by Sax Rohmer
There was no one else in this laboratory.
“You imagine,’’ said the dwarf—whilst I remained stupefied by my new environment—“that by a sudden exercise of your agility you could perhaps succeed in strangling me? Dismiss, M. Max, this possibility. Your blow could never reach my chin, your hands never clutch my throat.”
And as he spoke I knew that it was so.
I glanced about me, noting many unknown implements, realizing that I was in the stronghold of Felsenweir, in the headquarters of the most formidable criminal with whom my profession so far had brought me in contact. This dwarf, with his great head and tiger eyes, was, then, a genius? His operations were world-wide. Physical violence became out of the question. Only a child could have attempted it. He was right. I bowed.
“I agree with you entirely, monsieur,” I said. “You appear to be familiar with my name and so you have an advantage over me.”
“I am known,” the dwarf replied, “for purposes of my own, as Anubis. This is sufficient for a brotherhood numbering many thousands: it must be sufficient for you, M. Max.”
He proceeded to talk to me as one intelligent man talks to another. His statements would have seemed monstrous—the babblings of a lunatic—to one who had not held my information. But when he spoke of the sound wave which can destroy, and instanced the tragedy in the Pyrenees, I realized that the powers to which he laid claim he truly controlled.
Perhaps, Woodville, you have forgotten the details of that tragedy in the tragedies which have befallen ourselves ? No matter. Recollection will come as I tell you what Anubis told me.
You may recall that the only survivors of the mysterious electrical storm which destroyed the inhabitants of that little township were a very old cow in an ancient stone byre, three deaf-mutes, an aged man who lived in a cellar, a woman in childbirth, and her child?
These mysteries Anubis explained to me. And it was his explanation which restored my courage. You do not understand, perhaps? It was that I recognized how even that giant brain had its limitations! In short, my friend, there were things he could not explain—powers over which he had not yet obtained control!
To make my meaning more clear: The ancient byre and the walls of that old cellar—so Anubis had learned—both were constructed of a form of gneiss today unobtainable for building purposes; in short, from extinct quarries and of a character no longer employed. This stone, he had realized, was a non-conductor of his wave!
The three deaf men call for no explanation. The wave operates through the eardrum. Absence of an eardrum renders one immune. The woman in childbirth and the newly born infant, Anubis was unable to account for.
“This is a law, M. Max,” he said, “which so far I have failed to grasp, although otherwise the result of my experiment in the Pyrenees—conducted from this laboratory—has enriched my knowledge immeasurably. I can only conclude that that urgent lust of reproduction, to which I have opposed myself in its immediate manifestation, is stronger than my science. In short, plan how I may, the world, after that day which I have fixed for its depopulation, must contain a number of females unaccounted for in my records and at least an equal number of newly arrived young. I include—since I suppose it is unavoidable—the lower animal world. With these intruders I shall prepare to deal as later circumstances may indicate.”
One moment of triumph I knew! The Voice operated—outside Felsenweir—through a delicate mechanism which could be contained, imperceptibly, in a watch! This he told me.
‘‘You may suppose, M. Max,” said he, “that with all our precautions and our influential friends, we are vulnerable from one point? In the event of open warfare, you imagine that aircraft could destroy us? ... You are wrong!”
Can you conceive it, Woodville! Bombs dropped on Felsenweir would explode a mile above the castle! Planes flying lower would be lost. Their pilots would reach the sound zones!
It was a question of mine—yes, we were on a footing most amicable—respecting Mme. Yburg which brought up this point. . . .
There is what Anubis terms an “energy wave.” This wave it is which renders air bombing ineffective. It is sent out at a sympathetic elevation of one mile above ground level. The “bats”—those bats, my friend, which turned our hearts cold—are flying suits! They function on this wave. They carry a simple steering gear and one of those mechanisms which we know, whereby the Voice—or some controlling officer—can keep in touch with the flyer.
The purpose of Mme. Yburg’s visit to America was to learn if these energy waves functioned in the atmosphere of that continent. Her experiments, conducted from Hartford, Connecticut, proved that beyond cutting in on radio, the waves were powerless. A scientific mystery. . . .
There is capital, Woodville, colossal, criminal capital, behind this monster! And he is the greatest evil genius the good God has ever allowed upon earth. Like Satan before him, he disputes the powers of Heaven. . . .
“Energy has a limited range,” he said to me. “One station is insufficient. Unlike sound. Sound can be transmitted from this laboratory all round the world.
And sound can kill. . . .”
He showed me—he showed me, my friend! . . . From the spot he calls “the control tower,” those death waves may be sent in uniting circles! There is a great model of the terrestrial globe . . . Anubis can cover all its surface with his waves of sound. He can focus them—or deflect them. It is for him a matter of choice only. Where he wishes to spare— he spares!
Do you understand? What have you reasoned out? In only one respect is this Anubis vulnerable. . . . Artillery, I think, could destroy the control tower!
This monster was then so good as to give me particulars of his system of automatic hypnosis. Lonergan, he informed me, knew it well! You see how much I have learned ?
It was through the ear that the sound wave struck —through the eye that mental paralysis came!
I saw that I had two hopes. First, this small piece of knowledge; second, the vanity of Anubis! You follow me? Like all scientists, of whom he is undoubtedly the greatest, he counts any type of brain, other than the purely scientific, as negligible!
Presently, in response to some signal which I failed to detect, a third person entered the laboratory.
Astounded, I stared at him. We were introduced, the new arrival and I. His name was Nestor and his nationality Graeco-American. He wore a black moustache. In one glance I had realized that, deprived of this moustache, M. Nestor and myself might have passed for twin brothers!
He was, I learned, the second chemist. We exchanged some amiable conversation, which later was to be profitable—to me. He withdrew, this unhappy one, when his part was played. S^me secrets of that great laboratory he had explained . . . and I had realized that the dwarf—conscious of his deformity —remained always seated. Bien. . . .
Two damsels entered. Name of a name! What exquisite perfection! One was of that yellow of old ivory, a perfectly moulded Chinese maiden; the other a red-brown daughter of the Sioux, with black, tragic eyes. They brought light refreshments.
Instantly, I scented danger! I have studied murder, ancient and modern, my friend. People have died in Paris this very year simply because they ate an apple! Poisoned peaches were used by the Borgias. . . . Childish, these doubts, as I was soon to learn; but excusable, I think?
As those beautifuls placed a tray of refreshment between Anubis and myself, I determined upon direct action.
“Since I cannot believe, M. Anubis,” I said, “that your great intelligence could stoop to so common a device as that of drugging me, I shall be honoured to take wine with you.”
The effect of this speech was electrical. Anubis forced himself upright in the chair, pressing tiny skeleton hands upon those slender knees. He spoke gutturally: the handmaidens disappeared. The glare of his eyes was dreadful to sustain. His white anger, which I had so deliberately provoked, was more horrible than I could have anticipated.
“You insult me, Gaston Max!” he said.
I could have stung
him again, but I decided that now I must endeavour to pacify this distorted, formidable creature; therefore:
“I have no reason to trust your hospitality,” I explained, “since I am at this moment your unwilling guest. . . . Where then is the insult?”
He continued to glare at me in a manner which I cannot describe. There was a fire behind those wild-animal eyes. But, as I watched him, and it was a monstrous effort, slowly he sank back again to his former pose.
“I am not angry,” he replied, “because you distrust me! I had looked upon you as a clever man. If I had thought you to be a fool, you would not be here now. But if you will consider your position it must become apparent, I think, that secret drugging is quite unnecessary. Whatever I may desire of you— your life or your death—I could accomplish by a movement of the hand. You forget that you are utterly at my mercy. You forget your American friend Mr. John Lonergan, whom I did not find it necessary to drug. ...”
His emphasis on the last word started a fresh line of reflection in my brain. And, watching him, I began to think hard.
2
I drank wine with Anubis.
He was good enough to explain that in my own province he regarded me as unique. He thought there might be work for my type of intelligence in that New World which he planned to erect upon the ashes of the Old. He assured me that you, my friend, had appreciated his aims and had decided to join the crew of this Ark which alone was destined to survive the catastrophe.
The dimensions of this catastrophe I was at first unable to accept. But shall I say that Anubis convinced me completely?
I realized there might be flaws in his monstrous project. But also I realized that he intended to loose upon the world a blast of sound, a thing invisible, above the conception of any other living scientist, which—I remembered the Pyrenees—could not fail to mean death to thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions perhaps!
It was then that he definitely invited me to join the brotherhood.
I hesitated, watching him; whereupon:
“Explanation,” he said, and his voice was very soft, “is never so convincing as demonstration.”
M. Nestor returned, carrying a small ebony box. This he placed upon the table between Anubis and myself, and withdrew.
When we were alone together:
“I shall ask you, Gaston Max,” said my truly appalling host, “to open this box for me. Be good enough to raise the lid.”
I am trained to quick action. It is only because of my power to act quickly that I am alive today. Now, I thought swiftly. If he meant to attack me through my ears, I was helpless—I must die! If through my eyes—the automatic hypnosis—I might act, I might malinger!
Standing up, I bowed to Anubis . . . and in the act of bowing I opened the lid of the box—at the same time closing my eyes!
That a bright light shone out I could detect even through lowered lids. It scorched me. I stood motionless. I opened my eyes. I looked down fixedly at the legs of the table on which this box was set.
A blue light shone up from it so that it must have touched the crown of my head. . . .
“You will note, Gaston Max,” said Anubis, “that your brain is now powerless to control your body. As you stand, so you would remain until death came and you fell forward—unless I willed otherwise.”
It was my cue! I remained as I found myself.
“This is the fate which befell your American friend. It has now befallen you. I must approach your conversion, Gaston Max, from a new and a different angle. Stand upright!”
I stood straight up.
“Your body is now dead,” Anubis continued; “only your brain lives. You are rigid as the dead are rigid.”
It was sufficient! I knew I must remain stiff as a mummy. Again the Greek gentleman who was so strangely like my brother entered that laboratory, There was a short conversation in what I suppose was modern Greek—it sounded like it, but I am unfamiliar with the language.
I stood motionless, staring straight before me. As M. Nestor went out, Anubis, I realized, was watching me. There was an interval—a dreadful interval. M. Nestor returned with another man, carrying a stretcher! This I divined, for I could not glance aside or downward—only straight before me. I never blinked. I congratulate myself on one of the supreme achievements of my career.
A few words were spoken by Anubis. My clothes were stripped from my rigid body, Nestor using surgical scissors to cut the garments. I was laid upon the stretcher.
“Gaston Max,” said Anubis, “fold your arms upon your breast.”
I obeyed mechanically. A word of command was added in Greek and I was carried from the laboratory! . . .
Staring up at the ceiling with eyes which I tried to make appear sightless, I was brought to a smaller room on the same floor. I was lifted into a sort of crystal shell! A crystal lid was placed over me, and clamped down!
This coffin of a living death was raised upright. It rested upon a sort of trolley with rubber-tired wheels. I was pushed out into some place of darkness. . . .
For the first time I closed my weary eyes and relaxed my tired muscles. There was air in this crystal coffin. It was possible to breathe. But every minute seemed like an hour, and the hours interminable. How long I lay there, mon Dieu! I cannot even guess.
But suddenly—so suddenly that I had barely time to stare before me and become rigid again—I felt myself moving upward! I was in some kind of lift! The movement ceased. Curtains were parted before my glass tomb, and I saw a strange, dimly lighted room. . . .
You were in it, Woodville, seated on a low stool! Before you, on a platform, was Anubis. Two beautiful creatures, one of ebony and one of ivory, moved dimly within my plane of vision.
Vaguely, because of the glass box which surrounded me, I heard Anubis speak to you. . . . The curtains were reclosed. I was in darkness again. . .. I was returned to that small apartment adjoining the laboratory and my sarcophagus was lowered to the floor.
There was a dim light in this room. By his shadow, I traced the one who had moved me. I saw him go.
Then I ventured to relax, and to think—to think —to think! Plans I could make none, for I had no idea what would happen next. My greatest chance lay in a surprise attack. If such an opportunity presented itself, on me, I reflected, must rest the fate of the world!
I heard vague sounds—once, the voice of Anubis. That peculiar whining noise, too, which is made by the elevators. But no one entered the room. It was an ordeal which I cannot describe, which, honestly, my friend, I do not think I could survive a second time. Hours passed—many, many hours! If it were day or night, I could not know. It seemed to me that it did not matter.
Then, suddenly, I saw a moving shadow!
I became rigid. I stared straightly upward.
Mme. Yburg stood watching me!
Except that she wore some white garment, I could not, dared not, learn more. She began to speak.
“Well, my brilliant friend,” she said, “is it clear to you what occurred at Bagneres-des-Bareges? You come at a critical moment—for at dawn tomorrow it occurs to all the world!”
I began to wonder. Had she detected my trickery? How far could I trust her?
“Short of joining us, there is only death.” She mused on. “How strange! If it were otherwise I would help you. . . . Stare, my friend—and accept—”
She knew! She fell silent.
M. Nestor entered.
“Ah! Good-evening, my dear Chief!” he exclaimed. He spoke in German. “This pleasure was unforeseen. I expected Richter.”
“Herr Richter is with Anubis,” Mme. Yburg replied—so coldly. “I am standing by until he is free. Your watch ends, Dr. Nestor, when you have given the patient his first shot. Good-night.”
I saw, from her shadow, that she was going; then: “May I hope,” said he, “when the anxieties of tomorrow are ended, that you will think over-”
Mme. Yburg laughed.
“You are very persistent!” she replied . . . and
went out.
It was clear. M. Nestor found encouragement. He hummed a song—a popular dance melody. Yes, he was happy. It was sad. At all costs I must avoid the “first shot”!
Quickly, and in a workmanlike manner, M. Nestor removed the lid of my glass sarcophagus. He raised it upright. He rested it against some place which I could not see, since I did not dare to move my eyes. An itching, a tear, a sneeze—any of these must betray me—ruin me!
He came presently into view, his back turned in my direction. He wore dinner kit. I looked at him. He was charging a hypodermic syringe! . . .
I acted.
Silent, in my nakedness, and in spite of my cramped muscles, I rose from that glass coffin and hurled myself upon M. Nestor! We of the French police are trained in jiu-jitsu. (So also is Mr. Lonergan!) I threw the unsuspecting Greek without difficulty. . . .
Let me make my meaning clear; for that which followed was horrible. I had secured a stranglehold —you understand? It was necessary that he should be not only helpless, but silent. Apparently he did not understand the nature of these circumstances. And—how shall I express this thing?
My friend . . . the unhappy M. Nestor strangled himself!
Realizing what had occurred, I looked down at him ... I listened. All was silent! I crossed to the table at which he had been charging a syringe. This syringe lay upon the floor. On the table were surgical implements, including those very scissors which he had employed to cut my garments from my body.
I used them for another purpose. I cut off his black moustache! Much stubble was left—keen though the blades were. Myself, I was now unshaven for many hours and the difference between us was not great.
His garments I removed while yet it was possible to stir his limbs. I shudder when I think of it!
The dinner suit fitted me badly, but well enough. I broke one of the studs in removing his shirt—although this shirt was unstarched and of an impossible pattern. No one disturbed me. Only my own movements broke the silence. I wondered . . . but went on. I placed him in the coffin from which I had escaped and returned the lid, crossing his stiffening arms upon his breast, as mine had been crossed. One hand concealed the identification disk he wore. I ruffled his hair.
