“Lies only make it worse!” the man snapped. “Marden gave us the truth over the radio, and you’re about as bad as this woman is. She’s a mass murderer, and we intend to show her how foreigners from other planets get treated, ’specially when they take our friends and kill them. We’re taking the law into our own hands, and nobody’s going to stop us! Grab her, boys!”
“No—no, wait!” Doone gasped frantically, but he was hurled backward with a blow on the jaw before he could rush to the struggling girl’s assistance.
He saw her lifted into the air, kicking and threshing wildly—then he too was seized and borne along a few yards behind her. Punched and pounded by the infuriated mob they were dragged out into the grounds, round the laboratory, and finally to the massive oak trees bordering the grounds. There they were set down, their wrists fastened securely behind them.
“Well, what now?” Doone demanded, glaring.
“You’ll find out…” The leader of the party smiled twistedly. “I guess a length of rope round your necks will put you both well on the way to eternity, especially as nobody’s deathless anymore. This may be rough justice, but it’s the justice of ordinary people who know nothing about science or space traveling. All we know is that among our sons and daughters and friends were several volunteers who went into space—and we mean to exact revenge for their deaths. You too, Doone—you’re as bad as this she devil.”
“Aw, quit talkin’, Jeff, and get busy!” yelled somebody.
“Hangin’s too good for ’em!” one man bawled, waving a clenched fist. “Hang Doone if you like, but give the dame a slower death! Let her go through what the others did, out in space—”
“She wants lynching, that’s what!”
“Hang her by the heels!” yelled a sour faced woman.
Doone made a desperate, futile effort to free himself.
“Listen, folks—you’ve got to listen!” he cried hoarsely. “If you do this thing you’ll never forgive yourselves! Marden’s the one to blame for all this—”
“Let’s get started!” the leader interrupted briefly, took two stout ropes from one of the men and tossed them over the tree branch. Significantly he noosed the ends.
The crowd surged forward to assist him as the nooses slid over two necks. Doone and Eva kicked and struggled madly as their limbs were tightly bound. At last the crowd stood back to admire its handiwork, then moved to seize the rope slacks and pull upon them—
But they never got that far. At that moment the sour faced woman suddenly gave a shout. “Wait! Look up there—!” The people turned, hesitated, stared aloft in amazement at an egg shaped, silvery vessel dropping slowly from the clouds in the direction of central New York.
The people scattered wildly out of the track of the vessel’s scorching under-blasts as it began to settle down near the laboratory. Again it shifted, came to rest gently ten yards away.
There was a moment’s pause then the airlock opened. A tall gray headed, handsome man came slowly into view—and immediately the crowd gave a tremendous roar.
“It’s Brandon Hurst!”
“The guy who went to the moon!”
“Father!” the girl screamed, and her voice cut over the roar of the crowd. “Father! Quick!”
Hurst looked across in her direction, made a quick signal inside the ship. In a moment, followed by seven other men armed with deadly looking weapons he had passed through the crowd to the girl’s side, savagely flung off the noose from her neck, drew her into his arms as she began to weep unrestrainedly.
“Oh, Dad, thank God you came—”
Eva broke off, gulped down her tears.
“Lucky I did, I guess,” Hurst said grimly, glancing at Doone as he too was released. Then he turned back to the astounded, still half suspicious people.
“Have you idiots gone insane?” he demanded angrily. “Don’t you realize that this girl is my daughter? No, I guess not,” he went on quietly. “I’d forgotten the changed appearance. Anyway, you can take it from me that all those people who left earth are not only well and safe, but happier than they’ve ever been in their lives before! These men here with me are some of the volunteers who made the journey. Do they look too bad?”
The people were silenced, waited for Hurst to continue.
“The delay in coming back to Earth was caused by various difficulties coming through the asteroid belt,” he went on quietly. “It knocked days onto our schedule. I came as well because I had the idea my daughter might be in difficulties if things were not cleared up. Besides, there are matters of interplanetary negotiation which only I can handle…” He broke off and turned to Doone. “Where’s the President?” he asked briefly.
Doone smiled faintly, told him the whole story of Marden’s disbelief. At the end of it Hurst turned back to the people.
“Well, now you’ve heard the truth,” he remarked quietly. “You’ve seen how near you came to hanging a girl who has all but given her life in the service of space pioneering. Lucky it was that I saw this disturbance from the ship and came to investigate. What are you going to do about it?”
The crowd was silent for a moment, then the sour faced woman shouted:
“Where’s Marden?”
“Find Marden!”
“He’s the man we want—!”
They turned, surged away. Hurst looked after them with somber eyes.
“I rather fancy there is little doubt whom the next President will be when the full story is published,” he remarked. “A President of America and first ruler of the new Saturnian colony. Also, Doone, when the final details are complete you must come to Saturn and assure yourself of the enormous possibilities that await us there.”
“I’m assured of it already.” Doone smiled, glancing at the girl.
He was right too. They made the trip their honeymoon, and when they returned to Earth to complete further negotiations Janice Milford was literally dead, and even Eva Hurst was not eternal.
The Master of Golden City
CHAPTER I
Hugh Dalaker’s Story
Worldwide storms and shattering electrical disturbances were the basic reasons for three men occupying a lonely camp in the foothills of the Peruvian Sierras… It was long past sunset: a high moon revealed the towering, snow-capped peaks of the Andes. The Sierras—boundary line between the Peruvian coast and the wild, trackless forest of the interior.
“I still think you’re crazy!” Blake Henthorne remarked. “You figure that the cause of all the troubles in the outer world lies right here on this map? Somewhere in the interior. That it?” His sharp grey eyes darted a question in the light of the table lamp. His father, Doctor Henthorne, nodded his white head slowly.
“Exactly it. Experiments don’t lie, Blake. Besides, we have the word of Mr. Dalaker here—”
“Yeah, I know.” Blake spoke gruffly, stood erect again. There was no love lost between him and the short, dark-skinned Hugh Dalaker. “I still think it’s crazy,” he growled.
Dalaker, lounging in a portable chair, studied Blake’s six foot two and massive shoulders for a moment, then he laid his drink on the table… His eyes were very dark, his forehead very good, but his lips just a trifle too thin and tight.
“I don’t know why you persist in discounting my statements, Blake,” he commented, smiling a little. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I know the South American interior backwards—spent all my life in it. And I repeat that two years ago I saw El Dorado.”
“So did a Spanish sailor,” Blake grunted, lighting a cigarette. “Maybe he drank the same stuff as you…”
Dr. Henthorne snapped, “There’s no need for that, Blake! Since Mr. Dalaker has been good enough to offer his services to me the least you can do is to be civil.”
Blake sat down, stared moodily at the map. Then he looked up at the men’s faces. “Ask yourselves, does it make sense?” he demanded. “First we get vast electrical storms in all parts of the world. You, dad, with your experiments and your directional ind
icator definitely proved that the storms have a source, pointing directly to an unknown spot in the South American interior. You publish your report, but only one man believes you—Hugh Dalaker here. He comes along, offers to take you pronto to the exact source of the disturbance—El Dorado… El Dorado, the City of Gold!” he finished in disgust. “The myth, the delusion of a drunk, the—Oh, what’s the use? There isn’t any such place anyway. We’re on a wild goose chase.”
“There is such a place as El Dorado,” Dalaker stated steadily. “Oh, I admit that it does not possess that actual name, but from its situation, from the vague records that persist about it concerning a city of gold—for it is composed of yellow metal—there is no doubt that it is the same place seen by the Spanish sailor of history fame. I’ve seen this city, marked its exact position—and that position coincides with Dr. Henthorne’s tests. What more do you want?”
“Only a strait jacket, I guess,” Blake said laconically, then crushing out his cigarette he lounged to the door of the tent and stared moodily out across the waste of country they had so far covered. It lay swathed in misty moonlight, and somewhere amidst it all, heading homewards, were the mulatto muleteers who had guided them this far.
Somewhere further away still was civilization—and to Blake Henthorne civilization meant New York…
He turned sharply as a figure came up softly in the gloom. It was Hussi Ranji, the Pathan servant of the Henthorne household Tall, slim, tightly clad, with a broad sash and turban of dull cream hue, he was, thanks to the schooling of Blake, not quite such a warlike individual as he had been at first. But the fierce cruelty of an Afghan heritage was somewhere in his blood, though he managed to mask it with impartial calm, aided considerably by a rounded, weirdly clipped beard that always reminded Blake of an untrimmed hedge.
“The bird of heaven will move more smoothly than a thousand streams, Sahib Blake,” he commented.
“Nice going,” Blake answered, and he stared across the space to where the machine stood, now completely assembled from the sections that had been brought to these foothills. The moonlight glinted on the sweeping outspread wings.
“You’ve done a nice job of the final assembly, Ranji,” Blake resumed, turning back to him, and he saw white teeth gleam in momentary approval amidst the whiskers.
“I seek no greater praise, sahib.”
“Skip that and tell me something. Did you ever hear of El Dorado?”
“Only from sahib Dalaker. He gave me my instructions when the sun mated with the mountains. Tomorrow, by the graciousness of Allah, I shall fly you in the sky bird some five hundred or so miles into the rising sun.”
“Easterly direction, huh?” Blake mused. “That’ll take us right over the forest… Dalaker’s plenty free with his orders, anyhow. Frankly, Ranji, I don’t like the guy…” He lowered his voice and looked back into the tent where Dalaker and Dr. Henthorne were still studying the map.
“I can always consign the body of sahib Dalaker to the tomb of all infidels,” Ranji commented smoothly, his lean brown hand sliding gently into his sash. “If you but wish—”
“Uh-uh, nothing like that!” Blake interrupted hurriedly. “You keep that carving knife to yourself… But, gosh, would I like to sock him!”
“Maybe Allah will provide,” Ranji suggested, bowing a little, then he moved on sedately towards his own tent.
CHAPTER II
Into the Jungle
Nine o’clock the following morning found the loaded plane traveling over pure virgin forest. Ranji was at the controls, following out the orders of Hugh Dalaker as he constantly checked position on the map. Dr. Henthorne, though he could do little to assist in this direction, watched with silent interest.
Blake was still openly skeptical. He kept his eyes on the verdure below, studied its changeless vastness, tried to picture how long it had lain thus undisturbed, only its veriest edges scratched by the probing of mankind…
Hours passed. The powerful plane still droned onwards—Until at last Dalaker shot out of his usual impassivity and pointed to a spot in the greenness perhaps twenty miles away.
“There!” he cried. “See?” He handed over the binoculars. “Here, take a look. You first, Blake; you need convincing.”
Blake took the glasses, couldn’t help starting a little as the keen lenses revealed what was apparently a yellow obelisk glinting in the sunshine, backed by a range of low-lying hills. He stared long and earnestly, lowered the glasses at last with a puzzled expression.
“Something there all right,” he muttered. “Something yellow—”
“El Dorado!” Dalaker breathed, his dark eyes intense. He clenched his lean fingers on the window frame. “I knew I’d find it again. I couldn’t help but—” He stopped suddenly, almost as if he had said too much.
But Blake had been listening intently. “Why?” he demanded curtly. “Why couldn’t you help but find your way?”
Dalaker shrugged, turned easily. “Oh, calculations—certain landmarks familiar to an old hand like me, and—” He broke off, opened the driving cabin door. “Bear left, Ranji, towards that distant yellow tower.”
The Indian nodded, swept round in a huge circle. Blake stroked his chin, his eyes a little puzzled.
“Listen, Dalaker,” he said slowly, “there’s something a bit strange about this. Fliers have passed over this forest before today—especially world-hop fliers—and it looks to me as though they couldn’t help but see that gold spire just as we are doing.”
Dalaker smiled with his lips. “No flyer has ever mentioned such a thing, has he?” he asked coolly.
“No. That’s what I don’t understand.”
“And not every flier has returned, either,” Dalaker finished steadily. “Many have been missing—mysteriously lost…” He shrugged, left his meaning hidden in mid-air.
“You’re not suggesting—” Blake began in amazement, then as he saw the explorer’s eyes were coldly inscrutable he turned away and stared through the window again.
The golden spire was much nearer now, projecting over the summit of the hills, clearly visible above the tree tops. And, little by little, the view beyond the hills became clear, to reveal a verdure-free basin surrounded entirely by a hilly range. A volcanic range, in fact, for in one section smoke was curling lazily upwards on a hot wind.
Then something peculiar happened. The great obelisk, standing in the exact center of a sprawling city of yellow, suddenly began to sink downwards into the ground, controlled by some complex but exceptionally strong levitation system.
Blake wheeled round to question the mystery, turned so quickly that he caught Dalaker in the act of studying his wrist watch. Only it wasn’t a wrist watch! In that split second Blake saw very clearly that it was a peculiarly designed compass with a false watch face made to fit over it.
Dalaker fondled his wrist gently as he saw Blake’s sharp stare. His eyes were hard though his mouth smiled.
“So that’s it!” Blake breathed, striding forward. “That spire is magnetic! You’ve got a compass tuned on it! No wonder you found your way so easily… What’s your game, Dalaker?”
“Game?” Dalaker shrugged. “I don’t understand.”
Dr. Henthorne strode forward impatiently. “Look here, Blake, will you stop making trouble? You and Dalaker have been at each other’s throats ever since the trip started, and—”
“What about his wrist compass?” Blake demanded. “Was that in the bargain?”
The scientist looked surprised. “Wrist compass? Why, I—”
“This is really all very foolish, my friends,” Dalaker smiled. “Certainly I have a compass. Why should I hide it? What better way to reach El Dorado? I have seen this place before, of course, and I found that it had magnetic qualities. So—”
“So that golden obelisk is just sinking because it’s so heavy, I suppose?” Blake asked sourly. “You’re not fooling me, Dalaker. And we’re not going to land in that city, either. Ranji’s going to turn around…”
/> “No he isn’t!” Dalaker snapped, and he abruptly whipped out a small automatic from his pocket. He looked at the startled men with bitter eyes. “Since you choose to be—er—hostile, so shall I… My apologies,” he went on, smiling acidly. “And my compliments to you, Blake. You’re far smarter than your father.”
Dr. Henthorne gulped and colored. Dalaker still smiled.
“Yes, gentlemen, I have been here before,” he resumed. “I call this place El Dorado because I believe it to be the supposedly mythical city that has been seen on occasions in the past. I have met its peoples: they knew I was returning—hence the obelisk. It is magnetic, but the city itself is not. You mentioned the fact that some fliers might have seen that obelisk. That couldn’t be because I invented it only two years ago and it is used only for my own purposes. If however the city is seen by fliers, or the basin containing it, it is quite unlikely that those fliers have ever landed anywhere to tell their tale.”
“You’ve seen to that too, eh?” Blake barked bitterly.
“Naturally.”
Blake shot a glance through the window. The plane was fast nearing the outermost hills of the basin. He turned back to Dalaker.
“What’s the big idea, anyhow?” he demanded. “Can’t we look at this city on friendly terms? Why the hold-up?”
“You’ve only yourself to thank,” Dalaker said coldly. “You were about to give orders to turn back. I can’t allow that; in fact I can’t allow either of you to return to civilization at all to tell the tale… You, Dr. Henthorne, are the only man alive who guessed my secret, worked out scientifically the undeniable fact that electrical storms have been produced by artificial means from a South American source…”
“Well?” Henthorne snapped.
“Well, naturally I couldn’t allow so valuable, so clever a scientist to work out his experiments so successfully. I took the precaution of capturing the pair of you, and your servant.”
“Then—then you’re not an explorer?” Blake shouted.
John Russell Fearn Omnibus Page 77
