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

by Unknown

  “Look here, Doctor,” he began in a thin, high-pitched voice, “I can’t seem to get any proper results with my germ cultures. I had arranged an electric incubator, and now your confounded Japanese servant has juggled the thermostatic adjustment on me and the temperature has dropped twenty degrees.”

  It seemed such an oddity for so large a man to complain of what was doubtless so trivial a matter in such a querulous voice that I smiled covertly.

  “Never mind that for the present, Professor Kennedy,” said my host, and his slight accent on the title convinced me that his assistant was a stickler for that form of salutation, “I want you to meet my very dear friend and adviser Mr. Walter Pearce, the Los Angeles attorney of whom you have heard me speak.”

  If I had previously entertained any doubt as to the absent-minded abstraction of Professor Kennedy, it was removed right there. I was standing at his right, but he turned to his left, as if expecting to find me standing there; saw no one, turned to the right, and gave me his short, thick hand in a grasp of remarkable vigor, jerked out that he was pleased to know me, and returned immediately to the subject of his complaint.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter; I can’t seem to keep things in order in my laboratory. I’m afraid those cultures are ruined.”

  “Well, I will look into the matter later,” soothed Dr. Potter. “At present I am taking Pearce out for a ride. If the cultures are ruined there is nothing for it but to start a new batch, and I suppose it will be possible to put a set-screw on the thermostatic control to prevent its being thrown out of adjustment again by any accidental jar.”

  “It wasn’t any accidental jar that threw that incubator out of adjustment,” squeaked the irate Professor, as he turned on his heel and, without a word to me, left the room with quick, nervous steps.

  I smiled at Dr. Potter.

  “Your assistant is certainly a peculiar combination. Where did you pick him up?”

  I thought for a moment Dr. Potter was going to smile, the twinkle in his eye was pronounced, which was saying a good deal, for him.

  “Yes,” he replied, “he is certainly peculiar. He is a chemist of no mean ability, and as an electrical engineer, he is a wonder. There is nothing he cannot construct along the lines of electrical machinery. His periods of abstraction absolutely unfit him for a practical life, and prevent him from turning his knowledge to any financial benefit to himself. I pay him no fixed salary, but give him whatever money he requires from time to time, and he is really in the seventh heaven. Also, by the way, he is very jealous of his title of Professor, and be sure to address him by it when you have occasion to talk with him.

  “I suggest that we take a drive for an hour or two in the fresh air. It will steady your nerves and give you an appetite for dinner.”

  I had no hesitancy about admitting that I would like an opportunity to recover my mental poise, and eagerly accepted the suggestion.

  That afternoon was the most perfect I have ever seen in a climate which revels in perfection. The trip was simply wonderful, and my companion became unusually sociable. In view of later developments, I shall always look back upon that drive as the most delightful three hours I have ever spent with my friend.

  There was only one thing which in any wise marred the pleasure of the trip, and that was the annoying habit of John Dawley, the chauffeur, of keeping his head partially turned in order to hear the conversation.

  I finally suggested to my companion that the draught from the front of the car with the window open was slightly annoying, and he obligingly raised the plate-glass which separated the driver’s compartment from the tonneau.

  We spent three hours in the delightful, warm air, driving down to the white sand where the breakers washed almost to the wheels, and then in less than half an hour ascending the Pindola Grade, rising in a few miles more than four thousand feet above the blue Pacific.

  Tucked away near the top of the grade, nestling in a little valley, surrounded by mountains, we found a ranch house, where we secured some excellent milk, and rested for a few minutes. I had been taking a short walk admiring the little valley and the stream of mountain water, purling and plashing down the canyon, while the Doctor chatted with the man who owned the place. Upon my return I found my host standing near the car, engaged in conversation with Dawley, who was talking rapidly and vehemently. Something in their postures indicated that the subject of conversation was not intended for my ears, and it was plain to be seen that Dawley was very much excited about something.

  I therefore made some commonplace remark about the scenery while I was still several feet from the pair, and Dawley immediately broke away and busied himself about the car, the color of his face and the set of his jaw showing he was under a great emotional strain; but Dr. Potter was his usual self, quiet, courteous and patient.

  Again I found occasion to speculate to myself what it was which could make a man of the refinement of the Doctor maintain such a young boor in his employ. There must be some bond, something which did not appear on the surface to account for the easy tolerance and courteous treatment he gave to one who was very apparently entitled to nothing except an immediate discharge.

  It was after dark when we approached the house; but Kimi had the place blazing with lights, and it certainly presented a warm and cheerful aspect. Dinner was served shortly after we arrived, and I was pleased to find myself fully recovered from the shock of the afternoon.

  A place was set at the table for Professor Kennedy, but we did not wait for him, and indeed he did not show up during the meal. Kimi had called him twice, and each time the Professor had promised to be right up, and each time had immediately forgotten all about it. Dr. Potter told me it was a frequent occurrence when the chemist was working on some problem for him to neglect to come to his meals, and to even resent the interruption when Kimi would bring his plate to him in the little laboratory he had fixed up.

  During the evening my host announced that he had arranged an appointment with one of the best detectives from the office of the Sheriff of Los Angeles. This detective, he further announced, was to arrive on the evening train, and would stay several days, provided he appeared to understand the exact requirements of the situation.

  As it was then only an hour before the train was due, it was apparent that arrangements had been made for the presence of the detective several hours previous, if not on some preceding day. It was typical of my friend that he had said nothing of this matter during our earlier conversations, and it was also an indication that there were developments of which I knew nothing which had made my friend feel the presence of a detective necessary.

  He turned his keen gaze on my face as he said:

  “Don’t think for a minute I am turning this case over to a detective. I am merely taking precautions from a scientific standpoint to make sure that any phenomena I may observe and record, are not of a material and mundane origin.

  “I am getting this detective for the same reason that I would perform a delicate physical experiment in a room isolated from sound waves and immune to thermal variations. I wish to eliminate all outside agencies which might form a disturbing element in my experiments.”

  I was on the point of replying, but the words never came.

  I was sitting, facing the big window which opened from the dining-room on to the spacious front porch. At that hour of the night the window was dark and black; but, even as I looked, a white face, drawn and ghastly, pressed against the pane, the features sharply outlined against the black background, the eyes fastened on the back of my companion’s head in a stare of such intensity that everything else within the vision of the apparition seemed excluded!

  A moment the face showed startlingly clear against the plate-glass window, and then, silently and swiftly, it was withdrawn.

  The calm tones of Dr. Potter brought me back to earth:

  “From the expression on your face, Pearce,” he observed, keenly and evenly, “I should say you had seen something or somebody peer
ing in the window behind me. I noticed the shade had not been lowered when we drove up this evening.

  “Have some of these olives. They are particularly good and grown and cured especially for me.

  “Kimi, please lower the shades.”

  “My Heavens!” I shouted. “How can you sit there and talk in that calm manner! Within ten feet of your back, some prowler has just stared cold, deliberate murder at the back of your head—and you haven’t even turned in your chair!”

  “Come, come,” soothed my host, as though he were talking to an excited child, “go on with your dinner. You are getting worked up over a trifle. I knew by the expression of your face that you had a brief glimpse of something at the window, and the natural supposition was that it was the face of some person. I also knew that the face had been withdrawn, and that it would, therefore, do me no good to turn around and look.

  “Whoever it was, or what he wants will be disclosed in good time. Personally I do not care very much who or what it is unless it should in some manner interfere with my experiments. Hence the detective. Simply and purely, as I said before, to eliminate the possibility of outside agencies interfering in my research work.

  “Speaking of the detective reminds me— By the way, Kimi, I wish you would take the car to the station, where you will meet a Mr. Arthur Dwire, of Los Angeles. He will be looking for you when the train pulls in, and will be staying here tonight, perhaps for several days.”

  Kimi, who had lowered the shades, signified his immediate departure, and silently withdrew from the room. As far as I was concerned, however, the meal was a failure. Time after time, I would start, peer over my shoulder, and fancy I had seen a shadow, or the outline of a face just beyond the closed shade. The shade over the window seemed to only partially hide a menace, lurking just within the shadow, and ready to strike. I felt that peculiar sensation which comes over me when someone is watching me.

  I was unquestionably a very poor companion. My host, however, with that excellent tact and consideration which had endeared him to me so many times, continued as though nothing had happened, and acted just as though I was my natural self and holding up my end of both conversation and food.

  I can’t remember when I have ever been so frankly pleased and relieved to see anyone, as I was to see Mr. Arthur Dwire.

  The detective was rather slender, and firmly knit, one of those alert, active men who radiate vigor and vitality. There was an efficiency and competency about him which made him seem capable of meeting and mastering any situation. Quick in his movements and very evidently possessing great agility and vitality, he upset my conception of the modern detective by proving a thorough gentleman, well read and a college graduate.

  The speed and accuracy with which he grasped the situation were remarkable. Dr. Potter very briefly outlined the case, showed him the study and “introduced” him to the skeleton. The sight of that grinning skeleton swaying and rattling on the door revived my horror, and I never took my eyes off the hollow eye sockets of the gibbering skull, waiting with bated breath for a repetition of that awful wail, so menacing and blood-curdling.

  However, nothing happened, and we returned the skeleton to the inside of the closet by the simple expedient of shutting the closet door, and returned to the living-room.

  “Doctor,” remarked Dwire, when our host had given a general summary of the events to date, “either someone is playing a prank on you, or you’re entertaining a spook. Personally, I don’t take much stock in ghosts, but that’s neither here nor there. You’ve got all the scientific education, and if it’s a ghost, you get him; if it’s something else, that’s my meat. The very first thing I want to do is to make a minute search of the house, especially that closet. We may find some interesting things.”

  It was with an approving twinkle of the eye the Doctor replied:

  “Yes—search, by all means. Devote all day tomorrow to it if you wish. Tonight, however, I wish to try an experiment.

  “You have grasped my idea exactly. It may be that someday we will know a great deal more of the existence after death. In the meantime, I wish to satisfy myself there are no natural causes for the sounds we have heard before undertaking a serious investigation, based upon the theory there is something supernatural causing those noises.

  “Now, then, what I first want to find out is whether those sounds are being made by some person concealed on the outside of the room. Inasmuch as the skeleton is hung on the south wall, it is barely possible someone might be directly in line with the skeleton on the outside of the house, making the noises.

  “I usually hear them several times during the evening, when I am alone in the study, and tonight I am going to go down to the study as usual, and ask you two to keep a sharp watch from the porch above. You can easily see any person sneaking around the outside wall.

  “I nearly always hear the sound when I have turned out the light for the night, or just before I turn it on when entering the room. It has occurred to me that darkness makes it easier for the noises to be produced, and tonight I will sit in the room without turning the lights on. There will be enough moonlight to enable me to distinguish the outlines of objects.”

  It may have been some premonition of impending evil, or it may have been the aftermath of the shocks to which I had been subjected that day, but I felt it would be tempting the fates for Dr. Potter to enter that room alone in the dark. I was about to voice my sentiments, when Professor Kennedy entered the room. As usual he walked directly to Dr. Potter, ignoring all other matters, and commenced to discuss some matter of research which was too deep for me to follow.

  Dr. Potter, taking him gently by the arm, turned to Dwire.

  “Professor Kennedy,” he said formally, “may I have the pleasure of presenting my friend Mr. Arthur Dwire of Los Angeles? Mr. Dwire will be with us for the next few days.

  “Dwire, permit me to present Professor Kennedy, my associate, who has kindly volunteered to spend the summer with me, and to assist in constructing laboratory equipment and carry on research work.”

  Dwire and Kennedy shook hands, the latter blinking away behind his heavy glasses, peering closely into the detective’s face, taking much more interest in him than he had in me when I had made his acquaintance.

  “You have known the Doctor long?” he inquired in his jerky, explosive manner.

  The question was just a trifle awkward, as Dr. Potter had apparently wished to conceal from Kennedy the fact that Dwire was a detective, and in the house as such. I admired the skillful manner in which the detective turned the question.

  “Not as long as you have, Professor, but long enough to have heard Dr. Potter speak of your work in glowing terms.”

  The Professor was plainly pleased.

  “I have a little skill along my lines,” he confessed. “The big trouble in this house is to keep my equipment in adjustment. Somebody always seems to investigate everything I construct, and manages to leave it out of adjustment. I can’t help but feel that confounded Jap has his nose in about everything going on in the house.”

  Our host explained:

  “I have the study on the lower floor on the south side of the house, and I have fixed up a laboratory in one of the northern rooms for Professor Kennedy; between us we have the house pretty well filled with apparatus, and I am afraid, Professor Kennedy, dealing as he does with electrical equipment, finds it difficult to maintain delicate adjustments in a house whose foundations were built for residential purposes, rather than those of scientific investigation. You see, it only takes a very slight jar on the floor of the house to cause a shock to be transmitted throughout the place, which is fatal to the microscopic adjustment of delicate instruments.”

  The chemist grunted.

  “Your solution may be correct; but I think someone in this house who knows enough about electricity to understand the apparatus I am using is tampering with things.

  “I will advise you here and now that in the future I want no servant in my room under any pr
etext. If I miss a meal, that’s my own business. As for sweeping and dusting, I’ll do it myself. I have just adjusted a lock and bolt on my laboratory door, and I want no Jap snooping around, or even knocking at the door. When I’m in, I’m in; and when I get ready to come out, I’ll come out.”

  Having delivered this ultimatum, the Professor snapped around on his heel, nodded his head to us and left the room.

  I turned to Dr. Potter and smiled:

  “Evidently your assistant has some decided ideas of his own.”

  “It is really an insane prejudice,” answered my friend. “He feels that Kimi is spying on him, and tampering with his delicate electrical apparatus. As a matter of fact, Kimi, while an excellent servant, has absolutely no curiosity, and, I am satisfied, has no ambition in life other than to attend to my wants.”

  “I notice that you did not intimate to Professor Kennedy what my real job is,” Dwire broke in; “I therefore take it that you wish to keep my work a secret; but I was pretty sure that your Jap servant, who met me at the train, knew what I was here for. Are you taking special pains to keep the Professor in the dark?”

  Dr. Potter looked troubled for a moment.

  “I must admit the truth of what you say, but I don’t want you to think I am suspecting Professor Kennedy of anything, nor do I want you to do so. As far as I know, he has no idea that there is anything unusual in the matter of the skeleton. The peculiar moaning noise I have described has never occurred while he has been in my study. He knows nothing about it.”

  Dwire smiled.

  “I should say that the failure of the ghost to howl when Professor Kennedy was present was point number one.”

  Dr. Potter made no reply; seemingly this point had either been in his mind before, or else he was considering the significance of it.

  “By the way,” inquired the detective, “I presume it’s in order to ask where you picked the Professor up, and what you know of him.”

  Dr. Potter answered readily enough: