Weird Tales v06n05 [1925 11] (sas)

Page 1

Page 2

I have perfected an amazing new device practically all makes of cars, that is enabling auto owners all over the country to cut their gas- oline bills in half by doubling their mileage from gasoline used. Many cars with this device attached have made from 40 to 60 miles on a gallon. It also removes every particle of carbon from their motors, in- creases motor power and pep, eliminates all spark plug difficulties 5nd prevents overheating. Auto owners marvel at the new performance of their cars — the smoother running qualities, quicker pick-up and greater power to pull hills. This inexpensive little device works entirely automatically, is self-regulating and easily attached by anyone, without tapping or drilling, in five minutes. YOU Can Try It FREE WHAT USERS SAY 60 Miles Per Gallon “Tried a Wesco on a Ford and averaged 60 miles per gallon after removing the carbon.” BERNARD J. KOPP, North Carolina. Gets 50 Miles On a Gallon “Customers like Wescos fine. Have one myself on my old Overland and run 50 miles on a gallon.” H. J. KRAMER, Minnesota. Gets 44 Miles On a Gallon “Received the Wesco and made 44 miles on a gallon of gas.” DEWEY S. KAGG, Ohio. Made 35 Miles On 3 Quarts of Gas “I made 11 miles on a quart of gas on one test and 35 miles with three quarts of gas.” CHAS. LUETZEN, Wisconsin, 100% As Advertised “After I have given your Wesco the acid test I find it to be 100 per cent as you ad- vertised.” JAMES E. KARNES, Indiana. Drove 20 Miles On % Gallon of Gas “I tried the Wesco Gas-Saver. Drove 20 miles and only used % gallon of gas, and my car has more pep, runs like new and spark plugs do not dirty so fast.” FRANK A. CHEVAL, Nebraska. Gets 42 Miles on One Gallon — Would Not Take $50 for His “Wesco” “I am getting about 42 miles on a gallon regularly with Wesco. Wouldn’t take $50 for it.” A. KIMBALL, Ohio. I Even Pay You to Try It Yes, I want you to try my amazing new Wesco Device on your car at my risk. It has met with such remarkable success every- where in increasing mileage and cutting gaso- line cost in half or less, that I offer you a Free Trial of one on your car at no cost to you, guarantee you results and will even pay you for trying it out if results are unsatis- factory— you to be the sole judge. Read in this ad a few of the thousands of letters of praise I have received from delighted users saying it Saves % On Gas Bills Pays for Itself Every Few Days See for yourself what it will do — and before you really pay one penny for it. Attach one of my Wescos to your car, use it for ten days and if you are not convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that it has cut down your gas bill, if you are not delighted with- it in every way, if it hasn't carried out every claim I make for it, don’t pay one cent for it and I’ll pay you for trying it out. My Free Proof Offer enables you to try my Wesco on your own car at my risk — and will not cost you a penny. Such an amazing offer I would not make if I wasn’t absolutely confident of sat- isfactory results. There are no strings tied to this — I mean exactly what I say. Send no money. Mail the coupon for Free Proof today. If it does not prove out satisfactory for you the trial costs you nothing and I’ll even pay you for trying it out on your own car. Send No Money Pay no C, O. D. Simply mall the coupon. Send name of car you desire a Wesco for, and state what year’s model., I have equipped thousands of cars satisfactorily to save gasoline consumption, time, trouble and money, and can equip yours. Mail coupon today, and begin saving on your gasoline bill. JAMES A. MAY, President, Western Specialty Co. 935 K. Street SIOUX FALLS, S. DAKOTA AGENTS WANTED I want agents to demonstrate and sell my Wesco Gas Saver and Carbon Remover part or full time. SURE, QUICK PROFITS. Interests every auto owner immediately and each one sold sells others. Wescos are easy to install. Get a Wesco Free on your own car and start in a money making business of your own. ACT NOW. SOLD 61 IN 2 DAYS “I am sure your Wescos will prove O. K. ; have 61 orders in two days.” M. L. HOCKETT, California. SOLD 10 IN ONE MORNING “I have given the Wesco a good tryout and am well pleased with it.” — THOS. F. HARRINGTON, Louisiana. Western Specialty Com- pany, 935 K Street, Sionx Falls, South Dakota. Attention: Jas. A. May, President. I would like to try out a sample Wesco at your risk. If not satisfac- tory, after fair trial, you will even pay me for trying it out on my own car. Al- so tell me how I can be- come your agent and make I big money. PRINT NAME PLAINLY Name Name of Car Yearly Model St. or R. P. D Post Office I State

Page 3

WEIRD TALES 577 IWiUliainIbii atHniieto l^-£rJoW lt*s a shame for ycm to earn $15 or $20 or $30 a wedc, when in tiie same six days as an £3ectri(^ £^>ert you oouid snake to $200 "“and do k easaer^^not work half so hard. Why then remain in the smaH-i:^ same, in a line of work that offers DO diance^no lAg promotion, no big income? Pit yourself for a real job in the great electrical industry. L. COORB ril show you how. CUal anglnssr 600 motors sni Look What These OMk« Trained Men are Earning Makaa rrse la 14 DayalaliadSa *"nionk8 to year interest- insr Cmrse I mode over $7C0 in 24 days in Radio. Of eoaree, tmsion tittle obeW the average bnt I run from flO to S40 dear profit every day; yooeam aee what yoc" toaiiwmi has den ferme.** FRED G. UcKAB M8 Spring St. .AtlantSL.Ga. t74toS«oaWae1i Be an Electrical Expert Earn $3,S00 to $10,000 a Year **Now 1 amsp^alizing in autoelectrieity and battery work and make from $70 to $80 a week and am just getting Started . I doiifH be- IIsTs (bsr« is aaoCbsr school in the world like roars. Your Iss* •oas sre a rsel Joy to stedy." ROBBST JACQUCT. W, ColorMo >To.. '* Spriao*. Cm. esoaSaySoc •ehrcck “Use my name as a refer- ence and depend on me as a booster. The biggest thing 1 ever did was aa wer your advertisement, t am aver- aging better than $500 a month from my own busi- ness now. I used to make gUaweek.” A. OCHRECK, Phoenix, Arts. Plant BngUMCT — Pay malMd as«% *'I was a dumbbell in elec- tricity until 1 got in touch with you Mr. Oooke. but now Iwayec GEORGE ILLtNOWORTB. €3 CaloeistRosd. Bolreks. Itoee. Today even the ordinary Electrician —the ‘'screw driver" fciod — is mak- ing money — big money. But it's the trained roan — the man who knows the wlws and wherefores of Electri* citv — the Electrical £icpeit~-who is mcked out to “boss" the ordinary Eteciridans—to boss the Big Jobs— the jobs that pay $3,500 to $10,000 n Year. t'etinlineforoneofthe8e“Big jobs." Start by enrollingnow for my easily leamed.qutckly grasped.ri^it- vp-to-the-minute.Spare-Time Home- Study Course in Practical Electricity. A$a •rtnafc'Of BavwlaMM No Orawbock You don’t have to be a College Man: you don't have to be a High School Graduate. Aa Chief Engineer of the Chicago Eftgioeei ing Works, 1 know . exactly the kind of trainingyou need and I will give you that training. My Course in Electricity is simple, thor- ough and complete and offers every man^ regardless of age, education or Erevious experience, the chance to ecome, in a very short time, an “Electrical Expert." able to make from $70 to $200 a week. No Xxf*mCluwgarp, 7/ie "CookeTrauted Man is the SkPayiMm Kindly mention this magazine when answering advertisements

Page 4

Published monthly by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company. 408- Holliday Building, Indianapolis. Ind. Entered as second-class matter March 20, 1923, at the postofilce at Indianapolis. Ind., under the act of March 3. 1879. Single copies, 25 cents. Subscription, $2.50 a year in the United States; $3.00 a year in Canada. The publishers are not resiMnsible for the loss of unsolicited,' manuscripts, although every care will be taken of such material while in their possession. English office: G. M. Jeffries Agency, Hopeheld House, Hanwell, I^ondon, W. 7. The contents of this magazine are fully protected by copyright and must not be reproduced either wholly or in part without permission from the publishers. FARNSWORTH WRIGHT, Editor. Copyright, 1925, by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company Contents for November, 1925 Cover Design Andrew Brosnatch The stolen Body H. G. Wells 681 Evil Entity Seizes a Man’s Body and Tries to Destroy It The Return of the Undead Arthur Leeds 589 A Hospital Vampire — Morphine — and a Ward Full of Children Lukundoo Edward Lucas White 699 Eery Tale of African Pigmies That Whistled and Jabbered Vale of the Corbies Arthur J. Burks 607 The Beating of Unseen Wings Filled the Valley of Ravens Midnight Realism William Sanford 612 At Midnight the Phantom Stepped Down and Stabbed Itself (Continued on Next Page) 678 COPYRIGHTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

Page 5

(Continued from Preceding Page) The Acid in the Laboratory Gordon Philip England 615 Heartless and Cruel Was the Physician, but He Knew How to Suffer Candle-Light Louise Garwood 621 She Returned From the Grave, but He Would Not Receive Her The Man-Trap Hamilton Craigie 625 A Monstrous Plant Makes Its Kill The Seventh Devil __P. Douglas McHenry 630 Scientist Puts Human Brains Into the Skull of a Gorilla The Ghostly Lovers William James Price 636 Verse » Under the Han Tree Katherine Tates 637 Death Could Not Keep Them From Their Honeymoon The Headless Spokesman Irvin Mattick 643 Short and Terrible Tale of Murder The Waning of a World (Part One) W. Elwyn Backus 647. Four- part Serial of a Voyage to Mars :*T The Gargoyle (Conclusion) Greye La Spina 677 Serial Novel of Devil Worship \ Weird Story Beprint No. 6. lb.e Young King Oscar Wilde 690 Three Marvelous Dreams Did the Boy King Dream The Fiend of the Seine Dick Heine 697 Horror-tale of Paris Whispers of Heavenly Death Walt Whitman 699 Verse Reprint The Esnie 700 A Chat With the Readers The Conqueror Worm Edgar Allan Poe 704 Verse Reprint For AdTertlsing ItotM Ib WBaRD TAiBS Appir Dlroet to WEIRD TALES 408 HoUldajf Bulldlnc IndlanapoU* Ina. sTS"

Page 6

580 WEIRD TALES A Treasure -Chest of Stories ! The forthcoming issues of WEIRD TALES provide a feast of imaglnath'fe literature — thrilling tales of science, voyages to other planets, vampires of the sea, devil-worship, strange man-beasts of Yucatan, Oriental mysteries, thrilling ghost-tales, evil entities, weird dream-stories — a veritable banquet of thrill-tales, superbly told by many different authors. Among the sparkling gems in this magic treasure-hoard of stories in the next few issues of WEIRD TALES are: STEALER OF SOULS, By Charles Hilan Craig Fourteen men, and they all paid the price demanded, by Rolf Jaelce the hunchback, one after another, in crime and death* One of the weirdest stories ever written. THE DEVIL RAY, By Joel Martin Nichols, Jr. A terrible beam of death shot from the clouds and devastated the country- side, brinsing instant death to whatever it touched. A two-part serial of eery thrilla A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON, By H. G. Wells The great Tlnglish novelist paints a fascinating picture .of vast armies struggling in the air and on the earth, and dreadful birds that light and tear. THE DEVIL’S GRAVEYARD, By G. G. Pendarves Giles the Thruster comes back .tom the Pit to fulht an ancient curse, accompanied by the Four Ancients and Gaffarel the Mighty. THE DEAD SOUL, By Raoul Lenoir Terriflc tale of an evil soul that clung to life though its body had rotted away years before and its skeleton lay in the African desert. GARIB GOLD, By Henry S. Whitehead Complete novelette about the present-day worshipers of the great god Pan, in their underground city in the West Indies. THE Ghosts of steamboat coulee. By Arthur J. Burks As thrilling a ghost-story as ever was penned — a night of terror and vivid horror — a gooseflesh tale that will send the cold shivers up and down your spine. These are but a few of the many super- excellent stories in store for the readers of WEIRD TALES. To make sure of getting your copy each month, fill out the attached coupon for a special trial five months sub- scription. WEIRD TALKS, 408 Holliday Building, Indianapolis, Ind. Enclosed find $1 for special trial 5 months subscription to ’'Weird Tales*', to begin with the December issue. (Special offer void unless remittance is accom- panied by coupon.) Name Address ('ity State- I!] ]OC

Page 7

Author of “Men Like Gods” “Outline of History,” etc. Mr. BESSEL was the senior partner in the firm of Bessel, Hart and Brown, of St. Paul’s Churchyard, and for many years he was well known among those interested in psychical research as a liberal-minded and conscientious in- vestigator. He was an unmarried man, and instead of living in the suburbs, after the fashion of his class, he occupied rooms in the Albany, near Piccadilly. He was particularly interested in the questions of thought transference and of apparitions of the living, and in November, 1896, he commenced a series of experiments in conjunction with Mr. Vincey, of Staple Inn, in order to test the al- leged possibility of projecting an apparition of one’s self by force of will through space. Their experiments were conducted in the following manner: At a pre- arranged hour Mr. Ressel shut him- self in one of his rooms in the Albany and Mr. Vincey in his sitting room in Staple Inn, and each then fixed his mind as resolutely as possible on the other. Mr. Bessel had acquired the art of self-hypnotism, and, so far as he could, he attempted first to hyp- notize himself and then to project himself as a “phantom of the living” across the intervening space of nearly two miles into Mr. Vincey ’s apart- ment. On several evenings this was tried without any satisfactory result, but on the fifth or sixth occasion Mr. Vincey did actually see or imagine he saw an apparition of Mr. Bessel standing in his room. He states that the appearance, although brief, was very vivid and real. He noticed that Mr. Bessel’s face was white and his expression anxious, and, moreover, that his hair was disordered. For a moment Mr. Vincey, in spite of his state of expectation, was too sur- prized to speak or move, and in that moment it seemed to him as though the figure glanced over its shoulder and incontinently vanished. It had been arranged that an at- tempt should be made to photo^aph any fantasm seen, but Mr. Vincey had not the instant presence of mind to snap the camera that lay ready on the table beside him, and when he did so he was too late. Greatly elated, however, even by this partial success, he made a note of the exact time, and at once took a cab to the Albany to inform Mr. Bessel of this result. He was surprized to find Mr. Bessel’s outer door standing open to 581

Page 8

582 WEIRD TALES the night, an’d the inner apartments lit and in an extraordinary disorder. An empty champagne magnum lay smashed upon the floor; its neck had been broken off against the inkpot on the bureau and lay beside it. An octagonal occasional table, which car- ried a bronze statuette and a number of choice books, had been rudely over- turned, and down the primrose paper of the wall inky fingers had been drawn, as it seemed for the mere pleasure of defilement. One of the delicate chintz curtains had been violently tom from its rings and thrust upon the fire, so that the smell of its smoldering filled the room. In- deed the whole place was disarranged in the strangest fashion. For a few minutes Mr. Vincey, who had entered sure of finding Mr. Bessel in his easy chair awaiting him, could scarcely be- lieve his eyes, and stood staring help- lessly at these unanticipated things. Then, full of a vague sense of calamity, he sought the porter at the entrance lodge. “Where is Mr. Bessel?” he asked. “Do you know that all the furniture is broken in Mr. Bessel’s room?” The porter said nothing, but, obey- ing his gestures, came at once to Mr. Bessel’s apartmefit to see the state of affairs. “This settles it,” he said, surveying the lunatic confusion. “I didn’t know of this. Mr. Bessel’s gone off. He’s mad!” He then proceeded to tell Mr. Vincey that about half an hour pre- viously, that is to say, at about the time of Mr. Bessel’s apparition in Mr. Vincey ’s rooms, the missing gen- tleman had rushed out of the gates of the Albany into Vigo Street, hat- less and with disordered hair, and had vanished into the direction of Bond Street. “And as he went past me,” said the porter, “he laughed— a sort of gasping laugh, Avith his mouth open and his eyes glaring — I tell you, sir, he fair scared me! — ^like this.” According to his imitation it was anything but a pleasant laugh. “He waved his hand, with all his fingers crooked and clawing — like that. And he said, in a sort of fierce whisper, ‘Life!' Just that one word, ‘Life!' " “Dear me,” said Mr. Vincey. “Tut; tut,” and “Dear me!” He could think of nothing else to say. He was naturally very much sur- prized. He turned from the room to the porter and from the porter to the room in the gravest perplexity. Be- yond his suggestion that probably Mr. Bessel would come back presently and explain what had happened, their conversation was unable to proceed. “It might be a sudden toothache,” said the porter, “a very sudden and violent toothache, jumping on him suddenly-like and driving him wild. I ’ve broken things myself before now in such a case ...” He thought. “If it was, why should he say ‘life' to me as he went past?” Mr. Vincey did not know. Mr. Bessel did not return, and at last Mr. Vincey, having done some more help- less staring, and having addressed a note of brief inquiry and left it in a conspicuous position on the bureau, returned in a very perplexed frame of mind to his own premises in Staple Inn. This affair had given him a shock. He was at a loss to account for Mr, Bessel’s conduct on any sane hypothesis. He tried to read, but he could not do so ; he went for a short* walk, and was so preoccupied that he narrowly escaped a cab at the top of Chancery Lane; and at last — ^a full hour before his usual time — ^he went to bed. For a considerable time he could not sleep because of his memory of the silent confusion of Mr. Bessel’s apartment, and when at len^h he did attain an uneasy slumber it was at once disturbed by a very vivid and distressing dream of Mr. Bessel.

Page 9

THE STOLEN BODY 583 Hb saw Mr, Bessel gesticulating wildly, and with his face white and contorted. And, inexplicably mingled with his appearance, sug- gested perhaps by his gestures, was an intense fear, an urgency to act. He even believed that he heard the voice of his fellow experimenter calling distressfully to him, though at the time he considered this to be an illu- sion. The vivid impression remained though Mr. Vincey awoke. For a space he lay awake and trembling in the darkness, possessed with that vague, unaccountable terror of un- known possibilities that comes out of dreams upon even the bravest men. But at last he roused himself, and turned over and went to sleep again, only for the dream to return with enhanced vividness. He awoke with such a strong con- viction that Mr. Bessel was in over- whelming distress and need of help that sleep was no longer possible. He was persuaded that his friend had rushed out to some dire calamity. For a time he lay reasoning vainly against this belief, but at last he gave way to it. He arose, against all rea- son, lit his gas, and dressed, set out through the deserted streets — desert- ed, save for a noiseless policeman or so and the early news carts — ^towards Vigo Street to inquire if Mr. Bessel had returned. But he never got there. As he was going down Long Acre some unac- countable impulse turned him aside out of that street towards Covent Garden, which was just waking to its noclumal activities. He saw the market in front of him — ^a queer ef- fect of glowing yellow lights and busy black figures. He became aware of a shouting, and perceived a figure turn the comer by the hotel and run swiftly towards him. He knew at once that it was Mr. Bessel. But it was Mr. Bessel transfigured. He was hatless and disheveled, his collar was tom open, he grasped a bone-handled walking-eane near the ferrule end, and his"*^ mouth was pulled awry. And he ran, with agile strides, very rapidly. Their encounter was the af- fair of an instant. Bessel!” cried Vincey. The running man gave no sign of recognition either of Mr. Vincey or of his own name. Instead, he cut at his friend savagely with the stick, hitting him in the face within an inch of the eye. Mr. Vincey, stunned and astonished, sta^ered back, lost his footing, and fell heavily on the pave- ment. It seemed to him that Mr.. Bessel leapt over him as he fell. When he looked again Mr. Bessel had vanished, and a policeman and a number of garden porters and sales- men were rushing past towards Long Acre in hot pursuit. With the assistance of several pas- sers-by— for the whole street was speedily alive with running people — Mr. Vincey straggled to his feet. He at once became the center of a crowd greedy to see his injury. A multi- tude of voices competed to reassure him of his safety, and then to tell him of the behavior of the madman, as they regarded Mr. Bessel. He had suddenly appeared in the middle of the market screaming “Life! Life!” striking left and right with a blood-stained walking-stick, and dancing and shouting with laughter at each successful blow. A lad and two women had broken heads, and he had smashed a man’s wrist; a lit- tle child had been knocked insensible, and for a time he had driven every- one before him, so furious and reso- lute had his behavior been. Then he made a raid upon a coffee stall, hurled its paraffin flare through the window of the post office, and fled laughing, after stunning the fore- most of the two policemen who had the pluck to charge him. Mr. Vincey ’s first impulse was nat- urally to join in the pursuit of his

Page 10

584 WEIRD TALES frien^ in order if possible to save him :from the violence of the indig- nant people. But his action was slow, the blow had half stunned him, and while this was still no more than a resolution came the news, shouted through the crowd, that Mr. Bessel had eluded his pursuers. At first Mr. Vincey could scarcely credit this, but the universality of the report, and presently the dignified return of two futile policemen, convinced him. After some aimless inquiries he re- turned towards Staple Inn, padding a handkerchief to a now very pain- ful nose. He was angry and astonished and perplexed. It appeared to him indis- putable that Mr. Bessel must have gone violently mad in the midst of his experiment in thought transfer- ence, but why that should make him appear with a sad white face in Mr. Vincey ’s dreams seemed a problem beyond solution. He racked his brains in vain to explain this. It seemed to him at last that not simply Mr. Bessel, but the order of things must be insane. But he could think of nothing to do. He shut himself carefully into his room, lit his fire — it was a gas fire with asbestos bricks — and, fearing fresh dreams if he went to bed, remained bathing his in- jured face* or holding up books in a vain attempt to read, until dawn. Throughout that vigil he had a curi- ous persuasion that Mr. Bessel was endeavoring to speak to him, but he would not let himself attend to any such belief. About dawn, his physical fatigue asserted itself, and he went to bed and slept at last in spite of dreaming. He rose late, unrested and anxious, and in considerable fa- cial pain. The morning papers had no news of Mr. Bessel’s aberration — it had come too late for them. Mr. Vincey ’s perplexities, to which the fever of his bruise added fresh irri- tation, became at last intolerable, and, after a fruitless visit tO' the Al- bany, he went down to St. Paul’s Churchyard to Mr. Hart, Mr. Bes- sel’s partner, and, so far as Mr. Vin- ce/ knew, his nearest friend. He was surprized to learn that Mr. Hart, although he knew nothing of the outbreak, had also been disturbed by a vision, the very vision that Mr. Vincey had seen — Mr. Bessel, white and disheveled, pleading earnestly by his gestures for help. That was his impression of the import of his signs. “I was just going to look him up in the Albany when you arrived,” said Mr. Hart. “I was so sure of something being wrong with him.” As the outcome of their consulta- tion the two gentlemen decided to in- quire at Scotland Yard for news of their missing friend. “He is bound to be laid by the heels,” said Mr. Hart. “He can’t go on at that pace for long.” But the police authori- ties had not laid Mr. Bessel by the heels. They confirmed Mr. Vincey ’s overnight experiences and added fresh circumstances, some of an even graver character than those he knew — a list of smashed glass along the upper half of Tottenham Court Road, an attack upon a policeman in Hampstead Road, and an atrocious assault upon a woman. All these outrages were committed between half-past 12 and a quarter to 2 in the morning, and between those hours — ^and, indeed, from the very moment of Mr. Bessel’s first rush from his rooms at half-past 9 in the evening — ^they could trace the deep- ening violence of his fantastic ca- reer. For the last hour, at least from before 1, that is, until a quarter to 2, he had run amuck through Lon- don, eluding with amazing agility every effort to stop or capture him. But after a quarter of 2 he had vanished. Up to that hour witnesses were multitudinous. Dozens of peo- ple had seen him, fied from him or

Page 11

THE STOLEN BODY 585 pursued him, and then things sud- denly came to an end. At a quarter to 2 he had been seen running down the Euston Koad towards Baker Street, flourishing a can of bumhig colza oil and jerking splashes of flame therefrom at the windows of the houses he passed. But none of the policemen on Euston Eoad be- yond the Waxwork Exhibition, nor any of those in the side streets down which he must have passed had he left the Euston Road, had seen any- thing of him. Abruptly he disap- peared. Nothing of his subsequent doings came to light in spite of the keenest inquiry. Here was a fresh astonishment for Mr. Vincey. He had found consid- erable comfort in Mr. Hart’s convic- tion: “He is bound to be laid by the heels before long,” and in that assurance he had been able to sus- pend his mental perplexities. But any fresh development seemed des- tined to add new impossibilities to a pile already heaped beyond the pow- ers of his acceptance. He found him- self doubting whether his memory might not have played him some grotesque trick, debating whether any of these things could possibly have happened ; and in the afternoon he hunted up Mr. Hart again to share the intolerable weight on his mind. He found Mr. Hart engaged with a well-known private detective, but as that gentleman accomplished nothing in this case, we need not en- large upon his proceedings. All that day Mr. Bessel’s where- abouts eluded an unceasingly active inquiry, and all that night. And all that day there was a persuasion in the back of Mr. Vincey ’s mind that Mr. Bessel sought his attention, and all through the night Mr. Bessel with a tear-stained face of anguish pur- sued him through his dreams. And whenever he saw Mr. Bessel in his dreams he also saw a number of other faces, vague but malignant, that seemed to be pursuing Mr. Bessel. IT WAS on the following day, Sun- day, that Mr. Vincey recalled cer- tain remarkable stories of Mrs. Bul- lock, the medium, who was then at- tracting attention for the first time in London. He determined to con- sult her. She was staying at the house of that well-known inquirer. Dr. Wilson Paget, and Mr. Vincey, although he had never met that gen- tleman before, repaired to him forth- with with the intention of invoking her help. But scarcely had he men- tioned the name of Bessel when Dr. Paget interrupted him. “Last night — ^just at the end,” he said, “we had a communication.” He left the room, and returned with a slate on which were certain words written in a handwriting, shaky indeed, but indisputably the handwriting of Mr. Bessel! “How did you get this?” said Mr. Vincey. “Do you mean — ?” “We got it last night,” said Dr. Paget. With numerous interrup- tions from Mr. Vincey, he proceeded to explain how the writing had been obtained. It appears that in her seances, Mrs. Bullock passes into a condition of trance, her eyes rolling up in a strange way under her eye- lids, and her body becoming rigid. She then begins to talk very rapidly, usually in voices other than her own. At the same time one or both of her hands may become active, and if slates and pencils are provided they will then write messages simul- taneously with and quite independ- ently of the flow of words from her mouth. By many she is considered an even more remarkable medium than the celebrated Mrs. Piper. It was one of these messages, the one written by her left hand, that Mr. Vincey now had before him. It con- sisted of eight words written diacon-

Page 12

586 WEIRD TALES neetedly: “George Bessel . . . trial escavn. . . . Baker Street . . . help . . . starvation.” Curiously enough, neither Dr. Paget nor the two other inquirers who were present had heard of the disappearance of Mr. Bessel — the news of it appeared only in the evening papers of Saturday — and they had put the message aside with many others of a vague and enigmatical sort that Mrs. Bullock has from time to time delivered. When Dr. Paget heard Mr. Vin- cey’s story, he gave himself at once with great energy to the pursuit of this clue to the discovery of Mr. Bes- sel. It would serve no useful pur- pose here to describe the inquiries of Mr. Vincey and himself; suffice it that the clue was a genuine one, and that Mr. Bessel was actually discov- ered by its aid. He was found at the bottom of a detached shaft which had been sunk and abandoned at the commencement of the work for the new electric rail- way near Baker Street Station. His arm and leg and two ribs were broken. The shaft is protected by a boarding nearly twenty feet high, and over this, incredible as it seems, Mr. Bessel, a stout, middle-aged gen- tleman, mmst have scrambled in order to fall down the shaft. He was sat- urated in colza oil, and the smashed tin lay beside him, but luckily the flame had been extinguished by his fall. And his madness had passed from him altogether. But he was, of course, terribly enfeebled, and at the sight of his rescuers he gave way to hysterical weeping. In view of the deplorable state of his flat, he was taken to the house of Dr. Hatton in Upper Baker Street. Here he was subjected to a sedative treatment, and anything that might recall the violent crisis through which he had passed was carefully avoided. But on the second day he volunteered a statement. SINCE that occasion Mr. Bessel has several times repeated this state- ment— ^to myself among other people — varying the details as the narrator of real experiences always does, but never by any chance contradicting himself in any particular. And the statement he makes is in substance as follows. In order to understand it clearly it is necessary to go back to his ex- periments with Ml*. Vincey before his remarkable attack. Mr. Bessel’s first attempts at self-projection, in his ex- periments with Mr. Vincey, were, as the reader will remember, unsuccess- ful. But through all of them he was concentrating all his power and will upon getting out of the body — “will- ing it with all my might,” he says. At last, almost against expectation, came success. And Mr. Bessel as- serts that he, being alive, did actual- ly, by an etfort of will, leave his body and pass into some place or state out- side this world. The release was, he asserts, instan- taneous. “At one moment I was seated in my chair, with my eyes tightly shut, my hands gripping the arms of the chair, doing all I could to concentrate my mind on Vincey, and then I perceived myself outside my body — saw my body near me, but cer- tainly not containing me, with the hands relaxing and the head droop- ing forward on the breast.” Nothing shakes him in his assur- ance of that release. He describes in a quiet, matter-of-fact way the new sensation he experienced. He felt he had become impalpable — so much he had expected, but he had not ex- pected to find himself enormously large. So, however, it would seem he became. “ I was a great cloud — if I may express it that way — anchored to my body. It appear^ to me, at first, as if I had discovered a greater self of which the conscious being in my brain was only a little part. I saw* the Albany and Piccadilly and Re-

Page 13

THE STOLEN BODY 587 gent Street and all the rooms and places in the houses, very minute and very bright and distinct, spread out below me like a little city seen from a balloon. Every now and then vague shapes like drifting wreaths of smoke made the vision a little in- distinct, but at first I paid little heed to them. The thing that astonished me most, and which astonishes me still, is that I saw quite distinctly the insides of the houses as well as the streets, saw little people dining and talking in the private houses, men and women dining, playing billiards, and drinking in restaurants and ho- tels, and several places of entertain- ment crammed with people. It was like watching the affairs of a glass hive. ’ ’ Such were Mr. Bessel’s exact words as I took them down when he told me the story. Quite forgetful of Mr. Vincey, he remained for a space ob- serving these things. Impelled by curiosity, he says, he stooped down, and, with the shadowy arm he found himself possessed of, attempted to touch a man walking along Vigo Street. But he could not do so, though his finger seemed to have passed through the man. Something prevented his doing this, but what it was he finds it hard to describe. He compares the obstacle to a sheet of glass. “I felt as a kitten may feel,” he |wid, “when it goes for the first time to pat its reflection in a mirror.” Again and again, on the occasion when I heard him tell this story, Mr. Bessel returned to that comparison of the sheet of glass. Yet it was not altogether a precise comparison, be- cause, as the reader will speedily see, there were interruptions of this gen- erally impermeable resistance, means of getting through the barrier to the material world again. But naturally there is a very great difficulty in ex- pressing these unprecedented impres- sions in the language of everyday ex- perience. A thing that impressed him in- stantly, and which weighed upon him throughout all this experience, was the stillness of this place — he was in a world without soimd. At first Mr. Bessel’s mental state was an unemotional wonder. His thought chiefly concerned itself with where he might be. He was out of the body — out of his material body, at any rate — but that was not all. He believes, and I for one believe also, that he was somewhere out of space, as we understand* it, altogeth- er. By a strenuous effort of will he had passed out of his body into a world beyond this world, a world un- dreamt of, yet lying so close to it and so strangely situated with regard to it that all things on this earth are clearly visible both from without and from within in this other world about us. For a long time, as it seemed to him, this realization occupied his mind to the exclusion of all other matters, and then he recalled the en- gagement with Mr. Vincey, to which this astonishing experience was, after all, but a prelude. He turned his mind to locomotion in this new body in which he found himself. For a time he was unable to shift himself from his attachment to his earthly carcass. For a time this new strange cloud body of his simply swayed, contracted, expanded, coiled, and writhed with his efforts to free himself, and then quite suddenly the link that bound him snapped. For a moment everything was hidden by what appeared to be whirling spheres of dark vapor, and then through a momentary gap he saw his drooping body collapse limply, saw his lifeless head drop sideways, and found he was driving along like a huge cloud in a strange place of shadowy clouds that had the luminous intricacy of London spread like a model below.

Page 14

588 WEIRD TALES But now he was aware that the fluctuating vapor about him was something more than vapor, and the temerarious excitement of his first essay was shot with fear. For he per- ceived, at first indistinctly, and then suddenly very clearly, that he was surrounded by faces! that each roll and coil of the seeming cloud-stuff was a face. And such faces! Faces of thin shadow, faces of gaseous tenuity. Faces like those faces that glare with intolerable strangeness up- on the sleeper in the evil hours of his dreams. Evil, greedy eyes that were full of covetous curiosity, faces with knit brows and snarling, smiling lips; their vague hands clutched at Mr. Bessel as he passed, and the rest of their bodies was but an elusive streak of trailing darkness. Never a word they said, never a sound from the mouths that seemed to gibber. All about they pressed in that dreamy silence, passing freely through the dim mistiness that was his body, gathering ever more nu- merously about hiuL And the shad- owy Mr. Bessel, now suddenly fear- stricken, drove through the silent, ac- tive multitude of eyes and clutcWg hands. So inhuman were these faces, so malignant their staring eyes, and shadowy, clawing gestures, that it did not occur to Mr. Bessel to at- tempt intercourse with these drift- ing creatures. Idiot phantoms, they seemed, children of vain desire, be- ings unborn and forbidden the boon of being, whose only expressions and gestures told of the envy and craving for life that was their one link with existence. It says much for his resolution that, amidst the swarming cloud of these noiseless spirits of evil, he could still think of Mr. Vincey. He made a violent effort of will and found him- self, he knew not how, stooping to- wards Staple Inn, saw Vineey sitting attentive and alert in Ms arm-chair by the fire. And clustering also about Mm, as they clustered ever about all that lives and breathes, was another mul- titude of these vain voiceless shad- ows, longing, desiring, seeking soma loophole into life. For a space Mr. Bessel sought in- effectually to attract his friend’s at- tention. He tried to get in front of his eyes, to move the objects in his room, to touch Mm. But Mr. Vincey remained unaffected, ignorant of the being that was so close to Ms own. The strange something that Mr. Bes- sel has compared to a sheet of glass separated them impermeably. And at last Mr. Bessel did a des- perate thing. I have told how that in some strange way he could see not only the outside of a man as we see him, but witMn. He extended lus shadowy hand and thrust his vague black fingers, as it seemed, through the heedless brain. Then, suddenly, Mr. Vincey start- ed like a man who recalls his attmi- tion from wandering thoughts, and it seemed to Mr. Bessel that a little dark-red body situated ih the middle of Mr. Vincey ’s brain swelled and glowed as he did so. Since that ex- perience he has been shown anatom- ical figures of the brain, and he knows now that this is that useless structure, as doctors caU it, the pineal eye. For strange as it will seem to many, we have, deep in our brains — ^where it cannot possibly see any eartMy light — an eye! At the- time this, with the rest of the inter- nal anatomy of the brain, was quite new to Mm. At the sight of its changed appearance, however, he thrust forth his finger, and, rather fearful still of the consequences, touched this little spot. And in- stantly Mr. Vincey started, and Mr. Bessel knew that he was seen. (Continued on page 705)

Page 15

“That the ghastly extremes of agony are endured by man the unit, and never by man the mass — for this let us thank a merciful God.” — Edgar Allan Poe, The Premature Burial. TO HAVE died — and yet to be undead ! What a horrible thought ! And yet, what a fas- cinating story, albeit one that fairly set every nerve in my pain-racked body trembling with the frightful suggestion contained in it! And to think that this book that I had just finished reading told, in the form of fiction, what the poor devil of a Ger- man also had told me as he lay there beside me in shell-scarred “No Man’s Land,” waiting for his ticket to “go West,” only a few months before. “Yes, there are wehr-wolves; ” he assured me, solemnly, his face con- torted with pain the while he talked — in his own language, which I spoke almost as well as himself; “they are the slaves of the vampires — the un- dead— ^those beings who claim their victims after death, and who carry on their terrible act of mutilation and desecration” — ^he paused to cross him- self and murmur a word of prayer — “forever and forever! Doubt it not, Kamerad. My brother, now, knew a man, an Austrian, who had met a wehr-wolf at midnight, in the forest district of his own homeland. Shortly after that, in our own Black Forest, my brother himself encountered a wehr-wolf. In the following year, my brother died; and as he lay on his death-bed, he called me to his side. “ ‘Karl,’ he declared, laying his hand on my arm, ‘remember what I have told you in the past. The un- dead are as swift in their movements and as immune to harm from human hands as were the valkyries of old. I am marked by a being, a vampire — one of the undead host; an overlord of wehr-wolves — and he — it — has giv- en me the sign. Therefore, brother of mine, heed what I say ; and, as you love me, carry out this, my last re- quest, even as you hope for the death of a Christian and for salvation after death. After they have buried me, you must take my body out of the ground — on the day of my burial, re- member, and before sunset. Do not forget that — before sunset. You must have help; Heinrich Arndt will as- sist you; I have spoken to him as I am now speaking to you. Take me from the coffin, and plunge the old sword of our great-great-grandfather straight through my heart. Leave the sword in my body; bind it there with wire. Then, bind the crucifix in the clasp of both my dead hands. Return 589

Page 16

590. WEIRD TALES my body to the grave, and rest con- tent that you have done what I most desire, in life and death, for so only can you save me from everlasting tor- ment.’ ” I had been unconscious, from the pain of my wound and from the hor- rible thirst, when the scouting party picked me up that night. The dead German was left where he had fallen. When I returned to consciousness, it all seemed like a bad dream; and when sober realization of all that I had been through, and all that he had told me, came to me, the poor fellow’s story seemed to be only the raving of a thirst-tortured brain. Human vam- pires ! Beings that lived forever upon the blood of others ; wehr- wolves ; the damnable clan of the undead! Such things never were, I assured myself, in heaven, earth, or hell itself! And yet, now, in this small-town hospital in New York state, where a sudden attack of appendicitis had been the cause of my enforced con- finement to a hospital cot for the sec- ond time in my career, I had again come upon that horrible suggestion. You have read Bram Stoker’s Drmvlaf Nothing that Poe, or Doyle, or Ambrose Bierce, or even Marion Crawford ever wrote quite equals it in undiluted horror. It deals — ^in case you have not read it — with the strange and terrible adven- tures of a young Englishman who goes into the mountains of Carpathia to purchase for the firm by which he is employed a certain extensive estate, belonging to a Count Dracula, a mys- terious individual who lives secluded in his ancient castle in the moun- tains. Dracula is greatly disturbed by the sight of blood, when his guest happens to cut himself, in his host’s presence, while shaving. He warns the young man never to let him see blood of any kind, asserting that it has a terrible effect upon him. Subsequently, his visitor learns to his horror that the count is one of what the author — ^like my acquaint- ance of the battlefield — refers to as the undead. Throughout the day, Dracula lies in an open coffin in the vaults of the castle ; at night — as soon as the sun has set — he, as it were, returns to life, when he becomes, while retaining his human form, a blood-sucking vampire, with the pow- er to climb the outer walls of the cas- tle after the manner of a fly, and to transport himself, as if by magic, from place to place about the coun- tryside. The “undead,” the story explains, nightly seek a victim, from .whom, while asleep, they suck the life blood, drawing it from two minute holes which they bite in the throat. When the person eventually dies as a result of this draining of the vital fluid — the operation of sucking the blood is not completed in one night, but con- tinues, perhaps, for a week or more — the victim, also, after death, becomes one of the horrible society of the un~ dead and, althoug:h buried, nightly comes from the tonib to draw the life blood from others — men, women, and little children — thus always increas- ing the terrible breed of human vam- pires and propagating their hellish practises. My reading of this absorbing though terrifying book had been greatly disturbed by the unending cries, moans, and uncontrolled expos- tulations of a child in the outer ward. The little hospital was crowded to the limit, an epidemic of typhoid having broken out in the town' only a few wedks before my admission. My own case being an unusually acute and dangerous one, requiring, as the doc- tors agreed, a great deal of special treatment preliminary to the opera- tion, Dr. Spalding had insisted upon a private room, and the only one then vacant was situated just off the women’s general ward, which was on the upper floor of the little, two-story

Page 17

THE EETUEN OP THE UNDEAD 591 building. To enter my room, one had to pass through this ward, crowded with beds filled with girls and women ranging in age from three and four years up. The “starvation” treatment for ty- phoid was still in use among the phy- sicians in the town, and from early morning until the hour when the lights were extinguished in the eve- ning, a constant source of annoyance was the incessant conversation of the younger patients in connection with what they were going to eat when they got better. Eestricted in diet as they were, this was only natural ; but the repeated discussion of their gas- tronomic abilities and inclinations, which had, at first, been highly divert- ing, was beginning to get on my nerves. Every sound from this outer ward was distinctly audible in my room, whereas I had to call pretty loudly if, instead of merely ringing the bell on the cord at the head of my bed, I wished to summon a nurse. Finally, since there was no escape from it, I grew resigned to the situa- tion, and tried to read without notic- ing them. Then, about a week before the day which had been set for my operation arrived, * this child of whom I have spoken, Martha Walton, was brought into the ward. Her parents were poor people, and very ignorant. As the night nurse, Miss Eichards, re- marked to me, their idea of taking care of a sick child evidently was to be as “good” to it as they knew how, and to indulge its every wish so far as lay in their power. Consequently — the nurse had learned from the doc- tor— when the parents discovered that the little one was very ill, before call- ing in medical aid they had stuifed her with all the “goodies” for which she cried, and had done a dozen other things to heighten the fever and hur- ry the case to a crisis. The result was that when the child was admitted to the hospital, she was in a much more critical condition than any of the oth- ers. Added to this, she was but ten years old, with no understanding of her trouble; a child who, constantly petted and “given in to” at home, made the very worst kind of a typhoid patient. Now, hospital romances have been one of the interesting features of the Great War ; but my hospital romance was not a part of my experience in Prance. I had loved my present lit- tle day nurse, Viola Manning, ever since she first came into my room with a few sympathetic words which were the preliminary to another of those abominable ice-caps beneath which the doctor insisted I was to be kept half buried. She had agreed with me that it was pretty tough to have to take the count with an attack of appendicitis after pulling through an operation on my head, where the shrapnel splinter had “got” me, and also recovering from the effects of a gassing — between which and appen- dicitis I felt there was little choice — administered by the ever attentive Huns. “She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her that she did pity them.” She was — ^well, just a real, old-fashioned, womanly girl who understood her chosen work and carried it on with the alertness and expedition of an army nurse combined with the tenderness of a woman who is bom to “mother.” To paraphrase another and more up- to-date dramatist, who is also a song writer, “if I came out (of the ether, after the operation), and I would come out, there ’d be a real girl wait- ing for me.” ON THE day following Martha’s ar- rival, Viola had come into iny room and opened the door wide, so that I could see out into the women’s ward. “There’s the little nuisance — poor little thing! — ^who’s been giving us all so much trouble since yesterday after-

Page 18

592 WEIRD TALES noon,” she said, pointing to a cot set in an angle of the ward directly across from my own door. “I’m afraid she has only one chance in a thousand of ever getting better. Just look at the poor little creature, Frank.” The youngster was hardly any larger than a properly developed child of seven ; and her long, straight, straw-colored hair accentuated the pallor of her wan little face, even with the fever at its height. As she lay there, for the moment with only her face turned toward me, the wa- tery gray eyes seemed to shine with a kind of pinkish glow, reminding me of the eyes of an animal, seen in the dark. She was frightfully thin, the arms and hands mere bones, covered with yellow, parchmentlike skin. The poor little cheeks were deeply sunken; while 'the thin lips seemed constantly to tremble, giving a consequent tremolo sound to her continual ciying and muttering. Altogether, she re- minded me of a very old and decrepit woman, instead of a child of ten. But I had small opportunity to study the features, for she tossed almost con- tinually, meanwhile keeping up the unending, whimpering cry that had so affected .everyone about her, and which filled me with a peculiar, name- less fear rather than with pity for her condition. ‘ ‘ If that sort of thing has disturbed your reading, it has almost driven the other patients crazy,” remarked Vio- la, watching the child as I was do- ing. “At first they only laughed at her, teasing her in a friendly way; but when the temper that is still rag- ing in that nerve-racked little body let itself go — as it did last night, you remember — they soon changed their tactics, and tried to reason with her, telling her to try, for her own sake, to be as quiet as possible, so she’d get well sooner. But Martha showed them that she won’t listen to anyone — and the matron and her doctor are no exceptions. So the other children, advised by us and by the older pa- tients, are now disregarding her ut- terly ; and the poor little thing just tosses and cries, although she’s always ready almost to fight with the nurses when they go near her. I’ve never had a ease get on my nerves as this one has; the child just doesn’t seem human — I can’t explain the way I feel about her.” “Why don’t they give her a hypo- dermic?” I inquired. “Morphine? She’s had enough morphine to quiet two grown-ups,” my little nurse replied. “You must have heard her terrible screams when they gave her the first injection yes- terday, just after they brought her in. If we had a single private room that we could use for her, we’d take her out of the ward in a minute, in justice to the other patients. Even during her short periods of sleep, she tosses and mutters nearly all the time. I only hope — ” She had been looking at me and studying my face while speaking, and now she stopped dead, looking at me with reproachful eyes. “Oh, Frank! How could you, after my last warning!” she almost gasped. “Why? What do you mean?” I came back. “Now, my dear, don’t attempt to deceive me ; you can ’t do it ! I know; that beastly Holloway has been up here again, and he’s managed to get some more morphine. I’m going to tell Miss Gregory, as sure as I hope to see you get well, and have him re- moved from the hospital. How — ^how could you, Frank?” I might have known that it was no use to try to lie to my little nurse. No physician had a sharper eye for certain “signs” of a patient’s condi- tion than had this little girl who had promised to marry me. It hurt, but I confessed. “You’re right. But don’t blame poor old Holloway. I don’t know

Page 19

THE EETUEN OP THE UNDEAD 593 just how he got it; but I do know that I had almost to swear my life away and beg for half an hour before he’d come through with a few tablets. I needed them, girlie; really I did. I’d had a simply rotten day, with pain and ‘nerves’, and I wanted so much just to sleep soundly through one night.” “Nonsense!” she cried, sharply. “You had too much of the dreadful stuff over in Prance. You’ve become too used to it. But you’ll positively Ijiot get more than an eighth of a grain without Dr. Spalding’s orders if I can help it. How much did Hol- ^way give you?” Then, confound me, I did lie to her. So it is with the man or woman upon whom morphine has set its grip. The drug makes you lie; and you do so with an easy conscience, unblushingly and whole-heartedly. “Six quarter-grain tablets. They lasted me all night. I woke up three times. But I feel fine — comparatively speaking — this morning; and — ^never again, honey, I promise!” “Never again if I can prevent it,” sh« assured me, solemnly. “I may not speak to Miss Gregory now; but I’ll find a way to keep Holloway down in the men’s ward. He should have been discharged before this, any- way. And he knows very well he has no right even to visit on this floor without special permission. That’s the worst of these little institutions; niles are made only to be broken. Promise me. Prank, dear, that you’ll obey the doctor’s orders without ques- ^n, and not even ask for more mor- phine than he prescribes. You know —don’t you? — ^what your recovery means to me.” I promised, and I meant to try to keep my promise. I kissed her, and she went out into the ward. But what I did not tell her was that, safely hidden in the pocket of my night-gown, wrapped in a handker- chief, was a small, brown bottle, as yet unopened, containing an even hundred half -grain morphine tablets. Exactly how Holloway had managed to get hold of them, I had no idea; but that is exactly what he had done — and had stolen them, probably, with no more compunction than any Other drug addict has in getting his favorite “dope” in any way that pre- sents itself. I say “drug addict” advisedly, for the difference between those sick people who manage to get more than is prescribed for them and those others, on the outside, who use it regularly as the result of an un- cbnquerable habit, is a difference of degree, rather than of kind. Both of us — Holloway, especially, I know — felt the urgent need of the drug, and, regardless of hospital or hygienic rules, we, possessing it, were making use of it. Holloway had simply declared that the drug cabinet in the anesthetizing room was “as good as wide open. ” The great thing was to have it on hand when the cry- ing need for its soothing influence asserted itself. I would “go easy” in the future — if I was not able to con- tent myself with my allowance of the drug, at least Viola must not know that I was breaking my promise to her; and soon, I felt certain, I would be through with the operation, con- valescent, well again, and out of the hospital — ready to claim Viola as my wife. Then I would be through with the accursed drug forever. But it was not accursed to me now. Let Barrie sing the praises of his “Lady Nicotine”; for just a little while I would have two loves — ^Viola and “My Lady Morphia”. But a word or two is necessary in connection with the effect of the drug upon me. Each night I was allowed the eighth-of-a-grain injection — which, alone, produced no effect whatsoever. I had long since passed the eighth-of-a-grain stage. It was what I managed to obtain through Holloway that soothed my aching

Page 20

594 WEIRD TALES nerves during the night. And the direct effect of the drug was to so greatly accelerate the brain action as to entirely drive sleep away, leaving me lying there, throughout the long hours, with my mind a strange pano- rama of fantasies. There were times, during these nocturnal mental ramblings, when my soul seemed to be entirely separated from my body. I appeared to stand apart and watch, fascinated, that part of me — the physical body containing the dis- ordered mind — which lay there on the bed. And this very mental condition, the fascinating guess-work as to what new pictures would unfold themselves each night, the mystery and uncer- tainty of it all — irresistibly enticing to a mind such as mine — these were the things that made me cling to my little bottle of white tablets as the drowning man clings to the prover- bial straw. But I had given Viola my promise, and for her dear sake I would — ^try to — keep it. 2 WHY seek to battle with forces which one knows one can not combat successfully — ^unaided? I do not believe that anyone, unaided, has ever successfully flung off the grip of a drug habit such as that which now held me in its power. Every night preceding the operation I had had a little — ^just a little — extra morphine. Enough, as it were, to feed the desire for it. Not enough to show itself ; or at any rate Viola made no comment that led me to believe that she had noticed anything. If she had, I sup- pose I should have done my best to lie out of it — ^and felt justified in so doing. And now, the operation was suc- cessfully over. Two days had passed since they carried me back into my little room and congratulated me upon having won out against death again, coming through an operation that was — ^and, I believe, remains — unique in the history of operations upon that annoying physical excess baggage known as the vermiform ap- pendix. It would be another month, perhaps, before I could get up; two weeks, probably, before I even could take solid food. My ^guardian angel, Viola, was with me during the day just as much as proper attention to her other duties would permit her to be. And the craving for the morphine was upon me again, stronger than ever. My nerves constantly cried out for the rest-producing, though never sleep-inducing, drug. I slept — ac- tually slept — throughout the day, mostly in the morning, but hardly at all during the night. And at night I used the morphine just as much as I actually dared to do without leaving myself in such a state as to draw the attention of the girl to whom I had given my promise. Indeed, I was aware that I was doing for my conscience, my better self, just what the drug was intended to do with my mind and body. I was gradually producing what might be termed a state of somnipathy of the soul. Next to the way in which my mind constantly speculated upon the possi- bilities of increasing the doses of the morphine, I seemed to be interested, most morbidly, I realized, in the way in which the child, Martha, clung tenaciously to life. To my left as I lay in bed, was a large bow-window, overlooking the hospital grounds. Since the opera- tion, I was allowed to sit up in bed more than formerly, and, the hospital being situated on the outskirts of the little town, beyond the white brick walls surrounding the not very exten- sive grounds, I could see the open, snow-covered country. In the extreme southwestern comer of the yard stood two gray stone buildings, the larger one, I had been

Page 21

THE EETURN OP THE UNDEAD 595 informed, being the ice-house. There was always a well-trodden path lead- ing to it through the snow ; the porter, Jennings, was kept busy carrying ice into the hospital for the fever patients. To the other building there was no path; and this fact, somehow, seemed to disturb me. Why, I asked myself, had nobody died in the • hospital since the last snow-fall ? For this smaller building, Viola had rather reluctantly ex- plained, was a sort of private morgue. Viola, I felt .sure, had wished to keep my mind free from gloomy thoughts ; which was why, at first, she had hesi- tated about answering my question in regard to this particular out-building. But, since finding out what it really was, my first act each morning, after my blind was raised, was to lift my- self gently until I could see out of the window, and then to look for the long-anticipated track through the snow to the door of what I fantasti- cally termed “The House of the Dead.” “Today,” I would say each morn- ing upon starting to look out, “there will be a path to the door.” But in these two days, there had been no change. Snow had fallen once, cover- ing the path to the ice-house; but it was quickly trodden down where that path led. Only in front of the smaller gray building, the snow re- mained undisturbed. And then, that same night, Martha died. My light had been turned out, as usual, about 10 o’clock; and I lay there in the darkened room under the spell of the morphine, though far from being inclined to sleep. The blinds were drawn down to within an inch or two of the bottom of the win- dow; but beneath them there entered the reflection of a bright, full moon. I could just make out the time by the little traveling-clock on the table; it was twenty minutes to 1. The door of my room was standing open half- way, as I always asked to have it left after the children had quieted down for the night. I could hear the single night nurse on that floor. Miss Rich- ards, moving about in the ward- kitchen. Martha had not been asleep since early in the evening. She lay there, tossing as was her habit, and moaning in a way that caused my nerves fairly to dance, although the peculiar fascination I felt in watching her made me bear with the annoyance. I listened to the monotonous, jarring sounds until I was on the point of ringing for the nurse to come and close my door> my hand reached out for the bell-cord; then, abruptly, all sounds from the child ceased. Instinctively, I knew what the sudden silence meant; and, involun- tarily, I shuddered. I had never feared death — and God knows I had faced it often enough during the past two years. But how strangely, with what terrific suddenness, death had come to this poor, tortured child ! A sharp intake of the breath, the sug- gestion of a final, low moan, and that loas the end! The silence of the next minute or two was doubly oppressive ; my heart sounded like the beating of a dmm. Apparently, the other children slept peacefully on. Then, my hand still holding the button on the bell-cord, I rang once, very gently. A couple of minutes passed; then Miss Richards came to the door and looked in. “What do you want, Mr. Herndon? I thought you’d be sound asleep hours ago. Or did you just wake up?” “Miss Richards,” I said quietly, “I think you had better call Jennings and have him carry Martha’s body out of the ward before any of the others wake up. She died about five minutes ago.”

Page 22

596 WEIRD TALES She looked at me in utter astonish- ment, but said nothing. Evidently, she could see that I was quite in earnest, and that I was sure of my statement being correct. Leaving my room, I heard her tiptoe across to the corner of the ward where Martha’s bed stood, and I knew that, in the darkness, she was making a hurried examination of the body. A moment later, I heard her going softly down the stairs. When she returned with the porter, he carried the child’s body out of the ward; I heard him stumble once as, half asleep, he descended the stair- way. The nurse made up the cot; and in the morning the other occu- pants of the ward were told that Martha had been removed during the night to a private room, in order that she should no longer disturb those about her. The children accepted the explanation, apparently well satisfied to be rid of such an un- congenial companion. And Martha, as I knew, was indeed occupying a “private room.” All the rest of that night, though, I had lain there, speculating that, in the morning, there would be a path to the door of the little gray building. And, sure enough, there was. It was >a bright, sunny fnorning, and Viola, more radiant to my eyes than sun or moon, sat beside me on the edge of the bed as we talked of Martha’s merciful release from human pain and suffering. But while we talked, and even as the bright, morning sun seemed to light the whole world with the promise of health regained and happiness won, the glory of the early morning seemed to fade into a misty vista of a Transylvanian forest at sunset; and my mind eontinually re- verted to the lost soul, Dracula, the fiery-eyed wehr-wolves, and the un- dead host who, like Dracula, haunted the world of the living. Just after my light lunch, the sun was obscured by clouds, and about 4 o ’clock it commenced to snow heavily. , “Isn’t this fine?” laughed Viola, coming into my room. “It will be simply grand for sleighing in the morning, and I ’ll get Dr. Spalding to take me into town tomorrow night, after I ’ve got off duty, when he makes his evening call. And don’t be jeal- ous, you old silly, because he thinks Mrs. Spalding is the only woman worth talking about in the whole world.” “I’m not jealous,” I answered, “but — I was just thinking the snow will cover all the paths again, won’t it?” “Of course,” replied Viola. “Why?” “Nothing,” I said, settling back again on the pillow. “I guess I’ll just rest again until Dr. Spalding shows up.” And, calling me an old sleepyhead, Viola, after kissing me, quietly left the room. 3 “Ayfiss MURRAY,” I said, address- ing the new night nurse, “won’t you please give me a half- grain injection tonight? I’m fright- fully jumpy, and just about dead for a sound sleep. Miss Richards does, occasionally, when she sees that I really need it.” Her reply, after looking at me in- tently for a moment, was to load the hypodermic syringe as I had re- quested. Then a child called to her from the ward; and as she left the room I picked up the little phial she had left lying on the table, uncorked it, and dropped six or eight of the tablets it contained into my left hand. When she came back a moment or two later, she failed to notice that the phial had been moved. Every grain counted, to add to my depleted store of the drug.

Page 23

THE EETUEN OF THE UNDEAD 597 *‘I ■wish you’d raise the blind, so the moonlight can come in,” I said; "it won’t keep me awake. It seems to be a lovely night.” "It’s beautiful outside, now. But Jennings will have some snow clean- ing to do in the morning. Please try to get right to sleep, Mr. Herndon. Miss Manning says that you are in- clined to lie awake after getting your hypodermic, and then sleep during the day. Nothing like the good be- fore-midnight sleep, you know. If you need me, give one short ring. Good night.” Just as I told her Miss Eichards always did, she left my door open as she went out, but a little more than half way. The lights in the ward were all out; and, now that the un- fortunate little Martha was no more, there was hardly a sound to be heard in the building. Even outside, there was no wind ; my o'vra breathing and the beating of my heart alone were audible. Then I gave myself up wholly to the wooing of my false goddess, Morphia. How much of the drug I swallowed during the next two hours I have not the faintest idea; but many times I took one of the tiny white tablets from my little bottle. My nerves were throbbing; my muscles seemed continually to relax and contract; it appeared that the spinal cord was being slowly petri- fied. My neck, at the base of the brain, felt as if a steel band, which was being slowly tightened, encircled it. Through it all, a thousand strange, unnatural visions swept through my brain; the moonlight in the room seemed to become a varie- gated color display, reminding me of the Northern Lights that I had often seen in northern Ontario, while on hunting trips, before the war. At some distance from the hospital, a dog howled mournfully. It was the first sound to break the perfect still- ness of the winter night; and in- stantly the thought of Dracula’s wehr-wolves, "with their frothing, blood-dripping fangs and fiery eyes, returned to me. My mind centered on that silent, mysterious castle in the Carpathian mountains, the subterranean vaults, the open coffin with the chalk-faced count lying in it, his ■wide-open, glassy eyes gazing at nothing, the half-parted, blood-red lips exposing the needle-pointed teeth, bound in the trance of death but yet undead, wait- ing only for the setting of the sun to free him from death’s grasp, before setting forth on his horrible, nightly mission. The moonlight, falling across a large, potted rubber-plant standing just beside the ■window, threw ghostly black shadows on the wall opposite. Then, of a sudden, there was a terrific, whirring sound within my head, accompanied by a sound like the far-away tinkling of bells, and everything went dark. How long this sleep or unconscious state lasted, I have no idea; but when next I opened my eyes it seemed to me that I had been awakened by hearing a noise, as of someone fumbling ■with a lock or bolt, at some considerable distance, and, appar- ently, outside the hospital. Then — and this occasioned me no small amount of wonder — I raised myself, without any effort, to a sitting posi- tion. Up to now, I had been unable to raise myself except very slowly, on account of the pain in the region of the operation wound. I looked out of the ■window. All outdoors was still bathed in a flood of moonlight, though now the moon was sinking lower. A white mantle of glittering snow spread over fields, hospital grounds and distant hills. There was not even a path to the ice- house. Suddenly, one of the children in the ward commenced muttering in

Page 24

598 WEIRD TALES her sleep. Prom mere curiosity, I lay back, trying to catch her discon- nected words. Altogether, it was per- haps five minutes before I again sat upright, feeling moved — by what force, I cannot say — to look out of the window. As my gaze turned toward the corner of the yard, the blood in my veins seemed suddenly transformed into ice, while my heart, for a second or two, apparently stopped beating. The moonlight had suddenly and most strangely taken on almost the brilliancy of early morning sunlight; every object in the grounds was dis- tinctly visible; and, horror unutter- able, the door of *‘The House of the Dead” was flung wide open, and from the doorway there ran a single track, made by a pair of naked feet, the prints pointing, as the track ran, toward the hospital! Five minutes before, I had seen the door closed, the snow in the yard smooth and undisturbed. Then I re- called the noise as of the rattling lock or bolt, which sound, apparently, had awakened me. A thought flashed into my mind that caused me to reach out for the bell-cord; but my arm fell as if paralyze<L I tried to call out, to scream; but no sound came from my dry, contracted throat. Martha had come back — ^but — as what? The silence in the hospital was as .of the grave itself; I lay like one already dead. The brain alone re- mained living and conscious of the awful horror of the situation. God! This was maddening! Surely, help- lessness in the presence of such terror is the climax of human agony ! Then an added dread made itself manifest; horripilation swept over me. Distinctly I heard the patter of naked feet, steadily approaching. Up the main stairway, across the short hallway, then into and across the ward, toward the open door of my room! I could not cry out, could not even pray. Thought itself was almost im- possible. I closed my eyes — ^and wmted. A board in the floor squeaked faintly; I had heard it do so often, when stepped upon. Against my will, yet compelled by a power I could in no way control, I again opened my eyes. In the doorway, plainly seen in the moonlight, stood the dead child. Dead, did I say? This being was alive ; or, rather, horrible as the real- ization was to me, it was undead! The long, yellow hair hung straight down over the drooping, bony shoul- ders. The night-gown, in which the child had been carried into the dead- house, clung to her damply, as though death had been a matter of only a few minutes ago, and as though the fever-sweat had been unaffected by the chill of the winter night. And yet, it gave out a noxious, musty effluvium, as of the tomb itself. The parchmentlike skin of the face was more tightly drawn than ever; its pallor contrasted sharply with the scarlet lips, thin and cruel-looking, that now seemed drawn back in a sort of venomous smile, exposing the irregular and, in life, badly-cared-for teeth. Only the canines appeared to have escaped decay, or to have been replaced since death had occurred. I noticed that they were unusually long and sharply pointed. But the eyes! Can I ever forget those terrible eyes! Sunken in the head until they ap- peared almost like empty sockets, they yet burned with a fearsome, red glow, baleful and horrifying. But, in another way, the face upon which I gazed was changed. Not alone was it the awful pallor of it that showed the woit of the hand of Death. There was in it something (Continued on page 712)

Page 25

**TT stands to reason,” said I Twombly, "that a man must A accept the evidence of his own eyes, and when eyes and ears agree, there can be no doubt. He has to believe what he has both seen and heard.” "Not always,” put in Singleton, softly. Every man turned toward Single- ton. Twombly was standing on the hearth-rug, his back to the grate, his legs spread out, with his habitual air of dominating the room. Singleton, as usual, was as much as possible ef- faced in a corner. But when Single- ton spoke he said something. We faced ^m in that flattering spontane- ity of expectant silence which invites utterance. ^"I was thinking,” he said, after an interval, "of something I both saw and heard in Africa.” -tJ^ow, if there was one thing we had found impossible it had been to elicit from Singleton anything definite about his African experiences. As with the Alpinist in the story, who could tell only that he went up and came down, the sum of Singleton’s revelations had been that he went there and came away. His words now riveted our attention at once. Twom- bly faded from the hearth-rug, but not one of us could ever recall having seen him go. The room readjusted itself, focused on Singleton, and there was some hasty and furtive lighting of fresh cigars. Singleton lit one also, but it went out immediately, and he never relit it. WE WERE in the Great * Forest, exploring for pigmies. Van Kieten had a theory that the dwarfs found by Stanley and others were a mere cross-breed between ordinary ne- groes and the real pigmies. He hoped to discover a race of men three feet tall at most, or shorter. We had found no trace of any such beings. Natives were few; game scarce; food, except game, there was none; and the deepest, dankest, drippingest forest all about. We were the only novelty in the country, no native we met had even seen a white man be- fore, most had never heard of white men. All of a sudden, late one aft- ernoon, there came into our camp an Englishman, and pretty well used up he was, too. We had heard no rumor of him; he had not only heard of us but had made an amazing five-day march to reach us. His guide and two bearers were nearly as done up as he. Even though he was in tatters and had five days’ beaa’d on, you could

Page 26

600 WEIRD TALES see he was naturally dapper and neat and the sort of man to shave daily. He was small, but wiry. His face was the sort of British face from which emotion has been so carefully ban- ished that a foreigner is apt to think the wearer of the face incapable of any sort of feeling; the kind of face which, if it has any expression at all, expresses principally the resolution to go through the world decorously, without annoying or intruding upon anyone. His name was Etcham. He intro- duced himself modestly, and ate with us so deliberately that we should never have suspected, if our bearers had not had it from his bearer, that he had had but three meals in the five days, and those small. After we had lit up he told us why he had come. “My chief is ve’y seedy,” he said between puffs. “He is bound to go out if he keeps this way. I thought perhaps. , , .” He spoke quietly in a soft, even tone, but I could see little beads of sweat oozing out on his upper lip un- der his stubby mustache, and there was a tingle of repressed emotion in his tone, a veiled eagerness in Ms eye, a palpitating inward solicitude in his demeanor that moved me at once. Van Eieten had* no sentiment in Mm ; if he was moved he did not show it. But he listened. I was surprized at that. He was just the man to refuse at once. But he listened to Etcham ’s halting, diffident hints. He even asked questions. “Who is your chief!” ‘ ‘ Stone, ’ ’ Etcham lisped. That electrified both of us, “Ralph Stone?” we ejaculated to- gether. Etcham nodded. For some minutes Van Rieten and I were silent. Van Rieten had never seen him, but I had been a classmate of Stone’s, and Van Rieten and I had discussed him over many a camp-fire. We had heard of Mm two years be- fore, south of Luebo in the Balunda country, which had been ringing with his theatrical strife against a Balunda witch-doctor, ending in the sorcerer’s complete discomfiture and the abase- ment of his tribe before Stone. They had even broken the fetish-man’s whistle and given Stone the pieces. It had been like the triumph of Eli- jah over the prophets of Baal, only more real to the Balunda. We had thought of Stone as far off, if still in Africa at all, and here he. turned up ahead of us and probably forestalling our quest. -#k- Etcham ’s naming of Stone brought back to us all his tantalizing storj', his fascinating parents, their tragic death ; the brilliance of his col- lege days; the dazzle of his millions; the promise of his^young manhood; his wide notoriety, so nearly real fame; his romantic elopement with the meteoric authoress whose sudden cascade of fiction had made her so great a name so young, whose beauty and charm were so much heralded; the frightful scandal of the breach- of-promise suit that followed; his bride’s devotion through it all; their sudden quarrel after it was all over; their divorce"; the too much adver- tised announcement of his approach- ing marriage to the plaintiff in the breaeh-of-promise suit ; his precipitate remarriage to his divorced bride; their second quarrel and second di-^ voree; his departure from his native land ; his advent in the dark conti- nent. The sense of all this rushed* over me and I believe Van Rieten felt it, too, as he sat silent. Then he asked: “Where is Werner?” “Dead,” said Etcham. “He died before I joined Stone.” “You were not with Stone above Luebo?” “No,” said Etcham, “I joined him at Stanley Palls.”

Page 27

LUKUNDOO 601 “Who is with him!” Van Bieten asked. “Only his Zanzibar servants and the bearers,” Etcham replied. “What sort of bearers?” Van Rie- ten demanded. “Man"-Battu men,” Etcham re- sponded simply. Now that impressed both Van Rie- ten and myself greatly. It bore out Stone’s reputation as a notable lead- er of men. For up to that time no one had been able to use Mang-Battu as bearers outside pf their own coun- try, or to hold them for long or diffi- cult expeditions. “Were you long among the Mang- Battu?” was Van Bieten’s next question. “Some weeks,” said Etcham. “Stone was interested in them and made up a fair-sized vocabulary of their words and phrases. He had a theory that they are an offshoot of the Balunda and he found much confir- mation in their customs.” “What do you live on?” Van Bie- ten inquired. “Game, mostly,” Etcham lisped. “How long has Stone been laid up?” Van Bieten next asked. “More than a month,” Etcham answered. “And you have been hunting for the camp!” Van Rieten exclaimed. Etcham ’s face, burnt and flayed as it was, showed a flush. “I missed some easy shots,” he ad- mitted ruefully. “I’ve not felt ve’y fit myself.” “What’s the matter with your chief?” Van Rieten inquired. “Something like carbuncles,” Et- cham replied. “He ought to get over a earbunele or two,” Van Rieten declared. “They are not carbuncles,” Et- cham explained. “Nor one or two. He has had dozens, sometimes five at once. If they had been carbuncles he would have been dead long ago. But in some ways they are not so bad, though in others they are worse.” “How do you mean?” Van Rieten queried. “Well,” Etcham hesitated, “they do not seem to inflame so deep nor so wide as carbuncles, nor to be so pain- ful, nor to cause so much fever. But then they seem to be part of a disease that affects his mind. He let me help him dress the first, but the others he has hidden most carefully, from me and from the men. He keeps his tent when they pufl; up, and will not let me change the dressings or be with him at all.” “Have you plenty of di’essings?” Van Rieten asked. “We have some,” said Etcham doubtfully. “But he won’t use them; he washes out the dressings and uses them over and over. ’ ’ “How is he treating the swell- ings?” Van Rieten inquired. “He slices them off clear down to flesh level, with Ins razor.” “What?” Van Rieten shouted. Etcham made no answer but looked him steadily in the eyes. “I beg pardon,” Van Rieten has- tened to say. “You startled me. They can’t be carbuncles. He’d have been dead long ago.” “I thought I had said they are not carbuncles,” Etcham lisped. “But the man must be crazy!” Van Rieten exclaimed. “Just so,” said Etcliam; “He is beyond my advice or control.” “How many has he treated that way?” Van Rieten demanded. “Two, to my knowledge,” Etcham said. “Two^” Van Rieten queried. Etcham flushed again. “I saw him,” he confessed, “through a crack in the hut. I felt impelled to keep a watch on him, as if he was not responsible.”

Page 28

602 WEIED TALES “I should think not,” Van Rieten agreed. “And you saw him do that twice?” “I conjecture,” said Etcham, “that he did the like with all the rest.” “How many has he had?” Van Rieten asked. “Dozens,” Etcham lisped. “Does he eat?” Van Rieten in- quired. “Like a wolf,” said Etcham. “More than any two bearers.” “Can he walk?” Van Rieten asked. I “He crawls a bit, groaning,” said Etcham simply. “Little fever, you say,” Van Rie- ten ruminated. “Enough and too much,” Etcham declared. “Has he been delirious?” Van Rie- ten asked. “Only twice,” Etcham replied; “once when the first swelling broke, and once later. He would not let any- one come near him then. But we could hear him talking, talking steadily, and it scared the natives.” “Was he talking their patter in de- lirium?” Van Rieten demanded. “No,” said Etcham, “but he was talking some similar lingo. Hamed Burghash said he was thlking Balun- da. I know too little Balunda. I do not learn languages readily. Stone learned more Mang-Battu in a week than I should have learned in a year. But I seemed to hear words like Mang-Battu words. Anyhow the Mang-Battu bearers were scared.” “Scared?” Van Rieten repeated, questioningly. “So were the Zanzibar men, even: Hamed Burghash, and so was I,” said Etcham, “only for a different reason. He talked in two voices.” “In two voices,” Van Rieten re- flected. “Yes,” said Etcham, more excited- ly than he had yet spoken, “In two voices, like a conversation. One was his own, one a small, thin, bleaty voice like nothing I ever heard. I seemed to make out, among the sounds the deep voice made, some- thing like Mang-Battu words I knew, as nedru, metehaba, and nedo, their terms for ‘head’, ‘shoulder’, ‘thigh’, and perhaps kudra and nekere (‘speak’ and ‘whistle’) ; and among the noises of the shrill voice matom- ipa, angunzi, and kamomami (‘kill’, ‘death’, and ‘hate’). Hamed Burg- hash said he also heard those words. He knew Mang-Hattu far better than I.” “What did the bearers say?” Van Rieten asked. “They said, ^Lukundoo, Lukun- doo!' ” Etcham replied. “I did not know that word; Hamed Burghash said it was Mang-Battu for ‘leop- ard’.” “It’s Mang-Battu for ‘conjur- ing’,” said Van Rieten. “I don’t wonder they thought so,” said Etcham. “It was enough to make one believe in enchantment to listen to those two voices.” “One voice answering the other?” Van Rieten asked perfunctorily. Etcham ’s face went gray under his tan. “Sometimes both at once,” he an- swered huskily. “Both at once!” Van Rieten ejac- Tilated. ^ “It sounded that way to the men, too,” said Etcham. “And that was not all.” He stopped and looked helplessly at us for a moment. “Could a man talk and whistle at the same time?” he asked. “How do you mean?” Van Rieten. queried. “We could hear Stone talking away, his big, deep-chested baritone rumbling along, and through it all we could hear a high, shrill whistle, the oddest, wheezy sound. You know, no

Page 29

LUKUNDOO 603 matter how shrilly a grown man may whistle, the note has a different qual- ity from the whistle of a boy or a woman or little girl. They sound more treble, somehow. Well, if you can imagine the smallest girl who could whistle keeping it up tunelessly right along, that whistle was like that, only even more piercing, and it sounded right through Stone’s bass tones.” “And you didn’t go to him?” Van Rieten cried. “He is not given to threats,” Eteham disclaimed. “But he had threatened, not volubly, nor like a sick man, but quietly and firmly, that if any man of us (he lumped me in with the men), came near him while he was in his trouble, that man should die. And it was not so much his words as his manner. It was like a monarch commanding respected priv- acy for a death-bed. One simply could not transgress.” “I see,” said Van Rieten shortly. “He’s ve’y seedy,” Eteham re- peated helplessly. “I thought per- haps. . . .” His absorbing affection for Stone, his real love for him, shone out through his envelope of conventional training. Worship of Stone was plainly his master passion. Like many competent men. Van Rieten had a streak of hard selfish- ness in him. It came to the surface then. He said we carried our lives in our hands from day to day just as genuinely as Stone; that he did not forget the ties of blood and calling between any two explorers, but that there was no sense in imperiling one party for a very problematical benefit to a man probably beyond any help ; that it was enough of a task to hunt for one party; that if two were united, providing food would be more than doubly difficult ; that the risk of starvation was too great. Deflecting our march seven full days’ journey (he complimented Eteham on his marching powers) might ruin our expedition entirely. VAN RIETEN had logic on his side and he had a way with him. Eteham sat there apologetic and def- erential, like a fourth-form school- boy before a head master. Van Rieten wound up. “I am after pigmies, at the risk of my life. After pigmies I go.” “Perhaps, then, these will interest you,” said Eteham, very quietly. He took two objects out of the side- pocket of his blouse, and handed them to Van Rieten. They were round, big- ger than big plums, and smaller than small peaches, about the right size to enclose in an average hand. They were black, and at first I did not see what they were. “Pigmies!” Van Rieten exclaimed. “Pigmies, indeed! Why, they wouldn’t be two feet high! Do you mean to claim that these are adult heads?” “I claim nothing,” Eteham an- swered evenly. “You can see for yourself.” Van Rieten passed one of the heads to me. The sun was just setting and I examined it closely. A dried head it was, perfectly preserved, and the flesh as hard as Argentine jerked beef. A bit of a vertebra stuck out where the muscles of the vanished neck had shriveled into folds. The puny chin was sharp on a projecting jaw, the minute teeth white and even between the retracted lips, the tiny nose was flat, the little forehead re- treating, there were inconsiderable clumps of stunted wool on the Lillipu- tian cranium. There was nothing babyish, childish or youthful about the head, rather it was mature to senility. “Where did these come from?” Van Rieten enquired.

Page 30

604 WEIED TALES “I do not know,” Etcham replied precisely. “I found them among Stone’s effects while rummaging for medicines or drugs or anything that could help me to help him. I do not know where he got them. But I’ll swear he did not have them when we entered this district.” “Are you sure?” Van Eieten queried, his eyes big and fixed on Etcham ’s. “Ve’y sure,” lisped Etcham. “But how could he have come by them without your knowledge?” Van Eieten demurred. “Sometimes we were apart ten days at a time hunting,” said Etcham. “Stone is not a talking man. He gave me no account of his doings and Hamed Burghash keeps a still tongue and a tight hold on the men.” “You have examined these heads?” Van Eieten asked. “Minutely,” said Etcham. Van Eieten took out his notebook. He was a methodical chap. He tore out a leaf, folded it and divided it equally into three pieces. He gave one to me and one to Etcham. “Just for a test of my impres- sions,” he said, “I want each of us to write separately, just what he is most reminded of by these heads. Then I want to compare the writ- ings.” I handed Etcham a pencil and he wrote. Then he handed the pencil back to me and I wrote. “Eead the three,” said Van Eieten, handing me his piece. Van Eieten had written: “An old Balunda witch-doctor.” Etcham had written : “An old Mang-Battu fetish-man.” I had written : “An old Katongo magician.” “There!” Van Eieten exclaimed. “Look at that! There is nothing Wagabi or Batwa or Wambuttu or Wabotu about these heads. Nor any- thing pigmy either.” “I thought as much,” said Etcham. “And you say he did not have them before?” “To a certainty he did not,” Etcham asserted. “It is worth following up,” said Van Eieten. “I’ll go with you. And first of all. I’ll do my best to save Stone.” He put out his hand and Etcham clasped it silently. He was grateful all over. ■^■OTHING but Etcham ’s fever of so- licitude could have taken him in five days over the track. It took him eight days to retrace with full knowl- edge of it and our party to help. We could not have done it in seven, and Etcham urged us on, in a repressed fury of anxiety, no mere fever of duty to his chief, but a real ardor of devo- tion, a glow of personal adoration for Stone which blazed under his dry con- ventional exterior and showed in spite of him. We found Stone well eared for. Etcham had seen to a good, high thorn zdreeba round the camp, the huts were well built and thatched and Stone’s was as good as their resources would permit. Hamed Burghash was not named after two Seyyids for noth- ing. He had in him the making of a sultan. He had kept the Mang-Battu together, not a man had slipped off, and he had kept them in order. Also he was a deft nurse and a faithful servant. The two other Zanzabaris had done some creditable hunting. Though all were hungry, the camp was far from starvation. Stone was on a canvas cot and there was a sort of collapsible camp-stool- table, like a Turkish tabouret, by the cot. It had a water-bottle and some

Page 31

LUKUNDOO 605 vials on it and Stone’s watch, also his razor in its case. Stone was clean and not emaciated, but he was far gone ; not unconscious, but in a daze; past commanding or resisting anyone. He did not seem to see us enter or to know we were there. I should have recognized him any- where. His boyish dash and grace had vanished utterly, of course. But his head had grown more leonine ; his hair was still abundant, yellow and wavy; the close, crisped blond beard he had grown daring his illness did not alter him. He was big and big- chestcd yet. His eyes were dull and he mumbled and babbled mere mean- ingless syllables, not words. Eteham helped Van Rieten to un- cover him and look him over. He was in good muscle for a man so long bed- ridden. There were no scars on him except about his knees, shoulders and chest. On each knee and above it he had a full score of roundish cicatrices, and a dozen or more on each shoulder, all in front. Two or three were open wounds and four or five barely healed. He had no fresh swellings ex- cept two, one on each side, on his pectoral muscles, the one on the left being higher up and farther out than the other. They did not look like boils or carbuncles, but as if something blunt and hard were being pushed up through the fairly healthy flesh and skin, not much inflamed. “I should not lance those,” said Van Rieten, and Eteham assented. They made Stone as comfortable as they could, and just before sunset we looked in at him again. He was lying on his back, and his chest showed big and massive yet, but he lay as if in a stupor. We left Eteham with him and went into the next hut, which Eteham had resigned to us. The jun- gle noises were no different there than anywhere else for months past, and I was soon fast asleep. SOMETIME in the pitch dark I found myself awake and listening. I could hear two voices, one Stone’s, the other sibilant and wheezy. I knew Stone’s voice after all the years that had passed since I heard it last. The other was like nothing I remem- bered. It had less volume than the wail of a new-born baby, yet there was an insistent carrying power to it, like the shrilling of an insect. As I listened I heard Van Rieten breathing near me in the dark, then he heard me and realized that I was listening, too. Like Eteham I knew little Ba- lunda, but I could make out a word or two. The voices alternated with in- tervals of silence Between. Then suddenly both sounded at once and fast, Stone’s baritone basso, full as if he were in perfect health, and that incredible stridulous falset- to, both jabbering at once like the voices of two people quarreling and trying to talk each other down. “I can’t stand this,” said Van Rieten. “Let’s have a look at him.” He had one of those cylindrical electric night-candlcs. He fumbled about for it, touched the button and beckoned me to come with him. Out- side of the hut he motioned me to stand still, and instinctively turned off the light, as if seeing made listen- ing difficult. Except for a faint glow from the embers of the bearers’ fire we were in complete darkness, little starlight struggled through the trees, the river made but a faint murmur. We could hear the two voices together and then suddenly the creaking voice changed . into a razor-edged, slicing whistle, in- describably cutting, continuing right through Stone’s grumbling torrent of croaking words. “Good God!” exclaimed Van Rie- ten. Abruptly he turned on the light. We found Eteham utterly asleep, exhausted by his long anxiety and the

Page 32

606 WEIRD TALES exertions of his phenomenal march and relaxed completely now that the load was in a sense shifted from his shoulders to Van Ricten’s. Even the light on his face did not wake him. The whistle had ceased and the two voices now sounded together. Both came from Stone ’s cot, where the con- centrated white ray showed him lying just as we had left him, except that he had tossed his arms above his head and had torn the coverings and ban- dages from his chest. The swelling on his right breast had broken. Van Rieten aimed the center line of the light at it and we saw it plainly. From his flesh, grown out of it, there protruded a head, such a head as the dried specimens Etcham had shown us, as if it were a minia- ture of the head of a Balunda fetish- man. It was black, shining black as tlie blackest African skin; it rolled the whites of its wicked, wee eyes and showed its microscopic teeth between lips repulsively negroid in their red fullness, even in so diminutive a face. It had crisp, fuzzy wool on its man- ikin skull, it turned malignantly from side to side and chittered in- cessantly in that inconceivable fal- setto. Stone babbled brokenly against its patter. Van Rieten turned from Stone and Avaked Etcham, with some difficulty. When he was awake and saw it all, Eteham stared and said not one word. “You saw him slice off two swell- ings?” Van Rieten asked. Etcham nodded, choking. “Did he bleed much?” Van Rieten demanded. “Ve’y little,” Eteham replied. “You hold his arms,” said Van Rieten to Etcham. He took up Stone’s razor and hand- ed me the light. Stone showed no sign of seeing the light or of knowing we were there. But the little head mewled and screeched at us. Van Rieten ’s hand was steady, and the sweep of the razor even and true. Stone bled amazingly little and Van Rieten dressed the wound as if it had been a bruise or scrape. Stone had stopped talking the in- stant the excrescent head was sev- ered. Van Rieten did all that could be done for Stone and then fairly grabbed the light from me. Snatch- ing up a gun he scanned the ground by the cot and brought the butt down once and twice, viciously. We went back to our hut, but I doubt if I slept. Next day, near noon, in broad day- light, we heard the two voices fi’om Stone’s hut. We found Eteham dropped asleep by his charge. The swelling on the left had broken, and just such another head was there miauling and .spluttering. Etcham woke up and the three of us stood there and glared. Stone interjected hoarse vocables into the tinkling gur- gle of the portent’s utterance. Van Rieten stepped forward, took up Stone’s razor and knelt down by the cot. The atomy of a head squealed a wheezy .snarl at him. Then suddenly Stone spoke Eng- lish. “Who are you with my razor?” Van Rieten started back and stood up. Stone’s eyes were clear now and bright, they roved about the hut. “The end,” he said; “I recognize the end. I seem to see Eteham, as if in life. But Singleton! Ah, Single- ton! Ghosts of my boyhood come to watch me pass! And you, strange specter with the black beard, and my razor! Aroint ye all!” “I’m no ghost, Stone,” I managed to say. “I’m alive. So are Eteham and Van Rieten. We are here to help you.” (Continued on jiage 710)

Page 33

Author of “Black Medicine” “Strange Tales From Santo Domingo” etc. My fear is an intangible fear; yet to me it is terribly real. Reason tells me that my experiences are but the figments of realistic nightmares, while my in- ner consciousness tells me that what I have gone through has been something more than disordered imagining. I know, in my mind, that it has all been a dream, or a series of dreams. Yet how can I explain to myself those strange red dots on my hands, my face, my neck? These are very reaL They are not hallucinations, for such of my friends as still come to see me at intervals have noted the dots and remarked up- on their peculiar appearance. This fact it is that is slowly but surely driving me to the very door of the insane asylum. Damn it, I know they have all been dreams! Yet dream creatures do not leave their marks upon the body of the dreamer. But I had best go back and tell it all from the beginning. I believe that from childhood I dreamed at intervals, widely spaced intervals, of a little secluded valley which had no location except in the recesses of my subconscious mind. It has always been a sunless valley, with a dark cloud hiding the sun. Mias- matic mists have hung like airy shrouds in the still air above the val- ley’s floor. There has been no breeze in this valley, nor anything that lived or moved. The air has been good, freighted with a musty kind of i)er- fume that has ever tantalized my sen- sitive nostrils ; but it has alwa3^ been air with a strange sort of chill to it that has ever caused me to waken shivering from my dream. I have called the place a valley, yet I do not know for sure that it is a valley, since only my imagination has walled the vaUey in. It is as though somewhere beyond the mists and the black cloud there were a circle of high hills which I cannot see, just beyond the reach of my vision. Always, in my dream, I enter the valley through a narrow cleft in the walls of stone. I know it is a cleft, though I have never seen the walls, for countless times have I believed that, by putting forth my hands, I could have touched the walls on either hand — and I have always feared to put forth my hands, lest they encoun- ter nothingness, and this knowledge of nothingness where I had expected walls might cause my mind to collapse with thoughts of wide immensities, or caverns, bottomless, on my right hand

Page 34

WEIRD TALES 6oa and on my left. I prefer not to know the truth, or to delude myself with the knowledge that there may be walls when, possibly, there are none at all. Straight through this cleft I go un- til my sensitive feelings tell me that I have entered the valley. Then begin my strange sensations. First, there is a terrible feeling of loneliness. A feeling of great space all about me. A sense of surrounding desolation which my eye can not see. And over all a silence that is as heavy as a giant’s cloak upon the shoulders of a mere boy. There is the inevitable chill in the air which causes me to shiver, even though — as is sometimes the case when I have dreamed of entering the valley swiftly, with much exertion — my body is bathed in perspiration. Quietly, lest I disturb the eery at- mosphere of the place, I seat myself, cross-legged, upon the ground. And almost at once the quew noises begin to be heard! Always, until a few weeks ago, the noises have been the same, never varying from dream to dream — which, during the passing of the years, have occurred so fre- quently that the dreams seem to blend into one long nightmare that has no end. What are the noises? They are the beating, beating in the air about me of sUken, invisible wings! Yet, until a few weeks ago, I had never seen the creatures whose wings I had heard. Out of the misty distances they come, those wings that whir in the air, those creatures that always swerve and dart hither and yon, ever just far enomgh within the mists that I cannot see the creatures themselves. When I remember hear- ing the wings the first time I am sure there was but one pair of them. Out of the mists they came whirring, and I heard them slap smartly as the crea- ture who traveled upon them, sensing my presence perhaps, stayed its flight and darted back into the fog. Only to return a few seconds later, slap- ping its wings together smartly ere it darted back and was lost ! When the dream came again — and this second time I was several months older — it was repeated in all its details as I have outlined it above. Except that now there were two crea- tures instead of one ! Distinctly, while I held my breath to listen, came the whirring of two pairs of wings. Still the creatures were invisible, though I knew from the sound that they were probably identical in shape and kind. Out of the fog they would come, whirring, pausing while their wings beat a startled tattoo in the mists as their flight was stayed. ‘C'OR a number of times whose exact count I have long since forgotten, the dream was repeated at intervals — which, as I grew older, came closer and closer together. The details never varied except in one particular. The beating of the wings was great- er in volume with each succeeding oc- currence of the nightmare ! First there had been one pair of wings, then two, then four — ever increasing in numbers until the air all about me, ever beyond my vision, was alive with invisible creatures whose wings whipped the air, caused the fog to swirl eerily — creating a medley of noise that became shortly a contin- ual sound of beating wings, as though the creatures were advancing from the mists in companies and battalions, in regiments and brigades. One group would rush upon me and retire, only to give place to another group which charged me, only to retreat. How many minutes, hours or days I re- mained in the valley with its unseen walls I have no way of computing; but this I know well: after the first time or two the sound as of wings beating never paused, from my entry to the valley until the dream ceased and I awoke in my bed beneath the

Page 35

VALE OP THE CORBIES 609 eaves at home — ^with a cold perspira- tion bathing my body clammily. And here is another weird circum- stance. Even though I know in my dream that it is a dream ; even though I know as I travel through the cleft Avhat I shall experience when I have reached the valley at last, I am never able to cause myself to waken — nor am I able to cause the dream to change until it has gone through to its usual conclusion. As I traverse the cleft I try to stay my steps, try to face about and return; but find my- self powerless to do so. Always I must go on until I have entered the valley and listened to the rustling and beating of the invisible wings! Is it any wonder that I have come to fear the approach of nightfall? Is it any wonder that I watch the sun with dread as it slopes down the skj' into the west ? Is it any wonder that I walk the floor of my study until far into the night, fighting sleep until, from very weariness, I cease to strug- gle and my eyes close of their own ac- cord? Is it any wonder that a fever has entered my blood, crimsoning my cheeks until I appear like a man far gone in consumption, until the flesh has shrunken on my face so that, ex- cept for the roses of fever, my facial appearance is that of a cadaver? Too much worry and fear because of a tiresome nightmare, you say? A nightmare that comes because I fear that it mil come and, so fearing, bring on the very dream I dread? If it were only the beating of the wings! But many months have passed now since it was only the wdngs that frighted me ! Months, did I say? Months it is; yet it seems that whole years have passed! For one night when I dreamed, straining my eyes to make out the creatures whose wings I heard, I saw a black blotch against the misty wraiths of the valley — a blotch no big- ger than a man’s head! The blotch was black, I say! Blacker even than “the raven tresses of midnight’’ ! Just a glimpse it was, a glimpse that chilled me even as the dread coldness of the valley had never done. For there was a definite shape to that black blotch — a shape that spelled, to my disordered imagination, but one thing: that of a vampire bat with a death’s head! I waited, my heart in my mouth, for the shape to show it- self again. Shortly, then, I saw it — and knew that the creature I saw was not the same which I had first glimpsed. The outline was the same, but there was an indefinable, inex- plicable difference which told me that this second glimpse was of a different creature, twin, perhaps, of the first. But why continue? Night after night it was the same, until, mingled wth the never-ending whirring of the silken wings, I stared, mute with a nameless fear, at a veritable wall of black, darting creatures — a wall that came toward me like a flood of black- ness, like a sea of ebon smoke ; a wall that was alive, that swirled and ed- died, writhed and twisted, pouring in, over, and down upon itself, like heavy opaque oil in ferment. Then came the other sound — a raucous croaking which told me what mamier of creature it was that showed such interest in me. These creatures were not bats, but birds of ebon blackness; birds that caused their wings to whir tirelessly, birds that increased with the speed of thought, birds that gave voice to raucous croakings that grated against the ear-drums as the rasping of a file grates against an exposed nerve. The birds were corbies! The birds were ravens ! But did the knowledge ease the feel- ing of tension which, night by night, seemed to clasp me the tighter? No! No! No! Imagine it if you can. Try mental- ly to experience it but once. Then multiply that experience by all the

Page 36

610 WEIED TALES countless times that I, dreaming my ever-recurring dream, entered the vale of the corbies and listened to the beating of their wings, to their per- petual croaking — and watched them writhe and twist in the air, so many in number that their evolutions made one think of a sea of plastic ebony. Do this and you know why I fight the descent of sleep as I would fight the temptations of Satan, Yet it is but a dream, after all! But is it? IT IS only two weeks ago now that, for the first time, I found myself unable to listen, undisturbed, to the beating wings of the corbies — for, as they were emboldened no doubt by my motionless attitude, the natural fear of me which the creatures must have felt began to disappear. I knew it certainly when I noted that the black wall of the darting birds had ap- proached closer to me on all sides — had approached so close that I could feel the breeze caused by the wings, could feel the coolness on my cheeks. Then I knew, with a suddenness which had the force of some eery in- spiration, that the chill along my spine which I had always experienced had had a definite cause — and that cause was the antagonism which the corbies felt toward me I Don’t ask me why, for I do not know; yet what happened afterward proves to me that I am correct in this surmise. Prom the very first the corbies of the hidden valley hated me! Hated me with a hatred which nothing in the world could quell! Why, then, did they not, in all their countless numbers, overpower me like a resist- less flood and smother me with the very weight of their numbers? SometJiing held them back! Was it the antagonism which I instinctive- ly fostered within myself as a weird sort of protection? Perhaps. Then could these creatures have been crea- tures of flesh and blood? Or is it only creatures of the astral world that can sense these emanations? Have I not insisted that it is nothing but a never-ending dream? But wait! Two nights later, when the wall ap- proached quite too closely, I could stand it no longer. With a cry of an- ger, a cry that was pregnant with fear and a nameless horror, I leaped to my feet and, for the first time, took active steps against the black crea- tures which were robbing me of what little reason I still possessed. I rushed pell-mell, my eyes closed tightly, into the thick of the wall of fiying corbies — striking out on all sides with clenched fists! I felt my fists strike home in soft, feathery bodies ; felt the bodies fall away from my hands. I gathered the creatures in armfuls to my breast, crushing out their little lives against my own body — and fiercely gloated in my power to do them injury. But what were those little stabs of pain which I felt on my exposed hands, my face, and my neck? I felt them, but at the time did not realize their significance! Finally, exhausted from my battle against these terrific, somehow in- tangible odds, I fell back from the fight and sank again to the ground. But, fast between my two palms, I held a single one of the ebon ravens! He was still alive, and his little eyes seemed to stare into my own with an expression of saturnine, undying ha- tred— as though he dared me to hurt him. For many minutes I looked into the eyes of the weak, defenseless bird. Unblinking he stared back at me — un- afraid. Slowly his mouth opened, as though he sneered at me. Still with his eyes staring into mine, the raven ducked its head suddenly and drove its point- ed bill deep into the flesh of my hand ! The blood spurted from fhe wound! Then I knew the meaning of those stabs of pain I had felt when I had

Page 37

VALE OF THE COEBIES 611 fought against the vanguard of the corbies! The other birds, too, had driven their sharp bills into my flesh. I stared wonderingly at my hands, my attention drawn more closely because the bird between my palms had pierced the flesh — and as I saw the countless punctures I knew that what I had thought to be perspiration bath- ing my cheeks was not perspiration, but blood which the ravens had drawn! What did I do then? Deliberately, not knowing why, just as a small boy does not know why he takes pleasure in being cruel to ani- mals, I looked back at the bird and into its challenging eyes; then, hold- ing it fast in one hand, with the other I slowly twisted the ebony head from the creature’s shoulders and hurled it into the mists! The little body in my hand did not quiver ; did not move once after I had cast the head free; but when I had hurled the body after the head it sud- denly seemed to come to life, jump- ing here and there as does any bird which has been beheaded. Then, up- right on its two feet, it darted into the fog. But before it had entirely disappeared, I saw it take wing and rise into the air! My God, what ghastly croaking then came from the billow upon bil- low of corbies which still circled about me! I pressed my hands to my ears to prevent my ear drums from bursting. Then, when I could stand no more, I leaped to my feet and started back the way I had come, while the ravens followed behind me, raucously croak- ing their wordless anger. I felt them on my shoulders and on my head; I felt them about my legs, retarding my retreat. I felt the slapping of their wings against my unprotected cheeks and face ; felt the sharp stabs of pain in my flesh as their savage bills were plunged home. And awoke in my bed at home with perspiration beading my body ! It was perspiration, too, not blood. But on my hands, face and neck, there were many, many little red dots — dots which might have been tiny wounds that had healed, leaving fiery weals where the open wounds had been. This then is why I fear sleep. When I sleep I dream, and when I dream I dream of the vale of corbies — and I know that, sooner or later, the ravens will slay me! Yet a man can not fight sleep forever — though for over a week I have not closed my eyes. I have imbibed strong coffee, fiery hot and black as the wings of the ravens ; I have used many kinds of drugs, in- creasing the doses swiftly until I use more than any confirmed fiend that ever lived; yet I feel myself growing weaker hour by hour, and know that soon I must sleep. And when I do. . . . 4******** 1, HANS GOODMAN, brother of the man who wrote the above manuscript, must finish the story, for my brother is dead. What he saw beyond the veil of sleep I do not know — assured- ly I do not believe all that he has written above, because I know that it was written in a fevered frenzy, was bom of a mind that had been crazed by drags and loss of sleep. Call it an insane obsession if you like. But I found my brother dead in a chair in his study, his body literally covered with the blood which oozed from countless little wounds in his flesh — ^flesh that, between the wounds, was red with the roses of fever, or red because it had been beaten and pound- ed by something that was stiU not powerful enough to break the skin! And who shall say that whirring wings did not paint those roses there — ^whirring wings that beat an endless tattoo?

Page 38

Every Hundred Tears the Woman Stepped From the Portrait and Killed Herself Midnight Realism By WILLIAM SANFORD Author of "GrisUys Reception” “The Scarlet Night” etc. “"M M'lGHTY glad to see you, old man,” exclaimed my host, Jimmy Carson, as he ex- tended his hand and met mine in a hearty shake. “Quite a little storm we’re having. I’d have met you, only, as I wired, Dan doesn’t get back until very late with the car, and the bus is far more comfortable on a night like this anyway. Guess it will be too wet for partridge shooting to- morrow, but I have plenty of books, and an old billiard table stands in one of the rooms here. You’ll make out somehow, and day after tomorrow we’ll make it warm for the birds!” “Don’t worry about me, Jim,” I answered. “I’m always content under your roof and never have found a lack of pleasure. And then I’ve never seen your mew home, you know, and I’ll be mighty glad to spend a few hours tomorrow looking it over. Used to be an old tavern, didn’t it?” “Right!” replied my friend; “and pretty old, too, I can tell you: it is more than two hundred years since this place was built, but it has been kept in good repair. Most of the timber is as sound as the day it was put in. They used real lumber in those times — the profiteering sharks were not so numerous. I bought the place because my boy took such a fancy to it. He is everything to me since my Avife died.” I nodded understandingly. “And I’ll bet that’s an old portrait over in 612 the next room yonder,” I remarked, indicating a large, full-length canvas of a beautiful young woman. “Know who she was ? ” “Have a smoke,” Carson replied, and extended the box. He selected a cigar himself and we settled ourselves comfortably before the Avood fire, for I knew from the look on my friend’s face that a story was forthcoming. “Yes,” he replied, “that beautiful creature was the wife, so the story goes, of the man who built this place. . He was, besides the oAvner of the tav- ern, a painter of some ability, as that canvas shows. He died when still young, it is said, and his grief -strick- en widow, unable to endure existence Avithout him, ended her life with a dagger, in that very room where the portrait hangs. Soon after, so the tale goes, an old witch of the tOAvn made a prediction that once in every hundred years, exactly on the hour of mid- night, the Avife would step from the portrait and go through the act of killing herself, just as she killed her- self on that fatal night so long ago. I suppose the prediction was believed by many, for the words of the so- called witches were not always taken lightly in those days.” “Well,” I drew a cloud of smoke from my fragrant Havana and idly watched the rings float off toward the chimney, ' ‘ at least one anniversary of the hundred years must have taken place. Did she step from the por- trait?”

Page 39

MIDNIGHT REALISM 1613 Jim laughed. “There is a tale that she did,” he replied, “but of course in these days no one takes any stock in it. The story goes that a group of men were in this very room making merry with liquor and song when someone told the legend of the picture and the witch ’s prediction. Everyone got to talking about it, and the tale, with the liquor, work^ strongly on their imaginations, for they claimed that on the stroke of midnight the woman did step from the portrait and stab herself. That's what liquor will do to some minds. I suppose they would have seen six women, if that had been in the story that helped to work tliem up.” He laughed and re- lighted his cigar, which had gone dead. “And by the way,” he added, “that was just a hundred years ago tonight I” “A hundred years ago tonight!” I said. “Why, then, the portrait is due to come to life again in less than an hour I ’ ’ And in spite of myself I felt a touch of goose-flesh creep over my spine. Jim laughed again. “Yes,” he said, “and a real act is going to be slated just for our benefit. My boy, Dan, as you know, is a vaudeville per- former. His star act is a female im- personation scene, a tragedy scene, in which a woman kills herself with a dagger. He’s putting on the act this week over at Kingsby, about ten miles from here. He ’ll be back any moment now. I’ve promised to turn off all the lights, and he is going to work up some phosphorus effect and pretend to step from the portrait just as the clock tolls midnight. He’s going through with the act just as the wom- an was said to have done it, and he says he will make it so realistic we’ll just about think it’s the real thing. Dan has a lot of ability and will give us a real thrill. It’s almost half after 11 now. Suppose I turn off the lights, and we can smoke here by the fire. It won’t throw any glow into the next room to spoil the phosphorus effect. Dan will be here in a few min- utes. He’s going to come from the theater right in his stage costume, with his make-up on. He’ll get in by the track way, and we’ll never know he’s here till we see him in the por- trait act. It will give us a better thrill than if we saw him first in the costume, and talked with him.” “I’ll say it will!” I answered with fervor. “Hear that rain beat down and those pine trees moaning in the wind ! If there was ever a night made for ghosts and goblins this is one of them. We’ll get the full effect all right!” And I can not say that it was with complete joy I watched my friend carefully turn off every light in the place. minutes ticked by. Par away in the town below I heard a clock strike the half hour after 11. “That’s the tower clock,” said Jim in a low voice. “It’s always right to a second, and almost a hundred years old!” “Everything around here seems to be old,” I replied uneasily. “I sup- pose some witch predicted that the clock would always be right, and a goblin winds it every week with a key made out of witch-smoke!” Jim laughed, but there was a bit of unsteadiness in his laugh. “Sort of gets you, that story about the woman, doesn’t it?” he said. “And this being the anniversary of the night she is due to appear. Let’s have a drink. It wiU steady us up a bit. That damned wind in the pine trees seems almost alive ! ’ ’ “Thanks,” I said. Jim arose, and from a sideboard produced a bottle and glasses. We drank to each other’s health, and then to Dan’s success, and the success of the performance we were about to see. “Just one more,” Jim muttered, and commenced to fill the glasses. As

Page 40

614 :WEIED TALES he did so the clock in the tower, far away, began to toll the hour of mid- night With a muttered ejaculation Jim dropped the glass he was filling and it fell to the floor, breaking into a thousand tiny pieces that glittered in the firelight. ‘ ‘ Look ! ” he whispered. “The light!” Yes, a light was gathering out of the inky blackness of the next room, just where the portrait hung, but it was not as if created by phosphorus, but rather a weird, unnatural glow, unlike anything that could be created through human skill. “Great!” Jim whispered. “Isn’t he a genius? I’ll bet that’s something of his own invention. See! the por- trait seems to be moving. Say, isn’t that effect astonishingly real? That boy’s fortune is made. He’ll be rec- ognized before long as the most fa- mous in the business ! ’ ’ Yes, the portrait was moAdng. Slow- ly the canvas seemed to open and fade away into nothing, and from' the great frame there stepped the figure of a beautiful young woman. Her face was as clear and white as ivory, and a great mass of silken hair of yellowest gold flowed down her back, reaching almost to her waist. I heard Jim’s breath coming quick and short. “By Jove!” he muttered. “If I didn’t know it was Dan, I wouldn’t believe — isn’t that a make- up, though? Talk about a .star act! How the devil does he get that por- trait opening effect? It ought to be worth a fortune, a trick like that ! ’ ’ I muttered something to indicate that I agreed, and that the working out of the act was as great a mystery to me as to my friend. Thpn we both gasped. From the bosom of her flow- ing white robes the woman drew a bright, shining dagger, and her lips parted. “I come,” she said softly, ‘ ‘ I come, beloved to join you ! ” With a quick movement she sank the dag- ger to the hilt in her breast, and with a half-choking moan slipped gradual- ly to the floor. Jim and I leaped to our feet. “Bravo!” shouted my friend, and I echoed the word. ‘ ‘ Some act, old boy ; your fortune’s made when you can do stuff like that!” I shouted. “For God’s sake turn on the lights, Jim; there’s goose-flesh enough on me to feed a whole poultry yard!” “Me, too!” Jim answered, fum- bling for the switch. “Let’s catch him and make him show us how he did it with the light on. Here it is ! ” And the next instant both the room in which we stood and the portrait room were flooded with the electric glow. “Come on,” Jim shouted; “he’s probably in the room beyond the por- trait one — there are rooms enough in this place for half a dozen families. How in heaven’s name did he get that dagger effect? I ’U swear I saw some- thing red staining that white gown just as she fell! Dagger blade must slide up into the handle, but it surely was realistic ! ’ ’ I WE STARTED for the room beyond where the portrait looked down on us, calm and restful, as we had seen it earlier in the evening. Sud- denly the telephone rang out sharp and clear. Jim turned to a table and picked up the receiver. “Hello — yes — this is Carson’s place — Carson talking — what — who did you say ? My God — ” The receiver fell from Jim’s hand, struck the table and rolled off, falling to the length of the cord, then dragged the telephone after it. The instrument clattered to the floor. Jim turned his face to me. It was soaked with great drops of perspiration and as white as death. “That was Dan,” he muttered thickly, speaking each word as if it were choking him. “It was such a storm — he decided to wait and come in the morning — he didn’t leave Kingsby at all!”

Page 41

Author of “The Master of HeU” “Adventures of An Astral,” etc. I AM writing tonight in a desper- ate effort to keep awake. Dnr- ing the past few weeks I have slept too rtinch. I hate sleep, for •slumber brings me not rest but tor- turing nightmares that are slowly- driving me mad. Nor are the awful visions the worst that could happen while I sleep. A more deadly menace is held over me — a threat that endangers my very life. So sleep I dare not, for it is a ques- tion whether I should ever again awake. If I did not awake I should die, and how I dread death! I used to believe that death ends all — that the body returns again to dust, and that the soul is a mere figment of over- developed imagination. But I am no longer an unbeliever. Now I realize that there is a supernatural. I know now that there are spirits, and how I fear to face the infuriated spirits of George and Emily! Nightly they have tormented me with hallucinations and terrifying suggestions, but tonight I will not sleep. My eyelids are hea-vy and I find it increasingly difficult to hold open my eyes, but I will not sleep! That I can not remain awake many more nights I know, but tonight, at least, I shall be free from those ago- nizing visions. Now for my narrative. IT IS five years since I, Harley Den- ton Grimsby, began practising medicine in this little town of Oaks- den. I had spent five years at McGill University, graduating with high honors. They offered me a place on the surgical staff at the General Hos- pital, Montreal, but unwilling to for- sake my native country I returned to the United States and followed my profession here at Oaksden. I soon gained the confidence of my patients and at the end of two years had built up a considerable practise. Then like a flash from the blue came a stroke of unexpected fortune. A distant cousin had struck luck at the Australian gold mines, and soon aft- erward had accidentally lost his life. By his will I, as sole heir, received nearly £60,000 and became inde- pendently rich. Upon hearing of my good fortune I immediately gave up my ordinary work, and equipping myself with an up-to-date laboratory, devoted my time to medical research. At about this time the One Woman took up her residence in Oaksden. The 615

Page 42

616 WEIED TALES instant I saw Emily Lammerford I knew I had met my ideal. I loved her from her golden crown of hair to the soles of her dainty little feet. And I think she might have loved me in return had it not been for George Ilannington. Hannington was head surgeon at the Oaksden Hospital. A man of strong personality, laboring for the love of his patients rather than for mere fame and reputation, he was a lieroic figure well calculated to fasci- nate such a woman as Emily, who was idealistic to the Nth degree. Yet despite her friendship with Hannington, Emily admitted that she liked me also, and I felt sure that were Hannington ’s influence removed she would fulfill my fondest hopes. Believing this, I began planning how to effect his removal. At first I thought of enticing him from Oaksden by offering him a posi- tion on the staff of a large Chicago hospital which friends of mine con- trolled. But after consideration, I realized that this plan was impracti- cable. He would correspond with Emily; would tell her his Utopian ideas, and though separated in person would be united with her in spirit. No, that would pever do. Nothing short of Hannington ’s death could accomplish my desire. I began to plan how I might destroy him. I thought over different means of death until my brain reeled. None of the things I thought of satisfied me. They were too dangerous. It was no part of my plan that I should suffer for my deed after slaying him. His death would effect only half my pur- pose; the other half would be the winning of Emily — no easy task. I thought of poisons, of the knife, of disease germs — I dismissed all as unsatisfactory. I wanted something safer — something that would disinte- grate and utterly destroy every ves- tige of my victim’s body. But where could I find so mighty an implement of death? It was by accident that I finally discovered what I had sought. I had been working in my laboratory one night and had mixed several com- pounds to form a certain acid which I intended using in an experiment. But when the acid was ready I found I had made a mistake while mixing the ingredients, and instead of the acid I had desired I had an altogether dif- ferent kind. The new acid was trans- parent and colorless as water. Picking up a dead frog which I had used in a former experi- ment, I dropped it into the vessel containing the acid, then busied myself with other work for a few minutes. Then I looked in the vessel to see what effect the acid had had upon the frog. The acid was no longer transparent but was like roily water in appearance. I got an iron spoon and fished about in the dish, but could find no trace of the frog. The acid had utterly devoured it. A sudden thought rushed into my mind, and for a moment its possibili- ties almost stunned me. Then I de- cided I must pursue this experiment to the end. A frog’s bones were too soft ; I must try something better. But what? Walking to the other end of the laboratory, I opened a small cage in which I had imprisoned several small animals which I used for dissecting purposes. Reaching in, I caught up a kitten and carried it over to the dish of acid. It squirmed for a moment in my grasp, then I lowered it into the acid. The body disappeared with in- credible swiftness. Flesh and bone simply melted beneath the attack of the consuming liquid. During the next week I conducted several other tests and was com- pletely satisfied with their results. In this incomparable acid I held a positive means of destruction.

Page 43

THE ACID IN THE LABORATOET 617 “Now for Haimington!” I jubi- lantly exclaimed. It would not be difficult to entice my rival to my laboratory. Before the arrival of Emily we had been friends and often he had assisted me with some particularly interesting ex- periment. Indeed, so well had I con- cealed my true feelings toward him that neither he nor Emily realized my friendship had turned to hatred. Feverishly I got ready for his re- ception. I made a large quantity of the acid, and carrying it into a little bathroom at the farther end of the laboratory began filling the bath. I had only poured in a few drops when a smell of burning rubber attracted my attention, and after examination I saw that the acid had destroyed the rubber plug of the outlet. But after searching the laboratory I discovered a round piece of steel which just fit- ted the hole. Then I poured in the rest of the acid. Having made all preparations, I went to the telephone. Hannington had bachelor quarters and his house was 'on the same street as mine. As I have already men- tioned, we had been closely associated in experimenting along the lines of medical research, and to facilitate secrecy regarding these experiments we had run a private line between our houses. I now chuckled with glee as I remembered this. Before giving Hannington a call, I glanced at my watch. It was 1 o ’clock in the morning. A moment later I was ringing Han- nington. I rang several times before he came to the telephone. “What’s the matter?” he asked crossly. “I was just asleep.” “Come over at once!” I shouted. “I’ve got a surprize for you — some- thing that will revolutionize your ideas!” A new experiment was to Hanning- ton what honey is to a bee. Eagerly he grabbed at the bait. “ I’ll be right over,” he called back. Five minutes later he arrived, clad in his surgeon’s uniform. I surveyed him critically. “Good,” I told myself. “Those clothes will dissolve almost instantly. There’s no metal about them.” Aloud I said: “You didn’t see anyone on the street, did you ? I’d hate to have this leak out. It’s the most important ex- periment I’ve ever tried.” “I didn’t see a soul,” he assured me, “and the street lights are off, too.” “Then come on .to the laboratory!” I exclaimed. Quickly he followed me through the laboratory into the bathroom. I locked the door and put the key in my pocket. And then I turned and faced him. All hell must have shone in my eyes, for instinctively he realized he was trapped. With a cry of alarm he sprang at me. He might as well have assailed the Rock of Gibraltar. He was small and slight; I was a giant in strength. He fought desper- ately, but the end was never in doubt. After a moment he fell back before my heavy blows and screamed for help. “Yes, scream,” I laughed harshly. “It is pleasant to hear you. And no one else can hear. These labora,tory walls are sound-proof!” “Have you gone mad?” he cried. “No,” I quietly answered, “I am perfectly sane. But Hannington, I am also determined. You have stood between me and the choice of my heart for nearly two years, and by heaven! you shall do so no longer!” I paused, while he frantically glanced about for a way of escape. Then I spoke again: “I hate you, Hannington, yet I could almost pity you because of the agony of your death. Do you see that water in that tub? Harmless-looking, isn’t it? Well, Hannington, you are

Page 44

€18 ■WEIRD TALES soon going to find out exactly how harmless and innocent it is.” Hannington glanced at the tub of seemingly clear water and his face paled. Some instinct, together with my cryptic words, told him of his danger and he partly guessed the truth. And guessing it, he became like a madman. He flung himself upon me with a rush that actually bore me to the floor. But his triumph was not of long duration. My steel muscles soon told against him, and rolling him off I gripped him with both hands and raised him to hurl into the acid. But he struggled from my grasp and beat at me desperately with his fists. I smote him to the floor. He rose again, and again I knocked him down. Finally he stood facing me, his back toward the tub, and terror in his eyes. “Are you through?” I asked cold- ly. “'What a fool you were to think you could defeat me ! What a fool to have come here tonight! You might have known that no man who loved Emily could ever be a friend of yours.” I taunted him, tried to provoke him to further resistance, but he stood si- lently staring at me. At last he spoke hoarsely : “Grimsby, you win now, but this is not the end. I will return.” I laughed derisively. “You fool,” I said. “In a few minutes you will have ceased to exist. Your body will be entirely destroyed — ^not a fragment of it will remain. And yet you talk of returning!” Hannington ’s gaze did not falter. “It is you who are the fool, Grims- by. You can never kill the more im- portant part of me — my soul.” His words fell over me like a cold shower. For an instant I hesitated, but only for an instant. With ter- rific force I shot out my fist, striking him full in his jaw. Lifted from his feet, he fell bae^ard into the acid. The disappearance of Georp Han- nington created much excitement. Many theories were advanced to ac- count for it, but all fell wide of the truth. The police worked indefatiga- bly, conducting a general search throughout the town. Armed with a search warrant, they even entered my laboratory, but they found nothing. What was there to find? The disin- tegrated body of Hannington had dis- appeared down the drain-pipes and not a trace of it remained to convict me. When the police inspected the bathroom they found nothing to arouse their suspicions. Months passed and still the affimr remained an unsolved mystery. How I used to chuckle to myself when the detectives would announce they had discovered some new clue — that Han- nington had left town because of blackmailers, or for some equally im- probable reason! What would they not have given to have learned the truth! During these months I was not idle. Gradually, little by little, I overcame the resistance of Emily, and finally she agreed to marry me. But though she accepted me, she did not love me. By sheer will-power I had won her. Six months after Hannington ’s “disappearance,” I married Emily. That was my day of triumph. But that night I dreamed that George Hannington ’s spirit came and stood beside me and threatened me, and I woke with hair on end and cold sweat oozing from every pore. A few weeks later I awoke to the fact that my marriage was a failure. I had married a woman whose heart belonged to a dead man. Gradually I came to realize that though dead, Hannington still held a mighty influ- ence over my wife. And I became wildly jealous. One morning about three months ago I had gone to my laboratory after breakfast as usual. While there, I remembered I had left my pocket-

Page 45

THE ACID IN THE LABORATORY 619 knife on mf bureau. Returning for it I saw a strange sight . Emily was standing with her back to the door, and in her hands was a miniature of Hannington. And while I looked she pressed her lips tenderly against his pictured face. For a moment I watched, my fin- gers working convulsively, my fea- tures contorted with fury. And as I watched, all my love for her turned to implacable hatred. She was still unaware -of my pres- ence. For an instant I was on the point of leaping forward and fasten- ing my fingers in her soft white throat. Then another idea came to me, and mastering myself, I quietly left the room and went back to the laboratory. “She loves him," I muttered to myself fiercely. “Well, so be it then. She shall go to him!” For the next few hours I worked steadily. By noon I had the bath ready. After dinner I said to Emily: “Will you come to the laboratory for a few minutes, dear? I have a surprize there for you.” My honeyed tones utterly deceived her. Without a word she followed me. Not until she was within the bathroom with the door locked did I reveal my fury — and then it was too late for her to escape. IF THE disappearance of Hanning- ton had caused a sensation in Oaksden, then the equally mysterious disappearance of Emily raised a furor. Now I was openly under sus- picion, and again coming with a war- rant the police ransacked the whole house. They found no proof of my guilt, but they did find something which helped to prove my innocence. Pinned to the under side of my piUow they found a note from Emily saying that she could no longer bear to live with me and was going away. The note was dated on the day she had disappeared, and she had probably written it that forenoon while I was in the laboratory. Nothing could have been more for- tunate. Those dull-brained police never thought of arresting me after that. I posed as an injured, heart- broken husband and offered huge re- wards for the return of my wife. De- tectives searched for her all over the country while I laughed in my sleeve. What fools they were ! I now began to believe myself all- powerful. In my hands I held a se- cret by which I could destroy my en- emies at will. After the excitement had died down,*I filled the tub again with the acid, ready for the next un- lucky man who should offend me. But all this time I was oppressed with an indefinable dread. At night my sleep was troubled with hideous dreams-^reams in which my two vic- tims would come and stand beside my bed and menace me. As time passed, I realized that these were not ordinary dreams but were inspired by the spirits of my victims. I had always sneered at supernatural beliefs, but after a time I became con- vinced that death does not end all, and realized that malignant influences were encompassing me. And nightly my dreams grew worse. Then my dreams became living nightmares. The spirits would come and beckon me to the laboratory and I would follow, I would not want to follow, but I could not resist them for long. They would lead me to the tub of acid and then sink into it and disappear, leaving me staring down after them in fascination. As the weeks passed, I began won- dering if these visions were not more than visions. They seemed so clear that it seemed almost impossible that they were mere dreams. I asked my- self whether I really remained in bed while they were taking place or if I actually went to the laboratory.

Page 46

62a WEIRD Last Sunday night my questions found an answer. I had been dream- ing as usual and was following the spirits to the bathroom when sudden- ly I awoke. Great heaven! I was standing in the middle of the labora- tory. I was standing in pitch-black- ness, my heart beating like a trip- hammer, my ears strained listening for a sound. How long I stood like this I do not know, but all at once I heard a laugh. I recognized the voice — it was Han- nington’s! Then sounded another laugh, low and mocking, and I knew it was Emily’s. And then I heard them speak: “Friday night, Harley. Beware of Friday night ! ’ ’ And then the dark laboratory was wrapped in the silence of the grave. Uttering a frantic cry, I staggered to the electric switch. I snapped it. No result. The laboratory was still enshrouded in Stygian blackness. I felt my way back to my room, hands before my face, Imocking against different objects as I reeled blindly forward. Twice I could have sworn that a cold hand slapped my burning face. Finally reaching my bed, I crawled between the sheets and tossed in misery the remainder of the long night. That was six nights ago. Tonight is Friday night. Since Sunday night I have not slept a wink. I dare not sleep. I know that if I sleep some danger will assail me. What that danger is I do not know — ^but I do know that it exists. My narrative is finished. I do not intend that any mortal shall ever read it, however, and in the morning I will destroy it. I have written it in an effort to keep awake. My eyelids feel like leaden weights ; my nights of sleeplessness are beginning to tell against me. What would I not give TALES for one little hour of perfect rest — ' one hour of blissful unconsciousness! But I dare not sleep. But how sore my eyes are — ^how they smart! Perhaps I had better close them and rest them a little while. That is what I wiU do. I will close my eyes and try to drive these awful thoughts from my mind. But I must not keep them closed too long, for if I did that I might fall asleep. And I must not sleep | [Extract from letter of Mrs. Pier- son, Dr. Grimsby’s nearest neighbor, to her niece in Boston.] Dear Ellen: The most horrible thing has hap- pened! You remember how George Hannington and Mrs. Grimsby disap- peared. Well, Ellen, they have solved the mystery at last. It was Dr. Grimsby who murdered them. Oh, it was awful, awful! He discovered a terrible acid that would melt up a person’s body just as you would melt up soap, and destroyed them with it. But Nemesis has overtaken the brute at last. For several days there had been no sign of life at Dr. Grimsby’s, so this morning the police investiga- ted. What do you suppose they found? Listen, Ellen, for this is ter- ribly exciting ! They found the table in his bedroom covered with sheets of manuscript — the full story of how he had done his fiendish work. Then they went to the laboratory and what do you suppose they found there ? In a little bathroom at the end of the laboratory was a tub partly full of the acid and it was the color of turbid water. The police tested the acid and found it would melt things in a few minutes. They say that the doctor must have fallen asleep and while sleep-walking have thrown himself into the acid.

Page 47

From the Land of Spirits She Came to Him — and He Was Afraid CANDLE-LIGHT By LOUISE GARWOOD Author of “Fayrian” David dosed the great oak door behind his departing guests, happy at last to hear their laughter and their footsteps mingle with the patter of the rain out- side. How long they had stayed and tried him by their good-natured talk — and they could never have under- stood why he wanted to be alone! Now his silent house was left all to him and he might abandon his mind to the memories which seemed to creep like specters from the dusty corners and faded curtains; to the strange dream that he had borne in his heart so long. He walked across the thick carpet to the fireplace where the embers were smoldering and easting a glow on the hearth. From overhead, on the mantel, the light of the candelabra flickered and danced down about his graying hair. He heard the drip- drip of the rain on the casement sills ; then a gust of wind crowded the drops into a flurry. ‘ ‘ Hush ! Hush ! ’ ’ it seemed to say. Was it wind, or a sigh? He started. There was the odor of violets again! He walked to the window and opened it so that the damp air blew upon him ; and his face twisted in his effort to speak aloud, but he could only whisper, “Eleanore !” “Drip-drip, patter-patter,” an- swered the rain. He closed the window, and, sighing, went back to stare once more at the embers and press his temples with cold fingers. Yes, she would come! She would come back to the old house which had gro^vn ^musty and dismal for want of her— to him, David, whose heart had grown musty and dismal for want of her. She had promised to come back again some- time in early spring; and he had waited through the years — so long that his hair had grown touched with gray and his face had become lined. But now it would be different. He knew that she was near. Else why that sound of muffled footsteps he had heard of late, sometimes follow- ing, sometimes going before him over the velvet carpet through the lonely halls? The swish of curtains that moved as if from a person passing by? The odor of violets here and there — her violets? And strangest of all, the little yellowed handkerchief he had found in the carven chair? The handkerchief belonged in the chest where he kept the trifles she had once used; around it, too, clung the breath of violets, together with the same odor that was given forth by the sunless rooms downstairs. The chest was always locked — yet he had found the kerchief. “Eleanore! Where are you?” His own voice startled him. He suddenly saw that the ashes in the grate were no longer smoldering rosily. They were getting gray. It must be time for him to go to bed. So after he had put the screen around the fireplace he began to extinguish 621

Page 48

622 WEIRD TALES the lights on the mantel, taking one from its socket to guide him up the stairway. The last one of all, he left burning. “For her,” he thought, and gave a whimsical smile. Then he turned and left the room to its fan- tastic shadows, to the whisper of the wind, to that soft laughter which was really the patter of raindrops against the sills. Above, on the high ceiling, danced the flickering light of the candle, while before him, gaunt and tall, moved his own shadow, and it fluttered ahead as he hastened up the steps. At the landing where the stairway divided into two smaller flights, he turned, and after ascend- ing the one that led to the right wing of the house, crossed the narrow hall into his room. Here with fresh tapers lighted, and his favorite armchair and books, it did not seem so lonely. Yet he did not wish to read — he wanted to open the small chest and look at its array of relics one by one. When he un- locked it a musty sweetness stole out. Sitting there he Angered the yellowed handkerchief, the silk fan with flowers painted on it, the gloves — yellow also now. The human hands that had worn them could never touch his again. Tears and prayers might bring her spirit back but they could never restore those warm hands to his clasp! Then he unfolded a scarf. How sheer and delicate it was — like her ! How it breathed of her ! He buried his face in it. “Oh, my dear, you promised! I have waited so long — aren’t you com- ing back? It has been lonely, Eleanore!” The scarf fell from his hands. What was that noise ? He rose, straining to hear, peering out into the darkness of the stair landing, then sank back again. Of course! The casement in the library; it had not been repaired, and the March wind was making it rattle. But he had best not worry to go down and fasten it. There were the other things to look at, as if he had not gone over them a thousand times before — ^the pretty brooch, the comb, the letters written in faded ink. TT E WAS reading one of these letters A A when, as the wind died down, he heard through the steady pour of the rain a sound that was not the rattling of the easement. It was distinct and clear — “Click, clack.” David wanted to go to the door, but he could not move except to rise and stand motion- less in front of his chair as the kerchief, brooch and letters fell and scattered on the floor. His heart beat hard and sent a wave of red into his face. “Click, clack” — a footstep on the uncarpeted stair — the light touch of a woman’s slipper! “Click.” The rain came steadily dovm. He waited; the visitor seemed to have paused. In a moment the steps began again and came up slowly — one, two, three, four, flve — ^there were thirteen before the landing could be reached. “Click, clack, click.” Eight, nine, ten. “Clack.” At last he saw something. It was an aureole of light which, as the steps came nearer, grew into a semicircle : candle-light — but no shadow fell before it. Advancing within the light was the outline of a head of dark hair, then a white neck and shoulders, until Anally upon the landing stood a slim flgure clad in a pale robe. A hand rose to shade the candle, and slowly the flgure turned and looked up toward him with large eyes. A thick braid fell over each shoulder. David tried to hold out his arms. They were leaden. “Eleanore!” he tried to call. Only a gasp came from between his parted lips. And she stayed there a minute, smiling, then came toward him up the smaller steps — “Click, clack, click” — ^very slowly, and after crossing the hall she stood in the doorway of his room. There she paused again. And those tender

Page 49

CANDLE-LIGHT 623 words of welcome which he had yearned to say through all the years would not come. A strange timidity held him back from her. He wanted to fall upon his knees and cry. At last he uttered halting words. “You — ^you have come!” “Yes" David; I have come!” Her voice was calm and sweet. She ad- vanced. Her dainty slippers touched the carpet noiselessly and her long garment dragged behind with a sigh- ing sound. When she had reached the table where the lights were, she put her candle in an empty bracket, then sat down upon a low stool facing David. It did not seem that she thought of coming nearer. How different this was from the meeting he had dreamed of! His own voice was calm as she said: ‘ ‘ Why did you not come before ? I have waited so long, darling.” He stepped toward her, but leaned back against the table as he saw that she shrank away. Her eyes grew wide. ‘ ‘ It has not been long. It has only been a little while.” The wind whined through the gables outside. David watched her draw the white robe close around her while a new loneliness arose in his heart. “Has it seemed short to you, then? Oh, the long, long years, Eleanore! They have made me old — and you say ‘a little while’!” Why were they so strangely calm? Why were they not in each other’s arms with that sweet, warm embrace of old ? The smile was gone from her lips now. She said mournfully : “I have tried to come to you so many, many times — and I could not. Sometimes I was at your window whispering to you ; then I would laugh and tap on the panes — ^but you never heard.” “How could I know?” He shook his head. She sighed and it seemed that there were violets in the room. “I am glad to be here. I am glad to be near you, David, because” (she drew the robe close about her again) “it was lonely and cold.” David shuddered. “Where — ^where was it lonely and cold?” She made a vague gesture that caused the open sleeve to fall back from her arm. “Out there.” After a few minutes she looked down at the things which lay on the floor at their feet, and the open chest. “What are these?” Once more that queer loneliness! “Don’t you know, Eleanore? Surely you remember — ” “No.” . ; “Why, they are your own! Your letter, dear, the comb you wore in your hair — ” How small and like a child she looked as she slipped down from the stool and knelt among the relies ! She held up the yellowed handker- chief and looked at him with sl ques- tion in her eyes. “This, David,” she said, “I think I — remember — ” He shuddered again. After that she looked no more at the things blit straight up into his eyes. “I like to be here,” she said simply. “ It is warm and sweet where you are, David.” His heart beat faster as he looked down and saw something of the old light burning in those strange eyes. “And I am old, Eleanore — ^I grew old when you left me — everything grew old and musty and dismal when you went away.” He motioned to the ceiling with bits of cobwebs in its comers — to the faded carpet. “But you are young and beautiful — ” She gave a laugh that sounded like the patter of rain against the case- ment. “No, no ! It is you who are young: I am not young!” The eery laugh pattered again. “David, I — ”. She seemed to be groping for words she

Page 50

C24 WEIRD TALES could scarcelj remember. “I — ^love — you!” She rose; she stretched out her white arms; she was coming toward him. He shivered and grew cold as she came nearer. Her arms touched him. He shrank away. They en- circled him. He tried to pull back but he was held by terror. Her icy lips were seeking his; the fragrance of violets was heavy in his nostrils, and deathly and heavier still, the damp, moist odor of the mold around their roots! “Don’t — don’t!” he cried. “You are — oh, God! — go away!” The white arms fell from around liim and she cringed. He looked into eyes of unutterable sadness. Then she covered her face with her slender liands and rocked her body to and fro, moaning: “Oh, oh, oh! I tried and tried to come — and I came to you at last and you were afraid. You are afraid of me!” He could not speak: he clung to the table, weeping. The mournful voice went on: ‘ ‘ I must go away ; and it will be lonely and cold and I can never come back any more.” Slowly she went over to where the candles burned and lifted one from the bracket, shading it with her hand. She turned her piteous face toward him again, crooning the words over and over to herself as if they were a weird song: “You were afraid.” And now she was walking through the doorway, the long garment trail- ing behind her, the dark braids swing- ing loosely. David could not follow. ‘ ‘ Come back — come back ! ” he tried to call but the words were only a whisper. “Click, clack, click, clack.” Then “Click, clack,” again, farther and farther away. He listened and watched until the halo of light grew smaller and smaller and the footsteps died off in the silence ; while the wind and rain outside sounded as if they took up the burden of her moaning; “Oh — oh — oh! I came to you and you were afraid.” A SHARP pain — David jerked his head up ; it had struck the wooden chest that lay on his knees. How strange ! He could not remem- ber having sat down again — or hav- ing gathered the things from the floor ; stranger still, the candles which had been only half-burned when she was there, flickered fitfully in their sockets, ready to expire. One at a time the flames fluttered and went out. The next morning was bright and sunshiny, the sky all blue, and the trees and flowers were fresher from last night’s rain. As David looked out the window the air was sweet and he saw that the gardener had been putting out new violet plants. From all around the garden their blooms looked up at him with bright faces where drops of moisture lingered, shining like tears. Later, as he walked down the stairca.se, he found spots of candle-drip all the way — and the last socket of the brass candelabrum on the mantel was empty.

Page 51

Author of “Midnight Black" “The Jailer of Souls,” etc. The laboratory of Professor Pordenone was a strange and curious place. Entering it, you were immediately sensible of an odor that was like an emanation, ris- ing, head-high, in an almost over- powering perfume, sickish-sweet ; it was like the close smell of a hot-house, but magnified, as if a giant had dealt there in his strange garden of distort- ed smells. For it was a place of giants : out of the loam, that was like a thing of life, there rose, gigantic, plants that tow- ered to the height of a tall man, and beyond it; in the green gloom of a perpetual twilight they rose up, mon- strous, misshapen, like a forest of fan- tastic shapes seen in the dim shuttle of a dipsomaniac’s dream. And there was this about it: you could hear the silence, if you were there to hear it, for it' was like the silence of a vault, a singing silence, a silence as of waiting, heavy, like a weight upon the ears, until — you opened the door. Then — as if at the quick whisper of a sudden wind, there would come a rustle, a murmur, a movement in that greenish gloom — but there would be no wind, although the sound followed always upon the opening of the door. W. T.— 2 Now, with the opening of the door, there was revealed a grinning, hair- less head, three-pointed ; the eyes chill, with a fixed, unwavering, uni- wholesome brightness, like a painted flame. A moment it peered and gri- maced in the doorway; then, sidling inward like a crab, Professor Porde- none surveyed his grim garden with a mirthless smile. And now, as he stood there, the forest of viscid green seemed welcom- ing him ; it swayed and rustled ; head- high, at the height of a tall man, the giant fronds writhed and twisted as in a wind invisible, bending and swaying as in a dance of death. But there was no wind. The air of the place, dead, heavy, lifeless, seemed brooding in a changeless calm as Pro- fessor Pordenone stood smiling and rubbing his palms. In the humid air the flame from the lighted taper in his hand rose upward in the dimness like a painted sword against that dim green background to right and left; like a licking, hungry tongue, it forked upward now as the professor turned, lean head thrust forward like a pointer at gaze. Now his face seemed touched with a sudden, sly malevolence ; his thin, spatulate fincers, reaching, had cx- 625

Page 52

626 WEIRD TALES tended the taper with a little, flicking motion against a tall plant at his light. Upon the instant, as if it had been a tiling alive, the trifoliate frond had bent as a steel blade bends double; then, a.s a bayonet thrusts, soundless and swift, its spike-tipped lance had .sprung level with his eyes. Professor Pordenone chuckled, moving as a cat moves, for all his bulic. An inch — and the great spur had I'eached him, thrust in carte. The plant — Hecate triformis — was a hy- persensitive, of coui’se ; heat acted upon it as the needle to the pole ; but fol’ a moment, fantastic as it might have been, it seemed as if it had been almost Inimanly endowed with motion, malevolent and swift. The professor, moving forward, the taper .still in his hand, halted now before a row ; gigantic, dark-green they were, shading almost to black; ugly, as a toadstool is ugly, ten feet in air rearing their crested hoods like i-obras — and, like sleeping cobras, nodding their heavy heads with a slow, swinging motion, to right and left. The professor, taper held in his fin- gers like a baton, seemed like a man who walked now with wariness and care. Still with that secret smile edg- ing his thin lips, he faced forward now, bowing as an orchestra leader l>ows before the curtain. “My children!” he whispered, low. “Your time will come — even now is it at hand! I, TJdolfo Pordenone, have jn'ornised you ! And then — ah, then, we shall see!” One, peering inward at that curi- ous chamber, would see, but he would not have believed. For, indeed, as might be seen in any hot-house, there were foxglove, stainvort, narcissus, or- chis, crane-fly and cipripedium — ^but hideous, distorted, monstrous beyond all imagining, thrusting aloft with fdaments that had grown to cables, stamens that were like writhing col- umns, pistils that were like gigantic swords. The thing that had become a bayo- net was fantastic and dangerous enough, but it was before a curious monster that seemed a cuttlefish root- ed in black loam that the professor paused and gloated. Beneath its soaring antennae, quiv- ering like the sentient fingers of a giant squid, there was a flat, white disk, a dead white, like the belly of a snake. Now, as the professor halted before it, this curious disk quivered, shook — moved of a sudden like a hun- gry mouth, subsided, as the professor, stepping backward a pace, extended the thin taper’s flame, like the flick- ing of a whip, which in effect it was. “Ah — ^not yet, my friend!” the low voice murmured. “Not yet awhile — but — ^patience — and it shall be a fact accomplished.” 2 PROFESSOR PORDENONE was in his way a genius, though a perverted one. That plants could feel, that they could even see, he was aware, just as a schoolboy is casually conscious of the inevitableness of two and two. The East Indian sage who had, by an almost miraculous devising, been able to observe with his super-delicate in- struments, the death throes of a flow- er,* stood merely at the threshold, where the professor had passed on- ward through the door. Now, as he went outward from his laboratory, he smiled thinly as if in anticipation : an indwelling, secret smile that lingered as he closed shut the heavy door with its patent spring lock. He stood now in a lofty, dark corri- dor leading to his bachelor quarters, a study and a bedchamber, where, alone, he slept and ate, poring over his for- mulas like another Faustus, delving in the dark secrets of life and of death. *.4 fact; featured in the netospapere of Sf<iy» 19tS.

Page 53

THE MAN-TRAP 627 Passing, with his swift, silent step, into his study, and to an elaborate es- critoire in the corner, he snapped on the light, for it had come on to eve- ning, and took up a small vial from the desk. In a large, square tub to the right of this desk there was a plant ; it was little more than a seed- ling; but even to its infinitesimal, flat disk, it was a perfect replica of that Gargantuan horror in the dim gar- den just beyond. The professor, holding the vial to the light, shook it gently from right to left, removing its glass stopper, in his eyes a queer, greenish light seem- ing to be mirrored in the contents of that vial, milk-pale. One drop — a milligram of that candescent liquid — and, as he was wont to say, he could grow trees from grass-blades. That seedling now — well, in the morning he would — give it new life. Mean- while. . . . Propping the vial against a comer of the desk, he took from a cellaret at his elbow a goblet of old Faience, and with it a decanter. He drank, once, and again. . . . The vial, unheed- ed, tilted sidewise, so that, unseen, perhaps three drops of its potent li- quid spilled over upon that Lillipu- tian seedling in its tub. Tomorrow — ah, tomorrow, as he had planned it from the first, he expected a visitor; Gammage, the orchis-hunter — Gam- mage, who had laughed at his asser- tions, laughed at him, Udolfo Porde- none, the great, cited imiumerable precedents for his confounding, snapped his fingers at him, belittled him, scoffed at him times without number. And tomorrow Gammage — ^would pay. But first he would show him the proof; after that his enemy would disappear, and by an agency that was neither beast nor human; an agency terrible in its swift, silent vengeance that would indeed leave no trace. Stoppering the vial with fingers that trembled in their eagerness, he rose, stumbling against the seedling in its tub. A large green-bottle fly, its motion swift as summer lightning, its drone loud in the stillness, evaded the slow sweep of his hand to dip in a bewildering, swift spiral downward across the tub. Upon the instant there came a furi- ous, frantic buzzing, and then — si- lence. The fly was gone. But the windows and doors were closed; it could have had no egress from the room. But if the professor had glanced downward at that tub he would have seen that that flat, white disk had strangely broadened two diameters even as he had sat there at the desk. But he did not look. Those giant monsters in that garden of grim shapes had once been seedlings, some of them, indeed, scarce older than from sun to sun. . . . The professor, snapping out the light, moved slowly, with a slow, noisdess chuckle, outward to his bed- chamber, while behind him as he slept, separated from his bedroom by the width of a single door, there grew and continued a slow, stealthy rustle: Life, hideous, malformed, rising like a dim tide ceilingward, there in the murmurous dark. 3 PROFESSOR PORDENONE, awaking at his usual hour, dressed in a queer, fumbling haste, departing presently upon an errand which was to occupy the best part of his day. He had been upon the point of re- turning to his study when, upon an impulse, he had wheeled, his hand upon the doorknob, in a curious, sud- den indecision, which, if he had been superstitious, he might have called a presentiment — a premonition of a something felt but unseen, hidden yet half -revealed. The liquor that he had

Page 54

628 WEIRD TALES drunk had been potent ; that must be it ; and his errand could not wait. And so he had turned backward, striding from the house, to return at evening, an evening, after rain, of windy dark, with the wind like a lost soul wailing among the ti*ees, the road Like a ribbon of pale flame between black walls of ebony, along' which his tall, dark figure with its flapping coat-tails went onward to that ren- dezvous witli death. The house of Professor Pordenone stood alone on a little rising ground about which was the marshland and the river. Now, as the lean scarecrow, with its veiled glance like a cobra’s searching in the dust, went forward, there sounded close at hand the brool of the rushing river, like a sound heard in dreams; the cry of a loon sounded from the marshland ; the melancholy boom of a bittern an- swered it. The traveler’s shadow in sable sil- houette cut sharp beneath the soaring splendor of the moon that was like a leprous-silvered finger beneath the low-hung curtain of the dark ; a little wind, pattering in the dust like the feet of an invisible army of the dead, followed him forth upon the way; it seemed to voice, a whisper, a sum- mons, a command — but the dark fig- ure was oblivious. And then, between the nightfall and the night, he beheld a black shadow in the door. It was Gammage. The orchis-hunter moved forward as the Italian came up. “Ah, professor!’’ he said. “You are on time, I perceive. I was a little early. I’ve been waiting . . . five minutes . . . but — no matter; we’ve time, and to spare.’’ Professor Pordenone obseiwed his visitor under lowered brows. “Ah, yes,” he made answer, with a precise, hissing sibilance. “Quite so, my friend: you have — ^all the Um9 there is.” The accent upon the word was of the faintest. He paused, his face a white, glimmering oval against the background of the night. “What is it your Shakespeare says? Time hath, my Lord, a wallet on his back In which he puts alms for oblivion. “Is it not SO, my friend?” His dark, Italian face, with its high cheek-bones, showed in a darkling glimmer beneath the tall, shapeless hat ; with his wide, foreign cloak, and the white, slender hands moving against the black, there was about him a sinister air, a something hooded and malign, his glance upon his visitor as if the very soul of the man had arisen, deep down, to peer for a moment out of his cold eyes in a sudden, sardonic flicker of unholy mirth. The orchis-hunter may have been aware of it ; perhaps something of this may have been reflected in his look, his tone. Moving outward from the doorway, he shivered slightly in the humid air, for it was not cold. Yet it was as if a bleak wind of the spirit had touched him, and passed on. “Ugh! Someone’s walking over my grave!” he muttered, turning aside as Professor Pordenone moved for- ward to unlock the door. The wind, rising, clamored at eave and shutter as the door fell open witli a slatting clatter; it shrieked in the chimney on a rising note as the two men, the professor in the lead, went inward to the house. Here in the bedchamber all was darkness and silence, save for the measured ticking of the hall clock, like the beating of a heart ; the squeak and scurry of rats in the wainscot; else was it a silence upon which these empty" sounds beat and were lost as rain-drops upon velvet. The professor, his finger upon the wall-switch, snapped on the light.

Page 55

THE MAN-TRAP 62» pointing forward to the closed door leading to his study. “In there, my friend,” he said, “I have a surprize for you; it will take but a moment ; through the study, and into my garden; for you must see — you must — ah — feel before you will believe. But — che sara sara — what will be will be^ my friend; is it not so?” He ceased, and the long, wild laughter of the vrinds fled past the dripping eaves. Under the lights his face, with its high-arched, broken nose, showed in a Rembrandtesque shading of high light and shadow, like a Savonarola debased. Then, with his hand upon the door- knob, he paused. Under the light his face, stripped for a moment of its mask, showed for a fleeting instant, like the face of a satyr, satanic in its ultimate suggestion of sheer, feline malevolence ; the words purred in the silence like a cat’s : “Now — my friend — in a moment now — ^you will see. Have I not prom- ised you?” He flung wide the door to a black velvet wall of Stygian dark, out of which there came on a sudden a rus- tling as of invisible pinions, and with it an odor, strong and almost fetid; it swept out upon them in a dim tide of soundless flood. The professor hesitated, wrinkling his nose with a delicate pinching of the thin nostrils, an odd look of sur- prize upon his face. But the dark- ness was like a wolf’s throat; the sin- gle light but emphasized it; it was smothering, opaque, like the thick darkness of a vault. Then — ^he disappeared into that vel- vet black even as Qammage, follow- ing, heard his quick foot-falls pad- padding in the dimness of the study just ahead. The orchis-hunter froze suddenly in motion. There was a light- switch at the door; his fingers were reaching for it even as, from that midnight black, there came a sound inhuman, beastlike, such as nothing he had ever heard, or would hear, by God’s grace, while he might live. Once, on a stricken field, he had heard that sound, or something near it : the scream of a horse in its last agony; it rose now even as he fumbled for the light-switch — died to a choked gurgle, a long, shuddering sigh. Then — ^he snapped on the switch, and as the light sprang to full flower, at what he saw or thought he saw a weakness seized upon him, and a quick horror turning his bones to wa- ter. For there, towering to the lofty ceiling, uprose a thing, monstrous, unbelievable, a thing that, with its waving tentacles of viscid green, stood like a giant squid, rooted in black loam. And then, beneath the flat white disk that was its mouth, the orchis-hunter saw, and seeing, fled outward, trembling, blind and dumb, to the clear air of heaven. For the thing that he had seen, agonized, contorted, ere it disap- peared forever, sucked downward in that insensate maw, had been — the face of Professor Pordenone! The Fly-Trap, magnified ten thou- sand diameters; the seedling, grown overnight to the monster that it had become; the fleshless Frankenstein had found its victim. The Man-Trap had made its kill.

Page 56

A Bizarre Story of W zird Surgery The Seventh Devil By F. DOUGLAS McHENRY IT WILL not be my purpose in narrating the events which fol- low to enter into a technical dis- cussion of the scientific principles in- volved, nor to attempt to prove the statements I shall make. It may be that at some later date I shall pre- pare a more academic treatise on my work at the Island of the Seven Devils. The scientific mind, however, is too prosy, too lacking in romantic appreciation to make any ^eat ap- peal either to my sympathies or to my ambitions. I am, I will say, pri- marily an adventurer, and not a scien- tist; it was only because I perceived within the narrow confines of the laboratory possibilities of adventures which surpassed those of the seas or the deserts or the jungles — of all of which I have had a taste — that I sup- plied myself with an array of books, microscopes, and, miscellaneous appa- ratus sufficient to carry on the work w'hich I had in view. I had been liberally educated in my youth, and knew that I should not be permitted to practise in my native land, nor, for that matter, in any civi- lized countiy, the one bi’aneh of science which made its greatest ap- peal to me. So it was that on the eighth day of November, 1908, profit- ing by the tale of the celebrated Dr. Moreau, I betook myself and my equipment to a rock-bound Pacific islet which my sea rovings had dis- covered to me some years before. This island is labeled on some few charts as “The Island of the Seven Devils,” but on the majority of maps it will bo sought in vain. 630 I honestly believe I am the only human being that ever set foot upon this isle. The nature of its coast is such that at only one spot is a land- ing at all possible. On three sides the waves lash against sheer rock walls, and a close approach would mean cer- tain destruction to even the most ex- perienced navigator. Than the fourth side, however, extending for a quarter of a mile, a more inviting landing could hardly be desired. The long, gentle slope of the single hill which composes the island is, at this point, almost devoid of rocks, and supports but a few stunted trees. It is quite grown over with scattered under- brush and tall grasses which at high tide grow almost to the water’s edge. When the tide is out, however, about sixty rods of the most inviting smooth yellow sand bask in the warmth of the tropic sun as it shines over the crest of the green hill. Yet of the four parts into which I have divided my island shoreline, this fourth is by far the most dangerous, the one offering the surest destruc- tion to whoever accepts its alluring invitation. For this sixty rod sti’etch of inviting beach is in reality sixty rods of treacherous quicksand. This fact I discovered through the loss of two of my black fellahs, who, when I had made my first discovery of the island, had attempted to land in search of water. Their cries as they felt themselves sinking were terrible to my ears, but they were of short duration; almost before they realized their peril, the men were buried.

Page 57

THE SEVENTH DEVIL 631 The only possible method of ap- proach, I discovered, was to wait until the tide had reached its very highest ; then, at a point marked by a single large boulder, the seventh of those which gave the island its name, a landing could be made in safety. Such, then, was my island. This was the spot where for six years I labored at a work which, because I was more an adventurer than a scien- tist, no other, I believe, has ever dared attempt. T SHALL not occupy space with the details of my endless experiments, with accounts of my repeat^ failures and rare successes. Yet I do not de- plore my unsuccesses ; for it was only by being repeatedly shown the wrong paths that I finally hit upon the ways which led to the marvelous truths I am about to disclose. There are those who will censure me as cruel and heartless, for I know well the popular prejudice against the vivisectionLst. Yet the problems I was solving required an intimate knowledge of the functions of certain organic parts, and it was only by ex- periments conducted upon living ani- mals that I was enabled to obtain this knowledge. After all, I was in search of truths which were to benefit the race and ease the toil of man — and why am I more to be censured than the surgeon who hurts so that life may be saved or eased, or the butcher who kills so that men may live? Three times every year I was visit- ed by a faithful servant who brought to me the supplies which I ordered by means of the wireless telegraph — ^for even in those days this instrument was sufficiently developed to be of use to those who could afford the cum- bersome paraphernalia, and to me it was a necessity. Each visit of the yacht added to my collection of in- struments and specimens; so that at the end of five years I had a very considerable laboratory and a good- sized museum. In the latter was a great collection of dogs, pigs, mon- keys, and birds. Many, which you will caU examples of my inhumanity, were to me but the results of successful ex- periments and evidences of my grow- ing skill as a vivisectionist. Many of them were existing without certain of the vital organs, others were without portions of the brain. One dog, from which I had removed certain of the super-motor centers from one side of the brain, spent all his time walking in a circle, under the impression, I believe, that it was proceeding in a straight path. Another, in which the cerebellum had been mutilated, was unable to maintain it^ balance, and was forever getting to its feet and toppling over again. Here was a monkey that walked sluggishly about on four feet, kept its nose for the most part buried in the mud floor of its cage, and seemed insensible of its ability to climb, or to perambulate upon two feet; for the brain of this monkey had been removed, and in its place I had transplanted a portion of the brain of a pig. These animals were my text-books (for my experiments had now passed beyond the range of published books), and often I studied them far into tlie night. I analyzed their actions, cor- relating their abilities with the anatomical parts which I had removed or substituted. In this way I ob- tained an astounding knowledge of the functions of the bodily parts. I often worked, as I said, far into the night; for to me day and night were as one. This was the case upon the 25th day of December, the begin- ning of my sixth year of exile. The only significance which the date held for me was that it was to show the success or failure of my latest and most daring experiment. Two weeks previously I had killed three Diana monkeys. Prom each 1 had extracted that portion of the brain which experiment had shown

Page 58

632 WEIRD TALES me contained the reasoning centers. These three portions I had then com- bined and inserted into the empty brainpan of a living monkey from which the brain had been entirely cleared out. I had allowed fourteen days for the parts to grow together and the wounds to heal. During that time I had kept the animal in a cast, which prevented the movement of a single muscle that might interfere with successful healing. Now, on the 25th of December, I was about to un- pinion the animal. The night was the most disagree- able I had experienced at any time on the island. A terrific storm, which had been raging for two days, must now have reached its apex. Never be- fore had such great volumes of water, foam-capped, lashed themselves to atoms upon the rocks; never before had the scream of the wind been as high-pitched and menacing as on that awful night. I had built my labora- tory upon the highest promontory of the island, for I delighted at night to hear the fury of the winds about me, and at day to survey on all sides the empty sea. It filled me with a sense of security, for in renoiancing all my friendships with men, I had taken the elements for my companions, and in them I reposed every confidence. On this night I alone, of all the life in the laboratory, was calm. Even the birds beat their wings in fright upon the bars of their cages; and my giant gorilla, known to me by his label number as “143”, screamed furiously and rattled the huge chains by which he was bound. Amid all this tumult, my mind had never been clearer, nor my hand steadier. With infinite caution I cut away the plaster and the straps which bound the object of my latest experi- ment. In calm but real suspense I watched the little fellow for an hour or more as he discovered the use of one muscle after another. For life to him was now as a rebirth. He pos- sessed his own knowledge no longer, but within his cranium was stored the accumulated learning of the three brains I had transplanted. With in- tense interest I placed him in a maze, but he learned it in no time; I gave him a puzzle box, and he had it open in an instant. In fine, I put the ani- mal through a series of tests and rat- ed his ability upon a rude scale which I had formulated and I found that his reasoning power was equal, not to the sum of the powers of the brains he now carried, but to the square of that number. That is, I now had a mon- key nine times as intelligent as the average monkey! For a long time after that I sat staring into the darkness of the wild night, and dreamed of the possibili- ties which I had unearthed in that night ’s work. Perhaps by eliminating more unessential portions, I could place four or five brains in one cra- nium. Think of it ! A monkey sixi- teen or twenty-five times as intelligent as an ordinary monkey ! An achieve- ment like that was worth six years of exile, even on this God-forsaken rock stronghold. As I meditated on this, an unusually violent gust shook the island at its very base. I stepped to a wundow to gaze into the starless night. Starless, did I say? Surely not, for almost on the horizon I saw a sin- gle gleam of light. It took a moment for my senses to adjust themselves to the meaning of that lone star. Some ship, unable to hold to her course in the furious gale, had been blown within a few miles of my treacherous coast. I knew well the strong under- tow which flowed toward my island, and as far as I could determine, here was a ship directly in its path. There was just one chance to save it, and that one I chose. I gathered every available lamp in the place and, back- ing the lamps by a large mirror, placed them in a window facing the direction in which I had seen the light.

Page 59

THE SEVENTH DEVIL 633 “If they have any sense at all,” said I, “they’ll know enough to steer clear of my light. ’ ’ I then returned to my reflections. “Think of it — a monkey with the reasoning power of a man! Or even — ” But here I halted. There were lengths which even I, zealous as I was at the moment, halted before. I do not know what devil put the thought .into my mind, or if I even realized what I was thinking, but I found my- self unable to keep my eyes off No. 143, and each time I perceived the gorilla’s distending muscles, his per- fect physique, the thought intruded itself a little deeper into my brain. I went again to the window and peered into the storm. There was the light, its position changed but very little. For a full quarter of an hour I stood there, studying its battle with the waves. It was moving westward, there was now no doubt of that. By this time it must be nearly out of the path of the undertow. They had seen my light and were steering clear. Of a sudden I returned to the labo- ratory, took from the shelf a bottle labeled ethyl alcohol, and mixed a powerful draft in a beaker. Again and yet again I filled and emptied the beaker. Then, with the hot stuff still burning in my throat, I stumbled to the window and extinguished every light. T SHALL pass as quickly as possible A over the events of the twenty- sixth of December. Not only is the recollection of that day revolting to me, but I fear that a detailed account of my acts would prove equally re- pulsive to any who maj' read this tale. The storm, as I had expected, had lost all its fury. The sea was still much agitated, however, by choppy waves, and put me in mind much to my discomfiture of the last tremors of a dying man. ~ It ^all suffice to say that when with the sunrise I ventured to the edge of my rock-bound islet, I found the coast strewn with the debris of a wrecked vessel. I stripped myself and without fuither ado set myself to my task. When the day’s work was finished, I deposited on the floor of my dissecting room three dripping corpses. The transplantation of these three brains into the cranium of No. 143 was a task which occupied my atten- tion almost undividedly for the next six weeks. I found that in order to prevent the struggling of the gorilla, which would have been disastrous to proper healing, it ,was necessary to keep the animal almost constantly in a stupor, depriving him of the use either of mind or of muscles. On the fourth of February I deemed that the rupture had sufii- eiently repaired itself. Accordingly I restrained from administering further drugs, removed the casts and bandages, but secured the animal firmly by heavy chains. For three days I did not sleep, and scarcely ate, as I watched, fascinated, while the creature awoke to a realiza- tion of his powers. In some of his feats I was delighted beyond my highest hopes ; in othei*s I ^as disappointed. I had expected that, possessed as he was of human knowledge, and because of the almost human structure of the gorilla’s larynx, the creature would be able to speak; but try as I would, I could obtain no sounds other than unintelli- gible gibberish. Nor did he have suf- ficient control of his muscles to write; but when he was placed before a type- writer, I was amazed at the dex- terity with which he plied the key- board. But what a task I found it to translate his writing! It was made up indiscriminately of English, Ger- man and Spanish! It was by his in- ability to differentiate among these three languages — one of which he had acquired, apparently, from each

Page 60

634 WEIRD TALES brain — ^that I explained his inability to speak intelligibly. But these details will be of more interest to the scientist than to the general reader, and have little to do with the story in hand: the story of my adventure with three human be- ings in the carcass of one animal — for such was truly the creature I had created. He seemed from the first to be what I had designed him to be — a purely intellectual machine; for all the cen- ters of emotion — of fear, of lust, of envy — had been removed to make room for other parts. But I was soon to be made aware that upon this score I had miscalcu- lated, and that some fragment of emo- tion had been left in one of the trans- planted brains. And this fragment was — black hatred. I first discovered this when No. 143 was seated before an English transla- tion of Bergson’s Creative Evolution. The creature’s acute senses and quick brain had been taking in page after page of this somewhat ponder- ous work, and I had perceived, some- what to my surprize, an appearance of evident displeasure slowly setting over the usually immobile features. Of a sudden the animal uttered a wild shriek and sent the volume hurtling through a reagent cabinet. The book was followed by a chair and the typewriter; and when the infuri- ated beast arose from his chair (for I no longer kept him in chains, the bet- ter to observe him) and began to pace madly about the room, finally settling his black eyes upon me, I became in- deed alarmed. And with good reason, for after a momentary hesitation he made a rush in my direction. It was only by the use of chloroform that I saved my own life and succeeded in subduing the creature. While he was still unconscious T again manacled him and chained him to the strongest pillar in the building. Would that I had killed him then and there! Several times afterward the thought of doing away with him entered my mind, but try as I might, I could not bring myself to destroy this creature of my art. Emotions contrary to hatred were entirely lack- ing in his remarkable brain, and so it was but a short' time before I found him entirely governed by this one pas- sion. He spent the greater part of his time screaming madly and rattling furiously the chains which bound him. True, upon occasion, when I placed a typewriter before him, he sat down to it and pounded off the most scathing criticisms — of Kant, of Darwin, of Spencer, of Einstein — such as man had never read before and probably will never read again until the coming of the Superman of Nietzsche. He had not the slightest tolerance for those whose intellectual powers were less than his own. But usually when I presented the creature with the typewriter, it was hurled back at me, and from it I sustained more than one injury. Events had been proceeding so for some time, when one evening in the latter part of March I determined to put an end to the creature’s miser- able life. I was seated at the time in my study, smoking interminable cig- arettes of an Indian drug that had the effect of partially anesthetizing the senses while rendering the brain re- markably acute. I was turning this resolve over in my mind and watching the cigarette smoke as it ascended in an almost unbroken stream nearly to the ceiling. While I was thus ab- sorbed, I saw the tiny stream of blu- ish vapor break suddenly at a height of about three feet above the table. It took but an instant for me to grasp the meaning of this — ^that somewhere behind me a door had been opened. I believe I turned pale. I know I trem- bled, for I knew not what to expect.

Page 61

THE SEVENTH DEVIL 635 Or, rather, I knew but dared not face the thought. Mustering my courage I turned and faced the door. There I beheld, crouched as for a spring. No. 143, with a heavy, long-bladed amputating knife in his hand. In an instant I had put myself on the other side of the table — and not an instant too soon, for he made his rush and crashed into the table, burying in the thick wood the knife which was meant for me. While the animal leaped over the table, I scrambled around it and made for the door. A quick glance over my shoulder showed the brute not four feet behind me, the murder- ous knife raised high, ready to strike. I slammed the door behind me. But I had felt a sharp sting of pain, and looked down to find part of my right arm left in the room with No. 143. By great good luck I succeeded in getting into an adjoining room and bolting the heavy door before the gorilla had made his escape from the study. I was thankful, too, at the time, that because of the great num- ber of animals I kept I had construct- ed many of the rooms, the one I was now in included, without windows. For forty-eight hours I lay with my ear at the door of this room — ^weak from loss of blood and fevered from pain. You who read this narrative can imagine but little of my sensations during those terrible two days. I know that at times I was delirious, but for this I was thankful ; for any- thing was better than to contemplate my predicament with a clear mind. My safety during this period I attrib- uted only to a sort of apathy which must have come over my captor. But when fierce rage again controlled him, what might not happen? Of what devilish schemes for my destruction was his monstrous intellect not capa- ble? Perhaps he was even now con- cocting some devilish method of doing away with me ! So far as I could determine, how- ever, No. 143 seemed to have relapsed into inditferent sluggishness, and was content to keep watch outside my door without attempting to get at me. I knew that in physical combat — there were no weapons in the room — I should stand no chance of success. But I knew also that whereas the gorilla had access to food and drink, I had none. Necessity, then, forced the evolution of the plan which I put into execution at the earliest practi- cable moment. » T T WAS at the beginning of my third day of confinement that I heard at last the sound I had been waiting for — the footsteps of my jailer dying away into the back regions of the building, where he must have gone in search of food. With infinite caution I slid the bolt and ventured on bare feet into the hall adjoining my room. Cautiously, slowly, I made my way to the door at the end of the hall. But alas ! I had underrated the cunning of my foe. As I swung open the door, a huge metal plate crashed to the floor. At once I heard a great slamming of doors and a mad rush of footsteps in the back regions. I rushed out of the door and sped with all my strength toward the open sea. I had crossed but a quarter of the distance when an animal shriek behind me announced that my pur- suer was on my path. Ahead of me — but oh! so far ahead! — I saw my goal — the landing rock, the one safe spot on my beautiful, treacherous stretch of shoreline. A dozen times I stumbled, and my pursuer seemed upon me; a dozen times I cursed myself for my fool- hardy scheme. I was no match for the brute in speed or in agility, but I knew the ground as he did not, and it is due to this fact alone that I am now able to write this tale. While the

Page 62

636 WEIRD TALES gorilla was beating through the un- derbrush, I was speeding straight over the path I knew so well. On the last short stretch, when we were on even terms, I thought more than once to give up. But with strength I can not account for, I reached the devil- rock and scrambled up on it. Not ten paces behind me was the gorilla. I still had but a chance. I made as if I were going to dash on to the smooth sand on my left. Six paces away the brute saw me and di- vined my intention. He turned to head me off. Not ten feet from me he entered the treacherous sand, uttered a final mad scream of hatred defeated, and sank from view. As soon as my arm was sufficiently healed, I left the Island of the "Seven Devils — I hope forever. But the fas- cination of my work is strong upon me, my laboratory is still intact, and maybe some time — . But who can say what the fates are mapping for the future ? The Ghostly Lovers By WILLIAM JAMES PRICE I sit within the haunted house Which stands upon a hill. Its rooms, once merry with carouse, Tonight are weirdly still. Yet now, as midnight tolls in town Prom bells of old St. Paul’s, A maiden clothed in silken gown Her gallant lover calls. And shortly, through the oaken door, One enters, young and fair. His footsteps echo on the floor • And up the silent stair. He folds the girl in loving arms; His lips to hers are pressed. While she conceals her virgin charms Upon his manly breast. But while they love, an angry face Prom eery closet peeps, And from his haiuited hiding place A jealous lover creeps. I see, in swiftly moving fist, A flashing dagger gleam. When suddenly, from out the mist. Resounds a piercing scream ! They vanish — I no more behold. And yet the early dawn Reveals two mounds above the mold, • Although the ghosts are gone!

Page 63

UNDER THE HAU TREE by Katherine 'Vates The woman was stringing scar- let wili-wili seeds into a bar- baric necklace. The man was tossing over a basket of unmounted kodak prints, with now and then a perfunctory comment. The drooping branches of the hau tree shut out the glare of the late after- noon sun, and the fluttering leaves were backgrounded by a purple- blue horizon from which long lines of white surf came rolling in, curl- ing nearer and nearer until they washed softly up the sand to the very foot of the hau tree, and then slid silently back beneath the oncoming white edge just behind. Pour or five wee, tawny Hawaiian children had gathered under the shoreward end of the pier where, with much giggling and splashing, they had discarded their holokus and overalls and were paddling joyously in the clear water, carefully out of range of the hotel office. The man continued to toss over the prints idly. Suddenly he stopped and bent forward over one of them with a gasp of astonishment. “Where did you get that?'’ he exclaimed, turn- ing quickly upon the woman. She glanced up from her beads. “I took it,” she said carelessly. “No, no, I mean this one!” and he thrust the picture almost into her face. “Certainly. I see,” she said, still carelessly. “I said that I took it — photographed it.” “You couldn’t have.” The man’s eyes, full of incredulity, stared at her and then at the picture, and then back at her again. She nodded her head. “I she said. ''When did you take it?” he asked harshly. “When? Oh, about three weeks ago, the morning they went away.” The woman tied the thread of the necklace and then wrapped the long line of red around and around her white throat like three scarlet gashes. The man leaned nearer. “Here? They were here?” “Yes. See, they posed under that coconut tree over there, the one with the monstera vine swinging down.” The man turned and gazed at the tree and at the great leaves of the swinging, swaying vine, and his fin- ger touched the picture where the same giant spray swayed over the heads of the two. His face showed utter incredulity.

Page 64

638 WEIRD TALES Again he turned to his companion, trying to curb his excitement. “What was their name?” he asked. The woman opened her lips to speak, then stopped. “That is odd,” she said. “I supposed that I always thought of them by name; I was just going to speak it and then,” with a light laugh, “it didn’t come. I shall think of it in a moment. Wait. It was — . It was — . Let me see. It be- gan with an A. No — . Yes — . I think it began with an A. Oh, well, I can’t recall it now. I’ll tell you when it comes to me. There ’s no hur- ry, is there?” “Yes, there is, there is!” said the man vehemently. “I want to know the name.” The woman put up her head. ‘ ‘ Then you will have to go to the office and ask; I can’t remember. What in the world is there so exciting about them, anyway?” The woman was not ac- customed to sharing attention with anyone, least of all with a mere pho- tograph. The man got up, dumped the bas- ket of prints into the chair, and start- ed across the lawn, under the banyan tree, toward the hotel entrance. The woman looked after him and then at the basket. Then she arose quietly, placed the box of red seeds upon her own chair, picked up the photograph from the basket and fol- lowed him into the hotel. At the desk she found him sputtering. The quiet, efficient, Chinese clerk was unable to recall the persons whom he described. “There are so many coming and going all the time,” he explained, shaking his head and spreading his hands dep- recatingly. • The man began to sputter again, whereat the woman approached and laid the print upon the desk. “What was their name, Ah Pat?” she asked. “Ooh — oh, yes!” The clerk smiled with recognition. “Why, that was Mr. and Mrs. — ahi-h-h — ” tapping the desk impatiently with his pencil; “Mr. and Mrs. — . Wait, it’s here on the register. They came here about — let me see — about the middle of March. Let — me — see — ” fluttering the leaves of the register and running his finger down the columns. The man fidgeted, the woman wrin- kled her brow in thought, pressing a loop of the wili-wili seeds against her lips. The man glanced at her and turned his face away. “That’s queer,” said the clerk; “I don’t find the name. I’d know it if I saw it,” and he turned the pages back again, doubtfully. “I wonder what boat they came on.” “They came from the Orient,” said the woman. “Yes. Then they came in on the — on the — ” and he turned to the schedule of the March boats from the Orient. “They must have come on the Korea.” And then to the regis- ter again: “ Here are the Aorea peo- ple: Foster, Martin, Cudahy, Aber- crombie— . Now what is this name ? ” bending closer, “I can’t make out the writing.” The woman leaned forward. “Tour- tillotte. No, those were not the ones; I remember the Tourtillottes. ” The clerk’s finger continued on down the column, to no purpose ; then he called the Number One bell-boy. “Ming, what was the name of these people?” holding up the photograph. The boy shook his head. “Don’t remember.” The man turned upon him. “Then think. Try.” He rattled the silver in his pocket and the China boy’s face took on an expression of real effort — vain effort, it was evident. “What room did they have?” asked the clerk. Again the boy shook his head. “I think second floor — ^no, third floor — 312 maybe. I don’t know.” “You remember them, don’t you?” asked the woman, impatiently.

Page 65

UNDER THE HAU TREE g39 *‘0h, yes, oh, yes! Don’t know what room. I think third floor some- where.” The man turned angrily back to the desk. “Where’s the manager?” he asked. In a moment the manager stepped smilingly from the private office. The woman, at last finding the man’s eag- erness infectious, bent forward, hold- ing out the print. “I can’t, for the life of me, remember the name of these people,” she said. “Who were they?” The manager took the print and nodded his recognition. “Oh, yes, that was Mr. and Mrs. — . Well, that’s funny. Ah Fat, what was the name of these people ? ” The quiet clerk smiled and shook his head with a little protesting movement of his slender yellow hands. The manager snapped his fingers. “Oh, I know the name just as well as I know my own; but I just can’t speak it for the moment;” and he began to flutter the leaves of the registei*. “They came by way of the Orient and were here for three or four weeks ; — why, they just went away a short time ago. Well, isn’t that strange, that I can’t think of their name ? The woman had a white sear on her neck. A queer, old-fash- ioned little thing, she was, and sort of sweet-pretty, too. Let me see, we must have passed that name a half dozen times here, and I was sure that I would recognize it at a glance.” The man turned and looked at the woman strangely, then he faced the desk again. “You can’t any of you remember their names nor where they roomed, nor find it on your books; and they gone only three weeks!” he said with exasperated incredulity. The manager -began to speak, but the woman broke in ; “ But I can ’t re- member, either,” she said; “and I don’t have nearly so much to think of as they do — not nearly. ’ ’ The strange look remained in the man’s face; it was a whiteness, almost a grayness, and his eyes looked curi- ously dusky. He turned to the wom- an and took hold of her arm. “Never mind,” he said, in a strained voice; “Let us go back to the hau tree.” Presently the woman’s white fin- gers were playing with the scarlet seeds again; raising them and drop- ping them in red drops into a white fold of her dress, with a little drip, drip, drip — over and over and over. The man, leaning far back in the low chair, his eyes away beyond the pur- ple-blue horizon, shielded them from the shimmer of the red drops and was silent. After a long time he spoke, and his voice had returned to its habitual level calmness. “Tell me about those people,” he said. She raised a handful of the seeds and let them fall in a slow stream from her fingers. “There isn’t much to tell,” she said; “only they were queer people. They came from the Orient, as I said ; had been around the world, and reached here about the middle of March. They saw every- thing and ‘did’ everything, just as all of the tourists do : went to Haleiwa for a few days, and to Hauula to see the sacred gorge, and to the volcano; and then they went away, just as the rest do.” “In what way were they ‘queer’?” asked the man. “Well — they were sort of Rip Van Winkles,” said the woman. “That is the only way that I can describe them. They had been asleep for ex- actly twenty years.” “Twenty years?” said the man, sharply. “Yes, just twenty years. I know, because her clothes were exactly like my aunt’s wedding clothes; and Auntie was married just twenty years ago, and kept her whole trous- seau for sentiment’s sake. She let us take some dresses once, for an ‘old \

Page 66

640 WEIKD TALES times party’, and they were exactly like this woman’s clothes; the same sleeves, shirred in two places and with a wide lace ruffle at the elbow, and the skirts gathered all the way around the waist, and the same bolero jacket effects, and little iniffly things; and she wore her hair in the same little smooth waves like Auntie’s pictures; and her face was small and sweet, and she spoke in a soft, thin, rustly little voice; and little things were so im- portant. I remember she had some spots on the shoulder of her gray traveling suit — there, you can see them in the picture, that carnation lei doesn’t quite cover them; — and she wouldn’t send it to the cleaner’s for fear he would spoil the dress ; but she must wait until she got home, so that she eould take them out with some sort of a cleaning fluid that her grandmother had given her the recipe for. And the spots worried her so; she kept dabbing at them with her handkerchief as if she could wipe them off.” The man shifted his position. The woman was again dropping scarlet seeds one by one, through her fingers into the scarlet pool on her dress. The man watched them, strangely. Then he covered his eyes with his hand. “Go on,” he said. “She wasn’t young — thirty-four or thirty-five, I should think ; and for all that her face was sweet and happy, yet she always had an expression of — of — .” The woman hesitated. “Of waiting!” said the man. “Yes,” said the woman; “that was it, always an expression of waiting — patiently, not anxiously, — just wait- ing, as if it had grown to be a habit. I think that is all there is to tell. I talked to her now and then, and she was always ready to talk, in her quiet, quaint little way; and sometimes she would be a bit embarrassed and her thin, white little hand would go up to her coral necklace; such an odd, old- fashioned necklace made of festoons of tiny red coral blocks caught to- gether here and there to hold the many strands in place, and a curious large pendant of overlapping coral leaves. It must have been very old. She said it had belonged to her grand- mother. ’ ’ “You talked to her often?” asked the man. “What did she talk about?” “Oh, I don’t remember. She was the kind of woman who never says anything to be remembered. We just talked.” “And the man?” The woman tossed a handful of scarlet seeds into the air, to fall back and slide down among the others. ‘ ‘ Of just the same period,” she said. “Twenty years back. He had a sort of drooping mustache and wore his hair bnished up like Uncle’s when he was married. And his trousers were too short and too tight, and the toes of his shoes were thin, and his neck- ties were — funny.” “Did they tell you where they came from?” asked the man. “Why, yes, from the Orient, I told you. They had been around the world.” “I mean, what was their home tovm ? ’ ’ “Oh, I don’t remember. I don’t know that they ever said ; — but I think that it was a small Middle West town somewhere in — Ohio — Illinois — I don’t know.” The man sat still with his eyes shaded. The woman arranged the scarlet seeds in patterns on her dress where it drew smoothly over the knee. The surf washed softly up the sand and slid silently back. The little children had gone away and the shadows of the coconut fronds were long and very quiet. Presently the woman spoke. “Well?” she said. The man was silent for a few min- utes longer; then, without lifting hia shading fingers, he began.

Page 67

UNDER THE HAU TREE 641 lived in. my town. He was A my uncle, my mother’s brother. His father kept a small bookstore — books, pictures and plush goods — ^you know the sort.” The woman nodded her head remi- niscently. “He took charge of the store when his father died; he was sixteen then. His mother died two years after. He was the only one of the family left. He had always intended to marry Jennie. She was his sweetheart when they were mere babies, before he was eight years old. When he was eight, his uncle had come back from around the world and the boy sat on the stiff black haircloth sofa and listened. When his uncle caught the look in his big eyes, he drew him over and stood him between his knees and asked him what he was going to do when he was a man. ‘Marry Jennie and go round the world on our wedding tour,’ he answered. “And that was his one end and aim from that time on. He and Jennie discussed the trip then with gravity and eagerness and perfect confidence ; for they knew that they were going, when Joseph was grown up. No one ever called him Joe; he was too ear- nest. He was my Uncle Joseph. “WTien the store was all his, he began putting away every possible cent toward the tour; for he and Jen- nie had made up their minds that no matter how long they had to wait, they would not marry until they had saved enough for the journey. “It is slow saving much money in a little store in a little back-number, town ; but they never faltered. Jen- nie did ‘hand-painted china’ which sold in the store at Christmas time; and hot-poker work ; and taught classes to do prim little water-colors with green woolly trees and white woolly waves, and gray woolly rocks, and wooden sheep and cattle and Noah’s ark sort of people. I have some of them at home.” The woman tossed the beads togeth- er in her lap. ‘ ‘ And then ? ’ ’ she said. “And between times they studied maps and itineraries, and read history and travels, so as to be prepared to get the most out of the trip. There were years and years of this; good years, when quite a lot was added to the little hoard in the bank; bad years, when there were floods and fires and the need of new roofs, when the hoard was drawn upon. When Jennie was thirty she began making her trousseau. They thought that it would be only about two years more ; and I used to go and sit with her and watch her work upo^ the dainty chal- lis and summer-silk and lawn dresses. She made them all herself and — and gathered the sleeves in little lines of gathers with puffs between, and gath- ers in the skirts all around, and little ruffles for the trimmings on the shoul- ders.” The woman stopped playing with the beads and leaned forward. “And then?” “Well, it wasn’t just two years, it was five. Uncle Joseph was sick for three months and had to hire a clerk and pay doctors’ bills and — it was five years. I helped Jennie pick out the gray alpaca for her traveling dress. I was fourteen then; I am thirty-four now; and she and Uncle Joseph were my dearest friends. I had spent hours with them over maps and railroad guides and steamship schedules, ever since I could remem- ber; and now to be really helping to pick out the traveling dress for that wonderful journey — wedding dress and traveling dress in one — ^it was marvelous.” “And they went then?” “They were married one morning in May, Uncle Joseph gave me Grandfather’s watch that morning; and I bade them good-bye at the church door ; — I didn ’t dare to go to the station with them, but I ran home and hid in the orchard for hours, —

Page 68

642 WEIRD TALES long, long after I heard their train whistle for the crossing. By and by I heard a horse come galloping wildly down the road. I sat up in the grass.” The man straightened in his chair. The sun was setting out by the point of the Waianae Range and the water had turned to orange and crimson, and there were orange and crimson flecks in the clear sky above the gray- black streak on the horizon, and on the woman’s white dress, and in her eyes as she bent forward. ‘ ‘ The rider said that there had been an accident to the morning train. Some of the cars were burned. They were sending a wrecking train. “I ran to the station and flung my- self aboard just as the train pulled out. There was no time to stop to put me off.” The man waited a moment. “There had been a collision with a freight train. The cars had all burned but one, the passenger car, and that had been wrecked. Those who had l)een taken out were lying on the smooth grass along the side of the right-of-way. I found Uncle Joseph propped against a big rock and Jen- nie was half leaning, half Isdng against him. There were three red gashes across her throat, and she was trying to wipe the spots from the shoulder of her*traveling frock, with her handkerchief — weak, ineffectual, artificial little movements, — with no expression in her eyes. ’ ’ The sun had gone down, and the early gray twilight lent to the scarlet hibiscus blossoms behind the hau tree that strange, innate red glow of scar- let at early twilight ^ lent it to them, and to the lines of scarlet wili-wili beads across the white throat, dripping down into the pool of scarlet in the folds of her white dress. The man’s eyes rested upon them, fas- cinated. ‘ ‘ She made only a few move- mejits after I came, such poor little useless movements — and then — it was over.” “You mean that she died?” said the woman, in a strained voice. “Yes, she died then.” “And the man?” “Uncle Joseph was leaning back against the rock and breathing only once in a great while, and looking at her — ^just looking at her. And when the little movements stopped, he looked up at me; he hadn’t looked at me before, but he knew that I was there. He spoke just once before he died.” The woman leaned nearer and the loop of red beads dripped from her neck. “And he said?” “He said, with a little half smile and a movement of his finger against her cheek: — ‘It — it isn’t the end. I — I’ve got to begin all over again some- where— somehow — ^but — I’m going to take Jennie around the world yet*.” The woman shivered. The man drew out his watch and opened the back of the case. “The picture was taken on the way to' the station on their wedding day,” he said. “The photographer turned it over to me.” The woman bent forward and took the watch and turned it to the last gleam of the afterglow. The loop of cold scarlet beads fell against his hand and he drew it away sharply. Presently the woman laid the watch on the arm of the chair and glanced about quickly at the gathering shad- ows in the twisted trunk of the hau tree and along the wet sand. “Let us go in,” she said, breathlessly; “let us go in where the lights are.”

Page 69

A Short and Terrible Tale of^ Murder The Headless Spokesman By IRVIN MATTICK Author of ‘’Red and Blacld' For the sixth time Slater looked at the clock on the shelf. He took the ax from his knees and tip-toed across the rough floor of the cabin to a door of an adjoining room. Listening intently he heard the deep breathing of a drunken man sleeping within. Twenty minutes had passed now, since his son Drayton and old Settler Hurt had tottered across the big mess- room of the hut and each gone, dead drunk, to his own room to sleep off the hootch they had guzzled. The three men had celebrated the lordly haul of pan gold they had washed from the river that winter. In little cloth sacks the dust and pebbles of the precious metal were stacked under the boards of the mess- room floor. Slater had put up to his son the proposition of removing old Hurt, but the son had refused to kill, had even winced at being an accomplice to any such affair. So old man Slater gathered the three of them that night in a drinking bout. Himself sipping tea from a bottle. Slater had watched his son Drayton, who was unaware of his father’s mur- derous plan, drink the hootch with Settler Hurt from the big jug until the two men were beyond their senses and had reeled to their separate bunk chambers. And now, the ax in his hands, Slater stood before old Hurt’s door, listening. Why should Hurt have one third of the gold when Slater and his own boy could have each one half of it? What if Drayton was afraid to kill Hurt? A shot — a gun accidentally discharged — a razor-lipped ax falling from a bracket — and old Slater had chosen the ax. Twenty minutes was ample time for a boozed man to be fast asleep. Slater was now inside of Hurt’s room, closing the door behind him as cautiously and soundlessly as he had opened it. The room was inky black with the darkness, but a bit of good fortune was with Slater. Through a tear in the window- shade of heavy paper a single strip of moonlight shone, and this fell straight across the sleeping bunk. The sleeper’s face was turned from Slater, and the moon lay appropri- ately on the sun-browned nape of the drunken man’s neck, just below the unkempt fringe of hair on his head. Slater raised the keen ax to his shoulder and stepped toward the snoring man on the rough wooden bunk, to within a full swing of the weapon. Like a huge chalk mark the moon drew its white death-line across the sleeping man ’s neck, and the next second a purplish froth bubbled in that line of light. 643

Page 70

644 WEIED TALES Slater yanked the heavy ax from its dent in the bunk board. With another swing of the chopper he left a blood-weltering slot between the head and body. Then he stepped back to watch the gore from the torso mix with that oozing from the head arteries. A coagulating mass boiled and spurted about in the ribbon of moonlight where Slater had struck and beheaded a man. Then Slater turned to re-enter the big messroom. He wanted to pull up the floor boards and estimate very carefully the gold which now be- ► longed half to himself and half to his son. Someone knocked outside on the door to the cabin. Slater viewed the decapitated body on the bunk, then stepped back to'the messroom. He saw the bottle partly filled with a brown liquid next to a fat-bellied jug on the table. He started to take these away, when the knock on the door was re- peated. “Who’s out there?” “Me, Slater; I just came up from the forks to borrow some of your flour.” Slater opened the door and ad- mitted Yank DuPerret, another pros- pector in the region, who camped three miles down-stream. DuPerret walked straight to the table with the jug and bottle, and with a smile of greeting on his weath- ered face he tipped the bottle to his lips and sucked one big mouthful from the neck, then turned and spouted the liquid from his teeth. “Dammity, what a swill! Phew!” Slater saw that DuPerret had taken a swig of the stale tea. “That’s tea, neighbor. Whisky’s in the jug.” “Tea?” “Yeah — drink it sometimes.” “And do you bottle it?” “When I make too much at a time, yes.” Slater fidgeted a bit, trsdng hard to conceal his agitation. In the dim light from the single oil lamp on a bracket near the fireplace, the men looked silently at each other, only as men can look at each other in a country where gold is scratched from the earth and hidden again in rude huts where other men can not find it. A door was banged shut in the cabin and Slater stole a guarded glance in the direction of his son’s buukroom. Then DuPerret laughed. “I know you’ve got a fortune hidden here somewhere, but I’m not after it. Flour is what I want. And I’ll test the jug, too.” DuPerret put the nose of the jug to his lips, turned back his head and let a few gulps of the hootch gurgle into his throat. “That’s more like,” DuPerret ex- claimed as he put down the whisky, satisfied. Slater shifted uneasily. He tried with his nostrils to smell if there was a trace of gore in the cabin. “Now, Slater, you let me have some flour and I ’ll clear for home. My stuff’s cornin’ up from the post in three days and I’ll fetch it back to you then. And say, by the way, I dropped my ax into the slough this morning, and I ’m out of wood. I see you’re supplied for a time. Can you give me your chopper a few days?” Slater went to a covered box in the messroom and dipped some flour with his hands into an empty cartridge box. He was trying to think of a way fo get the ax cleaned in Hurt’s room before handing it to DuPerret, when . . . Why, here was oppor- tunity ! The devil spawned a scheme in the prospector’s brain. DuPerret, here at Hurt’s cabin just after the murder — his wheel tracks in the mud — the ax, red with Hurt’s blood, found in DuPer- ret’s wagon . . . They weren’t so technical up here in the pan country : everybody knew that DuPerret was

Page 71

THE HEADLESS SPOKESMAN 645 poor and that there was gold aplenty in Hnrt’s cabin. The ax and the murder and DuPerret’s wagon tracks — it would look mighty funny, A smile crept through Slater’s countenance but died again before it reached his eyes. “Sure thing, DuPerret; you can have my ax, as soon as I tie up this box. By George, there’s no string in the house. I strung it all up on a nail out in the stable. Take the lamp out there and get me a couple of pieces for this box. I’ll put the ax in your wagon while you’re gone.” DuPerret took the oil lamp from its bracket and went to the stable for a length of string. Slater made sure DuPerret was far enough toward the stable not to catch sight of the smear on the ax blade when he should run out with it to the wagon and put it under the seat. In the darkness Slater ran to Hurt’s door. As he opened it he looked in- stantly toward the bunk where he had left the murdered man bleeding. Settler Hurt’s body was gone from the bunk ! IN THE full glare of the moon, now that the paper shade had been torn away from the window. Slater saw a pool of black glistening matter stain the bunk boards at about the spot where the man’s head had been sev- ered with the ax. But the bunk was unoccupied ! Slater backed through the door, away from Hurt ’s room. As he reached the center of the messroom. Hurt’s voice came deeply with a grave tremor from the shadowy door- way of the sleeping chamber. “Milton Slater!” DuPerret, returning now from the stable, the chimney lamp flickering in the wind, called to Slater as he neared the door of the cabin. “There ain’t no string out there. Slater.” “Milton Slater!” Settler Hurt’s deep-toned voice boomed again in the darkness. DuPerret came in and put the lamp on the table. He saw Slater in the middle of the room, pale and trembling. Then DuPerret looked toward the doorway from which Settler Hurt had just called. In that oblong of dark- ness, the light from the smoking lamp- chimney dimly lighting the gruesome thing, stood a headless body. It dangled heavily and awkwardly, as if weary from being propped up on its limp rubbery legs. The top of the neck, a raw stump ’butting up from the bloody-shirted shoulders, was a horrible mass. A gigantic mushroom it seemed, with the pasty coagulation of its life blood swollen and fringed about the headless stump. Just beyond the doorway the awful thing swayed unsteadily, and then from its invisible throat came Settler Hurt’s stentorian voice. “Milton Slater. I have returned from the dead, I have come back from hell, from my bunk where you slew me. I have risen to accuse you of murder.” DuPerret saw Slater fall to his knees, saw his face turn stony and his body shiver with a terror that trans- formed the brawny prospector to an abject shriveling coward. “Milton Slater.” Hurt’s words came as from the pit of a grave. “I come to throw the proof of your crime at your feet, here in the pres- ence of one who will see that you are punished. Milton Slater, stand up!” Slater was groveling now, clutching at the" floor as one saving himself from drowning. “Milton Slater,” the headless body shouted, “stand up! This is your hour of judgment. ’ ’ Terrorized, DuPerret beheld Slater. Slowly the man raised himself from the floor but shut his eyes, put his

Page 72

646 WEIRD TALES arms before them, and stood shud- dering against the far wall of the messroom straight across from the specter that confronted him. “Look at me!” the headless corpse commanded. Slater kept his eyes covered. “Milton Slater, you coward — look at me now ! ’ ’ The man took his arms from his face but held his eyes shut. ‘ ‘ Look at me 1 ” the headless specter scrcamed- Slowly Slater opened his eyes and gazed at the awful thing. Then he picked at his face with ungovemed hands. “Put down your hands, Slater,” the decapitated corpse shouted. “I can see you, without my head. Put down your hands!” Slater put his weaving arms down at his sides. DuPerret beheld the sin- ister tableau. Then the voice of Settler Hurt boomed forth again with a finality of conviction. “Milton Slater, now you shall be puui.shcd. Stand still, and look. ’ ’ A moment of silence hung in the dimly lit cabin room. Then an ax swung out from Hurt’s room. Through the air it flew and clattered to the floor at Sfater’s feet. “That’s the ax you killed me with. Slater. Let DuPerret use it, but ask him first if he wants an ax that you swung clear through my neck — through this neck you see now. Ask him. Slater.” DuPerret saw the brown stain on the ax wedge. Another minute of si- lence ensued. Then Slater put up a whimpering. Suddenly a spherical thing, a lop- sided ball with a matting of hair, was shot out over the headless body. From the doorway of Hurt’s chamber it came, flying straight at Slater. The thing hit with a thud on the wall just above Slater’s head. It came down, bounced on Slater’s shoulder and bumped to the floor. As the un- Avieldy shape hit the hard floor boards, it split open like a melon. DuPerret cried out. “Slater! For Christ’s sake, that’s Drayton’s head on the floor — that’s your son’s head — Slater!” Slater shrieked and covered his eyes. When DuPerret again looked to- ward the dooiuvay, the headless corpse was on the floor. Settler Hurt, gi- gantic, black with rage, his knotted arms bare and menacing, stood in the messroom beside the body. Slater was on the floor whining, clutching the hair on his son’s shattered head. Then Settler Huit let loose his words. “DuPerret, he wanted the gold for his son and himself. He got us drunk tonight, drank sOme fake booze, tea or coffee, himself. I and his son Avere so full of hootch we got our ovm room doors mixed. Drayton went into my room, I into his. I woke up and saw my mistake. Going through the door between our chambers, in my own room I found Drayton’s' body on my bunk, his head severed. I tore down tile paper shade to make sure I wasn’t snaky from the hootch, and tliere •! found Slater’s ax. Then I knew. Slater meant to kill me, and killed his son. It sobered me, that did. After I heard you were here I did the rest with Drayton’s body in the door- Avay. And noAV, Slater — ” Hurt curled his lips for a final im- precation upon the murderer, but the sight before him stifled speech. Old Slater, brushing his son’s head, was singing a soft lullaby with a breaking tune that betrayed departed reason. Fondling the horrid shape, he planted kisses on his son’s ghastly lips. Settler Hurt groped for the Avhisky jug and gulped as he watched the man on the floor. “Leave some for me,” DuPerret whispered as he put his hands on the upturned jug.

Page 73

IT ALL started over Professor Palmer’s book, Man and the Uni- verse. Out of this grew the Palmer-Mar- gard controversy which attracted such wide-spread interest. Profusely illustrated magazine articles abounded on the subject, while Sunday supple- ments, with imagination rampant, were in their glory. The upshot of this literary duel was the publication of a volume by Professor L. R. Mar- gard, P. R. S., etc., in critical review of his contemporary ’s deductions. Public opinion was divided into two camps, each with its chosen cham- pion. The explanation of certain geographical features on a planet some thirty-five million miles away absorbed more of the fickle public’s attention for the moment than the outrageous price of a pound of sugar or a dozen of eggs. In spite of the tax upon credulity which Professor Palmer’s theories de- manded, they inspired belief among the majority. Perhaps this is because most of us are gifted with an over- supply of imagination ; and the Palmer theories appealed strongly to the imagination. But the majority is not always right ; rather the contrary, all of which Professor Margard promptly pointed out. “A challenge to the thinking world, ’ ’ he branded the Palmer theories. To which the em- inent Professor Bernard Palmer, A-B., LL. D., retaliated that even Columbus was ridiculed. No doubt, he stated, an astronomer on Mars would have equal difficulty in con- vincing a Martian public of the pos- sible existence of inhabitants on our earth. Man and the Universe was written by Professor Palmer after nine years of intensive personal study of the planet Mars. Even his opponents ac- corded him admiration for his unre- mitting labors, his perseverance and successful observation. All of these observations were made from the lonely Palmer observatory constructed near P , California, 8,000 feet above sea level. Equipped with a giant equatorial telescope hav- ing a 48-inch object glass, and situ- ated ideally as to atmospheric condi- tions, Professor Palmer was excel- lently prepared to observe our much- discussed neighbor. One result of his observations was the careful recording and mapping of curious straight lines visible on the planet. Running from the polar caps 647

Page 74

6i3 WEIRD TALES clomi to and across the equator, cross- ing and I'ccrossing, these lines formed a ve great majority of them appearing singly. By continually observing the planet during ensuing seasons, a marked de- crease in tlie size of the polar caps thiring the Martian summers Avas noted, with a corresponding darken- ing of the “canals”, as Professor Paliiior designated the lines. The spots, or terminals, he called ‘ ‘ oases. ’ ’ Ilis deductions were, that owing to the admitted scarcity of Avater on the arid planet, the Martians transported Avater from the Aujst, melting polar sno'A's by means of canals. It Avas this question of canals, and the much mooted question of sufficient lieat to sustain life on the small planet, which caused contention be- tAveeu the two renowned experts. 2 DFsriTE many years of concentra- tion on technical things. Pro- fessor Palmer aauis a surprizingly liuinan and ordinary-appearing man. The fact that he was considered one of the woild’s foremost authorities on rsfrouomy, and Avas a lecturer of Av ir! I-Avi !c renoAvn, did not detract l:'.)iii his naturally benign disposition, .'.‘i tliero Avas some'.hing compelling .-.bout his porsonality. Students be- fore Avhom ho deliA'cred le<*tures ac- corded him marked attention, and went aAvay Avith a graphic picture in their miinls of the tilings ho Avished to convey to them. “iIonrA',” he remarked quizzically 1.1 Ins young hut capable secretary o’le morning, having just read a par- ticularly scathing criticism of his pet theories, “these gentlemen at least take my hobby seriously. That in itself convinces me that my deduc- tions are worthy of consideration. ’ ’ “They take advantage of the fact that you have no means of definitely proving your deductions,” defended Henry, loyally. “As you haA'e re- mai’ked, even Columbus was ridi- culed; but he, at least, had means of obtaining concrete proof to silence the scoffers. ’ ’ “Well put, my friend. A fcAv more earnest advocates of my theories like yourself, and I should require no proof.” “That reminds me,” resumed the grateful Henry G. Simms, ‘ ‘ there was a young chap in here yesterday who claimed to be an ardent champion of your vicAA'S. He Avas extremely anxious to see you. Said he had a matter of great importance to take up with you.” “He’ll return?” “Grant’s army couldn’t keep him aAvay. He will be here at 10 o’clock.” “ So ? What sort of a chap is he ? ” curiously. “A Avell set-up felloAv of about tAvonty-four. About six feet tall; light hair, pleasant features, refined manners. Impetuous sort of fellow. ’ ’ That Avas Iioav Robert Sprague hap- pened to meet Professor Palmer a half hour later. A pleasant thrill possessed him as he shook hands AA'ith the profe.ssor. The kindly, though keen, gray eyes met his encouragingly. This was con- trary to Robert’s expectations, for he had assumed that he Avould be fortu- nate if he succeeded in seeing so busy and prominent a man for a few min- utes. He Avas prepared even for a curt dismissal. What he did not knoAv was that his evident earnestness and enthusiasm had obtained for him an intervicAv through the redoubtable Henry where others would have failed. Without realizing how he had com- menced, he found him.sel£ conversing easily with this learned man as if

Page 75

THE WANING OP A WORLD 649 such interviews were everyday occur- rences with him. The professor was impressed vith equal favorableness by his caller. The frank, winning countenance and earnest manner created a profound impression upon him in spite of an extraordinary story. “Let me get this right,” said the professor, finally. “You say that the machine is virtually perfected — that you have succeeded in accomplishing the aim for which your father unsuc- cessfully spent his life ? ’ ’ ‘ ‘ Not unsuccessfully, ’ ’ defended Robert, quickly; ‘‘without what he had accomplished I could never have constructed a machine of its kind. ’ ' “But it can actually be controlled as you suggest?” “It can.” “Pardon my insistence, Mr. Sprague. The idea is so — ah — ex- traordinary. ’ ’ ‘ ‘ I realize that, professor. I should be happy to have you see for your- self.” Professor Palmer pondered. The young man’s story had impressed him, notwithstanding its unusualness. At any rate, he concluded, he would investigate. He could risk no more than disappointment. If there was anything in it, the pos.sibilities for x’e- seaieh and discovery were boundless. He found his own enthusiasm rival- ing that of his caller as he momen- tarily allowed it free rein. Why — he might yet prove his own weird theo- ries to the world ! The next moment he smiled at his own indulgence. First he would hu- mor this young man by investigating his wild claims: time enough for dreams afterward. “Well, Mr. Sprague,” he said, “this is an age of strange accomplish- ments. I ’m going to look at that ma- chine of yours. How will tomorrow evening do?” A feeling of relief and exultation swept over Robert as the professor spoke. At last his absurd-sounding claims for the life-work of his father had been taken seriously, and recogni- tion of his labors was within reach. He stammered his thanks, shook hands with the amused professor, auvl departed. ‘ ‘ That boy believes in the machine ; and he is no fool, either,” remarked Professor Palmer after Robert had left. “The world is full of them,” ob- served Henry sagely. Henry even openly questioned his employer’s theories at times. Not that the latter minded, for the ensuing ar- guments furnished interesting de- bates, and fresh ideas sometimes ; and in the end he usually succeeded in silencing his intrepid secretary — if only temporarily. But today, Henry’s caustic com- ment irritated him. He wanted to be- lieve in the weird claims of his caller regarding a strange, gravity-defying machine, in spite of his saner judg- ment to the contrary. He subcon- sciously resented any expression of his own disbelief. Professor Palmer .slept poorly that night, though he rarely failed to slee|) soundly. Try as he would, he could not dismiss from his mind the hope which struggled so persistently with his natural skepticism. But he was not alone in his sleep- lessness. Robert sle])t not a minute that night. Over and over he re- flected on just how he would best ex- plain the intricacies of the Sphere in order that he could convince Profes- sor Palmer of its practicability. The fact that he lacked the necessary funds to complete the apparatus gave him considerable concern. For much, therefore, depended upon his ability to convince the profes.sor of the feasi- bility of mere theories.

Page 76

65Q WBIED TALES 3 IT WAS with considerable relief and expectancy on both sides that Kobert and Professor Palmer shook hands in the big, high-ceilinged par- lor of the old Sprague manor. Their footsteps echoed eerily through the house as they tramped back through the long dark hallway to a big bamlike addition which had long served as a workshop. Here Eob- ert’s father had spent countless weary hours, to the despair of his good wife, who had already followed him to his reward. As they entered the doorway the professor became aware of an im- mense gray-black sphere in the dusk of the far end of the shop. The top of this sphere reached within a few inches of the lofty ceiling. It was probably twenty-five feet in diameter, and rested upon a short scaffold. What appeared to be curious round windows in its side, like portholes in a ship’s hull, gave it the appearance of a gigantic diver’s helmet. Eobert approached the Sphere. Without hesitancy he selected and pressed upon what appeared to be an ordinary rivet-head like hundreds of others over the Sphere’s shell. A round hatehy. large enough to admit a man, swung open, disclosing a black and uninviting interior. Flustered, he courteously invited Professor Palmer to enter first. For an instant the professor hesi- tated. The weirdness of the whole af- fair suddenly struck him forcibly. This young man’s queer claims, the big manor with its eery echoes and atmosphere of dismal loneliness — all seemed to cry out to him to beware. The dull gray shape looming above them in the gathering twilight looked disquietingly like some freak prison, such as a madman might invent. Eobert, sensing the professor ’s mis- givings, apologized for not having considered his difficulty in negotiating the unfamiliar interior in the dark- ness, and relieved him by entering first. A sharp click, and a comforta- ble glow of light suffused the interior. They passed up a brief, winding stair- way into a long chamber. “This is the gyrostatie control which neutralizes the force of grav- ity,” Eobert began, calmly, as if this assertion were the simplest thing in the world. He indicated a compli- cated mass of glittering machinery in the center of the compartment in which they stood. He reached for a small lever, and pulled it toward him. Simultaneous- ly there was a soft whirring sound. For a moment the floor tilted slightly, then steadied again. “And the power for this?” queried the professor. “Furnished by storage batteries,” Eobert explained. ‘ ‘ The batteries are recharged by petrol-driven dyna- mos. ’ ’ ‘ ‘ But your supply of petrol ? Where have you sufficient space for a supply that will last any considerable length of time?” “All round us.” The professor swept their sur- roundings Avith his sharp eyes. No receptacle was visible. Two full-size doors and several small ones appeared in the partitions; but nothing sug- gested a receptacle for a large supply of fuel. Then quite suddenly it dawnd upon him that there was a vast amount of space unaccounted for be- tween the partitions, floor and ceiling, and the Sphere’s outside shell. His respect for Eobert ’s claims was grow- ing. So far, at least, the young in- ventor seemed quite confident. “What is this?” asked the profes- sor, indicatinlr what resembled the breech of a dreadnaught ’s gun pro- truding from the floor. Electric wires, dials, and other curious devices were connected to it. “That’s* the Norrensen Tube, so named by my father after its inven-

Page 77

THE WANING OF A WORLD 651 tor, an old friend of his, now de- ceased. It is capable of terrible de- struction. It will produce a bolt of lightning rivaling the elements, which will strike up to twelve miles away — and it can be aimed with startling ac- curacy. I remember seeing a giant oak blasted into pulp w'ith it in a test across a valley four miles wide, when I was a boy.” “But, how is it that the world has never heard of this remarkable inven- tion?” “Norrensen w'as an eccentric char- acter whom the world had wronged grievously. He insisted on conduct- ing the tests with greatest secrecy. Overtaken suddenly by a fatal illness, he exacted a promise from my father to retain the secret of this weapon till his death.” “What a terxnble weapon that would make in the hands of a man bent on destraction ! ” mused the pro- fe.s.sor. The compartment they w'ere in looked to be about twelve by twenty- five feet, and some ten feet in height. There were three round ports at either of its rounded ends; these, be- ing located below the bulge of the Sphere^s greatest girth, enabled one to obtain a good view downward as well as outward. The straight side- walls and ceiling were windowless, but a vertical well extending from the floor, beside the controls, to the outer shell, with hea\7', circular glass panes at either end, enabled the operator to see out directly below. The compart- ment was flooded with soft, mellow light from a dozen frosted incandes- cent lamps. “Deducting for this compartment, two small storerooms, the cupboards, and the water and oxygen tanks,” Robert was saying, “the net capacity of the petrol reservoirs is more than 40,000 gallons. That and the full storage po’wer of the batteries is suffi- cient to operate the high-speed, but delicately balanced gyrostats, more than fifty days and nights continu- ously.” “You say that gravity is completely neutralized?” “Almost entirely so, even with all resen’oirs filled to capacity. The sta- bility of the gyi’ostatic device is so powerful that w^eight becomes a neg- ligible factor. If you will follow me I can prove this to you. ’ ’ Tuk profe.ssor quivered with sup- pressed excitement as lie followed Robert domi the flight of steps lead- ing to the outer manhole through which they had entered. At last he was about to know Heyond doubt whether the remarkable claims made by his guide had any foundation. If they had, a new era ivould be unfold- ed. Again his common sense reacted against hope, blasting his short-lived credulity. That either this Imy or his father should have mastered the prob- lem of the fifth dimension after ex- perts of centuries had failed, seemed unbelievable. And yet — In the deepening twilight the Sphere seemed to loom above them larger than ever. Its lighted port- holes, contrasting strangely with its shadowy bulk, gave it a weird, fan- tastic, almost unearthly aspect. “The Sphere is now in almost per- fect equilibrium from eveiy direc- tion,” Robert explained, pride creep- ing into his voice unconsciously. He indicated two iron rungs near the bot- tom of the Sphere. “If you will take hold here, you will be able to move it in any direction without effort. Softl.y though — keep a firm hold upon it.” Doubting still. Professor Palmer grasped the rangs, fully expecting to find the vast bulk an immovable weight. To his intense surprize it rose from the floor as if it were an air-filled bal- loon ! He had exerted himself not the slightest bit. The Sphere had simply risen at his first slight lift, and had continued to rise until a slight tug

Page 78

652 WEIRD TALES upon his arm stopped it. He extend- ed his right arm, still gripping one rung. The Sphere followed easily, its only resistance apparently that of the atmosphere surrounding it. “Now release it, ” suggested Robert. The astonished professor did so, half expecting to see it crash to the floor. But nothing of the sort occurred. For several seconds the giant ball continued to rise very slowly, like a sluggish soap-bubble. Doubtless he had unwittingly allowed his hand to waver slightly when releasing it. Then very, very slowly the Sphere began to descend, finally settling softly and with scarcely a sound. Though it had been but a few feet above the floor, it required fully a minute to come to rest. One notice- able feature was its vertical stability. It neither rolled in its descent nor wobbled in settling, but simply came down with a paradoxical combination of majestic ponderance and zephyr- like softness. “Remarkable!” ejaculated the pro- fessor, feeling the inadequacy of the word when applied to this marvelous achievement. “The rigid stability,” Robert ex- plained, “is automatically controlled by a delicate device attached to the central upright gyroscope.” . “I was under the impression that the entire apparatus was unaffected by gravity.” “This device is the exception. The Sphere’s weight is neutralized to an absolute minimum by the gyroscopic control, but it was necessary to main- tain one point of gravitational con- tact in order to establish some perma- nent upright stability; otherwise, the Sphere would revolve at random when in midair.” “Manifestly.” ‘ ‘ This device also makes it possible to maintain the observation ports at the ends of the main compartment in any desired direction horizontally. It may surprize you to hear that this device was the last part perfected. My father’s final prostration was largely due to its intricacies. He passed away just as he was about to achieve its perfection. ” A slight quaver in Rob- ert’s voice betrayed his grief and his deep regard for his departed parent. Professor Palmer’s eyes kindled sympathetically. “On the contrary,” he replied, “I can readily understand the difficulties encountered.” A silence ensued during which each was busy with his own thoughts. Robert was thinking of the most im- portant feature of all — the propulsion of the Sphere, and its control. This principle had been worked out on a small scale, but owing to its prohibi- tive cost on a larger scale he had been unable to perfect its application to the Sphere. Professor Palmer, with his pei’sonal resources and backing, could finance it, but even then, Robert estimated, it would tax his total re- sources heavily. Robert held no illu- sions on this point, and he was won- dering how best to present his plea for financial aid. PROFESSOR PALMER was trying to vis- ualize the possibilities in the Sphere. In it he saw a possibility of proving his own theories regarding the planet Mars, and this brought him round to the very feature on which Robert’s thoughts were concentrated at that moment. “Hm-m,” mused the professor. “And you claim to have worked out a scheme of magnetic propulsion re- quiring a minimum of internal en- ergy?” l^bert drew a full breath and pre- pared to retrench. “Only on a small scale, professor. I have a miniature model over here, illustrating the practicability of the idea.” He switched on the light over a work-bench, revealing a curious con-

Page 79

THE WANING OF A WORLD 653 trivanee about five inches high. A dull black rod, terminating in a tiny- blunt bell-like device, hung suspended from a universal joint. The whole was supported by a small frame bolt- ed to the table. Examination of the bell-like bulb showed that its larger end was fiat, and composed of a dull, whitish metallic substance similar in appearance to aluminum. Its outer surface was a brilliant silver. This bulb seemed of extraordinary weight for so small an object, swinging heav- ily back to its former position when released, where it came to rest quickly over the center of the disk almost as if bound in that position with a strong, invisible elastic band. “This pendulum,” Robert ex- ' plained, in response to the compelling and unconcealed curiosity in the pro- fessor’s eyes, “contains a rare, and hitherto unknown, element which my father named ‘ mythonite. ’ A good part of his life was devoted to the accumu- lation of this small quantity for ex- perimental purposes. It was obtained bit by bit through a difficult and cost- ly process from vast amounts of river- gravel, in conjunction with platinum, to which, strangely enough, it has a strong antipathy. This condition is responsible for the most curious dis- covery of all. The effect of gravity upon mythonite is almost entirely an- nulled through platinum!” “Remarkable,” said the professor; but there was a trace of incredulity in his voice which was not lost on Rob- ert’s alert ears. “This casing,” resumed Robert, tapping on the polished side casing of. the pendulum, “is a very thin layer of platinum. With the pendu- lum inverted, the earth’s attraction is intercepted by the casing. At the same time the attraction of any other heavenly body within the radius of the uncovered surface of the mython- ite is unchanged. Further, I have discovered, that the free attraction of mythonite’ is greatly intensified by electricity, without any correspond- ing increase in its gravity through the film of platinum.” He clicked on a small switch at- tached to the base of the frame. An odd phosphorescence suffused the disklike surface of the pendulum. “Now, professor, will you raise the pendulum to a vertical position ? Take hold of the insulated rod, here.” Professor Palmer raised the pendu- lum slowly. Its original weight, ex- traordinary as it had seemed before, was now several times greater, to his astonishment. It now seemed almost as if it were riveted into position. But gradually, as the ’glowing disk was pointed upward, its weight de- creased. At an angle of ninety de- grees its weight had virtually ceased to exist. As it neared an upright po- sition it felt as light as a feather. In an upright position it seemed poised between the professor’s fingers as if about to take flight. He released it softly. It wavered unsteadily for a moment like a flower balancing in a light breeze, then steadied. The professor’s fingers, clumsy from pent-up excitement, col- lided with it. With a sudden swoop, it dropped heavily into its former pendent position, coming to rest ab- ruptly. Professor Palmer drew a sharp breath excitedly. “Young man,” he said, extending his hand, “you have convinced me, even as I hope to convince a lot of other doubting Thomases and scoffers some day. Apparently you have’ evolved the greatest discovery of all time ; I congratulate you. ’ ’ There was no doubting his dis- tinguished visitor’s sincerity. Rob- ert’s voice was husky as he stam- mered his appreciation. “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks, ’ ’ continued the professor. ‘ ‘ This device installed on a large enough scale in the Sphere would make it possible to propel it anywhere in

Page 80

654 WEIED TALES space. The possibilities for research would be virtually boundless. Have you estimated the probable cost of such an apparatus?” ‘‘Often. Even Avith the aid of improved equipment and sufficient workmen, it would require consider- able time and a great expenditure. Fifty thousand dollars is a low esti- mate— and seven months’ time.” Professor Palmer looked thought- ful. Though he was known to be comfortably fixed, his total resources did not quite meet this sum. Slave to science though he might be, he hesitated to gamble his entire fortune on a visionary venture that might prove to be impracticable. As to the deficiency, he could get that as a loan or a gift from one or more of his many wealthy friends who had every confidence in him. Should the scheme fail, he would be penniless — possibly friendless. ‘ ‘ Do you believe a flight to another planet and back could be made suc- cessfully in the Sphere so equipped ? ’ ’ he asked. Eobert considered carefully. He did, but the professor’s question re- newed many doubts. Most of all, he hesitated to involve his would-be benefactor in a disastrous venture. ‘‘I do,” he answered truthfully, at last. ‘‘So do I,” supplemented the pro- fessor, stoutly, as if to help convince himself. ‘‘Would you be willing to undertake such a journey?” he asked suddenly, fixing his eyes keenly upon his host. ‘‘Yes, sir!” responded Eobert quickly. His prompt reply and evident sin- cerity convinced Professor Palmer that he was in earnest. The pro- fessor had decided. Nothing risked, nothing gained. As for Eobert, nine months of trench warfare in France had steeled him against fear of any- thing except women and the devil. ‘ ‘ It is settled, then, ’ ’ concluded the professor, unconsciously authorita- tive. ‘‘You will come to my home, and together we will supervise the completion of the Sphere.” ‘‘But the Sphere — ,” began Eobert, surprized by the professor’s quick decision. ‘‘We will have it conveyed to my estate, Avhere the light and space will be much better ; and where I can look after you better, my boy. ’ ’ His face softened. Ah, an old bachelor had not all the advantages. What would he not give to have a son like this! Something about Eobert ’s hesita- tion reminded him abruptly of an im- portant consideration. ‘‘I am forgetting,” he apologized. ‘‘Your interest must be fully pro- tected. We will draw up a contract whereby full possession of the Sphere and all its equipment, now and always, will remain yours. I will undertake to complete it, defraying all expenses, in return for which I ask the use of the Sphere in a flight to Mars and back if possible.” ‘‘That is more than fair,” Eobert replied, feeling ashamed of a short- lived, though natural, apprehension. 4 Robert found Professor Palmer’*. homestead vastly more cheerful than his own gloomy quarters. The Sphere was placed in a large, well-lighted bam, which had been carefully prepared for ifs new pur- pose. The barred Avindows were frosted to defeat the curiosity of pos- sible busybodies, and reliable locks put on the hea-vy doors. Eemoval of the Sphere from its original quarters presented diffi- culties, because no provision, had been made for its exit. It had been con- structed piece by piece inside the four walls which housed it so long. It was necessary to hcAv an opening through the wall, to the acute curios- ity of the neighbors.

Page 81

THE WANING OP A WORLD 655 However, their curiosity went for naught, as a large tarpaulin and pro- tecting crating disguised the object of their interest, which was removed at night. Professor Palmer and Rob- ert were agreed in their decision to keep their project to themselves as much as possible until they had suc- ceeded in perfecting the Sphere. The hauling of the Sphere proved an extremely simple task. With the gyrostats running quietly at half- speed, its weight was rendered to almost nothing. Nevertheless a large, heavy truck was provided for any emergencies. They wisely avoided any unnecessary chance of destroy- ing, at the very beginning of their task, the intricate work of many painstaking years. A small brick building was put up and the necessary .machinery installed for the production of mythonite. Here the tedious process was soon directed by Robert. Eleven skilled metallurgists and chemists labored day after day under his supervision, without knondng for what purpose the curious metal they were produc- ing was to be used. Weeks passed, and vast quantities of waste material were hauled away daily; but the quantity of the pre- cious mythonite accumulated with dis- couraging slowness. An addition was built adjoining the first plant, and the corps of experts increased to an even two dozen. By improving meth- ods and increasing deftness, the former production was trebled. Nevertheless, it soon became appar- ent that the desired quantity could not possibly be produced at the pres- ent rate within the period which Robert had estimated. The first month ’s operation had resulted in but two small ingots, each an inch square and three inches long. This was be- fore the plant was enlarged, however. This had been eventually increased to seven ingots a month. But even at this rate, it would require almost four years longer to produce a sufficient quantity. Obviously, the project was doomed to failure unless some means of greatly increasing the production could be devised. It was four months after the com- pletion of the original plant that Robert and Professor Palmer were discussing this matter with a view to deciding finally whether or not to abandon the project. During this time Profe.ssor Palmer had come to look upon Robert as a son. His un- tiring energy, his frank, cheerful per- sonality and intelligence, had made a profound impression upon the professor. “I am ^oing to see this thing to a finish, Robert,” he was saying. “But if we are to take advantage of the next favorable apposition of Mars just eight months from now, we must make some radical improvement in our program. Not till fifteen years later will it again approach so close to the earth. Have you any new plans to suggest?” “This,” replied Robert. “We might have the crushing and the crude processes done elsewhere. By concentrating upon the finer processes alone, we should be able to increase our production of mythonite con- siderably. But we should have to re- place the crushing apparatus with additional equipment for the final processes. We must take advantage of every available bit of space and every man’s time.” “Our total expenditures to date are what?” “Approximately $33,000. But, the sales of excess platinum have reduced that to about $32,000.” “Not so bad,” mused the professor. “However, it is clear that we can not reach our goal without a vastly greater rate of production.” He knit his brows, pondering silently for a little while. “Robert,” he broke out suddenly, “we’ve got to take a big gamble!

Page 82

656 WEIRD TALES We will not only follow out your sug- gestion, but we will double the present size of our plant.” Robert gasped. He thought of the professor’s dwindling resources, won- dering if he were suddenly gone mad. “Why, that would bring the total cost round $60,000!” he cried. “Quite so,” replied Professor Palmer, calmly; “but a four or five year program would be far more ex- pensive— to say nothing of its im- practicability. It’s win all or lose all, Robert.” So the Palmer laboratories were en- larged and arrangements successfully made for the crushing and partial separating with a near-by rock plant. The little force of experts was aug- mented to thirty, and work began in earnest. The next month resulted in a production of forty-one ingots of mythonite 1 The following month a minor im- provement discovered in the process increased that month’s production to fifty ingots. Even this production was bettered somewhat during the following months. At the end of the sixth month after the enlargement of the plant the total production of mythonite had reached more than three hundred ingots — all that were required ! A. month remained in which to prepare for the great ven- ture into the unknown. IT WAS with a feeling of overwhelm- ing elation that Robert and the professor gazed upon the little stack of dull, silver-gray bars in the dusk of an early July twilight. Winter and spring had come and gone while they labored. These three hundred tiny ingots were the result. Not en- tirely, though; for in addition to a sufficient quantity of platinum re^ served for their own requirements, the Palmer laboratories had produced and sold enough platinum to defray all expenses incurred. Little wonder that they felt elated. Professor Palmer put his arm across Robert’s broad shoulders with fatherly tenderness. “My boy,” he said, softly, “what- ever the Sphere accomplishes, it has at least brought us together. To me, our perfect companionship has come to mean more than anything else. I did not realize what a lonely old man I was before you came.” “Old man!” chided Robert. ‘ ‘ Fifty-seven years- young. ’ ” “It is well for me that you had the Sphere to occupy you, or some sweet young vision would have taken you in hand ere now. But forgive an old codger’s selfishness, Robert.” “Time enough to think about that, professor,” smiled Robert. “Careful. Don’t let them make a bachelor out of you. An old bach- elor is a superfluity for which no one really cares. Even an old maid has her cat.” “Very well. We’ll each make love to a moon-maiden,” laughed Robert, and Professor Palmer joined him heartily. The following day the small ingots were melted and forced into the big, flattish, circular, platinum-lined and studded mold. Before the pouring was attempted, the mold was securely fastened down as a precaution against the lifting power of the mythonite when freed from the earth’s gravity by the interruption of the platinum beneath it. As an additional precau- tion, a disk of platinum was sus- pended over the mass, thereby neu- tralizing the attraction of heavenly bodies. With great care, the platinum-in- cased mass of mythonite was installed in the Sphere. A stout steel rod and universal joint connected it to the gyrostatic center, and the wiring and other details of its proper control were quickly completed. The petrol and oxygen tanks were partly filled, the gyrostats tuned up, and the

Page 83

THE WANING OP A WOELD 657 Sphere at last was ready for a trial trip. 5 Henry simms, much interested, but skeptical to the last, was shown the interior of the Sphere on the afternoon set for the first trial. He crawled through the manhole after Robert and the professor, firmly con- vinced that he was about to witness a flat failure of the Sphere for which the professor claimed so much. To do him justice, though, it should be stated that Henry ’s expectations were not without keen sympathy for the disappointment to which he felt cer- tain the professor was doomed. “She looks more like a submarine than a blimp, professor,” was his first comment as they reached the main compartment. Indeed, the interior of the Sphere, with its intricate mass of machinery and its bull ’s-eye windows, its riveted partitions and cum^ed walls, and the incandescent lamps, did suggest a typical underseas craft. “She goes up, Henry, not down,” the professor laughed. “Deal me out, then,” cried Henry. “I am not prepared to go up for keeps yet!” ‘ ‘ Rest easy, ’ ’ said Robert. ‘ ‘ It will be much easier to drop back, if in doubt, than to continue upward.” Robert proceeded to explain the Sphere's important features for Henry’s benefit. “Here is the gage that registers the pull of the disk,” he said, finally, after having explained the rudiments of the Sphere's operation. He indi- cated a dial attached to the rod which harnessed the powerful mythonito disk to the core of the Sphere. He pushed the first of a row of switch buttons on the controller. Poor Henry’s heart fluttered as a faint scraping sound heralded the mere opening of one of the three cameralike platinum shutters over the mythonite disk’s highly magnetic sur- face. He was already regretting his consent to accompany them on a trial flight. The handle on the dial of the lifting gage suddenly raced from zero and steadied at 605 pounds. The Spiuere remained at rest. All three men were now keyed to the highest pitch of excitement. This was the first time the completed apparatus had been tested, and upon its results depended entirely the suc- cess of the Sphere and its remarkable project planned by the professor. The registered tension on the strong steel arm removed all doubt from the minds of * Robert and Professor Palmer regarding the suc- cess of mythonite as a practical power of propulsion. A feeling of wild exultation gripped them both. “Danger from shock of sudden great pull is avoided by gradual un- covering of the disk’s surface,” re- sumed Robert as he pushed the next button, sending the hand on the dial up to 1,420. The third button sprung it to 3,475, accompanied by a slight tremor perceptible in the floor of the Sphere. Their startled glances througli the nearest porthole satisfied them, however, that the Sphere still rested on ierra f rma. Robert pushed all three of the corresponding row of buttons directly over the first three, and the hand again registered zero. “I don’t want to lift the roof off your barn, professor,” exclaimed Robert. “I’ll start the gyrostats now to neutralize the Sphere's weight, and we will get out and push it outside the stable.” A few minutes later the now thoroughly convinced Henry watched his companions disappear within the Sphere's shell while he debated with himself as to whether he should follow them. A moment later Professor Palmer appeared at a port- hole and beckoned him; but Henry shook his head vehemently.

Page 84

658 .WEIED TALES The professor unlatched the win- dow and swung it open. “Hurry in, Henry,” he called. “Voyage is about to commence.” “Not I, professor! This suits me real well, right out here.” “Come on, Henry,” the professor urged. “You aren’t afraid?” “Not afraid — just a little bit care- fuL I’m just beginning to find out how nice and solid this ground feels. I’ll watch you do it.” And no amount of urging would change his mind. He politely but firmly maintained that he felt much healthier outside. “Stubborn chap, that,” the professor commented to Robert. “Can’t say that I blame him, though.” “Simply a difference in the values we set on our own carcasses,” sug- gested Robert. “Henry just takes his more seriously than we.” They laughed. Both, somehow, felt reliev^ afterward. Henry had fur- nished a welcome diversion. The former nervous tension was broken. “Well, so long, old man,” Robert called out the window, as he prepared to close it. “Give my regards to Saint Peter,” shouted Henry. “Cheerful cuss,” contributed the professor, as the heavy glass slammed shut. Robert stopped the gyrostats. A deep silence reigned within the heavy walls as he examined carefully the delicate machinery upon which so much depended. Then he pulled the lever, setting them in motion again. Their steady pun» was a relief from the oppressive silence. Professor Palmer’s keen eyes fol- lowed him as he moved about. Rob- ert’s excitement of the previous min- utes was forgotten as he expertly, almost lovingly, ran his eyes over every detail of the perfect, whirring machinery, most of which his father had produced. His throat contracted strangely as his thoughts dwelt for a moment on his beloved parent. His mother he could scarcely remember, for she had died when he was but a baby of three years. But his father had been his constant companion — his pal. What would he not have given to have him standing by him at this moment, on the eve of his triumph, of the realization of his dreams ! Being a shrewd judge of human nature, the professor rightly guessed his thoughts at that moment. A suspicious moisture in Robert’s eyes confirmed his guess. Robert’s next move was to adjust the direction of the disk’s covered face toward the zenith. The ^rostats were revolving smoothly. With bated breath, he again pushed the button which partly bared the disk. The Sphere gave a slight lurch. This was followed by a sensation like that felt in an elevator rising sud- denly. A faint shout from below. With one impulse Robert’s and the professor’s glances swept eagerly through the ports. There they saw just what they had expected to see; but the actuality affected them curiously. Oddly enough, they had subconsciously ex- pected till the last moment that the Sphere would fail. The landscape seemed to be dropping from under them. Even the horizon was receding alarmingly. Robert’s hand shot out to the con- trol board, closing the disk’s sur- face. A slight tremor evidenced the abrupt cessation of the disk’s pull. “Six thousand feet,” read Profes- sor Palmer from the altimeter. Robert joined him. A few minutes later it registered seven thousand. They were still rising, but not nearly so rapidly as before. The closing of the disk had cheeked their speed at once.

Page 85

THE WANING OF A WORLD 659 “A little more and I’d have boosted her right off the earth,” said Robert, breathlessly. “I’ll have to use the disk more sparingly on ordinary sight-seeing excursions hereafter.” “You had it opened only to first power, too, hadn’t you?” “Yes; and without the ‘juice’ turned on. Jove! We didn’t realize how much reserve power of propul- sion we had. It’s well that I experi- mented first with the minimum. And ,the current almost quadruples the magnetism of mythonite ! Phew ! ’ ’ Robert paused and read the alti- meter again. Eight thousand. He gripped the gyrostatic control, and carefully moved it to half speed. The Sphere seemed to pause a moment, then they could detect its beginning to settle earthward as the neutralization of gravity was modi- fied. Six thousand; five thousand; they were dropping steadily at a rate of nearly a thousand feet a minute. Robert shoved the lever back to full speed and the Sphere’s downward momentum was quickly checked. With the disk safely throttled, the Sphere became as a rubber balloon. They merely drifted in midair. Together they peered through the observation well in the floor. Through this they could plainly see the land- scape,- some three thousand feet be- low, sliding by sluggishly as they ' drifted with the light air current. Prom the side ports they could dis- cern the big Palmer homestead and the laboratories about a mile and a 'half to the west of them. It was an ideal day for observation. The sky was cloudless, and the air of crystal clearness. “Well, professor, shall we run back to our stall, or take a little sight-see- ing jaunt?” queried Robert. “Let’s see some of the country, by all means,” decided the professor, his face aglow with boyish excitement and anticipation. “All right; here goes,” Robert sang out as he deflected the disk to a horizontal position, pointing due north. The next instant he switched open the first shutter from the disk’s sur- face. There was a jerk, and the land- scape suddenly began slipping away to the south with accelerating speed. Another click, and their speed was further increased. Once more the switch clicked, releasing the last shutter from over the disk. The Sphere seemed literally to leap ahead. A muffled roar without indicated the great speed at which they were rush- ing through the air. To^vn after town flashed by be- neath them with astonishing rapidity. The fact that they were flying at a comparatively low altitude made their speed seem terrific. Robert wisely decided to seek a safer height. He elevated the disk several degrees and the Sphere promptly soared higher. At eight thousand feet he cheeked its upward trend. Par away to the east they could see a solitary big biplane bound in the same direction as they — probably a fast mail express; but it was quickly left behind, and lost from view in the afternoon haze. For twenty minutes they roared northward. Then, to their surprize, a vast body of water appeared against the horizon ahead. “Lake Erie!” gasped Robert, after a moment’s reflection. “Two hun- dred miles in less than half an hour. Why — that’s about five hundred miles an hour ! And without the aid of electric magnetization of the <iisk!” “Marvelous!” exclaimed the pro- fessor, enthusiastically. Already they were soaring over the expanse of water. On the horizon the distant Canadian shore was rap- idly Jaking shape. Beneath them several long, slim lake craft could be discerned, crawling at what ap-

Page 86

660 WEIRD TALES peared, from so great a height, to be a snail's pace. No doubt the Sphere would have presented a much more curious sight to those below had its luminous gray shell been more than a faint speck against the brilliant, cloudless sky. It was at this juncture that Rob- ert’s alert ears detected a subtle change in the hitherto soft whir of the gyrostats. “What is it, Robert?” whispered Professor Palmer, as he observed Robert’s suddenly tense attitude. “Wait!” anxiously. Outside, the muffled roar sounded in strange contrast to the still air within. The bright sunshine streamed across the gray floor in mock cheer- fulness. A single captive fly buzzed drowzily against a windo^vpane. These commonplace details reg- istered on Robert’s mind indelibly in those fleeting seconds as he listened with palpitating heart for he knew not what. Taking his cue from Robert, Professor Palmer was listening with equal intensity to the drone of the machinery upon which their lives de- pended. Even he could now detect the change. The drone was gradu- ally, unmistakably, decreasing in volume. The "gyrostats were stopping! Unconsciously they gripped each other’s hands an instant as they real- ized the seriousness of their plight. Should the gyrostats stop, the Sphere would plunge to its doom ! Frantically Robert tortured his mind for a possible solution, or a rea- son for the unexpected interruption. The altimeter already indicated that' they were falling at a steadily in- creasing speed. The formerly tiny ships below were no longer tiny. The water seemed to be rushing toward them at a terrific rate. Robert re- membered afterward a sudden inane conjecture as to how big a splash they would make. It was at this moment his numbed senses returned to him. Cursing him- self silently for a rattle-brained idiot, he spun the wheel madly, thus adjust- ing the vertical position of the disk. To his tortured mind it seemed an eternity before it finally pointed to- ward the zenith. Their downward rush was notice- ably cheeked, but the lift of the disk was not equal to the weight of the Sphere. They continued to fall at a dangerous rate. The altimeter registered but two thousand feet! Fully recovered now from his former temporary inertia, Robert jammed over the switch which con- nected the disk to the powerful stor- age batteries. This was the reserve that he had not ventured to utilize before. Thus the lift of the Sphere should have been increased more than four-fold, and its descent cheeked at once. As the switch swung over, the gyro- stats stopped completely. In a flash the explanation of it all occurred to Robert. The batteries were ex- hausted ! 6 The world was rudely shaken from its customary lethargy. Having lapsed into a monotonous, smooth-running order of events, the public had long since resigned itself to such. Not since the Great War had newspapers had such an oppor- tunity. Even the steady develop- ment of trans- Atlantic and trans-con- tinental air traffic had become com- monplace. Of the myriad readers, perhaps none was so keenly interested in the article which appeared on the front page of every paper in the United States on the morning of the eighteenth as Henry Simms. Since the Sphere had disappeared from his astonished gaze the day be- fore, he had anxiously awaited its re- turn. As hour after hour passed, his

Page 87

THE WANING OF A WORLD 661 fears for its little crew of two grew proportionately. He had little faith in the curious invention to which the professor and his companion had en- trusted their lives. So it was with little spirit 'that Henry sat down to his breakfast that morning at the Palmer homestead, where he lived. He picked up the morning paper listlessly, hoping it might contain some report of the Sphere. He feared that if it did con- tain such news, it would be fatal news. Henry was a pessimist. The big heading escaped his notice at first because he was looking for some smaller notice regarding the Sphere and its failure to return. Then suddenly it caught his eye. Breathlessly he devoured it. SENSATION CAUSED BY FLYING SPHERE Curious Metal Blimp Seen Floating Above Lake Vessels’ Mast Tops STRANGE NEW AIR TRIUMPH Heavier than air machine with no visible means of ascension or pro- pulsion possesses marvelous speed (Special Dispatch to the Morning Chronicle) ERIE, Pa., July 18. — The freighter, “Mary Ann”, arriving here tonight, re- ported a remarkable incident. About 4 o’clock this afternoon a member of the crew descried a small speck over the southern horizon. This speck grew in size rapidly until it became apparent that it was not only approaching the “Mary Ann”, but falling with great velocity from its former immense height. It looked to be a large grayish globe. During the ensuing moments, it seemed as if a huge cannon ball were launched directly at the vessel. Her destruction Memed certain. Consternation seized the crew and officers, who, by this time, were all aware of the pending disaster. At a critical moment, however, the big ball was seen to slacken in its downward rush, until finally it hung suspended in the air directly above the mast tops, drifting slowly astern. At this close range several round win- dows could be seen in the heavily riveteil walls of the sphere. A glimpse of the operator was caught as he busily maneu- vered divers levers. Although evidently of considerable weight, and without visible means of sup- port or propulsion, the sphere seemed to float in midair as lightly as a balloon. It appeared to be nearly thirty feet in diameter. Suddenly a deep humming was heard. A moment later the sphere rose with gather- ing speed until it appeared to have reached a height of about half a mile. Then it shot abruptly off toward the south at great speed, disappearing rapidly over the horizon. While this was of gi’cat interest to Henry, it but served to increase his uneasiness. Ho could think of no good reason for the failure of the Sphere to return from its trial trip but a fatal re-occurrence of the mechanical trouble suggested in the freighter’s report. IT WAS at this point in Henry’s gloomy reflections that a hearty laugh outside startled him. The pro- fessor ! A moment later Robert and Pro- fessor Palmer entered. Both were in fine spirits. “Should have been along, Henry,” boomed the profe.ssor. “Missed the time of your young life.” “Been reading about it,” Henry replied, tapping the paper. “Were you really trying to drop into the lake, or couldn’t you help it?” “Fast work, Robert,” laughed the professor, as together they read over the article; “private trial trip in the afternoon — front page headlines next morning ! Not so bad, eh ? ” “Just missed the freighter, ” gasped Robert. “We didn’t have a chance to see her until we had checked our drop and drifted off astern. Phew!”

Page 88

662 WEIRD TALES “Never mind,” soothed the pro- fessor. “Can’t be helped now. Any- way, they will probably conclude that we were merely playing with them.” His mood would not be denied. He seemed more like a boy at that moment than a dignified professor of fifty-seven. “You folks seem to have had a dull trip,” remarked Henry, ironically. “Where were you last night?” “Must we tell you? Had you ac* cepted our invitation, you’d know,” retorted the professor. “Man, don’t ask us so many questions. We’re as hungry as wolves.” They sat down before the appetiz- ing, crisply fried bacon, and eggs that Jarvis, the peei'less, smiling but- ler had brought in. “It was this way, Henry,” resumed the professor, after he had partly satisfied the inner man: “Robert and I didn’t expect to be gone long, and unfortunately failed to take any pro- visions along. Had it not been for a cake of chocolate in Robert’s pocket, which we shared, we should have had nothing to eat since we left.” “But jmu haven’t told me where you were last night,” persisted Henry. “Tell him, Robert.” “Well, after we ran out of power because the storage batteries had not been fully charged, and narrowly missed sinking that freighter, we had just enough current left to suspend Ihe Sphere, in midair. Then we started the engines driving the dynamos, and soon had sufficient power to start back. But boy! It was a close shave.” Robert paused reminiscently. “We started back, but changed our minds and decided to see some more of the country first. You see, at five hundred or more miles an hour, it is quite a temptation to look around a bit.” Henry’s countenance registered a curious combination of astonishment and disbelief. “Fact,” put in Professor Palmer. “Could have done much better than that, but didn’t want to heat up the Sphere uncomfortably by excessive air friction.” Henry looked very much as if he thought he might be the victim of a little spoofing. Such wild claims, uttered so coolly, confused him and aroused his natural skepticism. » Robert resumed his narrative, with a touch of pardonable pride. Behind him Jarvis stood spellbound, mouth half open, drinking in every word. “So we flew over to New York, Boston and Baltimore, and looked them over. Great sport. We became so interested that twilight was upon us before we had given it a thought. “It was pretty dark by the time we got back; this way. We forgot, too, that the sun is visible consider- ably longer from a great height than it is from the earth’s surface. “The result was that we could not find our way back here in the dark, without lights to guide us. So after a fruitless attempt, we gave up and landed in a large field. There we stayed until dawn, when, upon ascending again, we discovered that we were only a couple of miles from here.” ‘ ‘ Moral : Carry a searchlight, and ye shall find,” contributed the pro- fessor. “And some sandwiches,” added Robert, returning to his interrupted attack upon the bacon and eggs. 7 The following weeks were crowded ones for the Palmer household. The account of the Sphere and the activities at the laboratories were quickly connected by the sharp news- paper world, and acknowledged by Professor Palmer.

Page 89

THE WANING OP A WORLD 663 A deluge of newspaper reporters followed. The first were a diversion ; the rest quickly became a nuisance. Once more did journalistic imagina- tion run wild. Though both Robert and the professor refused to commit themselves on the subject, the Palmer-Margard feud was revived, colored with a wealth of imaginary data concerning prospective trips to Mars in the Sphere, The Sphere was photographed and sketched countless times, as were Pro- fessor Palmer and Robert. Even Henry came in for a share of pub- licity. But the professor had long since ^determined to attempt the trip to Mars in the Sphere. With this in mind he set about mastering the in- tricacies of its apparatus. The prospect of venturing into the unknown regions beyond the Earth’s attraction is not one that appeals to the faint-hearted. Even Professor Palmer frequently bad moments of indecision when he all but decided to drop the project. It would be so easy, reasoned his weaker self, to drop the matter entirely. The Sphere’s scope on the Earth was sufficient to make them both a vast fortune, and to bring them great fame. Nevertheless, he remained stedfast in his decision, in spite of the advice and warnings of his friends, which were anything but reassuring. He was willing to be a martyr for the possible enlightenment of the world. It was Robert, though, who strengthened the professor’s deter- mination, for he insisted upon accom- panying him on the unusual journey. “I am but an old man, Robert,” Professor Palmer argued, “while you are a young man in your prime, with a long, promising career before you. The chances of the Sphere’s reaching Mars safely and returning, in spite of its remarkable powers, are extremely uncertain. Who knows what strange phenomena it may encounter in the depths of space? Suppose its appara- tus should fail midway. Think of the fate that may await us. Even if we reached Mars, and found it inhabited with intelligent beings, how do we know we should be permitted to re- turn? Take my advice, my boy, and remain here. You may lose the Sphere, but you know its principle, and have proved its practicability. You can command the services of the world’s best mechanical skill in the rapid construction of another Sphere, and still others. In addition, I shall leave you my entire estate and posses- sions.” Robert was deeply lAoved by Pro- fessor Palmer’s concern over him and by his generosity. “You have been very good to me,” he said. “I appreciate it deeply. But I am going with you. We will share the dangers together, and to- gether we will also share the glory of achievement. I believe we are going to succeed.” And so, with these two declara- tions was .sealed the pact of partner- ship which was to carrj^ them to- gether on the perilous journey. TT^hen their final intention of at- ’ ^ tempting to roach Mars was an- nounced, the journalistic world fairly seethed with excitement. Every maga- zine issue contained portraits of Rob- ert and Professor Palmer, accom- panied by cuts of the Sphere and the professor’s latest maps and photo- graphs of the red planet. Never had any human undertaking even mildly approached theirs in magnitude. They were hailed as the heroes of the hour. It was agreed that the secrets of the Sphere were to be set down and placed in a safety deposit box with a certain great trust company, to be opened and read only in case Robert and the professor failed to return after two years’ time. Thus, the

Page 90

664 WEIRD TALES world could not lose the secret of this remarkable invention. Professor Margard, at this point, proved that his opposition to Pro- fessor Palmer’s theories was entirely impersonal. In published interviews, he highly commended his worthy con- temporary’s courage, as well as that of his companion; but he deplored the dangerous project in the face of what he considered conclusive evi- dence against the possible existence of inhabitants on Mars. “Misdirected courage; misplaced martrydom,” he termed their intentions. “Misdirected fiddlesticks,” snorted Professor Palmer when he read this. “We’ll show these people a thing or two. ’ ’ Two weeks were devoted to final preparations for the remarkable ad- venture. A powerful, adjustable searchlight had now been installed within a socket in the bottom of the Sphere to facilitate night travel and landings in the future. Petrol tanks were filled to capacity, and a supply of water taken on, some of which would be used in the cooling coils of the engines. A liberal quantity of life-giving oxygen was forced into the high-pressure tanks. Without this to constantly freshen the air within the Sphere, they could not live, as, after passing beyond the Earth’s envelope of atmosphere into the void of space, they would have no means of re- plenishing their air supply. A small supply of nitrogen was also added as a precaution against the total loss of the little ball of atmosphere guarded by the walls of the Sphere: While oxygen had to be replenished as their respiration consumed it, the supply of nitrogen would remain virtually the same except for a slight seepage through the sealed walls when the protecting pressure of the Earth’s atmosphere was removed. The atmospheric pressure within the Sphere would be about fifteen pounds to the square inch, with the absolute vacuum of space hungrily enveloping the exterior. An apparatus for ab- sorbing the carbonic acid gas thrown off by their lungs was also a part of the Sphere’s equipment. Robert tinkered about the Sphere, constantly inspecting every part with painstaking care. The resilient rub- ber window strips, insuring against the loss of the precious atmosphere, were looked to with especial care. The heavy glass panes were examined mi- nutely for possible signs of fracture, or flaws. Such a defect would prove disastrous if it should give way under the pressure within when they were in space. They would then be placed in a vacmim in which no liv- ing body can exist. So sudden would such a disaster be that they would have no opportunity, nor means, of saving themselves. All windows, however, were equipped with double panes for safety as well as warmth. They were also fitted outside with guards of heavy wire net. The lubricating reservoirs of the gyrostats were filled carefully; the bearings were cleaned perfectly. En- gines were tuned, and, in short, every bit of mechanism was tested and regulated to a point of perfection. On the first day of August every- thing was in readiness for the start of the momentous journey. Provisions, chiefly of the non-per- ishable and concentrated variety, had been generously stored in the Sphere’s food chests. There was a sufflcieiit quantity to last them for months. ! Although the world at large under- stood that the Sphere would start On its trip about this time, Robert and the professor had decided to withhold information as to the exact day or hour of their departure. Neither one desired a public demonstration. In spite of the pleas of divers reporters who besieged them, they refused to divulge the time set for their depar- ture.

Page 91

THE WANING OP A WORLD 665 AS THE last day of their stay on Earth approached, Robert was torn by conflicting emotions. At one moment the venture stood forth in all its glory of achievement and adven- ture ; the next, with appalling realiza- tion of its vastness, its unknown ter- rors. From time immemorial, man has instinctively dreaded the unlmown,' and Robert was plainly afraid. But, though the possibility of backing out did naturally occur to him with devil- ish persistence, he always rejected it promptly, determinedly. He would not countenance the thought of de- serting the professor. It had finally been decided to start on the following day, the second of the month. Anxious reporters hovered about the place, each eager to make a “scoop’' for his own paper. The more enterprizing tried to wheedle some information out of Henry or the taciturn Jasper. “Now, young mon, ye’ll kindly bate it. I ’ve no time to bother with the likes of ye,” the good-natured but sorely bothered Jarvis finally told them, one after another, as they ap- proached him. Henry, equally annoyed, decided upon cunning. “I’m not certain,” he was repeat- ing, confidentially, for the third time that day, “but I understand that they plan starting on the sly tomorrow night.” The young reporter with the bril- liant red hair listened with apparent- ly keen interest. He thanked the sec- retary politely, and departed. But a curious smile on his face as he turned away would not have exactly reas- sured Henry'' had he seen it. Evi- dently the red-head retained some ideas of his own. His sharp, intelli- gent features did not give him the ap- pearance of one easily fooled by sub- terfuge. And indeed he was not. Hugh Tag- gert had a trait of always trying to out-think the other fellow — and he usually succeeded. Probably it was this that had made him the most val- uable man on the Morning Chroniclers staff of reporters. That the secretary had tried to mis- lead him Taggert felt certain. But as to when the Sphere was scheduled to start, he knew no more than before. However, Henry’s statement had a si^ificanee which suggested some- thing to his alert mind. The night start did not seem unlikely, but that a man of the character he keenly judged Henry Simms to be should readily give his employer’s secret plans away, did seem unlikely. He determined not only to redouble his vigilance, but to remain on watch that very night instead of waiting for the next night. Henry’s mistake was in mentioning pything about night at all. His idea, of course, was merely to induce the troublesome reporters to lose a whole night’s sleep uselessly. As a matter of fact, it mattered lit- tle to Robert and the professor wheth- er their departure was observed or not. It simply amused them to evade the persistence of their besiegers if they could. 8 T^espite their determination, and the intense interest in their great project, it was with many secret mis- givings that Robert and Professor Palmer stood without the improvised hangar on that memorable night. They were about to embark on the strangest journey that man had ever attempted. Henry Simms alone accompanied them to see them off. Till the last he had tried to persuade them to aban- don the dangerous project, but with- out avail. To Robert, the stars had never seemed quite so brilliant, the night so bewitching. The very air seemed to have a special tang and sweetness

Page 92

666 WEIRD TALES which he had never before noticed, 'rhe myriad sounds of the night pos- sessed a magic power of enchantment < vor him. He caught himself won- ilering inconsequently whether he should ever again hear the soothing voice of the crickets and other deni- zens of the summer twilight ; whether such sounds might be heard on Mars if they reached it. Quietly they took leave of Henry and filed into the Sphere. The trap slammed shut, and Robert and the professor were enveloped in the dead, black silence of the Sphere’s interior. It was at this point that Robert’s res- olution reached its ebb. Had Profes- sor Palmer turned to him at that mo- ment and again begged him to remain safely on Earth, he could not have re- sisted the temptation. Never had a glow of light seemed so comforting as that which flooded the Sphere a moment later. The temptation of the previous - minutes fied. In its place Robert felt only an eagerness to be on his way. Never- theless, when they had mounted to the main compartment, he opened one of the windows and leaned out, thirst- ily drinking in deep breaths of the keen night air. Toward the east a silver tinge on the horizon heralded the rising of the moon. The Iwo tall stacks of the lab- oratories were silhouetted sharply against the brightening sky. Their black outlines were registered in- delibly in Robert’s memory for years afterward. It all seemed like a grotesque dream. Somewhere the shrill scream of a screech-owl cut into Ihe night, breaking the spell. Final farewells were passed with Henry below, and the window slammed to into its soft rubber- stripped socket. The air-purifying devices were put into operation. With Henry’s aid they had already romoved the Sphere from its stall. Its machinery had been carefully in- spected that afternoon. With a final glance over everything, they prepared to start at once. For the first time the full electrified lifting power of the disk was to be used. Storage batter- ies had been charged to capacity. “All ready, professor?” called Robert. “Let her go.” There was a soft jar, and the Earth began dropping away. The altimeter registered three thousand feet when Robert opened the second shutter. Im- mediately the landscape began reced- ing at a disconcerting rate. With a moment of involuntary hesitation, Robert pushed the third button, en- tirely baring the disk’s surface. An answering roar from without indi- cated the terrific speed at which they were leaving the Earth’s surface. “Twenty thousand,” read Profes- sor Palmer. Almost as he finished speaking the instrument registered another thou- sand feet. They were rising at vir- tually the same rate as they had been traveling parallel to the Earth’s sur- face during their original trial trip. The moon, nearly full, was now in full view because of their height. It had also risen sufficiently to east long, grotesque shadows of trees and other objects on the Earth ’s surface. Roads appeared as narrow, winding ribbons ; houses as mere faint blots. A minute later they had reached a level of 62,000 feet. Doltaire’s re- markable and recently established air- plane record of 46,800 feet was al- ready eclipsed by more than 15,000 feet ! The dusky landscape began to take on a blurred appearance. As yet Robert had not turned the current into the disk, fearing excessive air- friction. Time enough for that when they had arisen beyond the belt of at- mosphere which enveloped the Earth some 200 miles deep. This figure had been approximated from observations of falling meteors, which become white-hot from air friction as they

Page 93

THE WANING OP A WORLD 667 fall with terrific speed from space into the envelope of atmosphere. “Ah — pardon me, gentlemen,” a quiet voice said suddenly. Robert and the professor wheeled sharply, thoroughly startled. To their astonishment, they beheld a man walking toward them! “W- where did you come from?” stammered Robert, the first to recover his speech. The newcomer, however, did not seem to share their surprize in the least. Rather he appear^ to be very much at ease. His brilliant red hair, the easy and pleasant smile on his in- telligent features, stamped him as an ordinary, normal person. But how had he come there? “My apologies, gentlemen,” spoke the stranger. ‘ ‘ I determined to cover this trip for The Chronicle, and hid in a storeroom. Hugh T agger t’s my name. ’ ’ He advanced and shook hands with them both heartily. “Thought I might as well get ac- quainted right away,” he ran on, “since we are going to be compan- ions all the way to Mars. Nifty little ship you’ve got.” Until now their astonishment had kept Robert and the professor speech- less. With the disclosure of the iden- tity of the nervy young reporter, how- ever, the humor of the situation struck them both. “We hadn’t counted on company,” said the professor, “but now that you’re here, I can’t say that I’m sor- ry. Kind of livens the trip up, eh, Robert ? Not so lonesome. But you ’ve got your nei've, young man ! ’ ’ “You’re certainly 'welcome, so far as I’m concerned, Taggert,” said Robert, agreeably. “Only you might have to share some scanty rations be- fore we land.” ‘ ‘ Shan ’t mind that, ’ ’ was the reply. “Brought some myself to help out.” He picked up a good-sized cubical package from where he had set it down a few minutes before. “Bouillon cubes, malted milk tab- lets, and chocolate,” he explained, tapping the parcel. “Pair enough,” said Robert. “Boys,” interrupted the professor, “take a look at old Mother Earth now. ’ ’ With one accord they hurried to the windows to gaze upon the receding Earth, which for a minute they had almost forgotten. The wavering altimeter indicated a height of more than 125,000 feet — al- most twenty miles ! The semi-luminous Earth far below them now presented a dull, nebulous appearance, devoid of landmarks, ex- cept that far to the southeast a faint thread of lighter color wound its way irregularly across the country, this they judged to be the Ohio River. One other distinguishable mark was a small, dimly illuminated patch indi- cating the city near the laboratories. “Good old Earth, good-bye,” said Taggert. His customarily cheerful voice con- tained a note of awe. Indeed, the sight was sufficient to strike awe into anyone’s heart; but then, Taggert was thinking, too, of a certain dark-haired and brown-eyed lass who would be waiting anxiously for him to return to her. At the end of a fifteen-minute wait, basing his estimate on their former rate of ascension, when the altimeter was still registering accurately, Rob- ert calculated that they had reached a distance of approximately 150 miles above the Earth. At this distance the atmosphere should be sufficiently thinned to eliminate it as a factor of interference with their course or dan- ger of air friction. He could now safely utilize the disk’s full magnetic power. With the resistance of the atmosphere reduced to nothing, their speed was doubtless alread7 increas-

Page 94

668 WEIRD TALES ing, and with the maximum pull of the disk developed by the current from the storage batteries, their ve- locity would quickly double and re- double until they were rushing through space at a terrific rate. Thus would they continue exactly like a planet until checked by the attraction of some other body or a readjustment of the disk. Just how great a velocity they might obtain they had been un- able to determine accurately, but it was considered not improbable that the Sphere might reach Mars within a month. Under Professor Palmer’s guidance Robert now laid their course for Mars, carefully focusing the disk upon it. The full propulsive force of the disk was about to be used for the first time. All three watched tensely through the windows as Robert pre- pared to throw on the switch that would charge the mythonite with elec- tricity. An answering jar was felt as con- tact was made with the first terminal. By degrees, their velocity was in- creased until the full energy of the powerful batteries was diverted into the disk. “Why, the old gourd’s shrinking like a toy balloon!” gasped Taggert, watching the Earth intently. Indeed, the rapidly changing ap- pearance of the Earth was evidence of the remarkable rate at which they were shooting away from 'it. Grad- ually the entire continent took shape before their eyes, presenting an ap- pearance startlingly like the relief maps one sees in every geography. Here and there, however*, fields of clouds hid sections of it. It was at this point that Robert was possessed with a temporary but al- most overwhelming impulse to rush the Sphere back to the Earth. He suddenly recalled its many comforts and pleasures; its wonderful scenes, sunsets and countless other beauties. All these things seemed a thousand- fold more desirable than the cold, cheerless and mysterious void through which they were rushing. It would be such a simple matter to return now while he knew they could ; but later — who knew what would be their fate? A moment later the temptation was gone. The possibilities of the curious planet toward which they were bound filled his imagination. He became anxious only to reach it as quickly as possible. “Ugh,” he shivered, suddenly real- izing that their air in the Sphere had become chilled. “B-r-r,” echoed the professor and Taggert. “Why, it’s down to freezing,” ex- claimed Taggert, as he caught sight of the thermometer near him on the in- ner wall. “Forgot all about our stoves,” chuckled the professor, turning on one of the two electric heaters with which the chamber had been equipped. “The cold is one of our greatest dangers, ’ ’ the professor told Taggert. “Out here in space the cold is abso- lute. There is nothing to reflect or re- tain the heat from the sun’s rays. Even if the gyrostats should stop, the disk is powerful enough to keep the Sphere from falling back into the Earth, or on any other planet if we lightened it by throwing out excess weight as we neared the planet where gravitation would be much stronger than it is at this distance. We have enough food to last us for weeks. But we must have warmth. Should our current fail us we should be in danger of freezing to death. Fortunately we have a petrol heater for emergencies.” “Oy, and me with my overcoat at home ! ’ ’ wailed Taggert, in mock con- sternation, backing up close to the heater. By this time the Earth had shrunk greatly. No longer did it constitute the greater part of their view. Sud- denly a ribbon of fire appeared along its western rim ! Steadily it widened.

Page 95

THE WANING OF A WORLD 669 lighting up the Sphere brilliantly. Then the explanation of this phenom- enon dawned upon them. The Sphere was carrying them beyond the Earth ’s shadow into view of the sun, whose pleasant, warm rays shone cheerfully through the windows, buoying up their spirits considerably. AS THE time passed the Earth ap- peared smaller and smaller. Its farther edge, still obscuring a slice of the sun, pi’oduced much the same ef- fect as a partial eclipse of the sun by the moon when seen from the Earth. The physical features of the Earth were no longer visible against the glare of the sun. It simply looked like a black disk, slightly larger than the moon. About this time their self-invited companion seemed a good deal per- plexed over something. He stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other with a look of comical mys- tification on his ruddy countenance. “What’s the matter, old man?” asked Robert, much amused at Tag- gert’s curious antics. “Cootie?” ‘ ‘ Something wrong here, ’ ’ giving a little hop. “I’ll admit you show symptoms of it, young man, ’ ’ remarked the profes- sor, dryly. “Feel kind of lightish. Maybe I’m going to become an angel when Ave get a little higher,” went on the red- head, still engrossed in his private calculations. “Come to think about it,” said Robert, standing up, “I feel some- v.'hat that Avay myself. It must be contagious.” They both looked to- ward Professor Palmer keenly, as if expecting him to show similar symp- toms. The professor laughed long and heartily, until the pair became con- vinced that there was something wrong Avith him, too. “Well, boys, it’s this way,” he said at last; “the farther away from the Earth we get, the weaker its attraction for us becomes. Of course you feel lighter — ^you are lighter — and that’s not all. Before we reach Mars, we shall all Aveigh nothing. We’ll be floating around in here like toy bal- loons. ’ ’ “That’s a fact,” said Robert after a moment ’s reflection. ‘ ‘ But I hadn ’t thought of it until now.” “Well, you felloAvs can swim around like goldfish if you want, but I’m going to find an anchor,” de- clared Taggert, looking round for a likely object of promising bulk and solidity. “No use,” replied Professor Palm- er. ‘ ‘ When you float, everything else that is loose floats, too.” Taggert scratched his red head thoughtfully. “All right, then,” he said finally, in mock despair, “float it, is; we’ll all play tag.” A little Avhile later the sim aj)- peared unobstructed. The Earth had shrunk so small this time that it could no longer be seen on account of it.s close proximity to the sun. Well be- yond it the moon hung serenely, though considerably reduced in size. Seen from this angle it Avas now near- er half than full. Oddly enough, in all directions the heavens pi’csented the same appearance as when seen from the Earth at night, though the sun shone brightly upon the Sphere. “But why?” Taggert Avanted to knoAV, looking in perplexity toward the blazing sun and then at the stars tAvinkling in cold, brilliant splendor. “On the Earth we wore enveloped by a layer of bluish atmosphere many miles deep in which minute particles of dust are suspended,” explained Professor Palmer. “When the rays of the sun shine through this, it pro- duces the luminous, azure sky with which Ave are so familiar. It is this brilliancy in the Earth’s atmosphere during the day that makes the stars inAHsible. Out here, with no envelope

Page 96

670 WEIRD TALES of atmosphere or dust particles, there is nothing to produce a luminousness to outshine the stars.” “Guess it’s all okeh,” mused Tag- gert, doubtfully, gazing out into the black sky, which lacked even the soft- ening indigo of our terrestrial nights. The stowaway proved a welcome recruit. For instead of dividing the twenty-four hours into two watch- es, they could now have three, of eight hours each. The trip had settled down into dull monotony. One condition, however, partly relieved the tedium. This was the ever decreasing weight of their bodies. The adventurers found walking a novel sensation. A giddy feeling possessed them, and there was an unsteadiness in their gait which was difficult to control, result- ing in a comical semblance of semi- intoxication. It was the more reckless and ex- perimental reporter who discovered and demonstrated proudly that he could step the entire length of the chamber, with little effort. Robert and the professor quickly and easily duplicated his feat, but he continued blithely to remind them at intervals of his initial discovery. From that time he supplemented his experi- ments by jumping up and touching the ceiling, and other gymnastics, pro- claiming each noisily to the amuse- ment of his new companions. He seemed to be enjoying himself im- mensely and to have entirely forgot- ten his original idea regarding an an- chor. But even this soon ceased to be a diversion and the three of them final- ly settled down as best they could, to look over the various latest editions of the newspapers which Professor Palm- er had brought along. These all con- tained articles about their venture, and furnished quite interesting side- lights to the daring adventurers them- selves. “Here’s a cheerful fellow who has figured out that it will take us two years to cover the thirty-odd million miles to the Martian deserts,” an- nounced Taggert from a precarious perch on the bacl^ of a chair with his feet on the seat. Ever since his initial gymnastics he had evinced a preference for birdlike attitudes. “That’s nothing; here’s one that makes it five years, ’ ’ contributed Robert cheerfully. “What does your paper say, professor?” “The lowest estimate has it seven months. We, who know more of the Sphere’s powers than any of them, had figured on about a month; but at the rate we are going now, and faster every second, we ought to re- duce our own estimate by half.” Taggert heaved a sigh of undis- guised relief. “Gosh, professor, that was close. I began to have bright visions of yours truly alongside a harp.” “No telling what you’ll find your- self alongside when we pull into Mars,” remarked Robert encourag- ingly. “I’d rather be by a plate of ‘ham and’ right now than anything else,” answered the scribe. “You gents made me miss my nightly feed. ” He felt in his coat pockets and presently fished out a cake of chocolate. “W^hy in bedlam didn’t you say so sooner?” admonished Robert, getting \ip and making his way wobblingly toward a locker. “You might not be- lieve it, but we’ve got a regular res- taurant here. I can fill your order right now.” “Haven’t got a chicken run on board, too?” b^antered the reporter. “Young man, while you and your brethren were busily writing why we would never reach Mars, we were pre- paring to do it in the right way,” broke in the professor. “We not only have a substantial supply of fresh eggs put up in silicate of soda for preservation, hut cheese,

Page 97

THE WANING OF A WORLD 671 ham, coffee and a number of other good things that you might not have suspected. ’ ’ “And you’re going to turn loose a hungry stowaway scribe on all that ? ’ ’ asked Taggert. “Certainly,” chorused Robert and the professor. “Do you think we are going to let you stai’ve?” added Robert. “You know we’ve got no undertaker handy. ’ ’ ' ‘ Oh, thanks, thanks ! ’ ’ .A spirit stove was pulled out from i niche in the wall, and presently a generous slice of ham and a couple of eggs were sizzling in the frying pan. An appetizing aroma filled the cham- ber, causing Taggert to sniff the air hungrily. “I call this handsome, now,” he commented, gratefully. “I always was a lucky stiff, though. Just let me know when I can save your lives or something and I’ll be there.” This simple repast was supplement- ed by a round of quickly brewed bouillon. With their stomachs satisfied a feel- ing of drowziness came over them all. Taggert stoutly insisted upon stand- ing first watch, but Robert was ada- mant in his refusal. He explained that it was important that he main- tain watch over the machinery for the first shift until the most likely period for development of mechanical trouble was passed. Professor Palmer also offered to take the first Avatch, but owing to Robert’s greater familiarity Avith the mechanism he allowed himself to be prevailed upon. First, however, he carefully inspected the heavens, cor- recting the Sphere’s course by vari- ous constellations, as it had SAAuing a few points away from its objective. The sun glared in at the windows at the back end of the chamber. The blinds were draAvn, darkening the in- terior to facilitate sleeping. Professor Palmer and Taggert spread the pal- lets of bedding obtained out of one of the storerooms, and settled themselves to rest. Through the long hours Robert maintained his lonely vigil. The machinery continued its musical pitrr uninterrupted. Once he started the dynamo for a while, causing the temporary opening of a sleepy eye or Iaa’o. He AA'ished to keep the batteries charged to fullest capacity until they were Avell on their way, after Avhieh their velocity through space could be maintained AAUth a A'^ery little expenditure of cur- rent. The prolonged excitement of the past weeks, particularly of the last few days, together AA'ith loss of sleep, proved too much for Robert. Several times he caught himself dozing. Lulled by the hum of the machinery, he finally slipped off into obliAuon. Grotesque and nonfused dreams followed one after the other through his uneasy slumber in seemingly end- less fantasy, causing him to mutter incoherently. These finally gave way to a curious vision of a conjured Martian landscape. Huge cacti and other polypetalous growths formed a dense, forbidding background. As he looked about him it seemed that they had formed a menacing circle round him, which ap- peared to grow smaller and smaller. Hideous dark groAvths pushed their thorny leaves up through the loose sand round the edge of the circle, AA^rithing into distorted shapes. Desperately but fruitlessly his eyes sought some escape from the shrink- ing circle. The dark AA’^all presented an impregnable barrier. Hoav he had come there he did not knoAv. Suddenly he Avas startled by a rustling of the stiff foliage. The agitation of its tops heralded the ap- proach of some being. He momen- tarily expected to see some dreadful thing leap out from the forbidding jungle — just A^hat, he knew not !

Page 98

672 WEIKD TALES Then, to his intense relief and astonishment, a girl of rare, exotie beauty emerged. Her eyes were like the cool depths of a shaded brook, her really golden-hued hair a delight, the perfection of her soft-clad figure goddesslike. Yet she repelled rather than attracted. Then, indeed, it seemed as if the dooi’s of paradise had opened. Gone was the aloofness of the moment be- fore. She was smiling — at him. But even as he took a first eager step toward her and she toward him, a mist seemed to come between them. The amazing loveliness of her faded into the drab desert background. He was alone! Strange to observe, the threatening jungle was no more. Before his be- wildered gaze a trackless desert swept from horizon to horizon. Then this, too, faded. 9 TTow long he had slept he did not * know, but he was awakened sud- denly by a blow in the face ! In a flash he was wide awake. His hands groped out in front of him, coming into contact with a smooth, metallic surface. He seemed to be lying on the floor, and immediately formed the conclusion that he had fallen off his chair while sleeping. As he endeavored to rise to his feet the floor began to recede from him slowly! It was then that he remem- bered the steadily decreasing attrac- tion of the Earth as the Sphere shot farther and farther away into space. He quickly concluded that the “floating” stage had been reached. The Sphere would be maintain- ing its established momentum just like a planet which hurtles through space century after century, impelled by its original momentum by reason of the complete absence of any ob- struction in space to hinder it ; and of course their bodies followed serenely with the Sphere in its interior. They were as a component part of it — little worlds of their own. As the metal surface continued to recede from him, he suddenly dis- covered that the engines and dynamo were missing! Yet the steady purr of the gyrostats was plainly, reassur- ingly audible. Then abruptly the solution of it all dawned upon him. He had fallen on to the ceiling — ^not the floor! Suddenly a realization of his danger confronted him. He was drifting slowly toward the gyrostats! Should he be caught in their racing mechanism his body would be whipped into shreds ! Desperately he strove to jerk his body over into a convenient position to assist him in grasping one of the four perpendicular rods surrounding the gyrostats. With nothing to brace himself against, his efforts were strangely akin to those of a cat fall- ing through the air, though, for lack of practise, they were not nearly so adept. Luckily they sufficed to turn his body over facing the gyrostats. Fortunately too, one of the uprights was within reach. He clutched this as a drowning man clutches a tossed rope, and the danger was over. He lowered himself breathlessly to the floor. For the first time he noticed that he was perspiring freely. “Close shave, that,” he muttered, mopping his face nervously. “Have to rig a guard around this.” He looked sharply toward where the professor and the reporter had Iain. Strangely enough they were still in the same spot. Then he be- came aware that there was stiU a slight pull toward the floor. The Earth had not yet entirely released its hold upon the Sphere even though it had long since ceased to be visible to them. Evidently he had made some abrupt move in his sleep with suffi- cient force to send him slowly up- ward to the ceiling against the dwindling force of terrestial gravity.

Page 99

THE WANING OP A WORLD 673 The following days were interest- ing ones for the adventurers, but inconvenient — though amusing. With the passage of each day the Earth’s attraction for them became weaker until finally it was completely neutralized by the counter attraction of Mars. This point was reached by the ninth day out, when, according to Professor Palmer’s reckonings, the Sphere had traversed more than half the distance between the two worlds. Ordinary movement about the com- partment became an impossibility. Walking was an accomplishment of the past. In order to move from one end of the chamber to the other it be- came necessary merely to place a hand against the wall and push. Im- mediately they were propelled across the room through space as if sus- pended by a well-oiled trolley con- veyor. The chief requisite was a careful sense of direction and control of strength exerted. Otherwise they were apt to find themselves precipi- tated roughly into one comer, against the ceiling, or headlong into the whirring machinery. The reckless Taggert was fre- quently the cause of much merriment, because of his careless or awkward antics. Once he brought their hearts into their mouths by narrowly miss- ing the smashing of a window pane when his shoulder was brought up sheirply against the glass. After that even he exercised extreme caution in his movements. It became necessary to lash each other to some stationary object for protection so that they could sleep safely. When on watch, Robert was obliged to keep hold upon some stable part to maintain any single position for a time. The managing of fluids was at once ludicrous and exceedingly difficult. The mere taslc of drinking a cup of coffee called for more skill than the biting of an apple in a tub of water W. T.— 3 at a Halloween party. One was apt to have more of the beverage applied externally than internally. A cup of fluid could be kept safely intact only by a centrifugal motion, as by whirling it round in a circle, bottom outward. Otherwise, at the critical moment the contents would drift off in an irregular, pulsating sphere, like a soft little world of its own held together merely by the slight affinity of its molecules. A scheme of drinking through a tube from a covered bucket by means of a hole drilled through the cover proved fairly successful ,and became temporarily the vogue. During the first of these days the Sphere evinced a tendency to revolve slowly and at random because the delicate but sensitive stabilizer could no longer find a central point of gravity. Here, then, was a grave danger confronting them; for with the growing inclination of the Sphere to revolve at random it became ap- parent that they would not be able to hold it to any one course. This because, as the Sphere revolved, it would be necessary to constantly shift the direction of the disk; and thus it would be almost impossible to continue constantly with accuracy. Consequently they were facing the possibfiity of drifting about in space through eternity! Their predicament might have been likened in a way to that of a sailing vessel caught in th6 doldrums ; but in the Sphere's ease there appeared to be no chance of relief. Curiously enough, this problem had not oc- curred to Robert and Professor Palmer in their preparations for the journey. In fact, to their minds, there seemed no possible solution. Even Taggert ’s hitherto unfailing good spirits deserted him as the three gloomily faced the dreadful prospect of slow death through starvation or suffocation. The fact that they were millions of miles from the Earth in

Page 100

674 WEIED TALES the midst of a great black void did not make their fate any easier to con- sider. Professor Palmer now divided his time between frequent corrections in the Sphere’s wavering course toward Mars, and the writing of the log. “Who knows,” he remarked re- signedly to his companions, “some other more successful adventurers may attempt this venture some time. There is just a chance in a billion that they may find the Sphere and this document; or the Sphere may finally gravitate back to the earth.” Almost constantly he watched and guided the Sphere on its intricate course, insisting upon doing the major part of this difficult task, which only his expert knowledge of the heavens made possible to such a degree of accuracy. But even he was beginning to find it almost im- possible to keep the Sphere on its true course, as it continued to swing more and more widely from its former stability. Loss of sleep and the terrific strain were beginning to tell upon his iron constitution. It was clear to all three that theirs was a losing struggle. The professor’s faint hope that they could decrease their distance from Mars sufficiently to establish a substantial stability upon its attraction faded more and more as gradually the little Sphere began to swoop in ever-increasing deviations from its course. Realizing with sinliing heart the hopelessne.ss of the situation, Pro- fessor Palmer endeavored to conceal the sureness of their fate from Robert and Taggert. But they sensed it in- tuitively and each bravely sought to steel himself against the realization of the end. The thought of conserving their energy by stopping the ^rostats occurred to Robert. For with grav- itation virtually equalized from all directions, their operation was scarcely of any assistance at this point. And • then came the thought that caused his heart to halt an instant in its beat. Could it be that both the professor and he overlooked the one possible solution? Was it too late? “Fool — fool!” he expostulated bit- terly as he realized the opportunity that had all but slipped away from them by his failure to think of the solution sooner. ‘ ‘ Robert ! ’ ’ cried Professor Palmer, fearing for his mind. ‘ ‘ What is it ? ” “Can you hold her to the course steadily for a minute?” Robert almost shouted in his excitement, not having heard the professor’s question. Professor Palmer suddenly realized with a flash of hope that Robert had thought of a possible way out of their predicament. “Yes, yes,” he answered ^a^rly. His waning strength and almhess rallied temporarily under the inspira- tion of hope. His tired eyes became as keen as ever as he carefully nursed the drunkenly rolling Sphere back to its course and managed with supreme skill to steady it there for several seconds consecutively. “How long, boy?” he cried hoarsely in desperation, gripping his voice as he realized that he could not balance the Sphere accurately on its course more than a few seconds longer. He felt his control slipping. Too bad — too bad. The boy had had the idea, and he had failed — failed. He felt suddenly broken, as a very old man. His gray head nodded wearily. Too bad ! “Professor — professor,” someone was whispering huskily. He recovered from his lapse of semi-consciousness as he felt a hand placed nervously upon his shoulder. He turned to see Robert ’s eager young face behind him, smiling ! That might mean — but he hesitated even to hope, stifling its ray of comfort almost before it

Page 101

THE WANING OF. A WORLD came to him. He waited dully for Robert to go on. "We are holding our course now,” went on Robert, controlling his voice with an effort. “See?” he pointed to the glittering heavens visible through the observation windows. Instead of the dizzily swerving canopy of lights with which they were already too familiar, the stars hung stationary. “How did you do it, Robert?” gasped the professor. As he spoke he was suddenly aware that the gyro- stats had stopped! “You see, it came to me like a flash,” explained Robert, “that it all hinged on velocity. If the disk was suddenly shut off — covered — the Sphere would at once cease to be pulled around in various directions. Instead it would then rush ahead onW .in the direction in which it was lasV moving when the disk’s power was shut off. Beyond the forces of gravitation and with nothing but void on all sides, we would shoot for- ward forever until stopped by near- ing some planet.” “Of course, of course,” murmured the professor. “Why didn’t I think of that before? Dunce that I am!” “That is why I asked you to try to hold the Sphere in its course for a little bit — long enough to maintain its momentum toward Mars, when I would stop the wavering interference of the disk. First, I stopped the gyrostats. Then, as I clicked the shutters to cover the disk’s face, the Sphere became simply a dead weight already launched with terrific veloc- ity toward our goal. With the in- fluence of the gyrostats removed, the heaviest or bottom side of the Sphere became the head of our velocity. Re- sult— the eccentric revolutions of the Sphere ceased at once. We have established a temporary stability of our own — velocity.” “Robert,” said the professor, after a pause, “we owe our lives to your m keenness of mind. You thougEf of what it was my business to have known in the first place. With the Sphere’s course automatically main- tained now, it remains but to wait until we are near enough Mars to establish stability based on its attrac- tion. Then we can again control the Sphere at will. In the meantime we conserve all our power.” “Just as simple as A-B-C,” broke in Taggert, who had been roused from his sleep by their excited talk- ing, and had been listening interest- edly for some time, unobserved. “But,” interjected Robert, struck by a fresh disquieting thought, “if we are now rushing directly toward Mars, won’t we be left far behind by the time we reach its present location because of its rapid movement along its orbit?” “Oh, what’s a few million miles or so to us?” said Taggert with ex- travagant nonchalance. “Your deductions are partly cor- rect, Robert,” answered Professor Palmer, smiling at their guest’s sally. “There is a curious thing about mov- ing bodies in a void; they will con- tinue in one direction indefinitely until attracted or propelled, by some other force. In the ease of a '■pro- pelling force, unless it is in a directly opposite direction, it will simply re- sult in the body going off at a tan- gent, still maintaining its original rate of velocity in the original direc- tion in conjunction with its new direction. For example: Mars and the Earth moving in virtually parallel directions in their respective orbits at present, it was a comparatively simple matter to lay a straight course for Mars, as the Earth’s orbit velocity was imparted to the Sphere when we left it. But since the Earth moves somewhat faster along its orbit than Mars, we would gradually forge ahead of Mars if we had laid what at

Page 102

676 WEIRD TALES first appeared to be a direct course toward it, and would only have ar- rived finally by continually correct- ing our course, and having swung round in a vast curve. Instead, by calculating the difference in the known orbit velocities of the two planets, and accordingly laying a course which at first appeared to be toward a point already passed by Mars, we promptly found ourselves on very nearly a direct course toward the planet.” Notwithstanding his comparative ignorance of astronomy, Taggert un- consciously echoed Robert’s sigh of relief over this assurance that they were on the correct course. It was clear, even to him, that with no basis of stability they would be in a bad way should they pass Mars at a dis- temce too great to establish gravita- tional contact with it. With their limited reserve of power and provi- sions they cotdd not afford to knock around the universe at random. [TO BE CONTINUED] In WEIRD TALES 'Next Month WHEN THE GRAVES WERE OPENED By ARTHUR J. BURKS A tale that is startling in its strangeness — that car- ries a skeptical American back through the centuries to view the Crucifixion — a reverent tale that tells ^hat the dead did when they went into Jerusalem after the graves were opened. In the DECEMBER Issue On Sale at All News Stands November First

Page 103

THE A \ Nov^ h of Devil Worship Author of “Invaders From the Dark” “The Tortoise-Shell Cat” etc. The Story So Far Luke porter, a young painter, and Herbert Bin- ney, alias Cagliostro Moderno, an occultist and pseudo-magician, are held virtual prisoners in Fanewold Castle by Guy Fane, the Master, who is a deyfl-worshiper and adept in black magic. In the castle is Sybil, a beautiful girl, with Alden, her maid, who is in reality Sybil’s mother, Guy Fane is a hideous monstrosity, whose soul has been dedicated by his moUier to Lucifer in revenge for the unfaithfulness of Guy’s father. He is prevented from sacrificing Sybil to Lxicifer by Cagliostro’s interference, but the devil-wor- shiper proceeds with his plan to change bodies with Luke Porter — a plan which seems to Luke preposterous and incredible. Luke has fallen in love with Sybil, and Guy Fane, for his own purposes, promises tJ^at Sybil and Luke shall be married that night. The serv- ants are sent way and Cagliostro shut out of the castle, while the devil-worshiper perfects his plans for his great work of black magic, CHAPTER 11 THE MASTER PREPARES “"WT T ILL Mr. Porter be kind enough to step to Mr. T T Pane’s study for a min- ute?” asked the suave voice of Madam Fane, as her tall, blaek- garbed figure appeared in the door- way. Luke and AHen, standing close to- gether, exchanged a look of apprehen- sion. Could Madam Pane have heard their conversation with the occultist outside the castle? Whatever she might have realized. Madam Fane’s chalky face was impassive with what must have been a deceptive compo- sure, for her smoldering eyes aU at once fiamed at Luke’s momentary in- decision. “Are you aware, Mr. Porter, that my son is awaiting you with consider- able eagerness?” she demanded cold- ly. ‘ ‘ The failure of the plans he laid so carefully for you has disturbed him immensely and he wishes to learn your desires in the matter, now that you and my niece can not be married tonight. You stand in your own light, with your despicable sus- picions.” Luke reached out in the dusk to give Sybil’s hand a reassuring pres- sure. “I’m with you. Madam Fane,” he said briefiy, and followed her down the corridor, pulling every faculty in- to alertness for the coming ordeal, be it what it might. The door of the study was closed, but it opened silently at their ap- proach. The ominous glare of that sickly red light streamed out into the corridor, flickering across Madam Pane’s ordinarily pallid face until it appeared transformed, as if writhing with unmentionable emotions. The black-veiled figure of Guy Pane stood before the crystal globe, facing the door. At the entrance of 677

Page 104

678 WEIED TALES Luke and Madam Fane, he held up both hands to check their further ad- vance. j ‘ ‘ Mr. Porter, I beg of you, no words now on the subject which I know is burning on your tongue. Your mar- riage must be postponed until tomor- row, and if Sybil then wishes to go on with it” — ^there was a smooth some- thing in Guy Fane’s voice that sent Luke’s heart to beating irregularly — “I shall let you both go, with Alden, early in the morning.” ” ‘Let’ us go?” exclaimed Luke hotly. ‘ ‘ Poorly chosen words, my dear Mr. Porter. Believe me, just poorly chosen. Forgive me for my mala- droitness with language. I am not as stupid and awkward in other ways, I assure you. And as proof of this, and of the harmlessness of my innocent ceremonials, I am asking you to ac- company me to the chapel with my mother as well, and observe one from start to finish. It can not but be in- structive to you, who have said that you believe in magic, under certain conditions. . . .” “Supper is being served to Sybil and Alden, in my niece’s boudoir,” murmured Madam Fane. “Do you mind waiting until later for yours, Mr. Porter f” “Yes, yes. Mother, that will be best,” agreed Guy Fane, eagerly. “First our ceremonial and then the feast to celebrate its success ! Ah, Mr. Porter, little do you dream what all this means to me, tonight! To have you present — young, handsome, strong, vital.” — Guy’s voice died away as if in an ecstasy of pleasure; it affected Luke unpleasantly. “I would like to know, Mr. Fane, why that harmless little Binney has been shut outside the castle by ruse,” Luke demanded, his gray eyes dark- ening. “Harmless? Why, my dear Mr. Porter, that charlatan threatened to ruin one of the most astonishing ex- periments mortal man has yet made along magical lines. When you have witnessed — and shared — ^the tremen- dous thing that is fated to come to pass tonight, you will realize that I could not risk having Herbert Bin- ney”— what infinite scorn over the poor little man’s name ! — ‘ ‘ get excited in his ignorance, and ruin everything! Too risky, my dear young man. But come, let us be on our way to the chapel!” The squat figure of Guy Fane swept in its rustling black garments ahead of Luke and Madam Fane, who fol- lowed in the direction of the chapel. Luke hastened his steps a little and reached the side of the Master. “I warn you, Mr. Fane, that I have no intention of taking part in any ob- scene devil-worship,” he began, when Guy interrupted with an involuntary burst of laughter that to his sensitive eara sounded almost hysterical. “Devil-worship, sir? What the devil do you mean by that? Do you dare insinuate that I would have used an innocent girl in such vile prac- tises? But you shall see for your- self!” And he laughed again as he moved down the long passages. At last he opened a door, pidled to one side the somber hangings that veiled it from within, and entered, with a backward gesture of his head for Luke to follow. The artist entered warily, to find himself in the body of the chapel upon which he had gazed once before. He looked about him, strange apprehensions creeping into his mind at sight of the monstrous decorations of the chapel, which made their subtle suggestions to his over-strained nerves, now at their highest tension. “Look about you, Mr. Porter!” cried the high, mellow voice of the Master genially. “Is it not astonish- ing that the mind of human beings could have imagined and wrought such bizarre creations as these?”

Page 105

THE GARGOYLE 679 “Guy, Guy, no more, I beg of you,” pleaded Madam Fane, her voice deep with tense emotion. “I — can not bear it if you say more!” “My poor mother, you dislike to have it known that yours was the moving mind? Or is it just modesty ? ” Madam Pane’s lips emitted a groan. Her son laughed heartily. “Sit you here, my mother, and when the time is ripe, throw on the incense,” he commanded bruskly. “And no more interruptions, when I start to consecrate the holy blade of sacrifice,” he added, sharply. “I didn’t understand before, my son,” the dark woman murmured as she kneeled with bowed head near the tall censer that swung on its tripod at one side of the altar steps. “Come up here, Mr. Porter, and see if the mechanism of this globe is not Interesting,” invited Guy Pane. “See how lightly it hangs on its net- work of fine platinum chains — oh, yes, they must be of platinum, for occult reasons — and then tell me, if you can, why it should start swinging of itself in response to the fragrance of burning incense and the chanting of strange incantations. Tell me, too, why those lapping tongues of flame should shoot from its vibrating surface. Why it should hum and sing its unearthly music.” Accepting the Master’s invitation, Luke advanced up the steps of the altar, conscious all the time of an in- ward arming against some unexpected wile on the part of Guy Pane, whom the artist could not trust. He looked at the crystal globe gingerly; simple enough in appearance, without ob- servable mechanism to produce the sound, the movement, the lifelike flames, it was an interesting thing in itself. “Remain near it, if you choose, Mr. Porter, and watch it. See if you can detect chicanery in my simple methods of bringing it into startling life. But I would advise, my dear young man, that when you see it spring into glorious ruby life, you step back out of the reach of those tongues of flame. They are very real, I assure you, and I do not care to have you tell me that I did not warn you.” Once again, Luke Porter had the experience of watching the Master at his incantations. But this time it was close at hand, standing behind the very altar itself, close to the crystal ball, watching it closely. Madam Pane tossed great handfiils of incense upon the smoking tripod censer; volumes of faintly acrid haze began to rise and float m fitful cur- rents of air through the gloomy chapel. “Lucifer! Lord Lucifer! Grant a sign!” implored Guy Pane, bending low with imploring arms outstretched before him. The still air began to crowd with murmurings, soft, whining sounds that vibrated through the air. The great globe in the shrine began to move, even as Luke watched it; to swing slowly at first, but with in- creasing rapidity, in a circle within the shrine. As it swung, the hum- ming grew louder. Ruby flames leaped from the crystal’s heart, seeming every moment to stretch farther, until the artist hastily stepped back and down the stairs to be out of their way. From an undertone that merely stirred the atmosphere, vibrations grew in resonance until the entire chapel was vibrating with that rhythmic, sonorous cadence. The sibilant hum beat against the unwill- ing ears of the artist with an intoler- able sweetness, as cloying as the sick- ening sweet odor of ether to the nostrils. The dim red dusk only half cut the gloom, through the clouds and eddies of whirling, vaporous incense. The ruby glow at the heart of the sphere grew and grew, until it, too, seemed

Page 106

680 WEIRD TALES intolerable with its strange crimson brilliancy. Luke went down one more step, but his dazzled gray eyes were on that swinging, humming, ruby thing, which shot out its sweeping, octopuslike feelers of living fire, that elongated and retracted in every direction. The humming sounded louder again, a dire suggestion of vague and intangible, but none the less potent, evil. The vibrations in- creased in force and volume. At the foot of the altar lay the Master, pros- trate; only muttered exorcisms reached Luke’s straining ears. The tongues of flame now shot forth fiercely, and the artist, with a mut- tered exclamation of alarm, went backward another step — came in con- tact with the great marble top of the altar — reeled slightly — and crumpled back upon it, weakly, horror on his agonized face. Guy Fane sprang up the altar stairs with a cry of triumph and leaned over 'the recumbent young man. “You are mine, now!” he cried -wildly. “Your youth shall fill my veins anew with vitality! Your handsome features shall bring me pleasure where my gruesome mask of horror has brought me only loathing. Your fine limbs — ah, Lucifer! Luci- fer ! here lies the youth from whom I am tonight to recruit that for which I have so long yearned!” Otruggling with the despair into which his impotent and uncon- querable weakness had plunged him, Luke stirred ever so little. The flash- ing eyes of the Master were upon him through the folds of the chiffon veil. They threatened . . . “Lie still, fool, else I lift my veil! He who looks upon my face can never be the same again!” eried the Master terribly. “Ah, that is better!” The unhappy artist felt weakness creeping inexorably through his limbs — through his very veins, until it seemed that the beating of his heart was stilled. He could hear — see — all about him, but move he could not; it was as if he were chained to that cold marble slab. He strove to keep his senses, but was sick as he realized that he could not now spring to Sybil’s aid, should the girl again fall into the hands of the evil mage. The Master turned to his mother. “Woman, the hour is close at hand. Fetch the maiden! Her presence is necessary for this last rite.” There was the sound of rustling garments. Luke realized that he and the Master were alone. The swinging and humming of the ruby sphere had somewhat lessened, but there was a compelling sound to it now that sent a languid feeling of sensuous and delicious erf^otion through Luke’s body. He couljii^iiot fight this as he might have doft^' a little since ; perforce yielding to it, he felt no repugnance when the un- gainly hand of the Master began to pass gloatingly up and do-wn his arms, his legs, over his firm young chest, his youthful face. A glow of thrilling eagerness began to rise hotly throughout his being — eagerness for he knew not what. The Master leaned closer. Through the veiling chiffon he kissed the smooth cheeks of the helpless man, kissed them in a sheer voluptuous passion of delight, Luke’s body trembled sickly. ... “Ah! How can I wait, even min- utes? To possess these fine limbs! Lucifer, mighty art Thou above all other angels! How can I thank Thee enough for this most splendid gift? I tingle with mad expectations! Al- ready I feel the racing of Jiis youth- ful blood through my veins!” The black velvet curtain parted again, interrupting the Master’s rhapsodies. Luk.e, straining eyes in his motionless head, soon saw the

Page 107

THE GAEGOYLE 681 source of the interruption. Advanc- ing before Madam Pane, like a lamb before the slaughterer, came the trembling Sybil, widely awake at last to the horror of her situation . . . CHAPTER 12 CAGLIOSTEO TO THE EESCUE “Oybil, the Master needs you!” Alden whirled to confront the black-clad figure of Madam Fane, whose dark eyes rested with superb disdain upon the wrinkled face of the devoted nurse. “Sybil — do not go!” whispered Alden tremulously, twitching at the girl’s sleeve. Madam Fane spoke again, imperi- ously. “Sybil, your lover lies in the chapel across Lucifer’s altar. Will you leave him there, alone?” “Luke in Lucifer’s chapel?” cried the dazed and horrified girl, her pansy purple eyes roving from one woman to the other. “He lies on the altar, Sybil,” re- peated Madam Fane grimly. “Do you intend to leave him there?” The veiled significance of her words pounded into Alden ’s whirling brain. “My darling, my lamb, don’t be- lieve her! Don’t go!” she implored. Sybil drew her arm away from her nurse with dignity and decision. Her pale face grew whiter, but she stepped to Madam Pane’s side. “Alden, if he isn’t there, tell him at once that I have gone to find him, ’ ’ she murmured. “If he is — oh, no! I won’t believe that my cousin could be so vile, so wicked ! — Aunt, I am coming.” Before the agonized Alden could detain her, the girl had swung down the corridor after the swiftly retreat- ing figure of Madam Pane, and their footsteps died away into silence. Alden would have run after them, but her thoughts went suddenly to the little occultist waiting outside the castle walls. If only she could devise a way to get him inside, per- haps he might be able to cope with Guy Pane ; Alden knew that she alone would be helpless, for she stood in horror of what she might see if the Master were once to lift that protect- ing veil . . . She ran to the wall and looked down. The headlights of Luke’s car were on, and to judge by their posi- tion, the car stood near the draw- bridge. Alden leaned over and called softly. * “Mr. Binney!” At once she discerned the little man’s squat figure as he ran in front of the car so that she could see him, and called back : “Who is it?” “Alden, Mi'. Binney. Listen!” Her voice cut through the whispering dusk sharply. “Mr. Porter is lying on the altar in the chapel, ’ ’ — a husky intake of breath from below apprized her that Cagliostro had heard — “and Miss Fane has been called there, too. I can do nothing alone ...” The little figure moved away from the car and dose to the edge of the moat, the black waters of which wore troubled by swirling things that passed across where it gleamed som- berly in the car’s illumination. “Mrs. Alden, if you have anything to make a rope of, I can catch one end of it, and you can fasten the other securely up where you arc. Then I can manage to swing across the moat.” “Oh, I can fix something with sheets,” called back Alden eagerly. “Get in I must,” declared the oc- cultist, ominous grimness in his voice. “There’s devil’s work going on in that chapel, and we must make hr.sto. If I can get there in time, I may bo able to help those poor young things, ’ ’

Page 108

682 WEIRD TALES finished Cagliostro, his voice break- ing. “I’ll be back in five minutes!” Alden rushed down the corridor to the linen closets and secured a number of sheets. It seemed a century be- fore she had tom and knotted them to make a rope of sufficient length to go, she hoped, across the moat. As Madam Fane unlocked supplies of linen only for each day, Alden was unable to get enough, to her dismay, for when she had fastened one end to the parapet and had flung the other out across the moat, the occultist could not reach it. There it hung, barely touching the surface of the murty water that seemed to mock at both would-be rescuers with a thou- sand twinkling evil eyes. She hauled in the improvised rope, gathered it into a bunch, and tossed it out again. Cagliostro, springing to catch at it, just as it fell short of his grasp, slipped and almost fell into the moat. “Oh, what shall we do?” lamented Alden, trembling with sick appre- hension as the precious moments slipped by. “You — you wouldn’t dare to risk — ?” Cagliostro grasped the thought that she had hardly dared put into words. He could drop into the moat and swim across to where that rope hung dabbling in the black water. His flesh crept shudderingly on his bones as he bent down to inspect the slimy surface of that repulsive viscid liquid. As he leaned over, something shining writhed out of the blackness and across the light from the car head- lights; something that glistened with a nasty slipperiness that struck nausea to his stomach. He caught his breath with a quick gasp of re- pugnance; was there no other way? His gaze swept the steep and slippery sides of the moat. If it should happen that he could not pull himself out of the water up to that knotted rope of sheets, or if the knots should give way, or if Alden had not fastened the other end securely, he would slip back — and a horrible death inevitably awaited. His body would fester in the deeps of that stagnant slime, and the things that flourished in it, as vile as its waters, would feed upon his shrinking flesh and pick at his bones . . . “Have you decided?” pleaded Alden. “Oh, every minute is pre- cious! Will you try — ?” “You don’t happen to know which switch on the switchboard in the Master’s study controls the workings of the draw, do you?” countered the shuddering Herbert Binney. “He ex- plained some of them to me, but I am not sure now that I know which one to tell you — and if you touch the wrong one, you will open trap-doors all over the castle . . . and another one lights a five-minute fuse to a powder cache that would send Patte- wold into the air in ruins!” Alden moaned and wrung her wrinkled hands frantically. “I’ve seen it, but I don’t know which switch would be right. Oh, can’t you — ?” “Good Lord!” ejaculated the litde man piously. “Alden, I’m going to swim the moat.” “Don’t make any more commotion than you can help,” warned the woman, ominously. “The — the things — would surround you at once. I’ve seen doves, and once a lamb, floating, half devoured — Herbert binney dared not hear more. He took off his shoes and discarded his coat. Then he dropped quietly over the edge of the moat and slipped gently down into the black water. Ugh! How coldly, how hun- grily, it closed about him! With an effort he managed to keep his face above the slimy surface. With shrink- ing strokes he struck out for the castle wall from which dangled the sheet-rope. The water about him

Page 109

THE GAEGOYLE 683 seemed alive with evil things, foul things, venomous things. He could feel the stirring of that evil life as he shot through the turbid waters. Once his hand touched something that dithered across it hastily, leaving him with a sickening nausea. Every moment he expected to feel the fangs of some unknown and hideous reptile fasten in throat or arm. At last, the final stroke — . He caught quickly at the drabbled end of the rope, and for a moment his faint heart sank, for it gave easily in his grasp. Momentarily he thought the knots had given way. Then he realized with relief that the material was only stretching under his weight. He pulled himself up the wall, brac- ing himself against it, and in a few minutes felt the outstretched hands of Alden helping him over the parapet. His. gaze, turned downward to the water he had just quitted, showed what seemed myriads of tiny shining points. He realized with a shudder of disgust and loathing that those points were the eyes of the horrors that had waited for him to slip, to fall, that they might crowd in upon him, pull him beneath the slimy water, and tear the shrinking flesh from his bones. “Dry clothes, first of all,” the oc- cultist exclaimed, as he felt himself safely on the parapet. “But—” “You must trust me, Alden. I know what I have to do. I can not go before Guy Pane a dripping scare- crow. Where would be my dignity, the lofty impression that must sur- round me like an aura, if I am to make the right impression upon him ? I have another mantle and other clothes in my room ; also, I can not go in my stocking feet,” the little man declared decidedly. Alden, who would have run at once to the chapel, was obliged to wait for Cagliostro. While she waited, she remembered the pistol Luke had given her. She . put it in her apron pocket, a grim look about her mouth. When the occultist emerged from his room, he looked the part of the serious magician he wished to appear, until he let the mantle drop from his face, when the absurd button nose and the squinting pale blue eyes somewhat dulled the new dignity that drew the lines of his cupid’s bow mouth into something strange and hard. “The Master’s study,” he said tersely, and led the way. Behind the screen he shoved Alden a switchboard with fifteen buttons. “One of these operates the draw,” the little man said. ‘ ‘ I think it is the first one.” “If you don’t know; why do you touch it?” cried out the alarmed Alden, catching at his hand. He shook off her restraining touch imperiously. The next moment he had pressed the firet button. She strained her ears to hear the creaking of the drawbridge, but there was no sound to break the night’s silence. Cagliostro shook his head, his binw scowling at the switchboard. Then he deliberately put his hand over and pressed the second button. Alden ’s wrinkled face whitened. Then she uttered a soft exclamation. “The draw! The second button was right ! The way is open ! ’ ’ “The chapel next,” commanded Cagliostro bruskly. He strode on ahead of Alden, who could hear him muttering to himself. “Now, what could that first button have been?” the occultist kept asking himself aloud in perplexity. To Alden he ad- dressed one more observation : ‘ ‘ Keep close to the edges of the corridor,” he said warningly. She understood, shuddering. Per- haps the first button had opened yawning traps that would let them down into black gulfs when they, stepped upon them . . , Perhaps — .

Page 110

C84 WEIRD TALES perhaps that first button had meant that Fanewold would fly up into the air, carrying them all to sudden death . . . As if this thought had gone home to him, also, the occultist now ex- claimed : “Let us run! If we can get there in time, perhaps we can — He let the sentence go unfinished, as the two of them, careless of what that first button might have done in the way of opening trap-doors, began to run through the winding halls. CH AFTER 13 LUCIFER TAKES TOLL T>etween the heavy black curtains that shielded the entrance to the chapel, Alden stumbled like one sud- denly dazed. The loud humming of the ruby globe dominated the atmos- phere, and like one bereft of all will power, all strength, the woman sank do^vn behind one of the evil statues near the doorway, helpless to aid in averting the tragedy that now seemed imminent. The occultist, more wary because he, perhaps, knew what he would have to confront, stood just inside the curtains, opt of sight of the Master but in a position to take in every- thing. On the marble slab lay the supine figure of Luke Porter, motion- less. Before it, with hands out- stretched against the nearer advance of the Master, stood Sybil, as if frozen stiff by horror and her impotence. Guy Fane, his arms lifted to the swinging, flame-tongued sphere, was wrapped in ecstasy, as he cried his invocations : “ Behold the spotless sacrifice ! To- day she was supremely happy, and tonight her abandonment to grief is just as keen. Lord Lucifer, is not this broken spirit meet for a sacrifice unto Thee?" Madam Fane emptied a handful of incense upon the tripod censer. Her garments rustled like wind in the trees as she turned to her son. “Guy!" trembled her voice im- ploringly. “Do not forget your promise to me!" A hard, triumphant laugh issued from the chiffon swathings that hid the Master’s face. “Woman, what are promises to me, the favored one of Lucifer? I am a free man. Promises cannot bind me/" “But you told me Sybil should live — " “She shall live, to endure a living death," he pronounced oracularly. “Unless she stands in my way, when Lucifer tells me her lover’s youth and beauty are ripe for my taking. Then — ’’ and the voice was ominous with unspoken threats. He swept aside his mother’s en- treating hands. “Stand aside, woman!" he thun- dered. “This is no time for your silly chatter. This is my hour!” Again he lifted both hands in in- vocation. “Lucifer! Son of the Morning! I have obeyed Thee. I give Thee the soul of Sybil Fane, once a happy, light-hearted girl, now a sad and agonizing woman. Thou hast promised me in return these limbs — ^these fea- tures,"— and he gestured toward the quiet form on the altar. ‘ ‘ No — ^no— no ! ’ ’ screamed Sybil, finding voice at last. “Idonotlmow what you intend to do, but you shall not harm Luke! Not while I live to prevent it!" “Perhaps you will not — ^live to pre- vent it, Sybil," responded the magi- cian, pausing in his invocation to ad- dress her. “But if you will stand out of my way, I will spare his life." “Oh, I knew you couldn’t be so cruel !’’ the girl gasped. “You won’t hurt him, will you, then?" Again a laugh issued with malev- olent hardness from the veil. “I shall take that shell of his, and give him mine in return, Sybil. If

Page 111

THE GARGOYLE 685 you can love him still — why, perhaps you can be happy with the monster that he will be.” He turned once more to the globe. The perfumed incense had created clouds of heavy fragrance redolent of the East and its esoteric mysteries. The Master was plainly on the verge of his diabolic experiment. The whimpering hum of the glowing sphere sounded continuously with a drowzy, numbing effect on the senses. The Master cried out. “Lucifer! Lucifer!! Lucifer!!! I dedicate to Thee the bi'oken heart of this spotless maid! I offer Thee the pulsing heart of this sturdy man whose youth and comeliness are to be mine ! ’ ’ The humming of the ruby globe grew louder, heavier, sweeter, until it seemed as if the veiy atmosphere -were charged with some foreign, supernatural potency to draw the vitality out of those who had braved the horrors of that eery chapel. The occultist heard a little sigh, and saw Alden crumpling into a tumbled heap at the foot of the sculptured horror; the automatic slipped from her pocket to the floor. Cagliostro salvaged the weapon ; he would tiy material magic on the Master first . . . lyTADAM pane’s voice rang out loudly with sudden sharp re- proach. “No, Guy! You shall not, I tell you! Let her alone!” Her voice rose in a shrill treble of excitement, ending in a shriek that pierced the eardrums with poignancy. “No, Guy, no ! Her blood must not be on your hands ! She is your own half-sister ! ’ ’ The Master had swung about, the keen blade of a flashing knife in one hand. With the other he held back the struggling form of his mother, who caught vainly at the deadly blade, her face convulsed with horror and dismay. Sybil, pressed back- ward across her lover’s motionless form, had spread her hands behind her for his protection, and it was this thwarting of his intention that had infuriated Guy Fane, who was threatening her with the knife even while he held' back his mother’s struggling body. That shrill scream had acted like a powerful tonic to the other mother, lying apparently unconscious at Cagliostro ’s feet. Alden was up, and had crossed with a bound the space separating her from the altar. The knife swept downward toward Sybil ’s breast as Guy flung his mother to one side. Alden met it full.' As it clove its way into her unresisting flesh she laughed aloud, a terrible laugh that rang out through the atmosphere with ominous import. Then she slipped to the feet of the dazed Sybil, gasp- ing as she fell five pregnant words: “Fools! I am her mother!” It was over in a moment. The actors in the tragedy stood as if paralyzed by this swift movement of events. Then Madam Fane broke into a weakly wailing cry. “Her mother? Oh, now I under- stand much. Much! I knew Sybil was protected. Her mother!” Burning eyes through his veil, the Master turned to look upon the dying woman. “Her mother!” he echoed numbly. “Oh, I knew something, someone, was watching over her, to thwart me. But I shall not be cheated out of my bargain with Lucifer! The offering which purchases my freedom from this horrible and monstrous form shall yet be his. And it shall be a triple one tonight!” He took the dead woman’s shoulder and drew her to one side roughly. Cagliostro took a step forward from the protection of the statue, but Madam Fane had caught again at her son’s arm, this time with a purpose and nervous strength that took him by surprize.

Page 112

086 WEIRD TALES ‘ ‘ Guy, you shall not ! In that Name I dare not utter in this evil place, I swear that I shall perish be- fore 3mu stain your hand with more blood tonight. Another crime on your soul, my son? Let these poor help- less creatures go — ” “Are you mad?” he shouted, brutally pushed her aside, and reached for Sybil’s shoulder. The terrified girl shrank back, but not for an instant did she forget to shield her lover’s body with her own, her purple eyes ablaze with fearless purpose. Crying: “Give me the knife!” Madam Fane caught at Guy’s hand and by sheer force of sudden surprize wrested the blade from his fingers. Then she moved away from him — backward — down the altar steps — holding that horridly dripping thing away from contact with her rustling garments as she backed off, step by step. The horrified occultist had been paralyzed by the swift march of events, and unable to do even so little as lift the pistol into shooting position. Alden’s astonishing and tragic death had happened so quickly that he knew he could not have saved the unhappy mother. He stood rooted to the spot now, watching this other mother who had snatched the deadly knife from the hands of that wor- shiper of Lucifer. Madam Fane backed away, holding the weapon from her in mingled re- pulsion and dread. For a moment her son followed her with his eyes, and then realization that without the knife he could not go on with the sacrifice came to him. He took a step toward her. “Give me the knife!” rang out the stem command. She shook her head slowly from side to side, continuing her retreat to- ward the corridor door. Cagliostro lifted the pistol and waited for her to pass him. He intended then to cover Guy Fane, make him stand beside her. . . . Down the altar steps sprang the Master toward his mother. And then that took place which Providence de- creed. As Cagliostro peered cautious- ly around the statue, watching Madam Fane, he drew back involuntarily at her loud cry of consternation and dis- may. He leaned out to stare incred- ulously. She had disappeared from view as if the earth had opened to swallow her. The Master stopped short. The paving of the chapel had yawned at his very feet, had swallowed up the sins and sorrows of his mother, and had closed relentlessly upon her. The Master turned his head from side to side uneasily; he knew that someone had tampered with the buttons of the private switchboard. ^ ; “And I cannot punish her,” he murmured in a low voice. “She has gone beyond my reach, that other mother. It was Sybil’s mother — oh, if I could bring her back to life, how I would punish those meddling fin- gers!” He turned and retraced his foot- steps to «the altar, testing each stone on the way with his foot to be sure that it would bear his weight. Mut- tered words fell from his lips as he once 'more confronted Sybil. “There are too many mothers here tonight ! Too many mothers. . . . And my knife is gone — but it shall not matter. These hands shall tear his pulsing heart from his breast, Sybil, while you watch him change into my ugliness. ’ ’ He came closer to her, while she leaned away from him, terrified, but without leaving the man she loved. His thoughts went at random then, and Sybil watched him, fascinated, as he sank upon his knees before the al- tar. “Unhappy mother! And that other mother! How could I know that the

Page 113

THE GARGOYLE 687 mothers would ruin everything? Lu- cifer, why didst Thou not warn me that the mothers would ruin all ? Must I remain an eternal prisoner in this monstrous shape, because of the moth- ers?” His voice rose in plaintive melancholy. ‘ ‘ And did not the oracle promise me that tonight I should step from this loathsome body into free- dom? Oh, Lord and Master, give me a sign!” Cagliostro had been creeping closer to the altar. As he went, he managed to make some gesture that caught Sy- bil’s eye. As soon as she saw him, his finger at his lips imposed silence upon her. But he glowed at the look of relief that swept across her pallid face. The heavy, incense-laden atmos- phere vibrated. Flickering lights and shadows danced evilly on the pavement as the ruby tongues of fiame darted from the swinging, hum- ming globe of fiery crimson in the shrine. Cagliostro did not wish to wait longer. The moment had come for him to act. ‘ ‘ Lucifer ! Grant a sign I The sac- rificial knife has been wrested from my fingers. I have but these naked hands. Touch the altar with Thy fire. Lord Lucifer, that I may know it is acceptable!” Into the radiance of that mystic ruby brilliance sprang the short, heavy figure of the little occultist. ‘ ‘ Hands up, Guy Pane ! I have you covered!” The veiled man rose, turning in a dazed manner that betrayed eloquent- ly how far unaware the Master had been of other presences in the chapel. He came down the steps of the shrine with reluctant dignity but without lifting his hands as Herbert Binney had commanded. “Put up your hands, Mr. Fane!” With contemptuous gesture and scornful laugh, the Master folded his arms on his breast so that the hands rested on opposite shoulders. “Do you really imagine, silly little mummer, that I — I — am to be con- strained like any common man, to comply with your very rude demand ? I, who can lift my veil again, and blast you where you stand? Has not one lesson been sufficient? Must I re- peat it ? ” The little man shivered. His pale blue eyes squinted from Guy to the eager, strained face of Sybil, and back again. “Shoot, if it pleases you,” observed the Master nonchalantly. “The ex- perience may teach you another les- son. Your bullets cannot penetrate my charmed flesh. None but a silver bullet can harm me, and your bullets are of lead, foolish magician; lead. What, afraid? Am I not a broad target?” He sneered. “You’re unarmed, Mr. Pane,” re- torted the little man with as much calm as his jumping nervous system Avould allow him to demonstrate. “I can’t shoot an unarmed man. But I want you to undo your spells on that young man, and then you can stand aside while both of those young peo- ple go out of this hellish place. I’m not afraid of you,” stoutly. “I know now what to expect. You — ^jmu took me by surprize before.” The Master laughed soft and long. “I am not an unarmed man, Mr. Binney. There are occult forces at my disposal, as yovT have witnessed, that would strip you of the power to press the trigger, but I scorn to use them against such a miserable and puny opponent.” The words stung. Cagliosiro JIo- derno, stepping forward v.Tii tlic pistol pointed at the Aiaster’s stomach, said bruskly: “Move to one side.” Instinctively the Master gave vray. Cagliostro sprang past him and u p to the altar. He drew Sybil gently to one side and leaned ever the prostrate young man. He breathed against the

Page 114

688 WEIRD TALES closed eyelids. He whispered into the ears. And then he took both hands and drew Luke Porter into a sitting position. “All right?” he queried briefly. Luke drew a long breath of relief. “Knew what was going on, all the time!” he exclaimed, “But just couldn’t speak or move. Give me that pistol, Binney.” The occultist shook his head. “You take the young lady and run as fast as you can to the draw. It’s open. Get out quick. Your car’s in front. Never mind me. I can take care of myself. Go, while the draw is open 1 ’ ’ “How wise is our great Cagliostro Moderno I” drawled a mellow voice. Luke and the occultist both turned like a flash. They had, for the time, forgotten Guy Fane, who had slipped quietly to the entry door and — care- fully avoiding the pavement which had swallowed up his unfortunate mother — stood there, leaning against the lintel negligently. “Do go, while the draw is open!” He laughed. “How long do you think it will take me to reach my study? I, who am acquainted with every pas- sage, every stairway, here ? Five minutes after I have reached my study, I shall have the pleasure of go- ing on a long journey, and I think you three will go with me, in fire and flame from the altar of Lucifer ! No, do not stir! You can not escape. I shall close the draw first — and the fuse will burn exactly five minutes.” “Stop him!” shouted Luke, reach- ing for the pistol, “You have ruined my hope to be as other human beings are. Perhaps, if I had gained what I desired, I might have acquired a heart as well. Who knows? Btit now I am harder than the very nucleus of the crystal sphere. You shall not live to triumph over me. This castle will make a splendid fu- neral pyre, will it not?” The little occultist stood stupidly while Guy Fane turned to go. “Give me that pistol!” cried Luke again, snatching at it, and firing after the disappearing Master. The shot echoed and re-echoed along the chapel walls and out through the adjoining corridors. As it died away, they could hear Guy Fane’s eery laughter ringing mock- ingly through the doorway, mingled with his rapidly retreating footfalls. The Master had gone, unharmed, to carry out his threat ! “The draw! Sybil, give me your hand! Binney, I can’t forgive you for not giving me that pistol before. If I’d shot the monster, we would be safe now,” snapped Luke, drawing Sybil after him along the pavement blocks that had appeared sound when the Master had retreated. Cagliostro stared mournfully but did not follow them. A sudden white light of determination broke across his face. He spoke quickly: . “Z can stop him — ^hold him — ^long enough for you to escape. . . . Run! I’ll get at him in his study!” “Don’t be a fool!” shouted Luke, pulling Sybil along down the corri- dor that led to the courtyard giving upon the draw. “You’ll be trapped!” A strangely transfiguring smile rested on the little occultist’s face, transforming it into something finer, bigger, than it had ever appeared be- fore. “Good-bye!” he said simply, and was gone. There was no time to dissuade him. Luke swept the panting Sybil up into his arms. Twice she had stumbled in their mad flight. He covered the short remaining distance with his precious burden in record time, and as he emerged into the courtyard saw with.

Page 115

THE GAEGOYLE 689 grateful heart that the draw was still open, lighted by the headlamps of the waiting car. His limbs braced them- selves for the final effort. He stag- gered out upon the drawbridge, hold- ing the girl closely to him. “If we go, we go together,” he told himself grimly. At the middle of the draw, it be- gan to tremble and jar. . . . The draw was rising slowly! Guy Fane must have reached his study and have closed it. The cables creaked and groaned. For a moment Luke ’s heart almost stopped beating, as he flung himself face down — Sybil beside him — on the rapidly perilous slope of the draw. They clung together. In an- other moment they would lose their hold and slip down, back, into the courtyard, to perish by the explosion. The > jarring recommenced. The draw— miracle of miracles ! — began to lower again. Sybil got to her feet dazedly. Luke rose, caught at her hand and drew her along. In another minute they . had reached the edge. Another, and they were across the moat and Luke was pulling the girl into the seat of the little ear. He slid in behind the wheel, start- ed the engine. Then he turned and honked several times, watching to see the little occultist in the doorway. A fine column of smoke was rising from midway in the building. ... A loud crackling . . . The waving hands of Herbert Binney from the window over the draw. ... “ Good-bye ! Don ’t — forget — Cagliostro!” The little man was smiling wanly. . . . Bumbling. A heaAry, thunderous roar that rose in terrible crashing ex- plosion, shaking the earth, rocking the car’s occupants from side to side. Blinding light flashed fron\ the castle on all sides. The landscape stood out distinct as in broad daylight. It was sheer stupidity to linger in the open. Luke, sick at heart for the fate of the little occultist, who had so nobly risen to that great opportunity of his life, drove off down the steep roadway as rapidly as he dared, to get beyond the radius of falling stone and debris. Guy Fane had been right. The ora- cle had spoken truly. The Master had left his monstrous body and stepped out into freedom at last. [THE END]

Page 116

WEIRD STORY REPRINTS No. 5. The Young King By OSCAR WILDE IT WAS the night before the day fixed for his coronation, and the young king was sitting alone in his beautiful chamber. His courtiers had all taken their leave of him, bow- ing their heads to the ground, accord- ing to the ceremonious usage of the day, and had retired to the great hall of the palace, to receive a few last lessons from the professor of eti- quette ; there being some of them who had still quite natural manners, which in a courtier is, I need hardly say, a very grave offense. The lad — for he was only a lad, be- ing but sixteen years of age — ^was not sorry at their departure, and had fiung himself back with a deep sigh of relief on the soft cushions of his em>- broidered couch, lying there, wild- eyed and open-mouthed, like a brown woodland faun, or some young animal of the forest newly snared by the hunters. And, indeed, it was the hunters who had found him, coming upon him al- most by chance as, bare-limbed and pipe in hand, he was following the fiock of the poor goatherd who had brought him up, and whose son he had always fancied himself to be. The child of the old king’s only daughter by a secret marriage with one much beneath her in station — a stranger, some said, who, by the wonderful magic of his lute-playing, had made the young princess love him; while others spoke of an artist from Rimini, to whom the princess had shown much, perhaps too much honor, and who had suddenly disappeared from 69Q the city, leaving his work in the cathe- dral unfinished — he had been, when but a week old, stolen away from his mother’s side, as she slept, and given into the charge of a common peasant and his wife, who were without chil- dren of their own, and lived in a re- mote part of the forest, more than a day’s ride from the town. Grief, or the plague, as the court physician stated, or, as some suggested, a swift Italian poison administered in a cup of spiced wine, slew, within an hour of her wakening, the white girl who had given him birth, and as the trusty messenger who bare the child across his saddle-bow stooped from his weary horse and knocked at the rude door of the goatherd’s hut, the body of the princess was being lowered into an open grave that had been dug in a deserted churchyard, beyond the city gates, a grave where it was said that another body was also lying, that of a young man of marvelous and for- eign beauty, whose hands were tied behind him with a knotted cord, and whose breast was stabbed with many red wounds. Such, at least, was the story that men whispered to each other. Certain it was that the old king, when on his deathbed, whether moved by remorse for his great sin, or merely desiring that the kingdom should not pass away from his line, had had the lad sent for, and, in the presence of the council, had acknowledged him as his heir. And it seems that from the very first moment of his recognition he had

Page 117

THE YOUNG KING 61)1 f^own signs of that strange passion for beanty that was destined to have so great an influence over his life. Those who accompanied him to the suite of rooms set apart for his serv- ice, often spoke of the cry of pleas- ure that broke from his lips when he saw the delicate raiment and rich jewels that had been prepared for him, and of the almost fierce joy with which he flung aside his rough leath- ern tunic and coarse sheepskin cloak. He missed, indeed, at times the fine freedom of his forest life, and was always apt to chafe at the tedious court ceremonies that occupied so much of each day, but the wonderful palace — Joyeuse, as they called it — of which he now found himself lord, seemed to him to be a new world fresh-fashioned for his delight; and as soon as he could escape from the council board or audience chamber, he would run down the great stair- case, with its lions of gilt bronze and its steps of bright porphyry, and wan- der from room to room, and from cor- ridor to corridoi*, like one who was seeking to find in beauty an anodyne from pain, a sort of restoration from sickness. Upon these journeys of discovery, as he would call them — and, indeed, they were to him real voyages through a marvelous land, he would sometimes be accompanied by the slim, fair- haired court pages, with their floating mantles, and gay fluttering ribands; but more often he would be alone, feeling through a certain quick in- stinct, which was almost a divination, that the secrets of art are best learned in secret, and that Beauty, like Wis- dom, loves the lonely worshiper. IVTai^y curious stories were related about him at this period. It was said that a stout burgomaster, who had come to deliver a florid ora- torical address on behalf of the citi- zens of the town, had caught sight of him kneeling in real adoratioq before a great picture that had just been brought from Venice, and that seemed to herald the worship of some new gods. On another occasion he had been missed for several hours, and after a lengthened search had been discovered in a little chamber in one of the northern turrets of the palace gazing, as one in a trance, at a Greek gem carved with the figure of Adonis. He had been seen, so the tale ran, pressing his warm lips to the marble brow of an antique statue that had been discovered in the bed of the river on the occasion of the building of the stone bridge, and was inscribed with the name of the Bithynian slave of Hadrian. He had passed a whole night in noting the effect of the moon- light on a silver image of Endymion. All rare and costly materials had certainly a great fascination for him, and in his eagerness to procure them he had sent away many merchants, some to traffic for amber with the rough fisher-folk of the north seas, some to Egypt to look for that cinri- ous green turquoise which is found only in the tombs of kings, and is said to possess magical properties, some to Persia for silken carpets and paint- ed pottery, and others to India to buy gauze and stained ivory, moonstones and bracelets of jade, sandalwood and blue enamel and shawls of fine wool. But what had occupied him most was the robe he was to wear at his coronation, the robe of tissued gold, and the ruby-studded crown, and the scepter with its rows and rings of pearls. Indeed, it was of this that he was thinking tonight, as he lay back on his luxurious couch, watching the great pine-wood log that was burning itself out on the open hearth. The designs, which were from the hands of the most famous artists of the time, had been submitted to him many months before, and he had given or- ders that the artificers were to toil night and day to carry them out, and that the whole world was to be

Page 118

692 WEIRD TALES searched for jewels that would be worthy of their work. He saw him- self in fancy standing at the high al- tar of the cathedral in the fair rai- ment of a king, and a smile played and lingered about his boyish lips, and lit up with a bright luster his dark woodland eyes. After some time he rose from his seat, and leaning against the carved penthouse of the chimney, looked round at the dimly-lit room. The walls were hung with rich tapestries representing the Triumph of Beauty. A large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli, filled one corner, and facing the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaicked gold, on which were placed some delicate gob- lets of Venetian glass, and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed, as though they had fallen from the tired hands of sleep, and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up the vel- vet canopy, from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang, like white foam, to the pallid silver of the fret- ted ceiling. A laughing Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat bowl of, amethyst. Outside he could see the huge dome of the cathedral, looming like a bub- ble over the shadowy houses, and the weary sentinels pacing up and down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away, in an orchard, a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the open win- dow. lie brushed his brown curls back from his forehead, and taking up a lute, let his fingers stray across the cords. His heavy eyelids drooped, and a strange languor came over him. Never before had he felt so keenly, or with such exquisite joy, the magic and the mystery of beautiful things. When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell, and his pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water over his hands, and strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the room, he fell asleep. A ND as he slept he dreamed a dream, and this was his dream. He thought that he was standing in a long, low attic, amidst the whir and clatter of many looms. The meager daylight peered in through the grated vandows, and showed him the gaunt figures of the weavers bending over their cases. Pale, sickly-looking chil- dren were crouched on the huge cross- beams. As the shuttles dashed through the warp they lifted up the heavy battens, and when the shuttles stopped they let the battens fall and pressed the threads together. Their faces were pinched with famine, and their thin hands shook and trembled. Some haggard women were seated' at a table sewing. A horrible odor filled the place. The air was foul and heavy, and .the walls dripped and streamed with damp. The young king went over to one of the weavers, and stood by him and watched him. And the weaver looked at him an- grily, and said: “Why art thou watching me ? Art thou a spy set on us by our master ? ’ ’ “Who is thy master?” asked the young king. “Our master!” cried the weaver, bitterly. “He is a man like myself. Indeed, there is but this difference between us — that he wears fine clothes while I go in rags, and that w'hile I am weak from hunger he suffers not a little from overfeeding.” “The land is free,” said the young king, “and thou art no man’s slave.” “In war,” answered the weaver, “the strong make slaves of the weak, and in peace the rich make slaves of the poor. We must work to live, and they give us such mean wages that we

Page 119

THE YOUNG KING 693 3ie. We toil for them all day long, and they heap up gold in their coffers, and our children fade away before their time, and the faces of those we love become hard and evil. We tread out the grapes, and another drinks the wine. We sow the corn, and our own board is empty. We have chains, though no eye beholds them; and are slaves, though men call us free.” “Is it so with all?” he asked. “It is so with all,” answered the weaver, “with the young as well as with the old, with the women as well as with the men, with the little chil- dren as well as with those who are stricken in years. The merchants grind us down, and we must needs do their bidding. The priest rides by and tells his beads, and no man has care of us. Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with his sodden face follows close (behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning, and Shame sits with us at night. But what are these things to thee ? Thou art not one of us. Thy face is too happy.” And he turned away scowling, and threw the shut- tle across the loom, and the young king saw that it was threaded with a thread of gold. And a great terror seized upon him, and he said to the weaver: “What robe is this that thou art weaving?” “It is the robe for the coronation of the young king,” he answered; “what is that to thee?” And the young king gave a loud cry and woke, and lo! he was in his own chamber, and through the win- dow he saw the great honey-colored moon hanging in the dusky air. And he fell asleep again and dreamed, and this was his dream. He thought that he was lying on the deck of a huge galley that was being rowed by a hundred slaves. On a carpet by his side the master of the galley was seated. He was black as ebony, and his turban was of crimi- son silk. Great ear-rings of silver dragged down the thick lobes of his ears, and in his hands he had a pair of ivory scales. The slaves were naked, but for a ragged loin-cloth, and each man was chained to his neighbor. The hot sun beat brightly upon them, and the ne- groes ran up and down the gangway and lashed them with whips of hide. They stretched out their lean arms and pulled the heavy oars through the water. The salt spray flew from the blades. At last they reached a little bay, and began to take soundings. A light wind blew from the shore, and cov- ered the deck and the great lateen sail with a fine red dust. Three Arabs mounted on wild asses rode out and threw spears at them. The master of the galley took a painted bow in his hand and shot one of them in the throat. He fell heavily into the surf, and his companions galloped away. A woman wrapped in a yellow veil fol- lowed slowly on a camel, looking back now and then at the dead body. As soon as they had cast anchor and hauled down the sail, the negroes went into the hold and brought up a long rope-ladder, heavily weighted with lead. The master of the galley threw it over the side, making the ends fast to two iron stanchions. Then the negroes seized the youngest of the slaves and knocked his gyves off, and filled his nostrils and his ears with wax, and tied a big stone round his waist. He crept wearily down the ladder, and disappeared into the sea. A few bubbles rose where he sank. Some of the other slaves peered curi- ously over the side. At the prow of the galley sat a shark-charmer, beat- ing monotonously upon a drum. After some time the diver rose up out of the water, and clung panting to the ladder with a pearl in his right hand. The negroes seized it from him, and thrust him back. The slaves fell asleep over their oars.

Page 120

694 WEIRD TALES Again and again he came up, and each time that he did so he brought with him a beautiful pearl. The mas- ter of the galley weighed them, and put them into a little bag of green leather. The young king tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the I'oof of his mouth, and his lips refused to move. The negroes chattered to each other, and began to quarrel over a string of bright beads. Two cranes flew i-ound and round the vessel. Tlien the diver came up for the last time, and the pearl that he brought Avith him was fairer than all the pearls of Ormuz, for it was shaped like the full moon, and whiter than the morning star. But his face was strangely pale, and as he fell upon the deck the blood gushed from his oars and nostrils. He quivered for a little, and then he was still. The ne- gioes shrugged their shoulders, and threw the body overboard. And the master of the galley laughed, and, reaching out, he took the pearl, and when he saw it he pres.sed it to his forehead and bowed. “Jt shall be,” he said, “for the .scepter of the young king,” and he made a sign to the negroes to draw up the anchor. And when the young king heard this he gave a great cry, and woke, and through the window he saw the long gray fingers of the dawn clutch- ing at the fading stars. A ND he fell asleep again, and dreamed, and this was his dream. He thought that he was wandering through a dim wood, hung with strange fruits and with beautiful poisonous flowers. The adders hissed at him as he went hy, and the bright parrots flew screaming from branch to branch. Huge tortoises lay asleep upon the hot mud. The trees were full of apes and peacocks. On and on he went, till he reached the outskirts of the wood, and there he saw an immense multitude of men.' toiling in the bed of a driedi-up river. They swarmed up the crag like ants. They dug deep pits in the ground and went down into them. Some of them cleft the rocks with great axes; oth- ers grabbled in the sand. They tore up the cactus by its roots, and tram- pled on the scarlet blossoms. They hurried about, calling to each other, and no man was idle. From the darkness of a cavern Death and Avarice watched them, and Death said: ‘‘I am weary; give me a third of them and let me go.” But Avarice shook her head. ‘ ‘ They] are my servants,” she answered. And Death said to her: “What hast thou in thy hand!” “I have three grains of corn,” she answered; “what is that to thee?” “Give me one of them,” cried Death, “to plant in my garden; only one of them, and I will go away.” “I will not give thee anything,” said Avarice, and she hid her hand in the fold of her raiment. And Death laughed, and took a cup, and dipped it into a pool of water, and out of the cup rose Ague. She passed through the great multi- tude, and a third of them lay dead. A cold mist followed her, and the water- snakes ran by her side. And when Avarice saw that a third of the multitude was dead she beat her breast and Avept. She beat her barren bosom, and cried aloud. " ‘ Thou hast slain a third of my servants,” she cried, “get thee gone. There is AA'ar in the mountains of Tartary, and the kings of each side are calling to thee. The Afghans have slain the black ox, and are marching to battle. They have beaten upon their shields Avith their spears, and have put on their helmets of iron. What is my valley to thee, that thou shouldst tar- ry in it ? Get thee gone, and come here no more.”

Page 121

THE YOUNG KING 695 “Nay,” answered Death, “but till thou hast given me a grain of com I will not go.” But Avarice shut her hand, and clenched her teeth. “I will not give thee anything,” she muttered. And Death laughed, and took up a black stone, and threw it into the forest, and out of a thicket of wild hemlock came Fever in a robe of flame. She passed through the multi- tude, and touched them, and each man that she touched died. The grass withered beneath her feet as she walked. And Avarice shuddered, and put ashes on her head. ‘ ‘ Thou art cruel, ’ ’ she cried; “thou art crael. There is famine in the walled cities of India, and the cisterns of Samarkand have run dry. There is famine in the walled cities of Egypt, and the locusts have come up from the desert. The Nile has not overflowed its banks, and the priests have cursed Isis and Osiris. Get thee gone to those who need thee, and leave me my servants.” “Nay,” answered Death, “but till thou hast given me a grain of com I will not go. ’ ’ “I will not give thee anything,”’ said Avarice. And Death laughed again, and he whistled through his fingers, and a woman came flying through the air. Plague was written upon her fore- head, and a crowd of lean vultures wheeled round her. She covered the valley with her wings, and no man was left alive. And Avarice fled shrieking through the forest, and Death leaped upon his red horse and galloped away, and his galloping was faster than the wind. And out of the slime at the bottom of the valley crept dragons and horri- ble things with scales, and the jackals came trotting along the sand, sniffing up the air with their nostrils. And the young king wept, and said : “Who were these men, and for what were they seeking?” “For mbies for a king’s crown,” answered one who stood behind him. And the young king started, and, turning round, he saw a man habited as a pilgrim and holding in his hand a mirror of silver. And he grew pale, and said: “For what king?” And the pilgrim answered: “Look in this mirror, and thou shalt see him.” ^ And he looked in the mirror, and, seeing his own face, he gave a great cry and woke, and the bright sun- light was streaming into the room, and from the trees of the gaj:den and pleasanee the birds were singing. And the chamberlain and the high officers of state came in and made obeisance to him, and the pages brought him the robe of tissued gold, and set the crown and the scepter be- fore him. And the young king looked at them, and they were beautiful. More beau- tiful were they than aught that he had ever seen. But he remembered his dreams, and he said to his lords: “Take these things away, for I will not wear them.” And the courtiers were amazed, and some of them laughed, for they thought that he was jesting. But he spake sternly to them again, and said: “Take these things away, and hide them from me. Though it be the day of my coronation, I will not wear them. For on the loom of Sorrow, and by the white hands of Pain, has this my robe been woven. There is Blood in the heart of the ruby, and Death in the heart of the pearl.” And he told them his three dreams. And when the courtiers heard them they looked at each other and whis- pered, saying : ‘ ‘ Surely he is mad ; for what is a dream but a dream, and a vision but a vision? They are not real things that one should heed them. And what have we to do with

Page 122

WEIRD TALES 606 the lives of those who toil for us? Shall a man not eat bread till he has seen the sower, nor drink wine till he has talked with the vine-dresser?” And the chamberlain spake to the young king, and said: “My lord, I pray thee set aside these black tlioughts of thine, and put ,on this fair robe, and set this crown upon thy liead. For how shall the people know that thou art a king, if thou hast not a king’s raiment?” And the young king looked at him. “Is it so, indeed?” he questioned. ‘ ‘ Will they not know me for a king if I have not a king’s raiment?” ,“They will not know thee, my lord,” cried the chamberlain. “I had thought that there had been men who were kinglike,” he an^ swered, ‘ ‘ but it may be as thou sayest. And yet I will not wear this robe, nor will I be crowned with this crown, but even as I came to the palace so will I go forth from it.” And he bade them all leave him, save one page whom he kept as his companion, a lad a year younger than liimself. Him he kept for his serv- ice, and when he had bathed himself in clear water, he opened a great painted chest, and from it he took the leathern tupic and rough sheepskin cloak that he had worn when he had watched on the hillside the shaggy goats of the goatherd. These he put on, and in his hand he took his rude shepherd’s staff. And the little page opened his big blue eyes in wonder, and said smiling to him: “My lord, I see thy robe and thy scepter, but where is thy crown And the young king plucked a spray of wild briar that was climb- ing over the balcony, and bent it, and made a circlet of it, and set it on his own head. “This shall be my crown,” he an- swered. And thus attired he passed out of his chamber into the great hall, where the nobles were waiting for him. And the nobles made merry, and some of them cried out to him: “My lord, the people wait for their king, and thou showest them a beggar;” and others were wroth and said: “He brings shame upon our state, and is unworthy to be our master. ” But he answered them not a word, but passed on, and went down the bright por- phyry staircase, and out through the gates of bronze, and mounted upon his horse, and rode towards the ca- thedral, the little page running be- side him. And the people laughed and said: “It is the king’s fool who is riding by,” and they mocked him. And he drew rein and said: “Nay, but I am the king.” And he told them his three dreams. And a man came out of the crowd and spake bitterly to him, and said: “Sir, knowest thou not that out of the luxury of the rich cometh the life of the poor? By your pomp we are nurtured, and your vices give us bread. To toil for a hard master is bitter, but to have no master to toil for is more bitter still. Thinkest thou that the ravens will feed us? And what cure hast thou for these things? WUt thou say to the buyer: ‘Thou shalt buy for so much,’ and to the seller: ‘Thou shalt sell at this price’? I trow not. Therefore go back to thy palace and put on thy purple and fine linen. What hast thou to do with us, and what we suffer?” “Are not the rich and the poor brothers?” asked the young king. “Ay,” answered the man, “and the name of the rich brother is Cain.” And the young king's eyes filled with tears, and he rode on through the murmurs of the people, and the little page grew afraid and left him. And when he reached the great pop- tal of the cathedral, the soldiers (Continued on page 716)

Page 123

By Night He Plied His Revolting ^uest, and by Day He Trajicked Jf^ith Ghouls The Fiend of the Seine By DICK HEINE Author of “The Jungle Presence” ON THE banks of the Seine, not far from where a famous ave- nue crosses it on a famous bridge, there is a small stone house, gray and inconspicuous amid its sur- roundings. Here there lived, entire- ly alone, Jules Derroil. He was about fifty years old and had a kind face covered with short, stubby beard. He wore rough, rivermen’s clothes, a black cap, and smoked a straight, black pipe. His house, which faced the river, had a small boat tied up in front of it. By day, the boat was al- ways there and Jules at home; by night, the boat was absent and Jules in it, paddling up and down the river, sometimes three miles from home. Before daybreak, he would return and tie up the boat ; then he would carry into his house a big black sack, bulg- ing with contents, the nature of which could not be told by looking at it. Only Jules Derroil knew what was in the sack. During the day, several fine auto- mobiles with chauffeurs would stop in the street not far away, and men would come and enter Jules’ house. After a few minutes they would emerge carrying something wrapped in old newspapers. The men were generally well dressed, and had sharp, neatly trimmed beards. Some wore eyeglasses and silk hats and looked distinguished. The police had investigated these activities several times, but found nothing wrong about them. Once they had held up Jules with his sack; it had contained firewood and old shoes and stuff he had been gathering in the river. Agaih they had accost- ed the visiting gentlemen and exam- ined their packages : the packages had held lily bulbs and small plants in pots, they did not bother Jules and his visitors any more. Moreover, since the men were all prominent, per- haps they had influence with the pre- fect, and the gendarmes were given secret instructions not to be too in- quisitive. Jules’ strange doings went on for years before their tragic ending, and even the sharp-eyed neighbors had no clue to the mystery of the black sack. ONE afternoon an automobile ar- rived, and a man got out. He was tall, handsome, and elegant. He entered Derroil ’s house. The room in which he was received was simply furnished. It was lighted by two windows which looked upon the river, the waters being just below outside. There was a fireplace and a bright wood fire. A small kettle hung near the fireplace. Some heavy sticks were piled near by for fuel. On the wall near the fire was placed a long, heavy knife such as is used for chop- ping up firewood. A shelf at one end of the room was lined with packages of something wrapped in newspapers. The bulging black sack stood in one comer. A table sat in the middle of the floor. 697

Page 124

698 WEIED TALES Jules Dlrroil was smoking by the fire, and two empty chairs were close by. “How do you do, Dr. Maune?” he said, as the man entered. “Sit down.” “Good afternoon. Monsieur Der- roil. I see I am earlier than our friend. Dr. Le Gle. ” “He won’t be long in coming. In fact, I think I hear his car now.” A minute later another man en- tered. He was shorter than Dr. Maune and less handsome, but looked distinguished. “Good afternoon,” he said, as he sat down before the fire. “I suppose we three are alone, are we. Monsieur Derroil?” observed Dr. Maune. “Quite; we may discuss our busi- ness or whatever we like.” “I must say we are a bloody lot after all, we doctors,” laughed Dr. Maune. “I can hardly say which is the most ungodly, our calling or that of Jules D4rroil. ’ ’ Dr. Le G16 laughed, and Derroil smiled and said nothing. “There is another ungodly thing about you, Le Gle,” continued Dr. Maune. “I hear you have disowned your daughter. Is it true?” “True, indeed. I regret it deeply, but it was unavoidable. She was in love with a spendthrift. Her surrep- titious conduct defied convention, and she would not even disclose the man’s name. But I hear a simKar tale on you. Is that true also?” “It is,” said Dr. Maune. “I have disinhmited my son for spending his time and my money on a girl whom the family has never seen. He re- fused to introduce any of us and has never revealed her name.” “Very sad. We should both be ashamed of ourselves,” said Dr. Le Gle. “And Jules Derroil here should be ashamed of himself, too. Look at him. He makes his living by paddling the Seine at night and gathering up the bodies of the suicides of Paris who die by drowning. He cuts off their heads, or cuts out their hearts or whatever we doctors want. He puts them into a sack and brings them home. We come and buy them to dis- sect and experiment with for the ul- timate benefit of humanity;,” “Bloody business for aU con- cerned,” remarked D6rroil. “What did you find last night?” asked Dr. Le Gle. “Four adult bodies and three cast- away babies. ’ ’ “A good night’s work. Did you bring them back?” “I brought the four big heads and the three little bodies. ’ ’ “Give us two heads apiece. We shall call tomorrow for the babies.” Derroil arose and went to the sack in the corner. He stooped and took something from the sack. “Let us see the heads before you wrap them,” said Le Gle, rising. Jules Derroil handed him a wom- an’s head, holding it out to him by the long, brown hair. Dr. Le Gle took it carelessly. Almost at the same moment, as Dr. Maune rose, Derroil handed him a man’s head. Maune reached uncon- cernedly for it. Suddenly his face turned pale, his breath came in gasps, and he staggered against the wall by the fireplace, trembling in every limb. The rush of blood to his eyes was so great that for a moment he could not see. But when his vision cleared, he looked at Le Gle. Dr. Le Gle stood in the middle of the floor with the head dangling in his hands. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing hard and swaying back and forth on hie feet. He let fall the head and dashed his palms over his face; That instant Jules Derroil knew what he had done. He had handed Le Gle his daughter’s head

Page 125

THE FIEND OF THE SEINE 699 and Maune that of his son. Tho un- happy couple had committed suicide together. He looked from one doctor to the other. The doctors felt almost the same reaction. They saw the utter horror of their whole lives, the far pit into which their minds had hurled them. The brutality of Jules Derroil also flashed home to them. They were seized with a simultaneous desire — to kill him. Derroil was strong and his muscles hard from the daily paddling, but he Avas no match for the half- crazed and infuriated doctors. They banged him about the room, overturn- ing the furniture and making consid- erable noise. One doctor held him by the throat. The other plucked a flam- ing stick from the fire and thrust it into his face. Derroil screamed a hor- rible scream. The heavy knife by the fire was next in Le G14’s hands, and the head of the fiend soon fell to the floor. The body sagged and tumbled in a heap. Scarcely had the murder been com- mitted when the door of the house burst open and the gendannes rushed into the room. They had been sent for by the nearest neighbors, who had heard the screams and sounds. Dr. Le Gle and Dr. Maune were never tried for the murder of Jules Derroil. The grievous nature of the affair worked in their favor ; the pub- lic was satisfied that* the mystery of the numerous headless bodies found in the river was cleared up ; and some newspapers even congratulated the physicians for ridding Paris of the fiend of the Seine. Whispers of Heavenly Death By WALT WHITMAN (Reprint) Whispers of heavenly death murmured I hear. Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals, Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low. Ripple of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing (Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?) I see, just skyward, gi’eat cloud-masses. Mournfully, sloAvly they roll, silently swelling and mixing, With at times a half-dimmed saddened far-off star Appearing and disappearing. (Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal biith; On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable. Some soul is passing over.)

Page 126

GBEYE la SPINA’S serial of devil-worship, The Gargoyle, wliich ends in the present issue, promises to outdo in popularity even her gripping werewolf serial, Invaders From the Dark, if one may judge from the comments of the readers on the first installment, which appeared in Weihi) Tales for September. We will quote just one of the letters which it called forth, for all the letters received about The Gargoyle, up to the time of going to press, express the same vigorous enthusiasm. This letter is from Lieutenant Arthur J. Burks, who is known to you for his powerful tales of Santo Domingo: “I have just finished the latest W. T., and I have a big fat crow to pick with you! What in thunder do you mean by breaking a story like The Cfargoyle off right in the middle? So many good things have been said about Greye La Spina (I never believed I would like stories written by a woman) that I started the story with a great deal of skepticism, my lips pursed like the usual egotist who has to be convinced, read a few pages, straightened my lips, wrinkled my massive brow, leaned closer to the page, hung my heels over the chandelier, let my fried-chicken dinner get cold, became deaf to the commands of the ‘wiff’ to '^come and get it V read on and on — and then almost bumped my brains out on the three cussedest words ever invented by soulless editors: TO BE CONTINUED! “I am convinced! I am humbled in the very dirt! I am no longer an egotist! I never knew nothing and always will! There are five votes (can minors vote?) in my family, and Greye La Spina gets ’em all or I am no longer the head of the household! When a chap who, less than six feet tall, only twenty-seven years of age and weighs 214 pounds misses his dinner over a story, I don’t think there’s anything more to be said! That’s all I have to say about the lady in question and her story, and if you don’t pass it on I’ll— I ’U— “I don’t know just exactly what I’ll do; but in any case I’ll postpone definite action until I have the rest of The Gargoyle safe in my hands. Let’s have a La Spina story in each issue hereafter.” Well, that’s a sample of the enthusiastic comment on The Gargoyle. We won’t count this letter for five votes, as the genial lieutenant wants us to do, nor do we intend to print a La Spina story in each issue; but we hope to give you several of them in the course of a year. Those of you who have read Invaders From the Dark and The Gargoyle will be gratified to know 700

Page 127

THE EYEIE 701 that a fascinating weird novelette by Greye La Spina, A Suitor From the Shades, will be printed complete in one of our forthcoming issues. Writes Carl Wharton, of Wyncote, Pa.: “Mr, Long’s verse in the [August issue is rather fine. I wonder if he is Celtic. Somehow its subtle beauty suggests the mystic and romantic imageiy of some of the Irish contemporaries. ’ ’ Lilia Price Savino, of Portsmouth, Va., writes: “In suggesting re- prints, I request Poe’s The Black Cat. I have heard so much about it, and my brother told me not to read it as it seared him into a spasm when he was a youngster.’’ Mrs. Harry A. Wenz writes from Cincinnati: “I wish you would print more of such stories as Four Wooden Stakes, The Statement of Randolph Carter, etc., and the more necrophilic tales, the better.’’ Errol MeCaUum writes from Toronto: “My selection of stories are those which deal with inventions of the future, voyages to other planets, etc. Stories such as When the Green Star Yianed and The Moon Terror were splendid. Will you nqt arrange to have one of these included every month?’’ A letter from Casper, Wyoming, by Mrs. V. F. B., says: “I, too, like Miss E. F., like the stories about quicksand pits, swamps and their denizens, snakes, spiders, queer plants, poisons, apes, and doctors’ experiments. Let us have more of them in Weird Tales.” Vivien McAllister, of Portland, Oregon, writes: “I read everything I can lay my hands upon but nothing sets my nervTS a-tingling and my imagination rioting so much as a copy of Weird Tales. I can not lay them down, once I have started, until every stoiy has been read. I revel in the gruesome adventures and uncanny happenings of these brain children. Each story in the September issue is a masterpiece, but I believe I shall cast my vote as follows: 1. The Fu,mished Boom, because of the beautiful sentiment in it and its dash of the supernatural; 2. The Sultan’s Jest, for its fiendish cruelty; 3. The Flying Halfback, for its spicy impossibility.” Writes A. V. Pershing, of Odon, Indiana: “In my opinion your maga- zine is one of the most mind-broadening, intellect-awakening, and instructive magazines on the market. I especially like the weird tales that involve pure science or imaginative science.” There was hardly a story in’ the September issue that did not receive several votes as favorite story. However, the leaders in popular favor are The Sultan’s Jest, by E. Hoffmann Price, and The Terrific Experiment, by Hurley von Ruck. If you have any favorites in the present issue, write and let us know. Address your letter to The Eyrie, Weird Tales, -lOS Holliday Building, Indianapolis, Indiana. We have received a story called Pity Me! from one of our younger readers, a story that is altogether so delightful and interesting that we feel we must let you see it. The young lady who wrote it has not yet attained the literary polish and maturity of style that come only after years of writ- ing, but she has imagination and enthusiasm, and achieves a gruesome effect that reminds us of the old English ballad of The Gay Lady Who Went to Church, with its doleful lines : “On looking up, on looking down, She saw a dead man on the ground; And from his nose unto his chin. Tile worms crawled out, the worms crawled in. ’ ’

Page 128

702 WEIRD TALES The authoress is young — very young ; — ^but we give her story here in its entirety. PITY ME ! By Bei'tha Russell (age 15) TJow I loved to handle corpses, cold, stiff, bodies! That was why I had A A been an undertaker. Game the day though that resulted in my loathing and hating them. The reason for this, let me, a wretched, broken-down, white-haired old man explain to you, reader. It was a cold, wet, dripping, clouded day when the body which was to make me what I am today arrived to be embalmed. The body was of a dark, beautiful, Spanish woman of wealthy people. I learned that she had died but three hours ago from some ailment or other. The boss, who was the head undertaker of the place, ordered me to embalm the body and to be ready inside of an hour. I nodded my head happily, for was I not going to handle a cold corpse ? Having secured the necessary tools and articles, I entered the gray, musty, tomblike, embalming room. It was a narrow room with large man-size shelves running on each side. At the end was a slight enlargement of space which made accommodating room for a long, narrow, black table. This section was lit more brighter. On the table a body covered entirely by a sheet was lying as stiff as a stick. I knew this to be mi/ corpse. With one sweep of my hand I snatched the sheet off with delightful eagerness. A sort of dismayed sound escaped my lips as I viewed the body of the woman. Ah, she was too lovely, too divine-looking for me to caress and pet. No, no, I would not let my passion work on her, no. So, having prepared my thin, silver knife, I began to cut the artery that was customary to being severed in embalming. I know that I hadn’t reached the artery as yet, (I don’t know why for it was usually done in one minute) when my eyes were strangely attracted to the lips. Surely my eyes must be deceiving me, for did they not begin to twitch from one side to the other as if they had tasted bitter salt? The eyelids began to flicker; then the. hands began stiffly to open and shut, open and shut. My knife clattered to the floor; still I stood there, powerless to run. The features began to twitch also, as if in some agonizing pain. To my horrifled eyes, the eyelids flickered once more and then opened as quick as a bolt of lightning. Those haunting dark brown eyes just stared at me with a look that I don’t want never, never, to see. “You — ^what — ^have — ^you — done!” the tortured living thing shrieked in a high pitch tone of voice between gasps while rising, with still those glassy eyes fixed on me. I know I screamed, I know I yelled, I know that I fell with something fleshy hurling itself upon me. I knew no more. The boss privately afterward told me while convalescening from a nervous break-domi, six months afterwards to be exact, that when they heard my terrific fear-laden screams they had rushed in to find me on the damp floor with the dead body of the Spanish woman lying across me. Awful — awful! He good-naturedly refused to believe me when I told him the entire frightful story, saying it was my nerves & strenuous work and to please forget it. But how can I forget it when he himself remarked that he finished cutting the artery? Pity me, reader, pity me!

Page 129

WETED TALES 703 In 15 Minutes I Will Give You the Secret of a Perfect Memory Not by Any Abstract, Tiresome, Diff icult-to-Master Method; Not by the Old System of Association of Ideas or Thoughts. Not by Hard Study, Rotation Exercises or Repetition of W ords or Sounds I Guarantee to Increase Your Memory 100% in lO Days IT IS net a book. Thera is nothing to stody-^nothing to leariS'^nothifig to repeat. It is by far the newest, best, simplest method ever devised. 1 will give you a memory in one week's time that will surprise you. In one month things that occurred 30 days ago will be fresh in your mind— names, dates, numbers, incidents, events,— anything and everything you wish to remember or recall will be as clear as if they happened yester^y. CEO. J. SPINNER Author and Educator My Secret for 30 Year* I have given my secret to thousands. 1 have used it my- self for more than 30 years. It gave me a good vocabulary, de- veloped my pow- ers of perception and analysis and fitted me to write on a hun- dred subjects. It is VI-FLECT— my method of memory-building— that helped me to rise from a clerk in a department store to the head of its advertising depart- ment—to my further mental develop- ment that enables me to occupy my f>resent position as an educator in pro- essional and scientific circles. Command Succcm! My VI-FLECT mfthod ol memory- bnfldinR is for men and women who want to further develop their memory in a scientific, practical manner; for those who are ambitious to improve their business, professional, social or financial condition — merchants, manag- ers, salespeople, clerks, agents, book- keepers, stenographers, lawyers, doc- tors, dentists, teachers, students, minis- ters. public speakers, artists, actors, superintendents, foremen, craftsmen, po- licemen, detectives, polticians— men -and women in every walk in life. VI-FLECT will develop your brain- ner— your ability— earning-capacity. alt lift you out of the rut; you will no longer have to stumble, mumble nor grope for words with which to c.xpress yourself. VI-FLECT will enhance your value as a manager or employee. It will in- crease your mental-capacity, ability, ex- pertness. raise your salary, help you in business, professionally, socially, politi- cally—in every way Build Your Memory tf your memory is poor: or. if you. want to further improve it. you arc hurting yourself, keeping yourself down by neglecting to learn my secret. No matter what your age or sex — rich or poor, successful or struggling to get ahead, here is YOUR opportunity to SECRETLY quickly and with little effort get to that wonderful place m life for which you arc aiming! Double Your Efficiency Don't stand still— don’t hold yourself back! Success is for those who fit themselves for it. Ability is measured by mental capacity— your faculty of re- membering everything that is important to you— to your advancement— success —power— achievement. The better your memory, the greater your store of knowledge, the more valuable you are to yourself, your employer, the com- munity. Develop the giant within you —rise to the heights you aspire. Don’t be satisfied with less than double your present efficiency. VI-FLECT points the way. It will lead you to higher, nobler, greater things in life Learn My Secret The cost of my VI-FLECT method of memory-building is small— trifling compared with the untold value it will prove to you. It will be almost price- less to you because it will help you find yourself— help you to arrive quickerl 1 could put' Vl-r LECT in a series of Imons and ask $50.00 for them. I could have it printed in deluxe book- form and get $100. But 1 prefer to place it within the easy reach of every ambitious maa and woman; and the price 1 am going to ask you for VI- FLECT — my wonderful method of mcmc/y-building. which I have devel- oped and perfected during my 30 years of constant study and application— is ONLY $5.00. 100% Brain Power Think of it! Only $5.00 for a method of memory-building that will increase your brain-power 100S(— a method that will enable you to remember anything and everything you wish to know or re- call—a method of memory-building that will ehabfe you to think clearly, quickly, accurately. Yriu never before heard of a system or method for developing the mental-ca- pacity that sold at such an amazingly lew figure! I(\ fact, you could pay $50.00 for one that cannot approach VI-FLECT for simplicity, practicabib tty. adaptability, or one that will im- prove your memory so quckly and sub- stantially So mro >o peritive am 1 that VI- ELECT it by far the batt, eatiett, most commoR-tente method ever devited, I guarantee it to improve your memory 100% in 10 dayt, or you get your money back without qncetion or argument. Send Today — Before You Do Another Thing If the attainment of your ambition and happiness— your ideals and desires —is worth $5.00, then send me this small sum now— today— while you have your mind made up to climb the ladder of success. Own. possess, enjoy VI- FLECT— reap its limitless benefits. Let nothing stand between you and a suc- cessful, happy, prosperous futurel Don’t put off taking the step that means so much to you— your growth mentally— your advancement in a busi- ness, financial, social, political way You know the value of a better mem- ory— worth of increased brain- power. so don’t let another sun rise un- til you send for your cooy of VI- FLECT! If It is not convenient to en- close the money, or if you prefer, I will mail your copy postage prepaid and you can hand the small amount to your postman when he delivers the package. The important thing is— SEND NOW —the time for action is here! THIS COUPON.-^^- Cc*. ). Spinner, 416 S. Drarborn St., Dept, 726MD Cbicacu. III. Drar »ir: Ple*«c tend me my copy of FLECT for whkh I enclose $5.00. I wilt try rour VI-FLECT method of memVry-buildini 10 days. Mid if it does not increase mv memory 100%, I am to return it to you and you are to girr me my money back without aryumeni yawt„i. • Address i . Oty- •Siate^

Page 130

704 WEIED TALES The Conqueror Worm By EDGAR ALLAN POE (Reprint) Lo ! ’tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears. Sit in a theater, to see A play of hopes and fears. While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low. And hither and thither fiy — Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro. Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama — oh, be sure It shall not be forgot ! With its Phantom chased for evermore By a crowd that seize it not. Through a circle that ever retumeth in To the selfsame spot. And much of Madness, and more of Sin, J\.nd Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! — it writhes! — with mortal pangs The mimes become its food. And the angels sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out — out are the lights — out all! And, over each quivering form. The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm. And the angels, all pallid and wan. Uprising, unveiling, aflSrm That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Page 131

WEIRD TALES 705 The Stolen Body (Continued from pagfi 588) 'And at that instant it came to Mr. Bessel that evil had happened to his body, and behold! a great wind blew through all that world of shadows and tore him away. So strong was this persuasion that he thought no more of Mr. Vincey, but turned about forthwith, and all the count- less faces drove back with him like leaves before a gale. But he returned too late. In an instant he saw the body that he had left inert and col- lapsed— lying, indeed, like the body of a man just dead — had arisen, had arisen by virtue of some strength and will beyond his own. It stood with staring eyes, stretching its limbs in dubious fashion. For a moment he watched it in wild dismay, and then he stooped to- wards it. But the pane of glass had closed against him again, and he was foiled. He beat himself passionately against this, and all about him the spirits of evil grinned and pointed and mocked. He gave way to furious anger. He compares himself to a bird that has fluttered heedlessly in- to a room and is beating at the win- dowpane that holds it back from freedom. And behold! the little body that had once been his was now dancing with delight. He saw it shouting, though he could not hear its shouts; he saw the violence of its movements grow. He watched it fling his cher- ished furniture about him in the mad delight of existence, rend his books apart, smash bottles, drink heedlessly from the jagged fragments, leap and smite in a passionate acceptance of living. He watched these actions in paralyzed astonishment. Then once more he hurled himself against the impassable barrier, and then with all that crew of mocking ghosts about him, hurried back in dire confusion to Vincey to tell him of the outrage that had come upon him. But the brain of Vincey was now closed against apparitions, and the disembodied Mr. Bessel pursued him in vain as he hurried out into Hol- bom to call a cab. Foiled and ter- ror-stricken, Mr. Bessel swept back again, to find his desecrated body whooping in a glorious frenzy down the Burlington Arcade. . . . And now the attentive reader be- gins to understand Mr. Bessel’s interpretation of the first part of this strange story. The being whose frantic rush through London had in- flicted so much injury and disaster had indeed Mr. Bessel’s body, but it was not Mr. Bessel. It was an evil spirit out of that strange world be- yond existence, into which Mr. Bes- sel had so rashly ventured. For twenty hours it held possession of him, and for all those twenty hours the dispossessed spirit-body of Mr. Bessel was going to and fro in that unheard-of middle world of shadows seeking help in vain. He spent many hours beating at the minds of Mr. Vincey and of his friend Mr. Hart. Each, as we know, he roused by his efforts. But the language that might convey his situation to these helpers across the gulf he did not know ; his feeble fingers groped vainly and pow- erlessly in their brains. Once, in- deed, as we have already told, he was able to turn Mr. Vincey aside from his path so that he encountered the stolen body in its career, but he could not make him understand the thing that had happened ; he was unable to draw any help from that encoun- ter. . . . All through those hours the per- suasion was overwhelming in Mr. Bessel’s mind that presently his body

Page 132

706 WEIRD TALES NEXT IMONTH . The Tenants of Broussac A COMPLETE NOVELETTE , --Vr; By SEABURY QUINN Before the ancient tumbledown altar, her white body glistening in the dark, stood Adrienne Bixby. Farted in a smile such as Circe, the enchantress, might have worn when she lured men to their ruin, the red lips of the entranced girl were drawn back from her gleaming teeth, while she crooned a slow sensuous melody. About her slendei body, ascending in a spiral from hips to shoulders, was the spotted body of a gigantic snake. The monster’s horrid, wedge-shaped head swung and swayed a scant half -inch before her face, and its darting, lambent tongue licked lightly at her parted lips. But it was no ordinary serpent which held her a laughing prisoner in its coils. . . . Read this most astounding story which is printed complete in the December Issue of WEIRD TALES The Unique Magazine On Sale ’Ncveniher 1 Clip and Mail this coupon today! WEIRD TALES 408 Hollidajr Bldg., Indianapolis, Ind. Enclosed find $1 for special trial 5 months’ subscription to "Weird Tales” to begin ■with the December issue. (Special offer void un- less remittance is accompanied by coupon.) Name — . Address City . Btate_____ would be killed by its furious tenant, and he would have to remain in this shadowland for evermore. So that those long hours were a growing agony of fear. And ever as he hur- ried to and fro in his ineffectual ex- citement, innumerable spirits of that world about him mobbed him and confused his mind. And ever an en- vious applauding multitude poured after their successful fellow as he went upon his glorious career. For that, it would seem, must be the life of these bodiless things of this world that is the shadow of our world. Ever they watch, coveting a way into a mortal body, in order that they may descend, as furies and fren- zies, as violent lusts and mad, strange impulses, rejoicing in the body they have won. For Mr. Bessel was not the only human soul in that place. Witness the fact that he met first one, and afterwards several shadows of men, men like himself, it seemed, who had lost their bodies even it may be as he had lost his and wandered, despairingly, in that lost world that is neither life nor death. They could not speak because that world is silent, yet he knew them for men because of their dim human bodies, and be- cause of the sadness of their faces. But how they had come into that world he could not tell, nor where the bodies they had lost might be, whether they still roved about the earth, or whether they were closed forever in death against return. That they were the spirits of the dead neither he nor I believe. But Dr. Wilson Paget thinks they are the ra- tional souls of men who are lost in madness on the earth. At last Mr. Bessel chanced upon a place where a little crowd of such disembodied silent creatures was gathered, and thrusting through them he saw below a brightly-lit room, and four or five quiet gentle- men and a woman, a stoutish woman

Page 133

FREE FREE FREE A $1.50 Self-filling Stylographic Pen The Perfect Writing Instrument WE are anxious to introduce WEIRD TALES to new pro- spective readers and if you will get just 6 of your friends or neighbora, etc., to take a trial copy of this magazine for the regular price of 25c, we will reward you with this $1.50, fountain pen- cil absolutely free. Simply send us the names and addresses of 6 persons together with $1.50 (25c from each — stamps, currency, money order, or check) and we will immediately forward you a fountain pencil FREE. We are sure you will be pleased with this stylographic pen as it is the only really successful fountain pencil with an automatio feed which prevents the point from clogging. Easy To Get One You have friends, acquaintances, relatives and neighbors who will enjoy WEIRD TALES just as much as you do. Tell them what you think of this publication and ask them to try out this magazine for one issue. As long as you are not asking them to subscribe, you should have no difficulty in getting them to take the magazine for one month. Twenty-five cents is not a great deal of money and they will receive full value for it when they get their copy of WEIRD TALES. It is an easy matter to get 6 of these in less than an hour. CAUTION: The subscribers must be absolutely new readers of WEIRD TALES. This is a special introductory offer for new read- ers who have never subscribed before. This offer is void after November 15th. , Address CIRCULATION MANAGER WEIRD TALES 408 Holliday Bldg. Indianapolis, Ind. 707

Page 134

708 WEIRD TALES DON’T PASS THIS UP! THE SUNKEN LAND, ty Gaorge W. Bayly An eery tale of a foreet of great treee aUia with hate and ^rmed with giant tentaelm, THE PURPLE DEATH, by Edith Lyle Ragsdale In your wHdeet imagininai trow will Mt gueee what kitted theee men nntU tha author reveale it to yon, IN THE WEIRD LIGHT, by Edward Everett Wright and Ralph Howard Wright A faeeinating novelette about ana who won* il«red through the maeUtrom into Hi* tferil cavern* of earth. THE SIXTH TREE, by Edith Liehty Stewart A tale of th* weirdett game that atar wot played. IMPRISONED WITH THE PHARAOHS^ by Houdini The master maineian tells an aerg, am* story of his adventures in Egypt, The above are a few of the smashing stories in this BIO ANNIVERSARY NUMBER of “Weird Tales.” Altogether, there are fifty distinct features — ^Novels, Short Stories and Novelettes. This issue was the 1'924 May, June and July num* bers combined. We have a limited num- ber of them on hand, and while the sup- ply iMts, will mail one, postage pre- paid, to any address for FIFTY CENTS USB OOITFON — WEIRD TALES 408 Hollidajr Bids’., Dept. A-13, Indianapolis, Ind. Enclosed find 60e for eop7 ct Aimivenary Number. Name Address - - — _ - , City «*«»*« dressed in black bombazine and sit- ting awkwardly in a chair with her head throAvn back. He knew her from her portraits to be Mrs, Bullock, the medium. And he perceived that tracts and structures in her brain glowed and stirred as he had seen the pineal eye in the brain of Mr. Vin- cey glow. The light was very fitful; sometimes it was a broad illumina- tion, and sometimes merely .a faint twilight spot, and it shifted slowly about her brain. She kept on talking and writing with one hand. And Mr. Bessel saw that the crowding shad- ows of men about him, and a great multitude of the shadow spirits of that shadowland, were all striving and thrusting to touch the lighted re- gions of her brain. As one gained her brain or another was thrust away, her voice and the writing of her hand changed. So that what she said was disorderly and confused for the most part ; now a fragment of one soul’s message, and now a fragment of another’s, and ndw she babbled the insane fancies of the spirits of vain desire. Then Mr. Bessel understood that she spoke for the spirit that had touch of her, and he began to strug- gle furiously towards her. But he was on the outside of the crowd and he could not reach her, and at last he went away to find what had hap- pened meanwhile to his body. For a long time he went to and fro seeking it in vain and fearing that it must have been killed, and then he found it at the bottom of the shaft in Baker Street, writhing furi- ously and cursing with pain. Its leg and an arm and two ribs had been broken by its fall. Moreover, the evil spirit was angry because his time had been so short and because of the pain — making violent movements and casting his body about. And at that Mr. Bessel returned with redoubled earnestness to the room where the seance was going on, and so soon as he had thrust himself

Page 135

WEIRD TALES 709 within sight of the place he saw one of the men who stood about the me- dium looking at his watch as if he meant that the seance should pres- ently end. At that a great number of shadows who had been striving turned away with gestures of de- spair. But the thought that the seance was almost over only made Mr, Bessel the more earnest, and he struggled so stoutly with his will against the others that presently he gained the woman’s brain. It chanced that just at that moment it glowed very brightly, and in that in- stant she wrote the message that Dr. Wilson Paget preserved. And then the other shadows and the cloud of evil spirits thrust Mr. Bessel away from her, and for the rest of the seance he could regain her no more. SO HE went back and watched through the long hours at the bottom of the shaft where the evil spirit lay in the stolen body it had maimed, writhing and cursing, and weeping and groaning, and learning the lesson of pain. And towards dawn the thing he had waited for happened, the brain glowed brightly and the evil spirit came out, and Mr. Bessel entered the body he had feared he should never enter again. As he did so, the silence — ^the brood- ing silence — ended ; he heard the tumult of traffic and the voices of people overhead, and that strange world that is the shadow of our world — ^the dark and silent shadows of in- effectual desire and the shadows of lost men — ^vanished clean away. He lay there for the space of about three hours before he was found. And in spite of the pain and suffering of his wounds, and of the dim, damp place in which he lay ; in spite of the tears — wrung from him by his phys- ical distress — ^his heart was full of gladness to know that he was, never- ^eless, back once more in the kindly world of men. High Blood Pressure Host i>eocds of middls tge sad older nave hlsh blood preB8are>“ thoogh many don't know it. And yet, aeeording to Pfsber*s Mw* tality Tables, s blood prewore 10 to 14 points above normal In- creasesyoor chances of dying by 86%. With 60 points above nor* mal, your chances of dying are Increased 814%t Look Oat Sor Tbese Symptoms . Hestfeehsa . Constipation 3. Nervousness . 4. Sleep unrefreshlng 3. SHm dlsturOetf by Oroenm O. PoMng of fuNnoes In heoo 7. SUsM momontary diszinoes g. Oestric disturbencee. (Heartburn, eesr stomach, sas. distross after oatms) 8. Weakness and loworod vHelity • Cold hands and cold feat ffigh Blood Praasaro la cansed by add poisons and hnporities in the blood. The famoos Witter Water Treatment p<^tively gives lasting relief by nentralixing and dtrowing off theae acid Solsona and Imporities, It has r^aced thousands of eases of angeroos High Blood Pressure to normal, or about normal* after all other forms of treatment had failed. A woB known Qucagophywciaa widest **ilr blood proasore wu eo hirt that I ouffoted ^ree eerera BtrcSiee. ftrtid every treatment Jporo to the foediejrip^ee- eloD withoQt^teiB^ reUef., Tbe^ Witter Weter r^uoM my ereecoreTO potnte In 46 da^ead eo eerod my Itfo.' -^ame sad eddreee m reqoaet.) Sample Bottle and valuable BooUet ■i K on *'Hlgfa Blood Prweure and How to Overcome It." Write TODAY 1 WITTER WATER CO, (Not Inc.,) Di^ 26-18 608 South Doarbom St«, Chicago Or 688 MaHcot St., San Pronelaoo What strange force drew this American out there into the mud of No Man* s Land? And what specter-shape kept vigil there, so long after the Great War was over? Read THE LAST MAN By Douglas Oliver In the December WEIRD TALES On Sale November First

Page 136

710 WEIRD TALES LOVE— MONEY— SUCCESS Do you want Love, Money, Success? Wear one of our Mystic Good'Luck Rings! The Mystic Symbol on this Luck Ring Is said to induce all the good tilings of life to come to its wearer, and protect against evil Influences. People have claimed success came to them through Mystic Luck Rings, Silver flnish $1.45 or C. O. D. $1.57. Send size by strip of paper. Say whether man or woman. XOVET.TY JEWELERS 241 E. Ohio St. Dex)t. 11'7 Indianapolis, Ind. The Brotherhood of Light Most complete stock of books in America on Occultism, Psychic Phenom- ena, Spiritualism, Astrology, New Thought, Theosophy and Nature Study. CorresMn4«w Ceur8«s in All BriHchgi ot OeeuU Science Send for “Clouds Dispelled. “ You will be delighted. Absolutely Free. Dept. 0» Box 1525, Los Angeles, Cal. BE AN AD-WRITER YOirNG LADY, YOUNG MAN, you know some one thing well. No matter what it may be, that knowledge can be made the foundation of your career in the Advertising Field. What Is your favorite “line” — Music, Sports, Books, Animals, Farming, the Arts and Sciences, Auto- mobiles. or any kind of Merchandise or Service? Whatever it is you KNOW WELL, you can learn how to write advertisements about it at home by our method. Ad-wrlters earn huge salaries, or work at home for various Arms, with pay In advance. Write for free advice to Dept. 213, ADVERTISING INSTITUTE, 4553 Emerson Ave., St. Louis, Mo. ^ ! LONELY HEARTS I have a sweetheart for yon. Exchange letters with new friends in our club. Efflcient, confidential and dignified serv- ice. Members everywhere. ) EV.\ MOORE, Box 008, Jacksonville, Fla. TOY POMERANIANS We supply high class Toy Pom pups at $35 to $50 each. Remit $5 and we will reserve one. We buy pups you raise out of our stock, Fisher Bros., 241 Rusk Ave., Milwaukee, Wls. HERB DOCTOR BOOK lOc SiXriT diseases from Roots and Herbs. Over 200 reci- pes and valuable Herb secrets worth $$. American Sales Co., Dept. 11)2, Springfield, UL Lukundoo (Continued from page 606) “Van Rieten ! ” he exclaimed, ‘ ‘ My work passes on to" a better man. Luck go with you, Van Rieten.” Van Rieten went nearer to him. “Just hold still a moment, old man,” he said soothingly. “It will be only one twinge.” “I’ve held still for many such twinges,” Stone answered quite dis- tinctly. “Let me be. Let me die my own way. The hydra was nothing to this. You can cut off ten, a hundred, a thousand heads, but the curse you can not cut off, or take off. What’s soaked into the bone won’t come out of the flesh, any more than what’s bred there. Don’t hack mo any more. Promise ! ’ ’ His voice had all the old command- ing tone of his boyhood and it swayed Van Rieten as it always had swayed everybody. “I promise,” said Van Rieten. Almost as he said the word Stone’s eyes Aimed again. Then we three sat about Stone and ' watched that hideous, gibbering prodigy grow up out of Stone’s flesh, till two horrid, spindling little black arms disengaged themselves. The in- flnitcsimal nails were perfect to the barely perceptible moon at the quick, the pink spot on the palm was hor- ridly natural. These arms gesticula- ted and the right plucked toward Stone’s blond beard. “I can’t stand this,” Van Rieten exclaimed and took up the razor again. Instantly Stone’s eyes opened, hard and glittering. “Van Rieten break his word?” he enunciated slowly. “Never!” “But we must help you,” Van Rie- ten gasped. “I am past all help and all hurt- ing,” said Stone. “ This is my hour.

Page 137

WEIRD TALES 711 This carse is not put on me ; it grew out of me, like this horror here. Even now I go.” His eyes closed and we stood help- less, the adherent figure spouting shrill sentences. In a moment Stone spoke again. “You speak all tongues?” he asked thickly. And the emergent manikin replied in sudden English: “Yea, verily, all that you speak,” putting out its microscopic tongue, writhing its lii)s and wagging its head from side to side. We could see the thready ribs on its exiguous flanks heave as if the thing breathed. “Has she forgiven me?” Stone asked in a muffled strangle. “Not while the moss hangs from the cypresses,” the head squeaked. “Not while the stars shine on Lake Pontchartrain will she forgive.” And then Stone, all with one mo- tion, wrenched himself over on his side. The next instant he was dead. WHEN Singleton’s voice ceased the room was hushed for a space. We could hear each other breathing. Twombly, the tactless, broke the si- lence. “I presume,” he said, “you cut off the little manikin and brought it home in alcohoL” Singleton turned on him a stem countenance. “We buried Stone,” he said, “un- mutilated as he died.” “But,” said, the unconscionable Twombly, “the whole thing is incred- ible.” Singleton stiffened. “I did not expect you to believe it,” he said; “I began by saying that although I heard and saw it, when I look back on it I can not credit it myself.” Special Sale WHU* TBBT lASTI D. 8., Goodjeor, Hi*. ' kSy and other need UrM ta^ from can j iH - >.tt tor aadi tire wiiiiiee eei. O.OJD. State whether cUiKdiar or atraleht elde 1. wanted. Heoi only $1 dmaU ■ ■ ■ ■ O.OJD. ■ ■' MUP !■ WaiXk Ten take ne ebaaee In bnjinr fr( ue. not eai any reaaon the tirea are — . .atUiaotory npon dellTery. re- (on them toua a* onoa for refund. OBoBK NOW I Don't mlaa «»*<- <^iooe to eare monew on Ur* prieea. Ameriona ‘nre Company Depi.«.14ei S.iaeh.BlTd.. CUeaco Ruby Free Just to advertise m nill send this fiery 1 carat Modctn Bnby free If roo encloee 10c to help corer cost of handling and postage. Bewilders with uncanny glow. Like a drop of hear only fire. Symbol of Lore, Health Vie will bIso Include free "Vlralore Of Oriental Genu, Mexican Im. Diamonds, Optical tfonders and Illusions, Bare, Startling and Cntloua Bordis, Imported Noieltlee. etc. Write quick. VIVALOBE CO., ST. fAUL, MINN. Dipt. 37-R mm t&d HflB Wonder Fortune Telling Globel cmTf81*'.SCT — — OTe ererr ooMtioo^wLeTe, Mar- liac^ MoneF.LDCk. MyetlfFinff, thrfil- bw, fieri nathig gaaa and entertuaer. of Hindo Fortune l^elUns Carda. EOe for poataoe, say balaDea whei Itrared. RAM PUB. CO.. IS Baal St.. New V»H(. Oapt. W T. “The Experiences of Three Girls” A Zippy— Peppy — Imported Book "Pictured Out” iil.00 atampi, money order, check or caah. Sent in i^in COTer. PARIS PUBUSHING CO. B<al31-S Utica, N.Y.

Page 138

712 WEIRD TALES Are You Unlucky? Then you should wear this Chinese Good Luck Ringr. A short time after you wear this ring your friends will be calling you "Lucky”. This Mys- tic Chinese Symbol is re- puted to bring Good Luck in Love, Riches, Health and Happiness to the wearer. Amasing stories of good fortune told by wearers. Fad of the hour. Silver flnish $1.46 or C. O. D. $1.67. Send size by strip of paper, fitting end to end around finger joint. State if man or woman. Send JEWELERS 241 E. Ohio St. Dept. K-6 IiidinntipoUs, Ind. LEG SORES ARE CtTRABT^E. If you suffer from Leg Sores or Varicose Ulcers, I will send you absolutely FREE a oopy of my famous book that tells how to be rid of these troubles for all time by usin^ my remarkable painless treatment. It is differ- ent from anythingr you ever heard of, and the result of over 35 years specializing. Simply send your name and address to Dr. H. J. WHITTIER, Suite 1233, 421 East 11th Street, Kansas City, Mo. FITS— ATTACKS Stopped in 3 Days Mr. J. L. Crossman of Blue Hill, says his son was having as many as 68 attacks in 24 hours; was relieved in 3 days by a treatment pro- cured from Mr. Lepso. Everyone afflicted with Epilepsy should write to R. Lepso, Apt. 89, 895 Island Ave., Milwaukee, Wis., who offers any sufferer a FREE bottle of the same treatment. "COMIC RECITATIONS” **Kld’s Last Fight,'* *'Ace in the Hole,” “Face Cn the Barroom Floor,” “Clink of the Ice,” “The Vampire,” “Kelly's Dream,” “Girl With the Blue Velvet Band,” “ ’Ostler Joe,” ‘V'ascy at the •Bat,” and over 60 others, all complete in one bo.ok, only 60c. American Sales Co., Dept. 11^, Springfield, 111. WAVS OP KISSING GIRLS,” iUus- tniti'd, 50c, “Confessions of a Bell** «50e. Both books, $1.00. Amei'icuit Sales Co., Dept, llli, Springfield, 111. Learn in one hour by the quick, easy powerful Bel- Anr method. $1. Bel-Anr, Box 4613E, Kansas <'ity, Wo. “Ten Tragedies Of Ten Girls” White Slavery Exposed. .Sensational Book, 50c. American Sales Co., Dept. 112, Springfield, III. Epilepsy positively stopped at once by NEW DISCOVERY or coats nothing. Why suffer? Write CEPHALECINE CO., 20A, 1931 ('Ist St., Brooklyn, N*. T. FACTS Men Only. Plain facts * ^ about sex matters for tJiose married or about to marry. 2.5c. American Sales Co., Dept. 112, Springfield, SI. The Return of the Undead (Continued from page 598) terrifying to behold, soul- withering in its awful suggestion ! A new life, a new mission had been given to this innocent child, returned from the grave. No longer a living mortal, yet undead, Martha had returned, to begin the horrible, dual existence of which Dracula, the vampire, was only another unwilling propagandist. For therein lay the horror of the situa- tion : the dread work of propagation in this terrible society of the undead was an act at which, even while they carried it on, their undying souls re- volted ; death, true, lasting death, was the one thing for which each and every one of them longed; yet for- ever and forever they must live on, in the undead state, carrying out their awful work, adding to their dread clan, helpless and — deathless! A cloud passed across the face of the moon. At the same moment, the creature advanced to the bedside, and bent its horrible, loathsome face over mine. A sickening sensation entered my soul; the breath of it was detest- able, nauseating! The body reeked of the charnel-house; but the breath was of blood! A bony hand reached out and, grasping my chin, tilted my head back upon the pillow. Closer came the horrid mouth; the fetid breath overpowered me like an anesthetic. The skeletonlike hands held me pinned down, helpless. The teeth touched my throat. Again, every- thing went black. 4 I OPENED my eyes. It was morning. The position of the sun in the heavens told me that it must be about noon. Viola, with tear-stained eyes,

Page 139

WEIRD TALES 713 sat on the chair beside my bed, watch- ing me as a physician might watch the expected signs of life in one who had been apparently drowned. I turned my head slowly and tried to speak. “Not now,” she said, quietly, “just rest, and be quiet. I’ll get you some strong coffee now. When Dr. Spald- ing comes — he’ll be here any minute — ^you must tell him the truth. He ’ll know what to do. I’ve taken away your little bottle, and the tablets that remained. I don’t want your promise never to do it again, for you never will. After the doctor has fixed you up, you’ll be broken off the morphine as quickly as possible. Holloway has been discharged from the hospital. I heard enough of your wild mutter- ings to show me what kind of a night you must have had. I ’ll "“keep my promise to you, dear, because I know tvhat you’ve been through, and be- cause I understand what the craving is. But you’re through with that devil’s drug — a wonderful aid to healing only when rightly used — from now on, or as quickly as you can be relieved from actually needing it. Now, I’ll go for the coffee.” Bending to kiss me again, as I turned to look out upon the bright world of living things, she slipped out of the room and softly closed the door. I lay there, my nerves still tingling from the reaction of the morphine and the unforgettable memory of the frightful experience through which I had passed. Through with that devil ’s drug — indeed I was ! Nothing on earth, not even the most exquisite physical agony, could ever make me willingly take another quarter-grain of it into my system. Could the imps of hell itself have devised a more soul- shattering torture than that which I had brought upon myself only a few hours earlier? And poor little Martha! To have her, in that terrible fantasy of dark- Remarkable Secret ROSICRUCIAN MYSTERIES The Rosicriicians-— described by Lord Lytton# Marie Corelli and many other eminent authorU tics as the *‘most secret and illustrious brother* hood of mystics the world has ever known.” The organization is established throughout the world and maintains in America branches within the reach of everyone where the very practical and unequalled assistance known only to the Rosicrucians is now offered by special dispensation to those who ask for it. You may apply, enclosing six cents In stamps and letter of explanation as to why you desire to enter this exclusive study, and a sealed book will be mailed to you. Address: I^IAGI OF THE R. €. TEMPLE 843 Octavia Street San Francisco, California SISTER WOMAN, WHY PAY THE PRiCEt If you iro married or about to marry, you should read “PRIVATE SEX ADVICE” by Dr. Robert Armltage, renowned Physl* clan. Tells in plain startling manner all you ’ should know about BIRTH CONTROL and PRIVATE SUBJECTS. The Parkhurst and other methods of BIRTH CONTROL and pre* TentloQ of conception. Much needed though seldom obtained information.. 227 pages. Clotb Bound. Send your order at once and we will include free hook “WHAT EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW” by Margaret Sanger. World’s Famous Birth Control Authority. Send no money. Pay the postman only $1.97 when the two books arrlre. ViVALORE PUB. CO., ST. PAUL, MINN. Dept. $7-B i SOUL TRYING AnACKS , Mrs. WatkinsJVrk.. writes: ' Ibavebeen enfferingfor^ years and sincelbave been taking your treatment haven't bad one.” matter what medicine you have oaed you owe Ii yonrsdf to try my treatment. Tablet form. Pleas* ant to take. Write t^ay for FREE tri^ treatment. , Arpen Laboratories, ^°aL^in?E*g'a;£‘ | BE A. rapid- fire TRICK CARTOONIST $1 BUTS COMPLETE COURSE, including 40 Cleyer Cartoon Stunti: “How to OiTO a Performance”; ”Bow to Originata Ideas.” Samples, 15c. MODERN CARTOON SERVICE, Dept. B« 290 Bergen St. Brooklyn, N. V. POSTALS 20 samples, 25c; 10 bold to mirror, 26c ; 10 transparents. 26c : 6 bathers, 26c ; all, 76c. Photos. Set of 20, $1.00 ; 4 samples. 26c. CKNTRAI, NOVBI-TT CO. 112 N. LaSalle St., Chicago, lU. CflNFPSSinNS » Youne Girl. 60c: Tempta- books. $1.00. American Sales Co„ Dept. 112, Springfield. IH. “HnCrAmfi’Q STORIKS" (in two volumes)— DUt/WAVViflO a Both hooks only 50c. Order to- day. American Sales COo Dept. 112, Springfield,

Page 140

714 WEIRD TALES You Will Enjoy Our Anniversary Number This monster edition ol WEIRD TALES consists of three issues combined into one — namely, the May, June and July numbers of 1924. You can’t go wrong by ordering a copy as it contains some of the very best tales that we have published. IP your appetite craves stories of the supernatural with well- balanced thrills — hair-exercising tales that stir the sterner emotions — ^you will be well fed by reading this issue. It offers a pleasurable excursion from the land of real- ism. WE are filling a great number of orders for this gigantic sized wonder book every day and it won’t be long before we shall be out of copies. Mail your order in to us today before it is too late. Price 60c. WEIRD TALES Daft W-7, 408 HoDidar BMg. hditaapoKt, hd. A Baby In Your Home Thousands of copies of a new book by Dr. H. Will Blders are being: distributed to women without cost. Every woman who wants children should read this book and learn all about STERILTONE and its wonderful effect In constitutional weakness. Many things are un- folded that the average woman has never been told ^fore. For Free Book send NO Money. NO Obligations, simply name and address to Dr. H. Will Elders, 2034 Ballinger Bldg., St. Jo- seph, Mo. “BOOKS FOR MEN” RARE AND CURIOUS NOVELTIES Send lOc for Big: 1925 Catalog. American Sales Co.> Dept. ll!2a Springfield, HI. on tho down grade if you lack pep, etrength, courage, ambition. Try Castleberr3r*8 Morning Glory Special Tablets, the wonder of tho age. Mailed $1.00 for 10 days* treatment. SAMPIilS and wonderful testlmionials FRKES. At CASTI«EBKRRT» Dept. Columbos* Ga. ness and death, brought back to earth, to a world where, toward the end, her frail body had been so racked with pain, her poor little brain so dis- traught by the dread of the hypo- dermic needle which I had learned to look upon as a nepenthic solace for which one might almost willingly die. And to be brought back in that ap- palling foiTO ! Thank God ! She was now as good as in her resting grave; today she wovld be laid in it ; and her sorrowing parents would pray for the repose of the soul of the little one whose death — though they probably would never realize it — was at least partly traceable to their own mis- guided but well-meant efforts to “be good to her.” VOICES outside my door. I turned ovei^on my back and, with con- siderable effort, raised my head from the pillow, the better to catch the words. Not the children in the ward talking together — ^itwas Viola’s voice, and then, in vehement response, that of Jennings, the porter. Every word they uttered seemed to be burning into my very brain ! “But, I tell you, it’s impossible. There isn’t a child in the whole ward who has strength enough to stand alone at present, let alone walk about. Not one of them could leave her bed without assistance. And you surely don’t think that Miss Murray goes about her night work in her bare feet, I hope?” “I don’t think anything so silly,” I heard the porter respond, “and I tell you again they was smeiU foot- prints— a little one’s tracks. Mebbe one o’ the little boys could ’a’ come upstairs. Mebbe one o’ your little girls walked down in her sleep, spite o’ what you say. Whoever ’t was, the tracks went both ways, and showed up plain on my clean steps. I shined ’em up pretty, Avith the oil- mop, ’bout 1 o’clock this morning, same as I always do. Miss Murray’s

Page 141

WEIRD TALES 715 felt slippers don’t track np my clean floors. “Well, I wiped the stairs off again, while you was down in the kitchen a while ago. If you didn’t have so many rugs scattered around this floor, I betcha you could tell which cot the tracks led to. An’ I betcha ’t was the little Ryan girl; Miss Rich- ards told me she’s always wantin’ to get up an’ go downstairs to talk to her big brother. This typhoid’s the craziest disease I -ever heard of. It gets ’em aU, old and young, and makes ’em all siUy in the head. I betcha ’t was the little Ryan girl.” Their voices died out as they walked across the ward. I dropped my head back on the pillow. A thought that was almost unthinkable was creeping into my brain, chilling my heart, withering my soul. For I was certain that if Jennings really had seen the prints of a child’s feet on the stairs, I knew only too well whose tracks they were! And they were not those of the little Ryan girl — ^though perhaps they might, some morning, be traced to her bed! Slowly my right hand crept up to feel at my throat. With my left, I reached out for the electric push- button. I wanted to ask Viola . . . to bring me a mirror. NEXT MONTH ANOTHER EERY STORY from the pen of H. G. Wells The VALLEY of SPIDERS In the December Issue On Sale November First ^97c A LL around voo dieK u health, wealth and happmea^ joy in love.tngaaMa.inbusinen. Gtfjmr $han Let die eooflned force o| the maftc ivtnbol Luckodemut bnng hj^ptncaa to you. Wear tht* beautiful oiadtaed Mvar charoMoin on chain, rfobon, Mi. or m pocket or purae. Send no oaonev -p potCman oniy 97e when he oefivi eaded pocket of fomoua com with nod kick and «vuh(ng rulet hv oudedfrec. Don’t wait! Addr^'^ LOCKODEMUS CO. 696AKade Bldg^ Coimabo^ Ohio CEXTH A SBTBNTH Bchoks of Moses (Magical ^ Spirit Art) 76c. Albertus Magnus (Egyptian Secrets) 75c. Both books only $1.00. Cash with order. • Amexican Sales Co.> Dept. Springfield, 111* **ExpcriencM of Betty Gootetoo in the Apple SPICY— HUMOROUS— DEEPLY INTERESTING and yet REALIS- TIC* Wonderful book Blustrated* Price, $1.00 Stan^x, money order,^eck or cask Sent in plain ooveri Tbia advertise* ment concerns adults onlyi PARIS PUBLISHING CO. Pe O. Box 131-S UUcsie N. Y« FRENCH CLASSICS! (Printed in Snerlish.) Complete set of 5 vol- umes, no two alike, only $1.00. Rush your order. AmftriivMi Sales D^t. 112, Sprinsfleld. HI. GIRL PHOTOS UnlQue. novel and decidedly different. Very best Quality, clear euid distinct. Post card size. Every pose a vision, every vision a perfect dream. 4 samples 25c, 18 for $1, 40 for $2.00. all different. Be sure and write today, money order or currency, no stampa CUSTER DEV. & PTO. CO., 3815 Diversey Aye.. Chicago. HI. DARING FRENCH FICTION ••Mile. Plfl,” "Balzac’s Short Stories," "Camille,” "Her First Sin,” “Woman’s Temptation," "Pas- Bion.” 50c each or all 6 $2. MATJPIN PRO- DUCTIONS, Desk W, KOLIA, MO. “WBAT EVERY filRL SBODID KNOW” Before and After Marriasre Mrs, Margaret Saorer’s Famous Book for Woni. en, only 25c. Ameiicam Sales Co., Benk 112. Springfield, Bl. 32 IMPORTBD FBKNCH BATHINO OHULS— Most Daring and Beautiful PrOSes, and lUuM trated lists of Parts Oirl Art studlesyi 260. (Sealed). GIRARD NOVKI/Tir Oo., S22ii tucket, R. L

Page 142

716 WEIRD TALES Run for it Boyl This Is Your Opportunity to Get a Copy of Our Mammoth Anni- versary Number 3 IN 1 OUR May, June and July num- bers of 1924 were combined into one big issue. The stories in this over-size edition are full of breath - taking adventures, and eery crime — woven in a masterly fashion by the authors. They are extraordinary, unusual, imagina- tive tales of stai;k terror and shud- dering horror. Your Ufe is not complete un- til you have read this issue. We are selling a good number of these every day and the supply will soon be exhausted. Send your order in today before it is too late. Price 50c. WEIRD TALES Dept. T-8, 408 Holliday Bldg. Indianapolia, hd. RARE BOOKS MenandaOirbSOc. "MademoiseUe Fifi,” 60c. All three books, $1.00. r American Seles Co., Dept, 112, SptlngSeld, ni. The Young King ^(Continued from page 696) thrust their halberts out and said: “What dost thou seek here? None enters by this door but the king.” And his face flushed with anger, and he said to them: “I am the king,” and waved their halberts aside and passed in. And when the old bishop saw him coming in his goatherd’s dress, he rose up in wonder from his throne, and went to meet him, and said to him: “My son, is this a king’s apparel? And with what crown shall I crown thee, and what scepter shall I place in thy hand? Surely this should be to thee a day of joy, and not a day of abasement.” “Shall Joy wear what Grief has fashioned?” said the young king. And he told him his three dreams. And when the bishop had heard them he knit his brows, and said: “My son, I am an old man, and in the winter of my days, and I know that many evil things are done in the wide world. The fleree robbers come down from the mountains, and carry off the little children, and sell them to the Moors, The lions lie in wait for the caravans, and leap upon the camels. The wild boair roots up the corn in the valley, and the foxes gnaw the vines upon the hill. The pirates lay waste the sea-coast and burn the ships of the flshermen, and take their nets from them. In the salt-marshes live the lepers; they have houses of wattled reeds, and none may come nigh them. The beggars wander through the cities, and eat their food with the dogs. Canst thou make these things not to be ? Wilt thou take the leper for thy bedfellow, and set the beggar at thy board? Shall the lion do thy bidding, and the wild boar obey thee? Is not He who made misery wiser than thou art? Where- 1 fore I praise thee not for this that

Page 143

WEIRD TALES 7i7i thou hast done, but I bid thee ride back to the palace and make thy face glad, and put on the raiment that be- seemeth a king, and with the crown of gold I will crown thee, and the scepter of pearl will I place in thy hand. And as for thy dreams, think no more of them. The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the world’s sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer.” “Sayest thou that in this house?’’’ said the young king, and he strode past the bishop, and climbed up the steps of the altar, and stood before the image of Christ. He stood before the image of Christ, and on his right hand and on his left were the marvelous vessels of gold, the chalice with the yellow wine, and the vial with the holy oil. He knelt before the image of Christ, and the great candles burned brightly by the jeweled shrine, and the smoke of the incense curled in thin blue wreaths through the dome. He bowed his head in prayer, and the priests in their stiff copes crept away from the altar. And suddenly a wild tumult came from the street outside, and in en- LUCK All krouBd you there te abundant Succeaa. Wealth and Happinesa, Get Your Share. The '•LUCKY SEVEN” Secret Rules are free to all who wear this Bare and beauti- ful Talisman Ring. On each stda of this Odd and Charming Ring is moulded the figure of Fortune — The "Goddess of Luck”. Ancient belief, that her emblem bringsluck and success to wearer in Love, Games. Business, Health and everything. Genuine 14-K Antique Gold S. Ring, mounted with one carat Blazing Blue White Mezican Im. Diamond. Guaran- teed 20 years. Send strip of paper to show finger size and we will send you this wonderful ring. When it arrives pay the postman only $3.96. Nothing more to Say. Yours to keep, wear and enjoy forever. Wear 7 ays— follow tha 7 rules that we send you. If not sat- isfied your money quieldy returned. Address Badls-fltth Ditimsd Isiportisg Co,, $i, Fasl, Mins. Dtp). 37-L JUST OUT!! My latest and largest illustrated cata- logue of Novelties, Books and Entertain- ment. The kind you like. Sent with a very “Frenohy" novelty. RUTH’S NOVELTY SHOPFB Dept. C2-10 P. O. Box 202 Morris, Illinois ASTROLOGY Visualize What Your Future Holda Send birth- date and sliver quarter to LIFEGUARD, Box 963, Huron, S. D., and get FREE CHARM and Revelations. There Is Courage and Consolation for you. I AVR I UTTUDC How To Write Them, 60o. How LOTCLCi ICivS To Make Love, BOa Both books $1.00. American Sales Co., Dept. 112, Spring- field, Ul. Imported French Girl Photos FRENCH OIRL DANCERS— Posed by the most Famous Daring French Girl Dancera Classy postcards, imported from France. A set of 10 for $1.00 postpaid, sealed. Order a set today. Don’t delay, as our supply is limited. FRENCH FLLMARTS, GIRL PHOTOS — These photos were posed by some of the most beautiful, charming and attractive French girla The Dressing Room Scene. A Bathing Beach Scene, A Telephone Scene, etc. Classy brown finish photos that make each pose look life- like. This set Is sure to please you. 10 for $1.00, postpaid, sealed. ART STUDIES OF ’THE WORLD’S MOST FAMOUS SCULPTURES— Wonderful female figures of world famous models. High grade post cards, imported from France. No art lover should be without a set of these splendid photoa 10 tor $1.00 or 25 for $2.10, post- paid. sealed. FRENCH OIRL PHOTOS— Posed by the most beautiful living French girl models with wonderful astonishing forms. High grade post cards that look life-like. Imported from France. 10 for $1.00, postpaid, sealed. FREINCH LOVERS PHOTOS. REAL LIFE PHOTOS — Posed by the most beautiful French girls and handsome fellows in romantic, kissing, hugging and teasing poses, showing the art of French lovemaking. High grade color tinted post cards that look life-like. Imported from France. 10 for $1.00, postpaid, sealed. MISS LOLA! THE BARE DANCER — For gentlemen only. If you want to enjoy some fun — get Miss Lola— Bhe Knocks 'em Dead. 25c coin, postpaid, sealed. You get $5.00 worth of fun for 25c. SEND TOUR ORDER FOR SOME OF OUR IMPORTED PHOTOS TODAY- And you’ll want more. All goods sent postpaid, sealed. No free samplea No stamps in remittance accepted. No O. O. D. Cash with order only. Special Offer! All the above 5 sets of cards for $4.00. Address all orders to: CARR’S NOVELTY HOUSE Box 178 Dept. WT-N New Haven, Conn.

Page 144

718 WEIRD TALES Classified Advertisements Agents Wanted AGENTS — QriCK SATES, BIG PROFITS, outfit free. Cash or credit. Sales in every home for our high class line of Pure Food Products* Soaps* Perfumes, Toilet Articles, etc. Write today for money-making plans. Amer- ican Products Co., 4079 American Bldg., Cin- cinnati* Ohio. Authors-Manuscripts SHORT STORIES, ETC., TYPEWRITTEN IN proper form and marketed. Hursh Service* Box 1013* Harrisburg* Penna. MANUSCRIPTS PRBPARED FOR THE CRTH- cal eye of the editor; reasonable; write for particulars. Eugene S. Higgins* Author's Rep- resentative* Gaithersburg* Maryland. STORIES, POEMS, DESCRIPTIVE ARTICLES, plays, etc., are wanted for publication. Submit Mss. or write Literary Bureau, 552* Hannibal, Mo. Music-Lovers TWO EXCJETTENT NIJSIBERS “TOVELIGHT” and "When Your Pal's Away” for 26o. Dundurn Music Publishers. 4713 N. Hermitage Aye., Chicago. Personal l.ONETY LITTLE WIDOW, TIRED OF Liv- ing alone; very wealthy. 1 dare YOU write! M. U. Club, Bos 306, (26), San Francisco, C^lf. "FIND TOIJB SWEETHEART. INTRODDC- tions coniidential, vast membership. Write Em- ma Franz, 949 Montana St., Chicago.” GET ACQUAINTED. EXCHANGE IJETTER8. Write enclosing stamp. Violet Ray, Dennison, Ohio. ’ MARRY IF LONELY. JOIN "THE SDO- cessful Correspondence Club." Reliable. Do- ecriptions free. Box 666, Oakland, Cal. MARRY: MANY RICH: PARTICULARS FOR stamp. F. Morrison; H-3063 W. Holden St, Seattle, Wash. MARRY— FREE PHOTOGRAPHS, DIRECTORY and descriptions of wealthy members. Pay when married. New Plan Co., Dept. 96, Kan- sas City, Mo. ANYONE DESIRING A WEALTHY SWBET- heart is Invited to write me. Leola Lighthall, Box 160-Q, San Francisco. BIARRY — MARRIAGE DIRECTORY WITH photos and description free. Pay when mar- Tied. The Exchange, Dept. 141, Kansas City, Mo Personal (Continued) MARRY— JOIN THE HIGH CLASS SELECT Club, many wealthy honorable refined mem- bers everywhere. Confidential, reliable, long established. People's Correspondence Club* Box 94* Los Angeles* Calif. LONESOME? MANY WORTH $1,000 TO $50,- 000. Information free. Golden West Corre- sponding Club, Box 947* San Francisco, Calif. (Stamp.) MATRIMONIAL MAGAZINE— PHOTOS, DB- scr’ptions; many wealthy, matrimonially in- clined; mailed free. Cupid’s Columns, St. Paul* Minn. LONESOME ONES JOIN A CONFIDENTIAL select club. Write today for information. Vem C. Baker, El Dorado* Ohio. LONESOME! JOES OUR CLUB. CONFTDBN- tial introductions to members eversrwhere. Eva Burchard. Box 75* Portland, Oregon. ANYONE DESIRING MARRIAGE, PLEASE write K. Chambers, Beulah, Manitoba* Canada. Miscellaneous RADIO TUBES (NEW) ALL TYPES Jl.SO each. Written Guarantee With Each Tube. RADIO TUBE MFG. CO., Dept. 13, 164 Nas- sau St., New York. NUOIBEBSCOPE FROM BIRTHDATE, BIRTH- name, marriage name and one question $2.00. With photo $3.00, each extra question 26o. Venice O. Angus-Harris, Randsburg, Calif. HOROSCOPES AND HEALTH READINGS. For information write to H. L. Cornell, M. D., D. A, 3108 Humboldt St., Los Angeles. Calif. BOOKS ON PSYCHOLOGY, OCCULTISM, Dreams, Mysticism and Allied Subjects. Write Sherby Co., 5612 So. Marshfield Ave., Chicago. I WRITE 60 VISITING CARDS FOR ONE dollar. Sample free. Address: A. T. Soder- strom, 337 E. 4th Street, Los Angeles. Calif. I WANT SONG - POEMS. CASPER NATHAN, E-3544 North Racine, Chicago. 2 NEW DARING BOOKS ON SEX, LOVE, marriage, birth control, etc., illustrated; 128 pages; sex secrets for adults; both 25c. V. Smetana Company, Owosso, Michigan. GIRL PHOTO, S OF PRIVATE PARTY, 10— $1, 26 — $2, 50 (extra fine) $5. Sent sealed, plain. Mention preferences. Box 301-C, Elyria, Ohio. DARING GIRL PHOTOS (EWPORTED). 20— $1.00; 60 — $2.00. National Exchange, Y-668 Mil- waukee Avenue, Chicago. FITS Amazing discovery. Stops Epileptic attacks at once. NO B R O M I D E S — NO LIQUID 3tBDlCINE. Re- sults guaranteed or treatment costs nothing. Write at once. Sent in plain wrapper. EPI- I^PJ^SON CO., 1157 Linden Aye., Dept. 1103, Brooklyn, N. Y« BLOOD DISEASES— No Matter How Bad or Old the Case or What’s the Cause send for FREE Booklet about Dr. Panter’s Treatment used successfully for over 26 years in the most se- vere and chronic cases. Write now. Dr, Panter. 179 W. Washin^on St., Room 440, Chicago.

Page 145

tcred the nobles with drawn swords and nodding plumes, and shields of polished steel. “Where is this dreamer of dreams?” they cried. “ Wliere is this king, who is appareled like a beggar — this boy who brings shame upon our state? Surely we will slay him, for he is unworthy to rule over us.” And the young king bowed his head again, and prayed, and when he had finished his prayer he rose up, and turning round looked at them sadly. And lo! through the painted win- dows came the sunlight streaming upon him, and the sunbeams wove round him a tissued robe that was fairer than the robe that had been fashioned for his pleasure. The dead staff blossomed, and bare litics that were whiter than pearls. The dry thorn blossomed, and bare roses that were redder than rubies. Whiter than fine pearls were the lilies, and their stems were of bright silver. Redder than rubifes were the roses, and their leaves were of beaten gold. He stood there in the raiment of a king, and the gates of the jeweled shrine flew open, and from the crys- tal of the many-rayed monstrance shone a marvelous and mystical light. He stood there in a king’s raiment, and the glory of God filled the place, and the saints in their carven niches seemed to move. In the fair raiment of a king he stood before them, and the organ pealed out its music, and the trumpeters blew upon their trum- pets, and the singing boys sang. And the people fell upon their knees in awe, and the nobles sheathed their swords and did homage, and the bishop ’s face grew pale, and his hands trembled. “A greater than I hath crowned thee,” he cried, and he knelt before him. And the young king came down from the high altar, and passed home through the midst of the people. But no man dared look upon his face, for it was like the face of an angel. Does a Petting P^ty sloP Ckiss or does »l go further? Ms spooning dangerous? At iastthe question is answered, See**Sa/e Counsel "FagelPP, Are You AfrsiM To liovel Has true love come into your life — or didn’t you rec- ognize it when it came? Are you afraid now of the baffling, perplexing mysteries of sex relationship? Are you A scontented with the stupid lies and furtive ashamed answers the world gives you in place of the naked, fearless truth you desire? Do you want some safe, sane, unasham^ advice on sex questions? Do you hesitate asking your doctor certain ques- tions? Clip coupon below, send it today without any money and in a few days you will receive the mo^t startling surprise of your life. Sex Secrets At last a book has been published that dira into sex matters without fear or beating around the bush. This startling 512* page book, “SafeCounsel,”written by Prof. B.G.Jafferies,M.D., Ph. D., and Prof. J. L. Nichols, A. M., contains just the informa- tion you want. You will be amazed at its frankness. Words are not minced. “Polite” phrases are forgotten— the right word is used in the right place. "SafeCounsd” contains ninestartling sections: I. The Science of Eugenics; 11. Love; III. Marriage; IV. Childbirth; V. Family Life; W. Se;mal Science; VII. D’seases and Disorders; VIII. Principlesof Health and Hygiene; IX. The Story of Life. Truth at last Here are just a few of the subjects discussed; Anatonw of sex organs, Ih-wate words to maidens. Mistakes to avoid. Signs of excesses.Lawof Mutual Attraction. Answers to sex questions. Controlling your impulses. Spooning, Laws of Sex-Life, Se- cretsof aHappy Marriage. Prostitution.Rejuvenation, Advice to Newly Married, What men love in women, and scores of intimate subjects. Nothing withheld. Youoweittoyourself.to your happiness, and your health to read this wonderful book. Send No Money "^simply mail the coupen Just clip the coupon. Sand it in today. No money is required, n a few days when the postman brings you “Safe Counsel,” (in a plain wrapper) you can pay him $1.98 and postage. If you are not thorou^y satisfied after examination, return the book and we will refund your money. IHaii the Coupon NOW FRANKUN ASSOCIATION 186 N. LaSaUe St., Dept. 8605, Chicago, DI. Please send me your amasinff 612>p<^ book. **Safe Counsel,'* in aplain wrapper marked ''Personal?* 1 will pay the postman $1.98 plus post” upon arrival. If I'm not sa^fied TU return the book witnin 6 day* and you are to refund my money. Name ... Street or R. F. D dty •••ASMMte.M.SSMS.,*,, (Price outside of U* State cash witb order)

Page 146

■ I III I III III |i I'lm A $12,000 A Year! A. H. Ward, rhicaco* held a small par job* Xow a>erai;es$)2* INK) a year as a sales* man. Last month be cleaned up $1,360— and he stepp^ into this kind of earninfft as a result of readine this book. $1,000 ifl 30 Days "After 10 years in the railway mail service I decided to make a chance. Ky earolnini during the past thirty days were more than $1,000."-— W. Hartitt. Chi- cago. lU. First Month $1,100 "The veiy first month I earned $I.0UU. 1 was formerly a farm- hand." — Charies Berry. Wintersst. Iowa. Marc Than $10,000 "Tonr training has •naUed me to learn mors, earn more and be more. 1 am now president of a national organiia* tion, and my earn- ings for 1935 wiU sa^ly exceed the five figure mark. Charles T . Champion City Satesnan *‘l want to tell you that the K- S. T. A. helped me to a gvxxl telling position witli the Shaw- Walker Com- pany,"—Witt.W. Johnstone. Jr. S. Minneaperfis, Mina. $S54.37 la Oae Week "Last week my earnings amouut- sd to VM.tli this week will go over $400."— F. Wynn, Portland* Or#. $10,080 fi Year 0. II. Halfrooti of Boston. Mass., stepped into a $10,000 position as a SALES MANAGER — so thorough to this training. JMJbr TbeseSMdii It would be just as easy to tell the same story about thousands of men but what this book brought these eight men is typical. If you do not get a big salary increase after reading this message you have no one but yourself to blame. This amazing book i» NmmsE IT seems such a simple thing — but the eight men on this page who did this simple thing were shown the way to quickly jump from deadly, monotonous routine work and miserable earnings to incomes running anywhere from $5,000 to $10,000 a year. They sent for the book, “Modern Salesman- ship,” that you can now get — free. Possibly it is just as hard for yon at this moment to see quick success ahead as it was for A. H. Ward of Chicago. When he was a soldier in France, wondering how he would make a living if he got back home safely, $10,000 a year seemed a million miles away. But read what happened after he had read the book we want you to send for. Almost overnight, as far a.s time is concerned, he was making real money. In one year he made $12,000. There is nothing unusual about Mr. Ward, or about his success. Thousands after readiny this book have duplicated what he did — ^Mr. Ward was simply willing to in- vestigate. The only question is — do you want to increase your earning power? If so — ^this book will quick- ly show you how to do it in an amazingly easy way. SUCCESS INSII® TWENTY WEEKS Within twenty weeks you can be ready to forge ahead. This may sound remarkable — ^but after seven- teen years of intensive investigation the National Demonstration Method has been perfected — and this means you can now step into a selling position in one-fourth the time it formerly took to prepare for this greatest of all money-making pro- fessions. SIMPLE AS A B C There is nothing resnarkaUe about the success that men enjoy shortly after they take up this result-secuiv ing system of Salesmanship train- ing. For there are certain ways to approach different types of pro^ pects, certain ways to stimulate keen interest — certain ways to overt come objections, batter down preju- dice, outwit competition and m^e the prospect act. Learn these secrets and brilliant success awaits you in the selling field. MAKE THIS FREE TEST AT ONCE Simply send the coupon for this Free Book. Ask yourself the ques- tions it contains. The answers you make will show you definitdy whether a big success awaits you in this fascinating field. Then the road J? This amazing book will be a revelation to you. National Salesmen'sTraining Association D^. S-109, N. S.T. A. Baildiss, CliicKtSiBt NalioBai SaUsmea's Trsimsg AsMcistioo D«tl. S-109, N. S.T. A. BaUdiBS Chicago, lit Gentlemen: I will accept a copy ot "Modem Salesmanship" with the understanding that it is sent me free. Name Address City State . Age — — Oecopatioa.

Page 147

a Stiidebaker direct fim ffieWaker” F'R'FFf WATCH r £vnx:«« CHAIN For a limited time we are offering a beaatiful Watch Chain rHEE. Write now while offer lasts. Write for special folder skow» ing Ladies’ Bracelet Watches in newest designs and shapes. Just $1.00! The balance in easy monthly payments. You get the famous Studebaker, 21 Jewel Watch — Insured for a lifetime — direct from the maker at lowest prices ever named on equal quality. Send at once for FREE Book of advance Watch Styles. _ il Jewel Studebaker -the Insured Watch Choice of 54 latest, thin model. Art Beauty Cases in yellow gold, green gold of white gold effects; 8 adjustments, including heat, cold, isochronism and 5 positions. Direct to you from the factory— the greatest watcH value in America today I -friv* Send at once and get a copy of this book— wnte jor oryie DOOKI freEI seethe newest, beautiful, advance styles in Studebaker Art Beauty Cases and Dials. Read how you can buy a 21 Jewel Studebaker Insured Watch direct from the maker— save big money— ana pay for it while you are using it. Write for our Free Book. It will post you on watch styles and watch values. Send coupon at once. Get Free Chain offer today while it lasts, STUDEBAKER WATCH CO. Dept. P-200 South Bend, Indiana Canadian Address: Windsor, Ontario Tfail Coupon for free Book STUDEBAKER WATCH CO. T Dept. P-200 South Bend, Indiana I Please send me your Free Book of Advance Watch I Styles and particulars of your $1.00 down offer. ! If you live in Canada send your irmuiry I to OUT Canadian office: Windsor, Ontario, I Name. Address,. ..State,,

Page 148

LOVERS of Mystery Fiction Will Have to Hurry if They Want to Take Advantage of This Amaz- ing Offer Here They Are 1 Crimson Poppies — Dr. Howes evolves a fiendish plot to in- herit the wealth of a lunatic millionaire. 2 Buff — A cub reporter and a death mystery — a story that works up to a crashing: climax. 3 The Triangle of Terror — A Gooseflesh story that will send the cold shivers up your spine. 4 The Valley of Missing Men — Read how Parkinson discov- ered this baffling mystery — a story pulsating with hair- raising incidents. 5 The Sign of the Toad — An eery detective story, full of exciting situations and mys- terious deaths. 6 The Mystery at Bagle Lodge — Soul-gripping, fascin a t i n g, tense, full of action — You will move in the land of make-be- lieve with a touch of the un- real. 7 The Web— This tale threads the sinister net that was torn asunder by the murder of James Blake. 8 The Glass Kye — The convict worked out a clever and dia- bolical scheme, but a dead man's eye betrayed him. 9 Ten Dangerous Hours — Bris- tling with excitement and full of surprizes — a remarkable story with thrills galore. 10 Disappearing Bullets — Cram- med with blood-curdling ac- tion and strange happenings in the underworld — master- mind crooks and criminals. 11 The Green-Eyed Monster — A thrilling book, replete with startling climaxes and bris- tling with action. 12 Derring-Do — A vivid tale of Chinamen, opium traffic, the secret service, and desperate fighting. 12 MYSTERY ADVENTURE DETECTIVE BOOKS for All JUST think, you can get this whole library of 12 clean and wholesome books for about 8 l/3c each. Every one of these splendid books has a striking cover in colors on enamel stock, and the inside is printed on good white paper. You are cheat- ing yourself if you miss these masterpieces of startling, scalp- prickling thrills. These novels, ranging from 15,000 to 25,000 words in length, are powerfully written and will hold you spell- bound— make you breathe fast with a new mental sensation. They are not the usual run of stories, but are off the beaten path — uncommon tales that will cling to your memory for many a day. SUPPLY NEAR EXHAUSTION This offer may be withdrawn at any time. Treat yourself to some real entertainment while you still have the chance. Send for these books today. Do it now! Just pin a dollar bill to the coupon. POPULAR FICTION PUBLISHING COMPANY Dept. W-ll, Ohio and Alabama Sts., Indianapolis, Ind. MAIL THIS TODAY POPULAR FICTION PUB. CO., Dept. W-ll Ohio and Alabama Sts., Indianapolis, Ind. I enclose $1. Send at once, postage pre- paid, the 12 volumes listed in this adver- tisement. It is understood this $1 is pay- ment in full. Name- Address- City -State-