Astounding Stories of Super-Science 16

Astounding Stories of Super-Science 16

"Remember!" he hissed, "if these deaths are traced to us, you break

down--you confess--you take the blame--you paint me lily white--you

describe the cowardly means by which you moulded me to your will--you

plead only for a quick trial and the full penalty of the law. You

understand?"

 

Quest made no reply, but he understood all too well the hideous

intention of his betrayer. What a fool he had been to imagine that Keane

Clason would ever restore him to his body! Philip to the chair, Quest a

homeless spirit wandering in space, and for the body at the bottom of

the tank, the brief regrets of the Department!

 

* * * * *

 

A sudden rushing sound filled the air with a sense of action and alarm.

 

Two--three--four speeding automobiles swung in recklessly to the curb

and shrieked to a standstill under smoking brakes. Men leaped out and

deployed on the run to surround the factory. Keane darted to the door

and twisted the key.

 

"Come on!" he spat at Philip as he snatched back the rug and threw open

the trap door.

 

The command galvanized Quest to action. In two bounds he had Philip on

the stairs. A heavy impact rattled the office door just as he dropped

the trap into place over his head. Then, infected with Keane's panic, he

was running down the passageway like mad.

 

Inside the tank chamber the brilliantly colored rings of liquid flashed

back the rays of the arclight. Half crazed with anxiety, Keane danced on

the black ledge like a monkey on a griddle. His face was ashen, drool

ran from his twisted mouth, his eyes were two black pools of terror.

 

Again Quest experienced the peculiar sensation which came with the

slackening of control. New hope sprang up in his agonized being as heavy

blows boomed against the air-locked door. Great waves of fear poured

along the conduits, betraying to the Agent the state of mind of his

Control. Now what would Keane do? What could he do? Why, of all places,

had he fled down into this blind burrow?

 

Thud, thud! Then came a series of sharp reports. Outside, they were

trying to shoot away the deep-sunk disk hinges.

 

Still the door stood fast, but the fury of the assault on it whipped the

faltering Keane to action. In a bound he was on the platform. With a

lightning hand he threw the switch to plus, starting electrolytic action

in the tank. Then he pressed a button concealed under the edge of the

switch-mount and a panel slid silently aside in the wall, revealing a

narrow outlet.

 

* * * * *

 

To Quest everything went a flaming red. He might have known that this

fox would have something in reserve--a way of escape when danger

threatened!

 

But his Control gave him no time for independent thought. He forced

Quest to turn Philip's eyes up to his own. Without disconnecting that

grip of his glittering eyes, Keane leaped back to the ledge. Quest felt

the silent order:

 

"Get up on that plank! Dive into the tank! Get back into your own body,

let Philip have his! Then come up--the two of you--and face the music.

For I'll be gone, and your story will sound like the ravings of a

maniac."

 

Quest took an obedient step toward the platform. But at the same instant

a tremendous crash shivered the door. It seemed to unnerve Keane Clason.

With a gasp he sank down upon the steps, his body doubled in pain, his

hand clutching at his heart. Another crash followed, and he shuddered

and cried out.

 

Instantly Quest felt an expansion of the will. Keane's sudden physical

weakness had loosened his control. Philip's lips worked painfully as

Quest forced him to pause, to disobey the command of the Master Will. In

a spasm of will he fought to wrench himself free from the countless

clinging tentacles of his Control. In great surges, Quest's reviving

volition pounded against the walls of his borrowed body. Now he sought

to force this sluggish body back to the wall, so that he might release

the airlock and spring the door. But Philip seemed to ossify, every cord

and muscle of his body frozen to stone by the conflict that raged within

him.

 

Braced against the wall, Keane was rising slowly to his feet. His

seizure was easing, and so he was able to exert a better pressure upon

his rebellious Agent.

 

"Come!" he gasped, realizing that he lacked the strength to escape alone

and must therefore change his plan. "Lift me--quick! Carry me out! Slide

the panel back into place. We will escape together!"

 

* * * * *

 

The spoken command turned the balance against Quest. His will yielded to

the master. At the same instant Philip's body relaxed like an object

relieved of a great excess of electrical potential. Suddenly strong and

supple, he lifted the trembling Keane and tossed him across his

shoulder.

 

For a moment there had been a lull in the assault on the door. Now the

battering resumed with a fury that jarred the whole chamber and sent

ripples dancing across the varicolored liquids in the osmotic tank.

 

"Quick!" gasped Keane. "Move! I say. Carry me out."

 

But he was in a fainting condition. Crash after crash rocked the

chamber, and with every blow Quest's will felt a stimulation that

enabled him to stand off the commands of his Control. Then a wave of

nausea swept over him and left him reeling. It seemed that Philip's

blood had turned to boiling oil. A dazzling mist swallowed him up, and

with a weird sense of inflation he felt full strength returning to his

will.

 

A booming blow that bulged the door inward acted upon him like a stage

player's cue. He leaped to the platform. The gurgling sound of

remonstrance rattled from Keane's throat. But Quest paid no heed. Philip

was walking the plank--away from the open panel--out over the tank.

 

Rapidly he dropped down the ladder to the bottom rung, snatched Keane's

wrist in a gorillalike grip, and hurled him down into the vat.

 

Then Philip was clinging desperately to the ladder, his strength gone,

his body shivering as if with ague.

 

"Go on up!" came a strange, impatient voice from below him. "For

heaven's sake let me out of here!"

 

* * * * *

 

A downward glance, and with a shout of alarm Philip was scrambling up

the ladder, for there was a head down there, and a pair of naked

shoulders, and the face of a man he had never seen before. Hand over

hand Quest followed. Philip had collapsed and lay prone on the plank.

Quest lifted him to his feet and shook him anxiously.

 

"Philip!" he urged. "Philip! Can you walk?"

 

The tattoo on the battered door helped to revive the older man.

 

"Quick!" whispered Quest, kneading Philip's arms. "There's barely an

hour left. Get to your office. Burn the papers. Refuse the money. Do you

hear me?"

 

Philip nodded dazedly.

 

"Hurry!" puffed Quest, thrusting him through the opening that Keane had

reserved for his own escape, and sliding the panel back into place.

 

Quest was himself now--young, strong, free. Instantly he threw the

electrolytic switch to minus. For Keane had failed to emerge from the

tank, and since he was submerged alone, he could not escape until

electrolysis was halted.

 

Just as Quest leaped from the platform to release the airlock, the door

burst in and three men with drawn guns rushed into the chamber.

 

The leader stopped with a startled oath and stood blinking his

unbelieving eyes. Quest was poised like a statue, his naked body

gleaming an unearthly white against the lusterless black of the wall.

 

"Quest," came from the three in chorus. Then a rush of questions:

"What's the matter? What's happened to you? Where are the Clasons?"

 

Quest turned toward the platform, expecting to see Keane.

 

"Something's wrong!" he shouted. "Quick! Somebody get Philip. He's gone

to his Loop office. Keane Clason's at the bottom of this tank. I'm not

sure how this thing works, but Philip can get him out! I'm sure of it!"

 

* * * * *

 

Despite the confident predictions of both Quest and Philip Clason,

osmotic association failed to restore Keane to life, and at last the

coroner ordered the removal of the body. The autopsy revealed heart

disease as the cause of his death.

 

For reasons best understood at Washington, the cause of the five launch

deaths was withheld from the public. Quest's punishment for his part in

the crime consisted of a promotion and a warm personal letter from the

President of the United States.

 

 

 

 

Compensation

 

By C. V. Tench

 

[Illustration: _Good God! Was I going mad? Surely this was some awful

nightmare!_]

 

[Sidenote: Professor Wroxton had disappeared--but in the bottom of the

mysterious crystal cage lay the diamond from his ring.]

 

 

"Why, John!" Involuntarily I halted at the entrance to my snug bachelor

quarters as the flood of light my turning of the switch produced

revealed a huddled figure slumped in an easy chair.

 

"Aye, sir, 'tis me." The man got to his feet, gnarled hands rubbing at

his eyes. "An' 'tis all day that I've been waiting for you, sir. The

caretaker said you'd be back soon so let me in. I must have fell asleep,

an' no wonder, what with the strain an' no sleep or rest all last

night."

 

"Strain? No rest?" I stared my bewilderment, trying at the same time to

conceal the vague apprehensions occasioned by the fact that the trusted

servitor of my friend, Professor Wroxton, should wait all day for me.

 

Hastily shedding my outer things, I bade him again be seated, sat down

facing him, and asked him to explain.

 

"'Tis the professor, sir." The old chap peered at me with anxious,

wrinkled eyes. "'Tis common enough for him to send me here on messages,

sir, but to-day I've come on my own, because, sir," answering the

question in my eyes, "I haven't seen sight of him since last night."

 

"Why--" I began.

 

"That's just it, sir." John took the words out of my mouth. "For twenty

years my wife an' me have looked after the professor at The Grange. In

all that time he's never been away at night. Whenever he had to come to

town he'd tell us. Most times I'd drive him myself in the old car. But

that was very seldom, sir, for Professor Wroxton had few interests

outside."

 

* * * * *

 

"But, John," I protested "is there no other reason for your agitation?

He might have had an urgent call, or gone out for a walk or drive by

himself."

 

"No, sir. If you'll pardon me, sir, you're wrong. The professor was

fixed in his habits. He would not go away without tellin' me. Think

back, sir, you know the professor as well as me. Better, because you are

his friend and I am only a servant. Although, sir," this proudly, "he

always treated me as a friend."

 

"Go on," I urged, seeing he was not finished.

 

"Well, sir, a few minutes back you asked me if there was no other reason

for my being upset like. There is, sir. You know, sir, that for more'n

twenty years the professor has led a retired sort of life; the life of

a--a--"

 

"Recluse," I suggested.

 

"That's it, sir. He only left The Grange when he had to. He was all

wrapped up in some weird-like thing he was inventing. In all those

years, sir, you were the only visitor who ever went into his laboratory,

or stayed at The Grange for a night or more. That is, sir, until three

days ago."

 

"Go on," I again urged, some of his perturbation communicating itself to

me.

 

"The Grange, sir, lying as it does, fifteen miles from town an' back in

its own grounds away from the road, isn't noted by many. When strangers

do get into the grounds I usually gets 'em out again in short order.

Three days ago, sir, a stranger drove up to the door in a fine car. He

told me he was wantin' to purchase a country home. I told him The Grange

was not for sale an' turned 'im away. He was turning his car to leave

when my master came out. To my surprise, sir, he invited the stranger

in. An' I'm sure, sir, because he looked so taken aback like, that the

stranger had never seen the professor before."

 

"And after that?" I asked, now feeling decidedly uneasy.

 

"The stranger, sir--a Mr. Lathom he called himself--stayed on. He was in

the study with the master last night. This morning there was no trace of

either of them."

 

"But--good God, John!" I jerked to my feet, a fresh dread clutching at

my heart. "What are you trying to get at? The professor and Mr. Lathom

might possibly have driven away somewhere last night."

 

"Both cars, sir," the servant answered, "are in the garage. I bolt all

the doors in the house myself every night. They were still fastened this

morning. My wife an' me searched the house from cellar to garret an'

hunted all over the grounds. We couldn't find a trace of the master or

his guest."

 

"You mean to suggest then," I shot at him, "that two full grown men have

completely vanished? It's absurd, John, absurd!"

 

* * * * *

 

I paced the floor thinking desperately for a few minutes, conscious of

the ancient's anxious eyes. I half smiled. The thing was too ridiculous

for anything. Old John had grown morbid from living away from the outer

world. Also, I had to admit that the atmosphere of The Grange,

impregnated as it was with the lethal scientific dabblings of my friend,

was exactly suited to the conjuring up of unhealthy forebodings in

uneducated minds. I'd drive out to the home of my friend at once. No

doubt I'd find him fit and well. He had refused to install a phone, so

drive it had to be.

 

"John." I stopped my pacing and patted him on the shoulder. "I'm coming

out to The Grange at once." His face showed his thankfulness. "I am

sure," I went on as I struggled into my coat, "that we shall find the

professor and his guest awaiting us. Anyway, it's time you got back to

your wife and had some food."

 

"I hope to Heaven, sir, that you're right." With that we left the

building and entered my car.

 

Although I had tried to dispel my fears, although I had tried to banter

John out of his dread, I drove that evening as I had never driven before

or since. Barely fifteen minutes later I halted my roadster at the short

flight of steps leading to the main door of The Grange. Even as we

stepped from the machine the door flung open and an agitated woman

hurried towards us. She was Mary, John's wife.

 

"Sir!" She gripped my arm and stared anxiously into my face. "'Tis glad

I am that you've come. The Grange is a house of death."

 

In spite of myself a chill shook my whole body. Gently handing her to

John, I strode up the steps.

 

At the open doorway I halted, the aged couple crowding on my heels, the

woman still babbling about death. I couldn't blame her. All day she had

been alone in that gloomy, rambling old building, wondering, no doubt,

why John and I had not returned sooner.

 

* * * * *

 

And gloomy the house was. Always, even when staying there at the

professor's request, I had found it to be somber and depressing, as if

there lurked within its walls the shadowy wings of the years-old tragedy

that had caused my friend to retire to such a God-forsaken place, and

there become absorbed in his scientific experiments.

 

Even now, as I gazed into the dimly-lighted hallway, the air seemed

charged with that same malignant something I cannot describe.

 

Pulling myself together I strode quickly along the corridor, and flung

open the study door. The lights being full on, one glance sufficed to

show me that my friend was not there. Swinging on my heel, the horror I

saw in the eyes of the servants, honest, healthy folks not easily

frightened, conveyed itself to me. Somehow, the sight of that room,

lights on, chairs drawn up to the burnt-out fire, brought home to me the

fact that something serious was amiss. I chided myself for thinking John

had been unduly agitated.

 

For a moment I stood, trying to conceal the chill coursing through my

veins, puzzling what to do next. I decided to search the house

thoroughly. If I found no sign of the professor or his guest, I would

call in the police.

 

Fearfully yet willingly the aged couple led me from room to room, from

attic to basement, until but one place remained--the laboratory. I

hesitated for several seconds at the closed door of my friend's

workroom. Not that I had never entered the--to a layman's

eyes--weirdly-appointed place. I had been in many times with the

professor. But this time I dreaded what I might find.

 

* * * * *

 

Pulling myself together, I gently tried the door. To my horror it

yielded to my touch. Alive, the professor always kept it locked. A new

dread assailed me, as, flinging the door wide open, I blinked in the

sudden glare of powerful globes. Someone had left the lights full on!

 

Horrified I stood and stared, knowing by their heavy breathing that the

aged couple were also staring with fright-widened eyes. Afraid of what?

I did not know. I only knew that the atmosphere had become even more

sinister. I knew that something dreadful had taken place in that room.

 

Trembling with consternation I forced myself to take a few steps

forward, then I again stared about me. At one end of the large room

something shone brightly in the glow of the lights. Slowly I walked

across to examine it: it appeared to be a glass case, almost like a

show-case, about eight feet square and seven feet in height. With the

mechanical actions of the mentally distraught I walked all around it.

Not the slightest sign of an entrance could I see. The fact intrigued

me. I tapped lightly on the highly polished surface with my fingers. It

rang to my touch like cut glass.

 

Through the transparent surface I could see John and his wife. They were

watching me furtively, wondering, no doubt, why I lingered. As I looked

at them John suddenly lumbered up to the case on the opposite side.

Dropping to his knees, he stared. Turning an imploring gaze to me, he

pointed. His lips moved soundlessly. I followed the pointing finger with

my eyes; gasped at what I saw.

 

Near the center of the cage, on the floor constructed of the same

crystalline substance, something glittered, its brilliance almost

dazzling as the light rays struck it. My face pressed close to the cold

outer surface of the structure, my shocked intelligence gradually

realized what that small sparkling object was. It was a magnificent

diamond--and the professor had always worn a diamond ring!

 

* * * * *

 

In a sudden frenzy of horror I pawed my way around the cage to where

John still knelt. As I reached him he jerked his head in a numb way as

he croaked, "It's a diamond, sir! The professor's!"

 

"But how?" I implored. "How can it be? There's no way into this thing.

Perhaps he was working here, and the stone came loose from its setting.

He couldn't have dropped it after the cage was completed."

 

"It's his diamond, sir," intoned the old man, dully. "I know it is."

 

Then a sudden unreasoning terror filled me. I shrank away from that shining box. It seemed to be mocking me, gloatingly, malevolently.