They climbed out and sped swiftly in a wide detour across the dark field, presently came within range of tree-lined grounds. Thomas caught Lloyd’s arm suddenly.
“Say—take a look! Two cars there—one the black sedan that tried to run us down earlier, and the other is Dr. Clayton’s! Say, they must have kidnapped him in his own car! What the hell—”
“Now I know I am a genius,” Lloyd breathed. “Definitely!”
“When you’ve finished telling us you’re a brainy guy, maybe you’ll tell us what we do next?” Branson snapped acidly. “Railings all around the place—”
“Then we climb over. After all, Branson, you said I made a monkey out of you—”
With surprising ease the little scientist set the example, mastered the high railing with ease and dropped down with his vast coat parachuting around him. In silence all of them gathered, then moved swiftly under the leaf-bare trees. Dimly across the drive they could see the parked unlighted bulk of Clough’s now deserted limousine.
“What now?” Thomas whispered.
“Reach! Drop your guns!” snapped a heavy voice—and with a cracking of twigs and underbrush Joseph Clough came up in the starlight.
“Drop them!” he thundered, as there was brief hesitation.
“Better take it easy, Clough—” Branson started saying, but the financier cut him short.
“Dr. Lloyd, you’ll find a well three yards from where you are standing. Move to it, and descend into it. And don’t get any original ideas!”
The little scientist said nothing. He moved forward slowly with arms and umbrella raised, finally found the well referred to. Clough flashed a torch onto well-cleaned steel footrests.
“Down—the lot of you!” he barked.
Devoid of weapons, there was nothing else to do. The well ended in a short tunnel, obviously some long disused sewer from the house. At the end of the tunnel a door was half open, from which gushed white light, clearly electricity.
“Go on—into the laboratory,” Clough ordered.
The party obeyed, marched forward into the white-lit expanse. Another armed figure came quietly from behind the door and said briefly,
“You can lower your hands, but don’t try anything.”
That voice seemed to smash the whole laborious investigation to pieces, for it was not the voice of Professor Eliman; not even the voice of Dr. Clayton.
It was the voice of Beryl!
Involuntarily Rex Thomas swung around to reassure his ears. The others turned more slowly. Without doubt it was the girl who faced them, but her features were changed—they were cold, hard, merciless.
“Beryl!” Thomas whispered, astounded. “What on earth are you up to? How did you get here?”
“Not much of a miracle, is it?” she asked tartly. “You master minds spent your time following Mr. Clough.”
“Your car outside—the Clayton car, anyway,” Rex Thomas breathed. “Of course! But, Beryl—”
“Shut up!” she retorted. “I’ll do the talking here.”
She moved to the door and shut it, stood beside Clough as he too held his revolver steady.
“So the great Dr. Brutus Lloyd walks right into a trap, eh?” Beryl asked cynically.
Lloyd smiled urbanely, tracing designs on the concrete floor with the ferrule of his umbrella.
“This—this is the laboratory I saw!” Thomas exclaimed suddenly, gazing around. “Sure—there are the chairs with the helmets—six of them! But only five scientists— Beryl, what does this all mean?”
“The sixth chair is reserved for Brutus Lloyd here,” the girl said coldly. “Probably be a seventh for you, Rex. Even an eighth for Professor Eliman, whom I left until last because he is a dangerous man to handle.”
“You—you are the brains behind all this!” Thomas stared in dawning horror.
The girl nodded, her eyes frigid. She gazed at Lloyd suddenly.
“You might as well know how far wrong you went, Dr. Lloyd,” she said briefly. “I knew my stepfather’s formula for synthesis from the moment he invented it. I wanted to get at that valuable material on the moon as much as Clough here did. My stepfather was too conservative. Clough and I got together and decided on a plan.
“I knew, from what my stepfather had told me at different times, that the pooling of several brains can perform what an individual brain can not. It was necessary to work out the scientific details. Simple enough, with the run of my stepfather’s laboratory.
“Brains give forth vibrations that can be detected, picked up, and amplified by mechanical means. You see that electro-magnetic instrument over there? When all the scientists are placed in those chairs and vibratory helmets are put on their shaven heads, electric probes go to the seat of their brains.
“They are powerless to move—the whole nervous system is paralyzed—and their individual will is also blanketed by a negative current. Therefore they give up their every scientific brain vibration, which is electrically amplified and recorded in what might be called the brainpan—that circular copper disk.”
“Diabolical!” whispered Thomas. “I’ve never heard of anything so fiendish!”
Beryl’s grin was coldly mocking.
“The copper disk gathers all these vibrations into a composite whole—a vast store of individual knowledge made collective,” the girl went on, obviously revelling in her scientific achievement. “By wearing a vibratory helmet myself, connected to the brainpan afterward, my brain is able to absorb what has gone into it.
“Hence, an affordable new type of space travel can be devised as a start. Vast gold claims can be registered. Between us, Clough and I intend to start a scientific dynasty of our own.”
“In other words, you murdered all the scientists in order to get their knowledge?” Branson demanded.
“No—they are unhurt, but they cannot return because they will give me away. They can be used later—”
The girl smiled grimly. “Your brain, Dr. Lloyd, will be worth having.”
The little scientist bowed coolly but still remained silent.
“And yours, Rex,” the girl went on viciously. “You’re a good radio engineer; that’s why I got engaged to you. I’m doing nothing wrong—only applying scientific knowledge to the problem of progress. I think my subjects get terrified—but physically they are unhurt. I was somewhat reluctant to use my stepfather too. But then, he is so clever!”
“Where is he now?” Branson snapped. “You can’t get away with this, and you know it!”
“In there,” Beryl said dryly, as there came a desperate hammering on an adjoining door. “Along with the four supposedly dead scientists and Clough’s sculptor friend, Crandal. My dear stepfather worked from the details I supplied him, along with photographs. Nice quiet place here, and some of Clough’s men are always on guard.”
“Same men who tried to kill Dr. Lloyd and me tonight, I suppose!” Thomas snapped.
“Exactly.” The girl twirled her revolver menacingly for a moment, then she said briefly,
“As a detective, Dr. Lloyd, you disappoint me! When you telephoned Clough tonight, I had of course phoned him in between and told him what to expect. He answered according to my directions.
“I decided to let you come this far, so that I could use you without having to burden Clough with more kidnapping work, which is difficult and dangerous. In any case, your voice would have given you away. It is hardly like mine!”
“Alas!” Lloyd sighed, shrugging.
“What caused the trouble at my home tonight was the accidental discovery of the body in the laboratory by Parker,” the girl finished. “To keep up appearances I had to let Parker summon the police.”
“I’ll raise hell over that bungling,” Clough growled. “Leave it to me, Beryl.”
“Varium et mutabile semper femina—ever a fickle and changeable thing is woman,” Lloyd commented sadly. “And to think that I of all people should—do this!” he finished abruptly; and before anybody present had the least chance to
fathom his action, he whirled his umbrella around with tremendous force, spurting a fine choking spray from the umbrella tip.
In an instant Beryl and Clough fired their revolvers helplessly, but the shots went wide. Gasping, choking for air, they dropped to the floor.
“I’m blind!” Beryl screamed, clawing at her face. “You fiend! You devil!”
Clough was too full of coughing to speak. Inspector Branson hauled him to his feet, clapped the bracelets on his wrists. Without ceremony he did the same to the girl. She stood quivering with fury and fright, drenched in spray, her eyes roving wildly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll both see all right in an hour,” Lloyd commented briefly. “Weak solution of an acid I invented myself. Quite a lot in this umbrella shaft— All right, you men, get that door open.”
The connecting door was unbolted immediately, and out of it trooped four haggard, totally bald men. Behind them came weary Dr. Clayton and the small foxy figure of Crandal, the sculptor.
“Brian!” Rex Thomas shouted hoarsely, clutching the foremost man. “Brian, it’s you!”
Brian Thomas nodded slightly, obviously too exhausted for words.
Clayton stopped in front of Lloyd and said quietly:
“I always suspected—but I never quite knew.” He looked at the now passive, haggard girl unhappily. “It was because of her that I refused to proceed with ideas that might have fostered criminal notions in her brain.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Lloyd murmured. “I’m only too well aware of it.”
“But you suspected Professor Eliman!” Branson cried. “You said so!”
Lloyd gave his insolent smile. “I stand as a supreme brain, Branson—a specialist. I gathered the following points: A—Beryl was not at ease when I purposely mentioned her real last name—Kimberley; B—Professor Eliman, had he been the culprit, would never have lifted scalpels from Dr. Clayton’s laboratory, therefore, the only other person was Beryl.
“C—Beryl was not even shocked when I slashed a finger off an apparent corpse of Dr. Clayton, where a normal girl would have gone weak in the knees; D—she had the chance to know everything her stepfather had ever planned or invented; E—she deliberately tried to substantiate my purposely false accusation of Professor Eliman.
“Lastly—F, her mother, Janet Kimberley, went to the State Penitentiary for murder in the first degree. Commuted to life sentence. Sorry, Clayton, but it’s true.”
“Yes—it’s true,” Clayton muttered.
“It was possible the girl might have carried on the same trend in a more modern way,” Lloyd went on. “In various ways, besides those I have pointed out, she proved it. I purposely threw her off her guard so that I could see where the victims had gone. So, Branson, don’t ever dare to question my genius again!”
Inspector Branson was staring blankly. “Hell, I don’t know where you picked up all that!”
“I gave you a broad hint when I mentioned Beryl’s mother. You could have traced her record from police records. I did—spent a whole afternoon doing it, though I’d known the relationship for some time. You, Clayton, married Janet Kimberley when Beryl was three, and thus became her stepfather. To save her daughter, who had taken your name, Janet Kimberley never revealed her own name was Clayton. Right?”
“Right,” Clayton nodded. “That, I fancy, was the only decent spark Janet ever had.”
There was a brief silence, then Dr. Brutus Lloyd pushed his Derby in place and reset his umbrella.
“Tough luck, Mr. Thomas,” he said, not unkindly. “But you’re young—you’ll find another girl.” Then he turned to glare at Inspector Branson.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go! And next time you’re in a mess, remember me—magnum in parvo, my friend—a great deal in a little space!”
CASE OF THE MEZOIC MONSTERS
I. MONSTROUS SIGHTINGS
“Lloyd! Damned glad you could make it!”
Inspector Branson caught Brutus Lloyd by the arm as he stepped from the 3:10 and led him into the waiting room. The little scientific detective took off his Derby and held it to the fire.
“Either give a good reason for this rush-trip or write yourself off the New York police force,” he growled in his bass voice. “Just what in hell did you mean over the phone by—monsters?”
“What I said! Monsters! Prehistoric things.... They belong definitely to science, so I sent for you.”
Lloyd’s keen little eyes sharpened. “You don’t mean the things mentioned in an obscure corner of this morning’s papers? Creatures from the Mesozoic Era?”
“Just that,” Branson acknowledged bluntly. “The sheriff here is all steamed over the business—right out of his depth. He sent for help from New York. Having nothing particular on hand, I came over. Dinosaurs, Lloyd—that’s what!”
Lloyd sighed. “Dammit man, dinosauria died out millions of years ago—and even supposing otherwise, they’d sure have more sense than choose a dump like Trenchley to park in! Anyway, let’s have it—and be brief!”
“Better come with me in the car,” Branson said, and led the way outside the station. Then, as he drove along the wet roadway through the wildest of drizzling, lonely country to the village of Trenchley itself, he spat out laconic statements, mainly embellishing the unimaginative newspaper reports.
“Seems a group of villagers, residents, saw two dinosaurs on the outskirts of the village last evening. I’ve questioned them all, and they all have the same story.”
“Deceptio visus—optical illusion,” Lloyd sneered, too wet and uncomfortable to be interested. “And anyway dinosaurs cover a whole range of animals—but that would be way above your head of course.... Village gossip, Branson!”
“I don’t think it is!” the Inspector insisted. “They’re sensible people, all of ’em. A young electrical engineer and his wife; a travelling salesman; a clergyman; one or two members of the local church; and—yes, another guy. A spiritualist.”
“Huh?” Lloyd looked up sharply.
“A Dr. Phalnack—plays around with tamborines in the dark and puts the jitters in village folk o’ nights. You know the type. Odd-looking chap. He has an Indian servant I didn’t like the looks of. Sort of dark, anarchistic guy with a towel round his head.”
“Hmm.” Lloyd fingered the J-shaped forelock poking under his uptilted Derby. Then he sneered, “I presume you looked for clues?”
“Sure—and I found ’em. Dinosaur’s footmarks.”
Lloyd rubbed his tiny hands together. “That’s better! This begins to smell more like my meat.”
Branson looked gratified; then he glanced ahead. “We’re coming into the village now. I asked the folks—the principal ones anyway—to gather in the village hall to meet you. They ought to be there by now.”
He swung the car off the main road into a gravel way, pulled up before a beetle-like tin-roofed shed. In a moment he and Lloyd were inside the place. Walking in slowly behind the burly Inspector, the diminutive investigator glanced over, and appraised, the assembly.
There was a young man with an eager, intelligent face and a dark, starry-eyed girl by his side. There was the vicar, calm and pale-faced; the waiting Sheriff, chewing thoughtfully; then a smallish man with immensely thick-lensed glasses, cape, and broad-brimmed soft hat. Beside him, arms folded, was a Pathan, smouldering-eyed, high-jowelled, turban wound flawlessly round his head. He was short, too—but lithe and muscular as a steel spring.
Branson rattled off the introductions, and the first one to come forward was the man with glasses and broad-brimmed hat.
“I’m so glad to know you, Dr. Lloyd!” His voice was soft, persuasive; and his handgrip crushing. “I’ve heard of you, of course.”
“That’s understandable!” Lloyd regarded him under insolently lowered eyelids. “Am I not the master of scientific mystery?”
“Quite—quite! I am Dr. Phalnack, a spiritualistic medium. Oh, this is my servant and confidant, Ranji....”
The Indian gave a sli
ght inclination of his head, but his eyes still glowered dangerously. Lloyd peered at him archly from under his upthrust hat brim; then he turned aside sharply as the young man and woman came forward. The former was lanky, loose-jointed of movement.
“I’m Ted Hutton,” he volunteered. “This is my wife Janice.”
“Uh-huh,” Lloyd acknowledged impatiently. “But suppose we get down to matters? This talk of monsters—”
“It ain’t just talk,” Sheriff Ingle snorted. “I saw the danged things meself.... We all did. And plenty more besides.”
“True,” agreed the vicar mildly. “I was calling on Mrs. Westbury concerning the needy children’s charity when I saw two huge monsters against the sunset, just outside the village. They seemed to be coming towards me. I—ahem!—moved precipitately into Mrs. Westbury’s and sought sanctuary—”
“Then?” Lloyd snapped.
“I—er— Well, I guess they’d gone when I came out some thirty minutes later.”
Ted Hutton put in earnestly, “I saw them as I was coming back from an electrical survey just out of the village. I’m with the Government, you see—research engineer. And my wife saw the things too, didn’t you, sweet?”
“Gigantic!” she declared earnestly. “Dinosaurs...!”
The lean-faced man in the dripping mackintosh who called himself Murgatroyd came forward.
“Guess I saw them as I was driving into the village; I’m a salesman, putting up here for a few days.”
Lloyd fondled his forelock and glanced at Dr. Phalnack. “And you, doctor?”
“Well, I didn’t actually see them, I’m afraid—but I certainly knew through my psychic experiments that there was a foreign power close to us—something, if you understand me, otherworldly!”
“We don’t!” Branson said, irritated. “Talk plain English!”
“I was aware of an unwanted dangerous element,” Phalnack elaborated. “It disturbed my communion with Beyond. The nearest way I can describe the interruption is that it resembled a thin, irritating hum.”
“What the heck!” Branson stared blankly.
“Imitate it,” Lloyd ordered.
A Case for Brutus Lloyd Page 8
