluck- ed at the colored fruits, adorned the marble walls in artistic design. Long fluttering draperies of silken softness dung from the window c

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Every Story Produced in Uncanny Tales Is the creation of a master in the art of relating weird and unusual happenings. THERE IS NO OTHER MAGAZINE LIKE IT ON THIS CONTINENT Reserve future issues NOW Fill out this Coupon and Mail Todayl ADAH PUBLISHING COMPANY, Suite 403 at 458 Spadlnn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario. I enoloae 51.80. FleaBe send me a year's creation of "Uncanny Tales’— 12 Issues, postpaid. I enclose *1.00. Please send me the next seven Issues, postpaid. ADDBESS CITY OB TOWN PBO VINCE

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Out of the night there comes a mist Which shrouds the things oi day And opens up a world to us Oi things that live a different way But do they live? Or are they just The fragments oi a mind fatigued By labors of an arduous day. — Red Purdy's introduction to "Out of the Night" IT IS AN ITEM of noteworthy interest that Thomas P. Kelley , foremost weird story writer, creator of the original stories far radio adaption in the famous " Out of The N'gbt," is the same Tommy Kelley once \nown as "Pride of Miami Beach" in the world of sports. Tommy Kelley, who almost slashed his way to the welterweight crown was boro in Canada, and lives in Toronto. He is a well built, husJjy young man and often amuses your editor by tearing ai pac\ of ploying cards while discussing the plot of another "hair raiser." Published monthly by Adorn Pa Toronto, Canada. All material i UNCANNY TALES