by Denis Hughes
“In this murk if the brute is still around it won’t find much difficulty in staying hidden,” he grunted. “Come on, we’ve got to get inside that block somehow or other. I’ll swear there’s something more to be learnt.”
A policeman stood on guard outside the front entrance. There was a second on duty at the yard gate from the alley behind. Tern and Vivienne circled the entire block in silence. At length: “I think we can get in,” he said quietly. “Did you see that fire escape leading up to the roof of the office two doors down from the lab?”
She nodded. “Over the roof-tops?” she said.
He took her arm and pressed it firmly. “Watch your nylons! Let’s have a try!”
It was considerably simpler than either of them had really expected.
The fog swirled round them as they gained the first roof. Tern was delighted to see that the roofs were flat, with high stone parapets all round them. “This way,” he said. He gripped her arm more tightly. A low stone wall separated the buildings in the block, leaving each with a roof like a school playground, except that in the centre of each was a big skylight giving access to the top storey.
A brief tussle with the one above the laboratory block was enough. The thing had not been opened for years in all probability, and the hinges rasped alarmingly. But there were no indications that Brooking might have left the building by this route.
He lowered himself through, hanging by his hands for an instant before letting go. The drop was short, but jarred his leg into pain. He cursed silently and listened, then looked up at where Vivienne stood on the edge of the open trap. A moment later she slid over and he caught her knees, steadying her. Then she was on the floor, breathing rather quickly, peering down the corridor in which they found themselves. The place was deathly quiet, as quiet as a tomb. Faint daylight permeated the corridor at its far end, but the place was dusty and plainly not in regular use.
Walking on tip-toe, they reached a bare, uncarpeted stair. Tern whispered: “This is the third floor we’re on. The next one down is where I watched Brooking early this morning.” He used his flashlight, searching with it; then they started down.
Only when they had been through the entire premises from top to bottom and finally returned disappointed to the upper laboratory did good fortune smile on them.
“The police are right,” he grunted. “There isn’t anything incriminating here. And yet…” He gestured resignedly. “I’m positive my eyes didn’t deceive me!”
Vivienne was wandering round the room, examining things. Suddenly she stiffened and turned towards him. “Come here!” she breathed. “You were right, Jerry!”
He was at her side in a moment. “What is it?”
She had dropped to her knees and was pointing to the floor in front of the wall opposite the window from which he had come to grief. “That mark,” she whispered. “Isn’t it a tiny smear of blood on the floor?”
He examined it more closely, using the flashlight again. Then he turned the light upwards. There was a row of shelves immediately over the spot. And an even closer examination revealed the fact that the entire block of shelves appeared to be a separate structure from the ones flanking it on each side. Excitement grew within him, for it was obvious that the small smear of blood did not end at the wall, but extended beneath the bottom board of the shelving block.
Without voicing his hopes he went to work, and a few moments later the shelves swung outwards en bloc, to reveal a dark recess in which the thin steel ropes of a lift were visible.
Tern whistled softly. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” he murmured. “So this is the way friend Brooking ducked out? Do you know what I think actually happened?”
“That blood smear…” she muttered. “Something was dragged over the edge and put in the lift cage. What?”
“Brooking was attacked by the monster. That was the scream I heard. He was knocked for six and the monster made for the front of the building, jumping from the window. Before the police could get around to searching the place Brooking had come to, dumped anything incriminating in the lift and then added himself to the load. This thing is frequently used; you can tell by the oil on the slides.”
“Are we going to use it?” Her eyes were wide, troubled.
“If you’re game!”
“Of course I am!”
He hauled on the rope, drawing up the cage. The shaft was deep and it was a good five minutes before the cage appeared in the opening. Vivienne held her breath as it came into view, but it was empty. There were, however, several tell-tale marks on the wooden planks of the floor.
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather stay up here?” he said.
Vivienne shook her head, “You’re not going to leave me out of this,” she insisted. “Let’s get it over with.”
They crowded into the cage; there was not a great deal of room. Inside was a control lever, a brake acting on the ropes.
The descent seemed endless, but at last a red light woke to life and Tern used the lever, slowing the cage. A moment later it jerked to a halt and they found themselves staring out into darkness so intense that for a second or two they remained where they were.
The beam of the flashlight showed a bare concrete room, like a cellar, but apparently intended only for the bottom end of the lift run. Opening off it was a dark passage.
“Are you feeling brave?” he whispered as they stepped from the lift and peered about. “That’s the only way, through there.” Her hand came groping for his as he spoke. Then they were moving forward together, heading down the passage with the blob of light from the torch dancing ahead. Even to Tern there was something strangely macabre in the journey. He thought the girl must be scared stiff, but she never faltered.
“There’s a door in front,” she breathed nervously.
It was true. A steel door barred their way some twenty yards from where they had entered the passageway. Tern came to a halt, listening, his head on one side and his fingers hard on Vivienne’s wrist. No sound broke the stillness.
He let go of the girl and reached for the door knob, turning it slowly and carefully, conscious of being unarmed for the first time since beginning this crazy search for Brooking.
With the door open just far enough to peer through the gap he flashed his torch round the walls of a large, low-roofed cellar. Somewhat to his surprise the place was furnished sparsely, and there were signs that it had recently been used. Tern stepped in through the doorway with Vivienne close on his heels.
Almost instantly an electric light bulb flared into life from the ceiling and a harsh voice ordered them to stand still. At the same time the steel door slammed shut behind Vivienne. Tern spun round as if stung, to find himself looking into the face of Brooking where the man had been concealed behind the door when it opened. There was a short-nosed automatic in his hand and from the look in his eyes there appeared to be every chance of his using it with little compunction.
Vivienne stifled a gasp and grabbed at Tern’s arm. Tern became as rigid as an iron girder, his eyes narrowed grimly, all the innate humour swept from his face.
“Hello, Brooking,” he said very softly. “I didn’t expect to find you down here.”
Brooking’s lips twisted maliciously. It might have been a smile, whatever the expression, it was ugly.
“What did you expect to find for your prying?” he asked.
Tern considered. Then: “Conrad, perhaps…Who knows? Why the gun anyway? It hardly makes for a civil atmosphere among friends, if I may say so.”
Brooking’s lips twisted maliciously. “I am careful in my choice of friends,” he murmured. “This young woman’s brother has already injured my faith in the human race—or perhaps you did not hear about his duplicity, Miss Conrad?’’
“She knows!” grated Tern. He felt the chair seat behind him and sat down cautiously. “Where is he now?”
“Wherever people like him go when they die—if a man dies when a part of his body is still living, of course. It is a ques
tion singularly difficult to answer at this stage in scientific advancement. However…it is of no importance from your point of view.” He moved his gun slightly from side to side, keeping them covered in turn, his eyes never wavering, though there was a wild gleam of incipient insanity in their glitter.
Tern shot an anxious glance at Vivienne. He was sorry he had ever suggested bringing her into this thing now, but recriminations were useless. They were both up against it and a man of Brooking’s calibre was no mean adversary—especially when he was obviously more than half crazy.
“You killed my brother!” Vivienne’s voice was tense in the quiet hiatus. “Why couldn’t you say so outright? “
Brooking came closer to them now, crouching forward a little, his head thrust out. “I could say a lot of things outright, my dear!” he whispered dangerously. “I could tell you straightaway that you will not leave here alive. But I prefer to let it sink in slowly so that you may both savour the niceties of the situation to the full.”
Tern shifted a little, easing himself on the chair. His muscles were tautening up now. Before long there would have to be some slick work if this present scene was not to end in bloodshed. For the moment, though, Brooking would talk; and all the time he talked he would not be shooting.
“Did you create that monster that jumped through a window in the night?” Tern demanded. “I know you were doing something because I saw a little of what was going on. Then you let out a scream and a moment or two afterwards something jumped into the street below. A thing like a boy, with a head several times the size of a normal man’s.”
Brooking showed interest. “You saw it?” he cried in a tone of excitement. “What was it doing? How did it move? You must tell me instantly!” His hand was shaking unsteadily and he concentrated all his attention on Tern.
Tern said: “Yes, Brooking, I saw it. I saw it nearly kill Inspector Dutch, then disappear. It’s at large in the city now. A few hours ago it murdered a girl, mutilating the body with its teeth. People are saying it meant to eat her but must have been disturbed!”
Brooking paled perceptibly. “It has killed’?” he said in an awed whisper. “But—I do not understand! It had no cause to murder, surely?”
Tern shrugged. “I should say that you’re the best one to answer that,” he retorted. “Tell us about it. Conrad comes into it somewhere, doesn’t he? You’ve got us where you want us so it doesn’t matter what you tell us now.” He tried to sound defiant, but all the time was watching Brooking like a hawk watches a mouse before pouncing.
Brooking smiled, glancing at Vivienne. The girl was as white as a sheet. Tern was sorry he had had to mention her brother, but time was a valuable commodity right now, and if only Brooking would keep on talking a chance to escape might present itself.
“Conrad does come into the picture, as you say,” murmured the scientist. “More into it than you imagine!” He broke off and gave a dry chuckle. But his vigilance in no way relaxed; rather did it increase if anything. This was the cunning, the craftiness of a madman.
“I brought life and movement to an inanimate structure,” he went on. His voice pitched lower now, tense with suppressed excitement. “I actually fashioned with my own hands a human figure, using partly synthetic materials, and partly human tissue for essential organs. The entire undertaking was revolutionary, a miracle of modern science! But I have achieved what no other man has ever attempted in the past! And I have succeeded, I tell you!’’ He leant forward, his eyes gleaming madly, the gun in his hand shaking.
Tern stared back bleakly. “You’ve succeeded in doing something for which a hundred people may pay with their lives,” he said. “A girl had to die in the first place to satisfy your need for human tissue. Conrad objected. In the end you were forced to kill him as well. What happened, Brooking? Did you need some more living tissue?”
Brooking chuckled hideously. “What I needed at that late stage in development was a brain!” he said quietly. “A human brain, do you understand? That was what I needed, and that was what I got.” He sneered as Vivienne suddenly covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. “You have no courage to face the facts,” he added callously. “For me it was essential to do what I did. Progress will always be served; it must be served! Your worthless brother did more useful service in death than ever during his life. His brain is now an active part of highly stimulated growth in the skull of an artificial being, a being, moreover, which is an entirely separate entity, needing no guidance or direction from me, its creator. It can stand on its own feet.”
“It can kill and slaughter and mutilate and wreak havoc among innocent people!” snapped Tern. “But I suppose that doesn’t worry you! Aren’t you afraid of it yourself?”
Brooking hesitated for just that split second that gave them an inkling of the latent fear in his heart. “Of course, I’m not afraid of it!” he snarled. “I’m hiding down here because the police would pester me with questions if they had a chance.”
Tern nodded thoughtfully. “They certainly would,” he agreed. “They don’t believe what you told them about Conrad now; they believe you murdered him. You’ll have to stay in hiding a darned long time to slip out of this mess!”
Brooking smiled again. “A pleasure which you will unfortunately not be in a position to share with me,” he said. “I regret the necessity, but am compelled to kill you both. You are dangerous witnesses, and quite apart from that there is little accommodation down here for more than one person.”
Tern sighed resignedly, almost boredly. “That’s a pity, Brooking,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “I might have been able to give you one or two hints on how to make your escape more complete—without the tedious waiting enforced on you at the moment. We might even make a deal if you’re interested. There are worse things than being in the same country as this Blue Peril you’ve brought to life!”
Brooking hesitated, eyeing him with a mixture of tension and plain suspicion. There was interest there, fear of the future, the spark of hope. He touched his tongue to his lips, then suddenly squared his shoulders. “No!” he said. “You’ll have to die, and the sooner the better. Conrad’s body is already disposed of; yours will follow.
And behind him the door was opening…
.
CHAPTER 5
HOSTAGES OF TERROR
It was a moment, a frozen second when time seemed to come to a standstill completely, that Tern was never to forget—or look back on without an involuntary shudder at the memory of it.
Brooking’s finger was tightening on the trigger of the automatic, its barrel aimed directly at Vivienne. Tern bunched himself for a last desperate leap, ready to take the shot and so save the girl, not giving death a thought as the clock became momentarily stationary.
And all the while the door was opening inch by inch, Not until Brooking’s intention was plain did either of the other two notice the movement of the door; they had been so intense in their watch on Brooking that only the fact of a movement in his rear caught their attention. And it was Vivienne who first caught a glimpse of the blue, shadowy thing that was coming in.
Heedless of the threatening gun, she screamed and pointed. At the same time Brooking hesitated, half turning his head. Tern seized his chance and hurled himself forward, aware that in a moment the Blue Peril itself would be with them. His shoulder crashed against Brooking. Before the scientist could fire again, or regain his balance, he had gone backwards straight for the door, staggering as he went, to be seized and held by the monstrous apparition now standing full in view on the threshold.
The scientist was powerless in its steely grip, but he made a desperate attempt to turn round and bring his gun to bear on his captor. The creature itself seemed to sense this danger, releasing one hand and clenching its fist. It used it as a child might, hammering downwards on Brooking’s head. There was a dull thud and the scientist collapsed, a motionless sprawl on the ground. The Blue Peril picked up the automatic.
Tern s
eemed to have lost the use of his muscles entirely, so paralysed was he by the sight of this incredible being. He could only stare aghast at the soulless eyes, the hideous face with its open nostrils and cold slit mouth, at the enormous ungainly head and small, plastic-like arms and legs.
Then it spoke for the first time. If anything the sound of its voice was even more terrifying than its form.
“I strike fear into your hearts because I am ugly,” it said. There was a sneering, half-human, half-mechanical cadence in the words, a horrifying intonation that made Tern catch his breath. Suddenly he was aware of Vivienne again. She gave a choking little sob, and her weight against him was dead and motionless.
“She has fainted,” said the Thing. “Fear can strike as deadly as a bullet, Tern. Lift her up and comfort her.”
Tern gaped at it, amazement growing up inside him alongside involuntary terror. It had called him by name! And how could it know about people fainting? An awful notion that this creature of Brooking’s creation was superhuman came to his mind. He knew it could not be possible, yet how else was he to explain its unexpected knowledge?
Then he slid an arm round Vivienne and raised her limp form from beside him. She had slithered half out of her chair into which she had sunk but a moment before. Her eyes were closed and her face was bloodless. Tern was suddenly filled with anxiety, an anxiety that had nothing to do with the presence of the Blue Peril. He knew in a flash that this girl was important to him, that her happiness was as much his own as the hair on his head. And there was little of happiness in life at the moment, which was a bad thing,
Still supporting her, he looked again at the Thing. It had moved soundlessly nearer, ignoring Brooking completely.
“She will be all right,” it said in the same thin piping voice. “You need not be afraid for her, Tern. Brooking would have killed you both if I had not arrived.”
Tern licked his lips nervously. His heart was making so much commotion in his chest that he thought it must be audible. “What—what are you?” he gasped. “You nearly killed a policeman, a friend of mine. Later you savaged a girl. Have you no human decency, whatever you are?’’
