by Ray Cummings
CHAPTER II
_The Face at the Window_
This was our first encounter with the white invaders. It was tooreal to ignore or treat lightly. One may hear tales of a ghost, eventhe recounting by a most reliable eye-witness, and smileskeptically. But to see one yourself--as we had seen this thing inthe moonlight of that Bermuda shorefront--that is a far differentmatter.
We told our adventure to Jane's father when he drove in fromHamilton about eleven o'clock that same evening. But he, whopersonally had seen no ghost, could only look perturbed that weshould be so deluded. Some trickster--or some trick of themoonlight, and the shadowed rocks aiding our own sharpenedimaginations. He could think of no other explanation. But Don hadfired pointblank into the thing and had not harmed it.
Arthur Dorrance, member of the Bermuda Parliament, was a gray-hairedgentleman in his fifties, a typical British Colonial, the presenthead of this old Bermuda family. The tales or the ghosts, whatevertheir origin, already had forced themselves upon Governmentalattention. All this evening, in Hamilton, Mr. Dorrance had been inconference trying to determine what to do about it. Tales of terrorin little Bermuda had a bad enough local effect, but to have themspread abroad, to influence adversely the tourist trade upon whichBermuda's very existence depended--that presaged economiccatastrophe.
"And the tales are spreading," he told us. "Look here, you youngcubs, it's horribly disconcerting to have you of all people tellingme a thing like this."
Even now he could not believe us. But he sat staring at us,eyeglasses in hand, with his untouched drink before him.
"We'll have to report it, of course. I've been all evening with thesteamship officials. They're having cancellations." He smiledfaintly at me. "We can't get along without you Americans, Bob."
I have not mentioned that I am an American. I was on vacation frommy job as radio technician in New York. Don Livingston, who isEnglish and three years my senior, was in a similar line of work--atthis time he was technician in the small Bermuda broadcastingstation located in the nearby town of St. Georges.
* * * * *
We talked until nearly midnight. Then the telephone rang. It was thePolice Chief in Hamilton. Ghosts had been seen in that vicinity thisevening. There were a dozen complaints of ghostly marauders prowlingaround homes. This time from both white and colored families.
And there was one outstanding fact, frightening, indeed, though atfirst we could not believe that it meant very much, or that it hadany connection with this weird affair. In the residential suburb ofPaget, across the harbor from Hamilton, a young white girl, namedMiss Arton, had vanished. Mr. Dorrance turned from the telephoneafter listening to the details and faced us with white face andtrembling hands, his expression more perturbed and solemn than everbefore.
"It means nothing, of course. It cannot mean anything."
"What, father?" Jane demanded. "Something about Eunice?"
"Yes. You know her, Bob--you played tennis down there with her lastweek. Eunice Arton."
I remembered her. A Bermuda girl; a beauty, second to none in theislands, save perhaps Jane herself. Jane and Don had known her foryears.
"She's missing," Mr. Dorrance added. He flashed us a queer look andwe stared at him blankly. "It means nothing, of course," he added."She's been gone only an hour."
But we all knew that it did mean something. For myself I recall achill of inward horror; a revulsion as though around me werepressing unknown things; unseeable, imponderable things menacing usall.
"Eunice missing! But father, how missing?"
He put his arm around Jane. "Don't look so frightened, my dearchild."
He held her against him. If only all of us could have anticipatedthe events of the next few days. If only we could have held Jane,guarded her, as her father was affectionately holding her now!
* * * * *
Don exclaimed, "But the Chief of Police gave you details?"
"There weren't many to give." He lighted a cigarette and smiled athis trembling hands. "I don't know why I should feel this way, but Ido. I suppose--well, it's what you have told me to-night. I don'tunderstand it--I can't think it was all your imagination."
"But that girl, Eunice," I protested.
"Nothing--except she isn't at home where she should be. At eleveno'clock she told her parents she was going to retire. Presumably shewent to her room. At eleven-thirty her mother passed her door. Itwas ajar and a bedroom light was lighted. Mrs. Arton opened the doorto say good night to Eunice. But the girl was not there."
He stared at us. "That's all. There is so much hysteria in the airnow, that Mr. Arton was frightened and called upon the police atonce. The Artons have been telephoning to everyone they know. Itisn't like Eunice to slip out at night--or is it, Jane?"
"No," said Jane soberly. "And she's gone? They didn't hear any soundfrom her?" A strange, frightened hush came upon Jane's voice. "Shedidn't--scream from her bedroom? Anything like that?"
"No, he said not. Jane, dear, you're thinking more horrible things.She'll be found in the morning, visiting some neighbor or somethingof the kind."
But she was not found. Bermuda is a small place. The islands are sonarrow that the ocean on both sides is visible from almosteverywhere. It is only some twelve miles from St. Georges toHamilton, and another twelve miles puts one in remote Somerset. Bynoon of the next day it was obvious that Eunice Arton was quitedefinitely missing.
* * * * *
This next day was May 15th--the first of the real terror brought bythe White Invaders. But we did not call them that yet; they werestill the "ghosts." Bermuda was seething with terror. Every policestation was deluged with reports of the ghostly apparitions. Thewhite figures of men--in many instances, several figurestogether--had been seen during the night in every part of theislands. A little band of wraiths had marched down the deserted mainstreet of Hamilton. It was nearly dawn. A few colored men, three orfour roistering visitors, and two policemen had seen them. They hadappeared down at the docks and had marched up the slope of the mainstreet.
The stories of eye-witnesses to any strange event always arecontradictory. Some said this band of ghostly men marched on thestreet level; others said they were below it, walking with onlytheir heads above the road surface and gradually descending. In anyevent the frightened group of onlookers scattered and shouted untilthe whole little street was aroused. But by then the ghosts hadvanished.
There were tales of prowlers around houses. Dogs barked in thenight, frantic with excitement, and then shivered with terror,fearful of what they could sense but not see.
In Hamilton harbor, moored at its dock, was a liner ready to leavefor New York. The deck watch saw ghosts walking apparently inmid-air over the moonlit bay, and claimed that he saw the whitefigure of a man pass through the solid hull-plates of the ship. Atthe Gibbs Hill Lighthouse other apparitions were seen; and the St.David Islanders saw a group of distant figures seemingly a hundredfeet or more beneath the beach--a group, heedless of being observed;busy with some activity; dragging some apparatus, it seemed. Theypulled and tugged at it, moving it along with them until they werelost to sight, faded in the arriving dawn and blurred by the whiteline of breakers on the beach over them.
The tales differed materially in details. But nearly all mentionedthe dark helmets of strange design, the white, tightly fittinggarments, and many described the dark thread-like wires looped alongthe arms and legs, running up into the helmet, and back across thechest to converge at the belt where there was a clock-likedial-face.
* * * * *
The ghostly visitors seemed not aggressive. But Eunice Arton wasmissing; and by noon of May 15th it was apparent that several otherwhite girls had also vanished. All of them were under twenty, all ofprominent Bermuda families, and all of exceptional beauty.
By this time the little government was in chaos. The newspapers, bygovernment order, were suppressed. The c
able station voluntarilyrefused to send press dispatches to the outside world. Don, Jane andI, through Mr. Dorrance's prominence, had all the reports; but tothe public it was only known by whispered, garbled rumor. A panicwas impending. The New York liner, that morning of May 15th, wasbooked beyond capacity. An English ship, anchored out in the openchannel outside Hamilton harbor, received passengers up to its limitand sailed.
The shops of St. Georges and Hamilton did not open that morning ofMay 15th. People gathered in the streets--groups of whites andblacks--trying to learn what they could, and each adding his ownreal or fancied narrative to the chaos.
Although there had seemed so far no aggression from the ghosts--ourown encounter with the apparition being typical of them all--shortlyafter noon of the 15th we learned of an event which changed thewhole aspect of the affair; an event sinister beyond any which hadgone before. It had occurred in one of the hotels near Hamilton theprevious night and had been suppressed until now.
A young woman tourist, living alone in the hotel, had occupied abedroom on the lower floor. The storm blinds and windows were open.During the night she had screamed. Guests in nearby rooms heard hercries, and they were also conscious of a turmoil in the woman'sroom. Her door was locked on the inside, and when the night clerkfinally arrived with a pass-key and they entered, they found theroom disordered, a wicker chair and table overturned, and the youngwoman gone, presumably out of the window. She had been a woman ofabout twenty-five, a widow, exceptionally attractive.
* * * * *
Stolen by the ghosts? We could think of nothing else. Was that whathad happened to Eunice Arton? Did that explain the reporteddisappearances of the several other girls? Did this ghostly activityhave some rational purpose--the stealing of young white women, allof them of unusual beauty? The conclusion was forced upon us, andwith it the whole affair took on a complexion shudderingly sinister.It was not a mere panic of the people with which Bermuda now had tocope--not merely an unexplainable supernatural visitation, harmlessenough, save that it was terrorizing. This was a menace. Somethingwhich had to be met with action.
It would be futile for me to attempt detailing the events of thatchaotic day. We had all ridden over to Hamilton and spent the daythere, with the little town in a turmoil and events seething aroundus--a seemingly endless stream of reports of what had happened thenight before. By daylight no apparitions were seen. But anothernight was coming. I recall with an inward sinking of heart I saw theafternoon sun lowering, the sky-blue waters of the bay deepeninginto purple and the chalk-white little stone houses taking on thegray cast of twilight. Another night was coming.
The government was making the best preparations it could. Everypoliceman of the island force was armed and ready to patrol throughthe night. The few soldiers of the garrisons at St. Georges andHamilton were armed and ready. The police with bicycles were readyto ride all the roads. The half dozen garbage trucks--low-gearedmotor trucks--were given over to the soldiers for patrol use. Theonly other automobiles on the islands were those few permitted forthe use of the physicians, and there were a few ambulance cars. Allof these were turned over to the troops and the police for patrol.
* * * * *
In the late afternoon an American newspaper hydroplane arrived fromNew York. It landed in the waters of Hamilton harbor and prepared toencircle the islands throughout the night. And the three or foursteamship tenders and the little duty boat which supplied thegovernment dockyards with daily provisions all had steam up, readyto patrol the island waters.
Yet it all seemed so futile against this unknown enemy. Ghosts? Wecould hardly think of them now as that. Throughout the chaotic day Irecall so many wild things I had heard others say, and had myselfthought. The dead come to life as living wraiths? A ghost could notmaterialize and kidnap a girl of flesh and blood. Or could it?Hysterical speculation! Or were these invaders from another planet?
Whatever their nature, they were enemies. That much we knew.
Night fell upon the crowded turmoil of the little city of Hamilton.The streets were thronged with excited, frightened people. Thepublic park was jammed. The hotels and the restaurants were crowded.Groups of soldiers and police on bicycles with electric torchesfastened to their handlebars were passing at intervals. Overhead theairplane, flying low, roared past every twenty minutes or so.
The night promised to be clear. The moon would rise, just beyond thefull, a few hours after sunset. It was a warm and breathless night,with less wind than usual. Most of the people crowding the streetsand the restaurants were in white linen--themselves suggesting thewhite and ghostly enemy.
* * * * *
Mr. Dorrance was occupied at the Government House. Jane, Don and Ihad supper in a restaurant on Queen Street. It was nearly eighto'clock and the crowd in the restaurant was thinning out. We wereseated near the street entrance where large plate-glass windowsdisplayed a variety of bakery products and confections. Jane had herback to the street, but Don and I were facing it. Crowds wereconstantly passing. It was near the end of our meal. I was gazingidly through one of the windows, watching the passing people whensuddenly I became aware of a man standing out there gazing in at me.I think I have never had so startling a realization. It was a man inwhite doeskin trousers and blue blazer jacket, with a jaunty linencap on his head. An abnormally tall, muscular man. And hissmooth-shaven, black-browed face with the reflection from therestaurant window lights upon it, reminded me of the apparition wehad seen the night before!
"Don! Don't look up! Don't move! Jane, don't look around!" Iwhispered, almost frantically.
I must have gone white for Don and Jane gaped at me in astonishment.
"Don't do that!" I murmured. "Someone outside, watching us!" I triedto smile. "Hot night, isn't it? Did you get a check, Don?" I lookedaround vaguely for the waitress, but out of the tail of my eyes Icould see the fellow out there still peering in and staring intentlyat us.
"What is it?" Don whispered.
"Man watching us! See him out there--the right-hand window! Jane,don't look around!"
"Good Lord!" murmured Don.
"Looks like him, doesn't it?"
"Good Lord! But I say--"
"What is it?" murmured Jane. "What is it?"
"Waitress!" I called. "Check, please. There's a man out there,Jane--we're crazy, but he does look like that ghost we saw on theFort Beach."
If the fellow knew that we had spotted him he gave no sign. He wasstill apparently regarding the bakery display in the window, butwatching us nevertheless. I was sure of that.
The waitress gave us our check. "Nine and six," Don smiled. "Thankyou. But didn't you forget that last coffee?"
The colored girl added the extra sixpence, and left us.
"You think that's the same--I say, good Lord--"
* * * * *
Don was speechless. Jane had gone white. The fellow moved to theother window, and Jane had a swift look at him. We all recognizedhim, or thought we did. What necromancy was this? Had one of theapparitions materialized? Was that ghost we saw, this giganticfellow in doeskins and blazer who looked like a tourist standing outthere at the window? Were these ghosts merely human enemies afterall?
The idea was at once terrifying, and yet reassuring. This was a manwith whom we could cope with normal tactics. My hand went to thepocket of my blazer where I had a little revolver. Both Don and Iwere armed--permits for the carrying of concealed weapons had beenissued to us this same day.
I murmured, "Jane! There are the Blakinsons over there. Go jointhem. We'll be back presently."
"What are you going to do?" Don demanded.
"Go out and tackle him--shall we? Have a talk. Find out who he is."
"No!" Jane protested.
"Why not? Don't you worry, Jane. Right here in the publicstreet--and we're both armed. He's only a man."
But was he only a man?
"We'll have a go at i
t," said Don abruptly. He rose from his seat."Come on, Jane, I'll take you to the Blakinsons."
"Hurry it up!" I said. "He's leaving! We'll lose him!"
The fellow seemed about to wander on along the street. Don broughtJane over to the Blakinsons' table which was at the back of therestaurant. We left our check with her and dashed for the street.
"Where is he? Do you see him?" Don demanded.
He had gone. But in a moment we saw him, his white cap toweringabove the crowd down by the drugstore at the corner.
"Come on, Don! There he is!"
We half ran through the crowd. We caught the fellow as he wasdiagonally crossing the street. We rushed up, one on each side ofhim, and seized him by the arms.
