The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard Original)

by Unknown

  “Which brings us to the subject of my note,” he rapped out in that direct, sometimes abrupt manner which was so characteristic of the man. “Run up to your room for a wash, for I know what a dusty trip you have had, and then rejoin me here for a chat over our cigars.”

  The study was in reality a private laboratory and workroom combined, and I knew that a conference held there would be upon strictly business subjects, and that the matter must be of something more than ordinary importance.

  The room was perhaps thirty feet long by twenty wide, furnished with a few wicker chairs, deep and comfortable, yet severe in their lines; and by benches, shelves and bookcases. Here it was my friend spent by far the greater portion of his time, working, experimenting and studying.

  The room was in the southeast corner of the house, and had only one door, that leading to a hallway on the west side. This door had a spring lock, and when experimenting or engaged in study, Dr. Potter would allow no one to enter on any pretext. It was his custom, on such occasions, to keep the latch on the door, so that it locked automatically when closed.

  When I rejoined the Doctor in the study, no time was lost in getting promptly to the business in hand. Opening the door of a small closet on the south side of the room, he showed me, suspended on the inside of the door, a complete skeleton.

  “Permit me,” he remarked in the most serious tone, “to present my associate, and one-time enemy, Elbert Crothers.

  “Crothers,” turning to the skeleton, “This is Walter Pearce, an attorney of Los Angeles, of whom you have doubtless heard me speak.”

  I am as willing as the next man to face the vital facts of existence, and I realize only too well the lot of all mortal flesh, but there is something uncanny and creepy in a human skeleton dangling from the inside of a closet door, its sightless eyes staring hollowly into space, its lipless grin mocking the warm red corpuscles of one’s blood, penetrating to and chilling the marrow of one’s bones. This effect is enhanced when the skeleton is that of a man one has known, and the impression caused by the formal introduction was grim, unreal and hideous.

  My flesh began to creep as the bleached bones that had once been the mortal abode of Elbert Crothers appeared to rattle and sway in acknowledgment of the introduction.

  At first I thought Dr. Potter had some method of manipulating the door to make the skeleton gyrate in an uncanny shimmy of death; but a closer inspection showed that the joints had been so perfectly adjusted in articulation, and the skeleton hung with such a nice degree of accuracy, that the slightest motion of the door would cause the bones to sway backward and forward for several seconds.

  I am not particularly nervous, and yet I know my face was a shade lighter than usual as I sank into my chair. The Doctor, on the other hand, positively seemed to enjoy the proximity of the skeleton, and stood by the door of the closet, his lean face expressionless as ever, the slender fingers of his right hand stroking the long bones of what had once been the powerful forearm of Elbert Crothers.

  “Pearce,” came the sudden inquiry, “have I title to this thing or not?”

  The question took me somewhat off my guard.

  “Just how do you mean?” I countered.

  “Just this,” resumed my host, concisely, “Elbert Crothers passed out in the County Hospital of a small Indiana town in which is located a medical university. Instead of burying the indigent casualties in a local Potters’ Field, the custom is to turn the bodies, for a nominal consideration, over to the dissecting department of the university.

  “This made things easier for me, although I should have had my way in any event; a little pull with the faculty of the university, a little money, and—presto!—the thing was done. Elbert Crothers, or all that was left of him, was delivered into my possession, to do with as I liked.

  “Now in regard to title. Crothers, I understood at the time, left no direct relatives. Subsequent investigations show that he had a cousin who, it seems, is a spiritualist, or ‘spiritist,’ as he prefers to be called. In some way this cousin—Jorgensen is the name he goes by—has found out that I have the skeleton here.”

  The problem thus presented to me was one which is not often placed before an attorney in the course of a general practice, and I had to reason back to elementals before answering:

  “As a general rule, a man, strange as it may seem, has no property in his dead body. It is really the property of the state. Custom and usage, in most jurisdictions, have decreed that a person may dispose of his remains, as far as indicating the manner of burial or cremation. The body itself is not an asset. It may not be attached, nor levied upon under an execution.

  “In the present case if you have acted without regular permission from the proper authorities, and I take it that you have, there is a possibility that this man, Jorgensen, may make you some trouble; not particularly because of the relationship, but as an interested citizen who may start the proper judicial machinery of the state in operation to inquire how you came by the skeleton.

  “What I can’t understand is how you allowed him to find out that you had the body. Understand, I mean no criticism, but it seems strange that you allowed him to get the information.”

  My friend favored me with that twinkle of the eye, a mere relaxation of the muscles, which passes for a smile in his vocabulary of facial expressions.

  “Thereby hangs a tale. Naturally, I acted with all secrecy, and you may imagine my feelings when I received this letter in the mail a few days after the body had been prepared into the skeleton which you see before you.”

  The paper passed over to me consisted of a single sheet on which was written, in a fine, Spencerian hand, presumably that of a clerical person, the following rather remarkable note:

  Dr. Alfred Potter, Santa Delbara, California.

  “Vengeance is mine,” saith the Lord.

  I have been in communication with the spirit of my deceased cousin, Elbert Crothers, and am advised by him that you have secured his body from the hospital where he died; and that you have by acids, and other means, prepared a skeleton therefrom which now hangs in your office. That you have done this for the purpose of satisfying your private vanity, rather than for any reason of scientific research.

  On behalf of the departed spirit of Elbert Crothers, I hereby demand that you take this skeleton not later than the fifth of this month, and give to the same a decent burial, in accordance with established civilized custom.

  You will understand that, in writing this letter, I am merely acting on behalf of, and at the dictation of, Elbert Crothers. I have no personal feelings in the matter and make no threats. However, a knowledge of certain phases of life activity with which you are probably not familiar, leads me to warn you that this request from a departed spirit is not one to be lightly disregarded.

  You will hear from me no further in this connection; but, if you do not accede to the request, I do not doubt you will have ample reason to regret your decision.

  Very truly yours,

  J. E. Jorgensen.

  I re-read the letter before speaking.

  “Do you mean to tell me that you believe this rot? This is beyond question the work of a gang of blackmailers who have either traced the shipment of the body, or else have secured information from some member of your own household.”

  The Doctor spoke decidedly:

  “There was no earthly way in which the writer of that letter could have traced the body to this house. When I tell you that I went to considerable trouble and expense to protect myself against developments of just this nature, and that even my own detectives did not and do not know who was their employer, or what was done with the body, you will understand that I am not speaking idly.

  “My chauffeur, who might be considered open to suspicion by a stranger, unfortunately has not the advantage of breeding or education, but I have every reason to believe he is loyal, as he owes everything he has in the world to me. Kimi, I would trust anywhere, and he has been with me for years. The only other in
mate of the house, Professor Gordon Kennedy, is a person whom you have not met, but one whose mind is entirely steeped in abstract scientific research. He is the typical absent-minded scientist, and has been employed as my assistant for the past few months.

  “No, I have absolutely no doubt as to the honesty or discretion of the persons in this household or associated with me; but the real point is that they knew nothing of the receipt of the body nor the preparation of the skeleton; and when the skeleton was completed and I was ready to hang it on this door, I surreptitiously removed another skeleton I had been keeping in the study. It would take a skilled anatomist to detect the difference.”

  “Then how the devil could this cousin of Crothers have traced the skeleton here?” I puzzled.

  “That is the problem which has given me some food for reflection. You are doubtless aware that scientific research has proven that most of the supposedly spiritistic phenomena are in reality based on mental telepathy. I believe that it is possible that this Jorgensen (the name is an assumed one, by the way) has learned of the location of the body, or skeleton, through some telepathic method. There remains the only other explanation mentioned in this letter.”

  I scrutinized the speaker narrowly, thinking at first he might be joking.

  “Surely you are not seriously advocating spiritualism?”

  The Doctor shrugged.

  “Who knows?

  “If you really wish my candid opinion,” he added, choosing his words carefully lest I misunderstand his meaning, “I have been greatly intrigued by some of the more recent claims of the spiritists; and some time ago I determined to investigate the matter for myself when a proper opportunity should arise. Upon learning of the death of Elbert Crothers I felt that if I could convey his body to my study in such a manner that no one could possibly know of it, I might lay the foundation for an instructive experiment.

  “Crothers would use every ounce of any force which might be at his command on the other side to prevent my carrying out such a scheme. ‘Haunt’ me, I believe, is the popular word.

  “Therefore, I substituted bodies in this Indiana town with all secrecy, sold the substituted body as that of Crothers to the dissecting department of the university, transported the real body by roundabout methods to Los Angeles, and from there drove it myself at night to the house here, after making absolutely certain that I was not followed.

  “A few days after I had prepared the skeleton, which I did by secret and original methods, I received that letter in the mail. You will notice that the letter hints at the process which was used in preparing the skeleton from the body.

  “Of course, I immediately left no stone unturned until I had located the writer of that letter. His true name is Phillips, he lives in San Francisco, and as he claims to be, is probably a cousin of Crothers.”

  The situation was getting too much for my conservative, legal type of mind, and I was about to bring to bear all my powers of logic to prove to my friend that he was the victim of some blackmailing gang, or otherwise mistaken in his premises, when—my blood froze in my veins!

  Low and menacing, and from somewhere in the vicinity of the head of the skeleton, came a vindictive, ominous moan, long drawn out and indescribably weird. There was something in the nature of the sound which immediately convinced one that it could never have emanated from a human throat!

  “For God’s sake, what is that?” I shouted.

  The Doctor did not answer for a moment. Apparently as calm and serene as ever, his head was cocked slightly to one side, in an effort to determine the exact location of the sound. It was nearly a minute before he spoke, and, when he did so, he might have been lecturing a classroom for all the emotion displayed.

  “I was just about to mention those moans, and am very glad that you have had this opportunity to hear them. I cannot tell you what produces or causes the sound; but several times each twenty-four hours since I have had our friend Mr. Crothers hanging on that door, and usually while I am absolutely alone in the room, that moan or wail can be distinctly heard, lasting for a few seconds, and sounding much the same as you have just heard it.”

  I could feel the cold sweat breaking out on my forehead as I stared into the sightless caverns of the grinning skull.

  “But,” I stammered, “it seemed to come from the very mouth of the skeleton.”

  “That,” was the rejoinder, “we shall soon discover. In anticipation of a repetition of the sound, I had constructed a coil containing a sound screen in a magnetic field, by which the direction of sound may be accurately determined. The method is not particularly new, and is an adaptation of the means used to ascertain the direction of a wireless sending station. When this moan started, I pressed the button you see here on the chair, which started the current flowing through the sound detector. There was no other sound in the room at the time, and, as I shut off the current immediately upon the cessation of the noise, we should have some results.

  “If you will be so good as to take a look at that box in the corner, you will find an arrow suspended on the top of a needle. Sight along that arrow, and you will find the exact direction of the sound.”

  Dr. Potter indicated a box sitting in a corner of the study on the top of which was a little arrow, cunningly mounted on a swivel, on a thin steel rod. I had not taken three steps in that direction before I knew the answer.

  “It is pointed directly toward the head of the skeleton!” I exclaimed.

  “Exactly,” came the dry comment of my host. “Now you will understand why I am giving to the matter of that letter more than a passing interest.”

  The events of the last few moments had left me shaken and excited. The unreality of the whole business, coupled with the tone of deadly menace in that moan, so apparently emanating from the dead bones gibbering at us from the closet door, had entirely upset my nerves.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I gasped.

  Without a word the Doctor arose, calmly closed the closet door, and escorted me to the floor above, where the luxuriously furnished living-room looked out over the blue waters of the Pacific. The room was directly over the studio beneath, and I was probably not over twenty feet away from the skeleton in a direct line; but there was something so serene in the tranquil sunlight pouring in the wide windows that I felt miles away from the gruesome thing in the room below.

  Feeling ashamed of my emotion, I sank into a chair and stole a glance at my host. His face was as expressionless as ever. He was sitting, puffing reflectively on a cigar, exhaling the smoke in those short, crisp puffs which, experience has taught me, denote mental concentration in the habitual smoker.

  A wave of emotion swept over me. I was probably the only confidant he had in the world, and he had done so much more for me than I could ever do for him that I felt humbled and meek.

  “For heaven’s sake, Alfred,” I burst out with sudden feeling, “take that ghastly thing and give it a burial. Get rid of it. Get it out of the house tonight, now. Something seems to tell me that you are going to be exposed to danger unless that skeleton is taken away and taken away at once.”

  The face turned toward me was tranquil in its calm decision, and I knew the answer even before it came.

  “If I did that, Walter, I should lose the best opportunity I will ever have to make an impartial investigation of modern spiritistic phenomena. This bids fair to be an unusual case, and I had much rather lose my life than back out of the solution of a problem of scientific interest.”

  I knew, indeed, that the scientist was speaking the simple truth, without boasting or bravado, merely making a plain statement of fact, and that any further argument would be worse than wasted.

  I was on the point of making some reply, however, when I experienced that peculiar feeling which creeps over me when someone is standing close to me, and of whose presence I am otherwise unaware. The recent experience in the study had made me nervous, and I jumped from my chair, spinning around on my heel—to find Kimi standing at my elbow with the te
a service.

  This betrayal of my intense nervous state caused me considerable embarrassment, and the laugh with which I attempted to pass over the matter had a hysterical ring in it which chagrined me still further.

  If anyone noticed this besides myself nothing was said about it. Kimi silently proceeded with the duties in hand, and the Doctor discussed a game of golf he had enjoyed the week before.

  “You know,” I remarked, as Kimi slipped out of the room, “there is something uncanny in the way Kimi moves in and out of a room without a sound. I remember commenting on the subject the last time I was here, and he has grown worse since. He glides around like a shadow.”

  My companion smiled.

  “That is one of the things I have been trying to teach him. There is nothing more annoying to me than to be interrupted in the midst of some deep problem by the noise of a person crossing the room. I have been impressing on Kimi the necessity for absolute silence at all times when I am working. As you probably know, when I am locked in the study nothing is ever allowed to disturb me. In fact, I have the only key in existence for that door. I latch it when I go in and I am sure no one will interrupt me.

  “Professor Kennedy, the assistant of whom I spoke, is sometimes with me, but when I am about to engage in private work, I do not allow even him in the room. As I said before, he is rather absent-minded. He is rather a character.

  “Here he comes now, by the way. I am anxious to have you meet him, but you must not mind if he fails to acknowledge the introduction.”

  A rather short, heavy-set man entered the room. I judged him to be about forty-seven or -eight. His eyes were distorted by a huge pair of heavy, tortoise-shell spectacles containing lenses of unusual thickness. His features were heavy and his neck thick and muscular. I noticed a frown on his forehead as he approached Dr. Potter, absolutely ignoring my presence, and I am convinced he did not even know I was in the room.