by Sax Rohmer
“Tell me, quickly . . . has Marusa gone?”
“Yes.”
Her hands became clenched so tightly that I knew the long, pointed nails must be buried in her palms.
“God! what madness! But at least she is protected.”
I picked up the headpieces. I had no wish to be cruel, even now, but the truth might save the world.
“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong! She has chosen to join . . . the many.”
Those brilliant eyes opened widely—unnaturally. For a moment I feared that Mme. Yburg was about to lose control—that all was lost.
But her nerves were more than masculine.
“Why,” she asked, her voice very low-pitched, “why did she do this?”
“Because she knows.”
Those slender white hands had not unclenched: they did not unclench now.
“You told her? And she believed you?”
“I did not tell her. I don’t know who did.”
She relaxed those clenched hands. And I saw, as I had expected to see, blood in her palms.
“Fate told her. It could never be. I always knew!” . . .
The deep booming ceased. Lonergan had turned the power off.
Our glances met and clashed.
“How did you buy over Nicholson?”
“It was never attempted.”
I heard lumbering, metallic footsteps mounting the ladder from the control pit.
“What do you mean?”
“Nicholson, if that’s his name, is lying insensible down below.”
An aluminium figure appeared at the ladder head. Lonergan climbed out, stood still, and watched.
“This is John Lonergan,” I said.
He raised his vizor.
Mme. Yburg stared at him as one might stare at a ghost. Her pallor was positively alarming; then:
“How,” she inquired softly—and I could detect no hint of animus in her voice—“how did you intend to save yourself? ”
From a glistening, sweat-daubed face Lonergan’s eyes shot a glance at me like that of a guilty schoolboy.
“How in blazes do I know!” he replied. “Nobody had thought of that but me! But I guess I’d have found a way.”
Then it was—but not until then—that I realized the truth:
Lonergan could never have followed us! We had overlooked this. He had known. . . .
My eyes grew oddly misty. Perhaps it was due to that intolerable throbbing. Suddenly, as though coming through a thick curtain, I heard Mme. Yburg’s voice.
“My friend”—she was addressing Lonergan— “where cleverness must have failed, it is after all self-sacrifice which has saved the world.”
“The world’s far from being saved!”
It was Lonergan’s growl which snatched me back to normal.
I looked at Mme. Yburg. Her face remained deathly white. But she was smiling—that smile which was at once an irritant and a caress!
“You may be wrong, Mr. Lonergan. I have followed an ideal—an ideal you could never grasp. Tonight, my personal loss has made me one of the many. I know that my ideal had its roots in hell!”
“Fine,” said Lonergan. “ But what do we do now ? ” Mme. Yburg reached out one slender hand, with those deep nail wounds in its delicate palm, and touched the speaker’s mailed shoulder.
“Take this off. Be quick!”
Little as I could see of Lonergan’s glistening face, I saw enough of his expression to tell me that he had grasped the situation. He withdrew.
“My husband,” said Mme. Yburg, in a low. monotonous voice, “Count von Yburg, was killed in the final assault on Ypres. My own family has lived for generations on an estate near Cracow in Poland. Marusa inherits courage, my friend, pride and poise. She also has a heritage of vices on both sides which it must be your task to study!”
“But—”
She grasped my shoulders, looked into my eyes.
“Tell me you love her—really love her!”
“I love her sincerely. I loved her from the first moment I saw her.”
“That is physical love. She is very attractive.”
“I have learned to know and respect her. She is the only girl I have ever wanted to marry.”
“She has set her heart on you. These sudden passions are a part of her heritage. I have studied you, and I think you can make her happy—if you can handle her! Be good to her—you must be good to my Musa-”
The steely control nearly broke down. Her voice faltered on that pet name, which I had never heard but which now I treasured as a jewel.
Then, miraculously, she was self-possessed again.
“But let her feel the bridle from the very beginning. There will never be any trouble.”
Lonergan returned.
He wore a very fine silk vest, trousers with belt, socks, and shoes. He carried the aluminium suit.
Mme. Yburg gripped my shoulders, smiled again —and turned to him.
“I am taking your job on, Mr. Lonergan,” she explained. “Only temporarily . . .”
With a self-possession which must have disarmed the vilest prudery, she peeled off her smart frock. Then she proceeded to buckle on the aluminium suit of the flight controller. It was grotesquely big.
“I am lost in this!” she declared.
But at last:
“Take your chance quickly,” she said, and stepped on to the ladder. “She will be hovering—may even have flown back. If Anubis wakes I am powerless. So be quick!”
“There’s one hope!” I cried—“a gun is being moved-”
Lonergan clapped his hand over my mouth.
“Mr. Lonergan!” Mme. Yburg’s voice even now held no note of anger. “That gun would save me from the only other way!”
Lonergan’s hand was removed, and:
“Then there is another way?” he challenged.
“Yes! Next to Anubis, / shall be in charge at dawn. . . . Good-bye. Hurry!”
She climbed down the ladder. . . .
Lonergan held out one clenched fist.
“Heads or tails?”
“Heads!”
He opened his hand.
I saw a worn English penny. It displayed the head of King Edward VII.
“Always was a fortunate gambler,” Lonergan growled—“and then some. . . . Hello!”
The deep booming had begun again. Mme. Yburg had turned the power on.
“Go to it, Woodville! I’ll be right behind you. Pray kind heaven Anubis stays asleep till we land!”...
3
The sensations of that flight—which I dare to predict no man will experience again for at least a generation —were indescribably pleasant.
Pushing off—one's heels against the metal bar— was definitely sickly. The blue light ahead alone promised safety. There followed a deathly fall, a pause—then, a swift uplift of breathless ecstasy. It resembled those dreams of childhood in which we fly, untrammelled, across vast tracts of country.
That mysterious power zone reached, into which these invisible elevators shot the traveller, control became a matter almost of mood—so sensitive was the mechanism. I enjoyed all that glorious mastery of the air which so often I had envied in the sea gull.
Upon an impalpable wave I floated as a canoe floats lightly upon water. There was a gentle swaying, a nearly imperceptible tidal urge. A movement of either hand, slightest inclination of my body to right or left, swung me to port or starboard. To raise my feet was to dive; to press down my toes resulted in an instant climb.
A mile below me I saw Felsenweir as I had seen it reflected on that circular table in the laboratory. I could clearly see moving figures in surrounding and approaching roads.
I pressed the control under my right hand. . . .
Inexperience betrayed me. At a speed that cannot have been less than eighty miles an hour I was hurled through space!
Raising my hand as eagerly as I had lowered it, I found myself floating serenely again.
At which moment Marusa’s agon
ized appeal reached me.
“Brian!” I heard, eerily—“Brian! Answer me!.., Where are you?” . . .
“Marusa!” I cried.
“Brian dear! Oh, thank God!”
“Gaston Max speaking! Where are you?”
“I’m all right, old man!”
“Heaven be praised, my friend! I am glad. I withdraw . .
One thing became evident. Confidences were impossible between travellers on the energy waves!
“Listen, Brian! Make for the Old Castle—Hohen* Baden. You can’t miss it. You know it. I’ll head you off. When you see me, follow on.”
“All right, darling.”
I studied the landscape far below. Gingerly, I moved around several points. I set my course. With extreme care this time, I pressed down the control. .. .
And then, with such a sense of self-reproach as I cannot hope to convey, I remembered the man who had made all this possible.
“Lonergan!” I cried—“Lonergan . . .”
Loudly—he must have been very near—came hi» reply:
“I’m headed same way."
Ahead I saw two batlike shapes. Marusa’s voice reached me:
“Swing round behind me, Brian. When you see I’m floating, watch. We’ll be over the cemetery! When I drop, wait for M. Max to follow. Then come over. You’ll see the green light below you. Just let yourself drop. Can Mr. Lonergan hear?”
“I heard!” Lonergan’s voice replied.
4
My mile drop through space into the ancient vault of the Felsenweirs occupies a niche of its own in these memoirs. If the sensation of rocketesque ascent had been thrilling, this of a deadweight crash was appalling.
I knew we were in the hands of the flight controller on duty—and at the mercy of anyone having access to the Felsenweir power house.
And, as I fell, I could not rid my mind of an idea that somebody had cut off the energy wave!
Then came check—second check—third check . . . my descent grew slower. But, still falling at great speed, I flashed down into a black pit. Some hint entered my mind of a metal-clad figure on a platform . . . there were switches ... it was not unlike a limelight perch in a theatre. . . .
I was stationary ... I was going up . . . then I felt the grapnel made fast—felt myself hauled clear.
Reaching down, I tugged at the release. . . .
With the scene of reunion which followed I find myself unable to deal. Marusa was clinging to me, trembling wildly. Gaston Max had his arms about us both. . . . Then Lonergan came in.
“How do we cope with my opposite number on the downstairs control platform?” he inquired.
His unemotional attention to the job in hand was just the cold douche we required. This remarkable man would have entered heaven or hell without qualm or enthusiasm, concentrating all the time on (a) whereabouts of the party he was looking for; (b) how he was going to get him out.
As it chanced, the problem, did not arise. We followed Marusa up many stairs which ultimately led to a small, square chamber.
She opened a locked door, beckoning me to follow.
“I knew it!” Max murmured. “It is the renovated tomb adjoining the Felsenweir vault! I have ordered that it shall be watched!”
We were arrested as we came out . . . the cemetery was stiff with police!
CHAPTER XXV - THE HOUR
1
That last dash to Felsenweir is memorable down to the smallest details—because of how it ended. I can remember—most poignantly of all—Marusa’s white face. In the passionate anger and indignation of her first discovery, she had been blind to all the consequences of her action.
Now she knew.
I held her hand very tightly as she sat between Lonergan and myself in the big police car. But I don’t think she was even aware of my presence.
Max drove, a police official beside him.
News of the gun was somewhat disquieting. At a point considerably below the Devil’s Elbow, tackle had parted and the carriage was badly jammed. Reinforcements of axmen and new tackle were already on the way.
It was close on one o’clock when we swung around the hairpin bend and saw the gleam of arms.
At which moment, Lonergan spoke dully.
“Don’t take any advice I give from now on,” he said. “I think . . . Anubis has taken control!”
“Great heavens!”
Max sprang down to the road. We all got out.
“Are you sure, old man?”
“No. It’s maybe imagination. The strain of expecting—that is kind of heavy.”
Max and I exchanged glances of silent understanding.
We must not lose sight of Lonergan for a moment. . . .
Forty arrests had been made in Baden-Baden alone, of persons wearing the Anubis disk. But I could not help wondering if any of the armed men lining Felsenweir woods concealed similar amulets— under heavy wrist-watch bands, for example.
Was the gun crew reliable?
Acting contrary to definite orders, six men had lost their lives already. They had penetrated to the woods. . . .
No more would go that way. A sort of dumb terror brooded over the roads and few words were spoken.
We made a complete inspection of the several groups surrounding the place, returning at a few minutes before two o’clock to the point from which we had set out.
Three planes had gone up, before Max could get the order cancelled. They had all crashed at points so far untraceable. I think the energy wave must have formed a death trap of some sort.
Clearly visible as I knew we must be to the watchers in Felsenweir, I wondered what methods of attack Anubis controlled and when he would put them into operation. At two o’clock came news of the gun. They expected to have it placed by three!
A suspicion that Anubis, in the circumstances, would loose death on the world before the hour arranged, I presently dismissed—realizing that to do so must result in serious havoc amongst his chosen ranks.
At half-past two, reports came from many widely separated points of a great flight of “bats” crossing the forest!
What did this mean ? New arrivals ? Or the garrison, an unknown quantity, deserting?
“Do you think,” Marusa whispered, “that . .
“Yes, darling,” I said in a very low voice. “I don’t believe she would—go, and leave you.”
Fifteen minutes before dawn the gun opened fire.
We heard the shell whining over our very heads— the distant report ... a dull explosion.
Marusa threw herself into my arms, crushed her hands to her ears, and then slipped gently down— insensible.
“It is best for her,” Max whispered. “Lay her here on the cushions—I will look after her.”
A hoar$e murmur, coming from thousands of throats, and swelling from miles around, rose eerily out of the darkness. ... A second shell whined over the forest. It did not explode.
Premonitory flushes showed in the sky.
It was the third shell that scored ... or was the cataclysm due to something else? To some unforeseen flaw in the monstrous power plant controlled by Anubis?—to Mme. Yburg?
At the time of writing, I don’t know. I wonder if I ever shall?
Even as we listened, breathlessly, to the shriek of its passing, came a blinding green light . . . brighter than tropical lightning—bright as the brightest sunshine! It illuminated the Black Forest for hundreds of miles, as later reports proved.
A veritable earthquake shook the land. I felt the road heave beneath me—I heard a blast of sound such as no explosion imaginable could have produced. . . .
The concussion was unendurable. I lost consciousness . . . nor was I alone.
Rending and tearing of massive rocks in motion, of falling trees, awakened me—the sky was an angry red dome.
The crag of Felsenweir had become a veritable volcano! The huge castle was in flames! . . .
But the world was saved.
THE END
Sax Rohmer, The Day the World Ended
