“I still don’t see the connection,” Gregor said.
“I’m coming around to it,” Myra said, looking extremely embarrassed. “When I found out that Edward the Hermit and I were neighbors, astronomically speaking, I decided to speak to him. I had no intention of intruding on his privacy. I just wanted to tell him how much his book meant to me. So I radioed him from Coelle.”
“He has a radio?” Arnold asked.
“Of course,” Myra said. “He explained that in his first chapter. He keeps it so he can listen to the absurd voices of mankind, and laugh himself to sleep.”
“Oh. Go on.”
“Well, when he heard I was going to live on Coelle, he became furious. Said he couldn’t stand having a human so close.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Arnold said. “The planets are millions of miles apart.”
“I told him that. But he started shouting and screaming at me. He said mankind wouldn’t leave him alone. Real estate brokers were trying to talk him into selling his mineral rights, and a travel agency was going to route its ships within ten thousand miles of the upper atmosphere of his planet. And then to top it all, I come along and move in practically on his doorstep.”
“And then he threatened her,” Jameson said.
“I guess it was a threat,” Myra said. “He told me to get out of the Gelsors system, or he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened.”
“Did he say what would happen?” Arnold asked.
“No. He just hinted it would be pretty extreme.”
Jameson said, “I think it’s apparent that the man’s unbalanced. After the talk, these so-called Skag incidents began. There must be a connection.”
“It’s possible,” Arnold said judiciously.
“I just can’t believe it,” Myra said, gazing pensively out a port. “His book was so beautiful. And his picture on the book jacket—he looked so soulful.”
“Hah!” Jameson said. “Anyone who’d live alone on an empty planet must be off his rocker.”
Myra gave him a venomous look. And then the radar alarm went off. They were about to land on Coelle . . .
The Skag Castle dominated Coelle. Built of an almost indestructible gray stone, the castle sprawled across the curved land like a prehistoric monster crouched over Lilliputia. Its towers and battlements soared past the narrow limits of the planet’s atmosphere, and the utmost spires were lost in haze. As they approached, the black slitted windows seemed to stare menacingly at them.
“Cozy little place,” Gregor commented.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Myra said. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
The three men looked at the castle, then at each other.
“Just the ground floor,” Arnold begged.
Myra wanted to show them everything. It wasn’t every girl who became the owner of an alien birthplace, period house and haunted castle, all rolled into one. But she settled for a few of the main attractions—the library, containing ten thousand Skag scrolls which no one could read, the Worship Chamber of Ieele, and the Grand Torture Room.
Dinner was prepared by the auto-cook Uncle Jim had thoughtfully installed, and later they had brandy on the terrace, under the stars. Myra gave them all bedrooms on the second floor, to avoid as much climbing as possible. They retired, planning on beginning the investigation early in the morning.
The partners shared a bedroom the size of a small soccer field, with bronze death masks of Scarb princes leering from the wail. Arnold kicked off his shoes, flopped into bed, and was asleep immediately.
Gregor paced around for a few minutes, smoked a last cigarette, snapped off the light and climbed into his bed. He was on the verge of sleep, when suddenly he sat upright. He thought he had heard a dull rumbling noise, like the sound of a giant walking underneath the castle. Nerves, he told himself.
Then the rumbling came again, the floor shook, and the death masks clattered angrily against the wall.
In another moment the noise had subsided.
“Did you hear it?” Gregor whispered.
“Of course I heard it,” Arnold said crossly. “It almost shook me out of bed.”
“What do you think?”
“It could be a form of poltergeism,” Arnold answered, “although I doubt it. We’ll explore the cellar tomorrow.”
“I don’t think this place has any cellar,” Gregor said.
“It hasn’t? Good! That would clinch it.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I’ll have to accumulate a bit more data before I can make a positive statement,” Arnold said smugly.
“Have you any idea what you’re talking about? Or are you just making it up as you go along. Because if—”
“Look!”
Gregor turned, and saw a gray and purple light in one corner of the room. It pulsed weirdly, throwing fantastic shadows across the bronze death masks. Slowly it approached them. As it drew nearer they could make out the reptilian outlines of a Skag, and through him they could see the walls of the room.
Gregor fumbled under his pillow, found the needier and fired. The charge went through the Skag, and pocked a neat three-inch groove in the stone wall.
The Skag stood before them, its cloak swirling, an expression of extreme disapproval on its face. And then, without a sound, it was gone.
As soon as he could move, Gregor snapped on the light. Arnold was smiling faintly, staring at the place where the Skag had been.
“Very interesting,” Arnold said. “Very interesting indeed.”
“What is?”
“Do you remember how Myra described the Undead Scarb?”
“Sure. She said it was nine feet tall, had little wings, and—oh, I think I see.”
“Precisely,” Arnold said. “This Skag or Scarb was no more than four feet in height, without wings.”
“I suppose there could be two types,” Gregor said dubiously. “But what bearing does this have on the underground noises? The whole thing is getting ridiculously complicated. Surely you must realize that.”
“Complication is frequently a key to solution,” Arnold said. “Simplicity alone is baffling. Complexity, on the other hand, implies the presence of a self-contradictory logic structure. Once the incomprehensibles are reconciled and the extraneous factors are cancelled, the murderer stands revealed in the glaring light of rational inevitability.”
“What are you talking about?” Gregor shouted. “There wasn’t any murder here!”
“I was quoting from lesson three in the Hepburn School for Scientific Detection Correspondence Course. And I know there was no murder. I was just speaking in general.”
“But what do you think is going on?” Gregor asked.
“Something funny is going on,” Arnold said. He smiled knowingly, turned over and went to sleep.
Gregor snapped out the light. Arnold’s course, he remembered, had cost ten dollars plus a coupon from Horror Crime Magazine. His partner had certainly received his money’s worth.
There were no further incidents that night.
IV
BRIGHT AND early in the morning, the partners were awakened by Myra pounding on their door.
“A spaceship is landing!” she called.
Hurriedly they dressed and came down, meeting Jameson on the stairs. Outside, they saw that a small spacer had just put down, and its occupant was climbing out.
“More trouble,” Jameson growled.
The new arrival hardly looked like trouble. He was middle-aged, short and partially bald. He was dressed in a severely conservative business suit, and he carried a briefcase. His features were quiet and reserved.
“Permit me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am Frank Olson, a representative of Transstellar Mining. My card.”
The four of them looked at his card and returned it. Olson continued.
“Transstellar Mining is contemplating an expansion into this territory, to take advantage of the new Terra-to Propexis space lane. I am doing the initial s
urvey. We need planets upon which we can obtain mineral rights.”
Myra shook her head. “Not interested. But why don’t you try Kerma?” she asked, with a sly smile.
“I just came from Kerma,” Olson said. “I had what I considered a very attractive proposition for this Edward the Hermit fellow.”
“I’ll bet he booted you out on your ear,” Gregor said.
“No. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t there.”
“Wasn’t there?” Myra gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Reasonably so,” Olson said. “His camp was deserted.”
“Perhaps he went on a hike,” Arnold said. “After all, he has an entire planet to wander over.”
“I hardly think so. His big ship was gone, and a spaceship is hardly a suitable vehicle for wandering around a planet.”
“Very clever deduction,” Arnold said enviously.
“Not that it matters,” Olson said. “I thought I’d ask him, just for the record.” He turned to Myra. “You are the owner of this planet?”
“I am.”
“Perhaps you would be interested in hearing our terms?”
“No!” Myra said.
“Wait,” Jameson said. “You should at least hear him.”
“I’m not interested,” Myra said. “I’m not going to have anyone digging up my little planet.”
“I don’t even know if your planet has anything worth digging for,” Olson said. “My company is simply trying to find out which planets are available.”
’They’ll never get this one,” Myra said.
“Well, it isn’t too important,” Olson said. “There are many planets. Too many,” he added, with a sigh. “I won’t disturb you people any longer. Thank you for your time.”
He turned, his shoulders slumping, and trudged back to his ship.
“Won’t you stay to dinner?” Myra called impulsively. “You must get pretty tired of eating canned food in that spaceship.”
“I do,” Olson said, with a rueful smile. “But I really can’t stay. I hate to make a blastoff after dark.”
“Then stay until morning,” Myra said. “We’d be glad to put you up.”
“I wouldn’t want to be any trouble—”
“I’ve got about two hundred rooms in there,” Myra said, pointing at the Skag Castle. “I’m sure we can squeeze you in somewhere.”
“You’re very kind,” Olson said. “I—I believe I will!”
“Hope you aren’t nervous about Undcad Scarbs,” Jameson said.
“What?”
“This planet seems to be haunted,” Arnold told him. “By the ghost or ghosts of an extinct reptilian race.”
“Oh, come now,” Olson said. “You’re pulling my leg. Aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” Gregor said.
Olson grinned to show that no one was taking him in. “I believe I’ll tidy up,” he said.
“Dinner’s at six,” Myra said.
“I’ll be there. And thank you again.” He returned to his ship.
“Mow what?” Jameson asked.
“Now we are going to do some searching,” Arnold said. He turned to Gregor. “Bring the portable detector. And we’ll need a few shovels.”
“What are we looking for?” Jameson asked.
“You’ll see when we find it,” Arnold said. He smiled insidiously and added, “I thought you knew everything.”
Coelle was a very small planet, and in five hours Arnold found what he was looking for. In a little valley there was a long mound. Near it, the detector buzzed gaily.
“We with dig here,” Arnold said.
“I bet I know what it is,” Myra told them. “It’s a burial mound, isn’t it? And when you’ve uncovered it, well find row upon row of Undead Scarbs, their hands crossed upon their chests, waiting for the full moon. And well put stakes through their hearts, won’t we?”
Gregor’s shovel clanged against something metallic.
“Is that the tomb?” Myra asked.
But when they had thrown aside more dirt, they saw that it was not a tomb. It was the top of a spaceship.
“What’s that doing here?” Jameson asked.
“Isn’t it apparent?” Arnold said. “The hermit is not on his own planet. We know his feelings about Coelle. Naturally he would be here.”
“And naturally he wouldn’t leave his spaceship in plain sight!” Gregor said.
“So he’s here,” Jameson said slowly. “But where? Where on the planet?”
“Almost undoubtedly he’s somewhere in the Skag Castle,” Arnold said.
Jameson turned in triumph to Myra. “You see? I told you it was that crazy hermit! Now we have to catch him.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Arnold said.
“Why not?”
“At the proper time, Edward the Hermit will appear,” Arnold said coolly. And they couldn’t get another word out of him.
That evening the auto-cook surpassed itself. Frank Olson was a little stiff at first; but he unbent over the brandy, and regaled them with stories of the planets he had touched upon in his search for mining properties. Jameson wanted to search the castle and drag the hermit out of his hiding place. Sullenly, he yielded when Arnold pointed out the impossibility of four people covering several hundred rooms and passageways.
Later, they played bridge. Arnold’s mind was elsewhere, however, and after trumping his partner’s perfectly good trick a second time, they all decided to call it a night.
V
AN HOUR later, Mike Arnold whispered across the bedroom, “Are you asleep?”
“No,” Gregor whispered back.
“Get dressed, then, but leave your shoes off.”
“What’s up?”
“I think we are going to solve the mystery of Skag Castle tonight. Mind if I borrow your needier?”
Gregor gave it to him. They tiptoed out of the bedroom, and down the great central staircase. They found a vantage point behind an enameled suit of Skag armor, where they could watch without being seen. For half an hour there was silence.
Then they saw a shape at the top of the landing. Soundlessly it crept down the staircase and glided across the hall.
“Who is it?” Gregor whispered.
“Shh!” Arnold whispered back.
They followed the shape into the library. There it hesitated, as though uncertain what to do next.
At that moment the underground rumblings began, shattering the silence. The man jerked abruptly, startled. A light appeared in his hand. By its feeble glow, the partners recognized Frank Olson.
With his tiny flashlight, Olson searched one library wall. Finally he pressed a panel. It slid back, revealing a small switchboard. Olson turned two dials. The underground noises stopped at once.
Wiping his forehead, Olson listened for several moments. Then he snapped off his light, and noiselessly crept back to the hall, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, his utter quietness seeming almost uncanny.
Arnold pulled Gregor back behind the enameled armor.
“That ties it,” Gregor said. “There’s our Undead Scarb.”
Arnold shook his head.
“Of course he is,” Gregor said. “He must have planned this in order to frighten Myra off the planet. Then he could buy the mineral rights for next to nothing.”
“Seems reasonable, doesn’t it?” Arnold said. “But you’ve got a lot to learn about detection. In cases of this sort, what’s reasonable is never right. The apparent solution is always wrong. Invariably!”
“Why look for complications that aren’t there?” Gregor asked. “We jaw Olson go to that hidden switchboard. We heard the noises stop as soon as he touched the controls. Or was that pure coincidence?”
“No, there’s a casual relationship.”
“Hmm. Maybe Olson isn’t a mining representative at all. Do you think someone hired him? Edward the Hermit, maybe. As a matter of fact, perhaps he is Edward the Hermit!”
“Shh,” Arnold whispered. “Look!”
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Gregor’s eyes had become accustomed to the dark. This time he recognized the man at once. It was Jameson, tiptoeing down the stairs.
Jameson walked to one side of the hall and turned on a small flashlight. By its light he found a panel in the wall, and pressed it. The panel slid back, revealing a small switchboard. Jameson breathed heavily and reached for the dials. Before he could touch them he heard a noise, and stepped quickly back.
A figure stepped out of the darkness. It was about six feet in height, and its face was hideous and reptilian. A long, spiked tail dragged behind it, and its fingers were webbed.
“I am the Undead Scarb!” it said to Jameson.
“Awk!” Jameson said, backing away.
“You must leave this planet,” the Scarb said. “You must leave at once—or your life is forfeit!”
“Sure,” Jameson said hastily, “sure I will. Just stay away. Well leave, Myra and I—”
“Not Miss Ryan. The Earthwoman has shown a reverent understanding for the Old Lore, and for the spirit of Skag. But you, Ross Jameson, have profaned the Sacred Burrow.”
The Scarb moved closer, its webbed fingers splayed. Jameson backed into a wall, and suddenly pulled a blaster.
At that moment, Arnold snapped on the lights. He shouted, “Don’t shoot, Ross. You’d be arrested for murder.” He turned to Gregor. “Now let’s get a close look at this Scarb.”
The Undead Scarb put one hand on top of his scaled head and pulled. The terrible head peeled off, revealing beneath it the youthful features of Edward the Hermit.
In a short time everyone was assembled in the great hall. Olson looked sleepy and disgruntled. He was fully dressed, as was Jameson. Myra was wearing a plaid wool bathrobe, and she was staring with interest at Edward the Hermit.
Edward looked younger than the picture on the jacket of his book. He had peeled off the rest of his Scarb disguise, and was wearing patched jeans and a gray sweatshirt. He was deeply tanned, his blond hair was cropped short, and he would have been good-looking except for the expression of fear and apprehension on his face.
After Arnold summed up the events of the night, Myra was completely bewildered.
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