by Jerry
His eyes popped and his jaw dropped as his intended prisoner mounted twenty, fifty, seventy feet and paused, seemingly unable to go any higher. The policeman removed his helmet and scratched his head. The thing was beyond all precedent of experience, a defiance of natural law. A criminal accosted might vault a fence, or climb a wall, or even scale a building in an effort at escape; but to drop on his face and bounce into the air—and—stay there like a—like a kite! Danny put some of his bewilderment into a baffled mutter.
“He—went—up,” he mumbled. “Howly Mither, is ut a man, or a flea or a flyin’-fish, divil take ’im. Coom down, I says, an’ instead of realizin’ th’ disadvantages of his position, he rose straight up like a aeryoplane an’ there he is.”
And then remembering the dignity of the law and his own standing as a representative of its force, he addressed the figure above him: “Well, that’s enough now. Yer quite a burd to judge by yer actions, but—come on down out of that, and light.” Above him the figure was still undergoing contortions beneath the moon and the broken clouds. As he spoke it rolled half-way over and started like a plummet for the Earth. Out of it there broke a strangled exclamation of sheer instinctive terror. By a wild effort it again reversed its position and once more shot aloft.
“Up an’ down,” said Officer McGuiness. “Ye’ve foine control an’ quite a lot of speed, an’ that was a grand exhibition. But finish th’ trip th’ next time. I’ve seen enough of yer tricks.”
There followed a breathless interval and then a gasping response drifted faintly downward. “I c-a-a-a-an’t!”
“Huh?” Officer McGuiness began to feel the least bit annoyed. He began to entertain a suspicion that this night-hawk was making sport of a member of the police. At the least he was denying what Danny had actually seen with his own good eyes. “Ye can’t can’t ye?” he remarked at length. “Well, th’ way ut looked to me ye started all right.”
“Yes, an’ if I’d ’a’ kept on, you dub, I’d a broke my neck.”
“Shmall loss an’ ye had,” said Danny, his anger rising at the other man’s form of address. “An’ ’tis not all noight I hov to stand here watchin’ ye act like a bloomin’ bat.”
“Who’s actin’ ?” It was a snarl that answered. “If you think I’m doin’ this for my health, you got even less sense than th’ average cop. I tell you—”
“That’s enough. You don’t need to tell me nuthin’.” Officer McGuiness’s outraged dignity came to his aid. “You’re under arrest.”
“Oh, am I?” Apparently the man in the air was inclined to dispute the patrolman.
“Ye are.” Danny stood by his statement none the less.
“Then why don’t you come up and get me?”
“Because I ain’t no rubber ball.” It was a taunt and nothing else, and Danny knew it, but he didn’t know exactly what to do about it. He shifted his position, moving in until he stood close beside the porch.
It was a most amazing situation by which he was faced. It offered obstacles he didn’t see just how to overcome. He might call the fire department and get the extension-tower, but—that would ruin the professor’s lawn. He might shoot the defiant captive, and yet he doubted if such action on his part would be considered as justified. There might be a question as to whether or no a man’s floating up in the air constituted resisting arrest.
He had been taught that an officer should always keep cool. Only it was hard to keep cool in the face of such an amazing situation. Once more he scratched his head and eyed the figure between himself and the moon. The odd thing was the fellow didn’t go any higher or even try to swim off. That was another thing that Danny couldn’t understand. In fact, he couldn’t understand anything that had happened during the last fifteen minutes. The whole thing was a bit too much for his brain.
“How do you do ut?” he asked at length.
“I don’t do it, you square-head.” The flying man disclaimed all hint at a personal prowess.
“Oh, don’t you?” A fine scorn crept into Danny’s tones. “Then I should loike to know who does.”
“I don’t know, dang it,” gibbered the other’s voice. “You started it yourself, comin’ up on me like you did. There was something on the roof, I tell you. I laid down in it when you yelled at me. I felt it, it was sticky. I got it on my clothes—”
“On th’ roof?” Danny interrupted with a flash of understanding. He knew considerable about Xenophon Zapt. He had even been mixed up once or twice in his experiments, quite outside his own intent. And this was the professor’s house, and the fellow had just said that there was something on the roof of the porch, and—
“Yes. It stuck to me when I laid down, an’ it’s keepin’ me up here, I guess. If I lay on my face I’m all right, but I start fallin’ as soon as I turn on my back. Here’s some of the danged stuff, if you want a closer look.” Something whistled through the air and hit the spot where Danny had been standing.
But Danny wasn’t there. As the other man spoke he had ducked and stepped aside. And straightway he became conscious of two things at once. The man had sunk a trifle nearer the Earth after throwing down whatever it was he had scraped from his clothing, and—there was something the matter with his, Officer McGuiness’s, foot.
It was exhibiting a most remarkable inclination to rise into the air despite Danny’s efforts to keep it on the ground—it was throwing him off his balance. Instinctively he hopped sidewise to save himself from falling, landed his one sane foot in what might have been a mass of soft mud on the grass under the eaves of the porch and became aware that it also had gone wild.
At once Officer Dan McGuiness found himself in a most bewildering case. He had large feet, powerful, tireless in the path of duty, and the soles of his shoes were of a large expanse. Yet, strangely enough now, those heavy feet seemed to have taken on a quality positively airy.
Strive as he would they refused to remain on the grass. In desperation he essayed a step and found himself unable to thrust either leg or foot downward to a contact with the Earth. Still struggling against belief he repeated the endeavor with the other foot and found himself mounting to the level of the porch roof. Then and then only did realization and acceptance of the situation come upon him.
“Whu-roo!” He gave vent to a full-toned Irish shout of comprehension and continued his progress aloft.
Inside the house as that shout woke the echoes of the night, Miss Zapt pricked her pretty ears. “Bob,” she said sharply, “what was that?”
“Sounded like a yell or a battle-cry or something,” Sargent made answer. “I’ve had a notion I heard voices outside for the past few minutes. Maybe I’d better find out.”
He rose, and Nellie followed him into the hall. He opened the door and they both stepped out on the porch.
At first they saw nothing, and then a gruff voice drifted to them: “Lie still, ye spalpeen. Ye tould me to come an’ git ye an’, begob, I hov. Quit yer squirmin’ or I’ll bust yer bean wid me club.”
“Bob!” Miss Zapt seized her companion’s arm. She had recognized those stentorian tones: “That’s Officer McGuiness. They—they must be on the roof.”
“Probably.” Sargent went down the porch steps before he lifted his eyes, and then he, too, gasped at what he beheld and his voice came a bit unsteady. “Good Lord, Nellie! Look at that!”
He lifted an arm and pointed to where Danny, treading air very much as a man treads water, was endeavoring to still the struggles of a human figure sprawled out weirdly with its face to the Earth.
Miss Zapt took one glance at the spectacle above her and shrieked: “Bob—they’ll be killed!”
There came the click of the gate and a little man with iron-gray whiskers and a flapping frock-coat came up the walk.
“Ahem,” he said rather dryly, “just what is the meaning of so excitable a statement? Who will be killed, may I ask?”
“Officer McGuiness and—somebody else,” Nellie stammered.
“Eh?” Professor Zapt star
ed, out of his nearsighted eyes. “Indeed? I fail to perceive any indications of an impending tragedy myself. Where are they?”
“There!” Once more Sargent pointed aloft.
“Huh?” The professor tilted back his head as Bob’s arm rose. “God bless my soul!” he exclaimed and stared through at least fifteen seconds of contemplation before he raised his voice in a question: “Officer McGuiness, exactly how did you get up there?”
Danny may have sensed the presence of those beneath him, but if so he had thus far given no sign. Now, however, he managed to snap the handcuffs on his man, tilted his head and shot a glance at the Earth.
“An’ is ut you, professor?” he replied. “Shure, an’ if it is how I got up here yer askin’ why I walked, though barrin’ th’ fact how I done ut I dunno, except that after this poorch-climbin’ beauty floated offen yer roof when I tould him to come down, I stepped into somethin’ on th’ grass an’ found mesilf endowed wid th’ ability of follerin’ after, belike because of whativer it was I had got on me fate. An’ ’tis not so much how I got up is troublin’ me now, as how I shall git down wid th’ burd I’ve caught.”
“Remarkable—actually remarkable!” said Professor Xenophon Xerxes Zapt. “Officer, this is most amazing. Let me think—let me think.” He made his way to the porch steps and found himself a seat.
“If I moight be suggestin’, sor, don’t be thinkin’ too long at present.” Danny’s voice came down in the tone of a plaint. “’Tis tiresome work entirely, this walkin’ on air. ’Tis not an angel I am as yet, an’ there is nothin’ to sit on at all, at all, an’ th’ steady movement is tirin’ on th’ legs.”
“Then stop it,” said the professor in a manner of impatience: “Keep your feet still and float.” He began pulling at his graying whiskers as though minded to tear them out by the roots. Presently he hopped up, trotted a few steps down the walk, lifted his eyes to the laboratory windows and nodded.
And then he turned to Bob and Nellie. “Did it rain here tonight?”
“It did,” Bob declared.
“Wind—preceding the shower?”
“Lots of it at first.”
“That explains it,” said Xenophon Xerxes Zapt.
“Glad of it—” Bob began.
The professor gave him a glance. “If you will kindly let me finish my remarks. As I told you I would, I prepared a quantity of the Paste Powder the other day and left it when I departed this morning to catch a train. In my haste I forgot to close the windows. The wind blew the powder upon the roof and the rain converted it into the paste and washed some of it off on the lawn—”
“If yer quite done thinkin’, professor, sor,” Officer McGuiness interrupted, “would you moind tellin’ me how to get down?”
“Eh?” Xenophon Zapt jerked up his head to view the patrolman and his captive. “Oh, yes—yes—certainly. That’s simple. You have the substance merely on your feet?”
“Yes, sor.”
“Then hold them up.”
“Hould thim up? Hould thim up where?” Danny’s tones were growing a trifle excited. “If I try houldin’ up my fate, I’ll be losin’ my balance an breakin’ my—”
“Exactly.” Professor Zapt’s voice grew crisp. “Take hold of your prisoner, bend your legs at the knees, so as to elevate the soles of your shoes and let gravity do the rest. Robert—go turn on the hose that we may wash the paste off the officer’s feet when he reaches the ground. He’s all mussed up.” Bob departed, running on his errand. By the time he was back Danny had effected a landing and was kneeling on the grass with his captive stretched out on his back within reach.
Inside five minutes the paste was removed from McGuiness’s feet and he stood erect.
“Shure, an’ ’tis wonderful stuff, professor,” he began after he had taken a deep breath of relief. “An’ what moight you call th’ same?”
“Zapt’s Repulsive Paste,” said the professor. “It robs anybody placed above it of weight.”
“What do ye think of that now?” Officer Dan exclaimed. “But ’tis no more than th’ truth yer spakin’. I’ve had an example of its effects myself. Oh, would ye!”
He broke off and sprang, snatching into the air to grip and drag back the form of his prisoner, who in the momentary distraction of conversation had managed to roll himself on his face.
Danny slammed him down none too gently, it must be confessed. “Lie there now, ye human balloon,” he admonished in a growl, “or I’ll make ye more repulsive than any kind of paste ye ever saw. If ye think I’m going to let Spur Heel Eddie slip out of my fingers, once they grip him—”
“Spur Heel Eddie?” Sargent repeated in excitement. “McGuiness is that right?”
“Roight ut is—dead roight, Misther Sargent,” Danny chuckled. “Shure, an’ ’tis a foine noight’s wuruk. He’s th’ burd we’ve been sort of thinkin’ was behindt all these here burgularies th’ last two weeks, an’—”
“And you caught him trying to burglarize my house.” Professor Zapt’s fingers slipped inside his coat. They came out with something crisp. “Officer, let me express my appreciation of your fidelity to duty.”
“Thank ye, sor.” Danny deftly pocketed the “appreciation” without removing his watchful eye from Eddie. “As I was sayin, McGuiness niver shirks his duty, an’ ’tis a foine noight’s wuruk.”
“I’ll go in and telephone for the wagon,” suggested Bob.
“Don’t trouble, sor,” said Danny. “Begorra, I’ll be takin’ him in myself.”
Stooping, he rolled Eddie face downward, seized him securely by the slack of the trousers and started to walk with him across the grass.
“Ye’ll notice that wid all this Repulsive Paste smeared on him, if I carry him loike this he hasn’t any weight at all,” he announced from the gate.
“Exactly. You’re a man of intelligence, McGuiness.” Xenophon Xerxes Zapt turned to enter his house. “Good night.”
“Good night, sor,” Officer McGuiness made answer.
“Good night,” Bob echoed with a chuckle as he watched Eddie, literally held fast by the strong arm of the law, born off down the tree-shaded street until he disappeared.
Professor Zapt whirled upon him. “The occasion is not one of levity, Robert,” he remarked in decidedly acid tones.
“No, sir. Merely of levitation,” said Bob.
1930
THE STOLEN MIND
M.L. Staley
What would you do, if, like Quest, you were tricked, and your very Mind and Will stolen from your body?
“WHAT caused you to answer our advertisement?” Owen Quest felt the steel of the quick gray eyes that jabbed like gimlets across the office table.
“Why does any man apply for a job?” he bristled.
Keane Clason gave an impatient smile.
“Come!” he said. “I’m not trying to snare you. But there were unusual features to my ad, and they were put there to attract an unusual type of man. To judge your qualifications, I must know just why this proposition appeals to you.”
“I can tell you that,” nodded Quest, “but there’s nothing unusual about it. In the first place, I knew that the Clason Research Corporation is the leading concern of its kind in the country. In the second place, this seemed to offer a way to obtain a substantial sum of money quickly.”
“Good,” said Clason. “And you feel that you have all the necessary qualifications?”
“Decidedly. I am 24 years old, athletic, and of an earnest and determined nature. Moreover, I have no family ties, and I’m willing to run any reasonable risk in order to improve the condition of my fellow men.”
Clason smiled his approval.
“You say you need money. How much immediately?”
Quest was unprepared for the question.
“A thousand dollars,” he ventured.
Without hesitation Clason counted out ten one-hundred-dollar notes from his wallet and laid them on the table.
“There’s your advance fee. You’re rea
dy to go to work immediately, I hope?”
“Certainly,” stammered Quest.
Stunned by the swiftness of the transaction, he sat staring at the money that lay untouched before him.
To accept it would be like signing an unread contract. But he had asked for it; to refuse it was impossible. Even to delay about picking it up might arouse Clason’s suspicion. Already the latter had turned away and was opening the door of a steel cabinet. Quest had one second in which to reach a decision . . . He crammed the currency into his pocket.
WITH delicate care Clason set two objects on the table. One looked to Quest like a miniature broadcasting tower or a mooring mast for lighter than air craft. The other was a circular vat of some black material, probably carbon. Within it a series of concentric tissues were suspended from metal rings, and in a trough outside ranged four stoppered flasks containing liquids of as many different colors.
“Look at these models carefully,” said Clason. “They represent two of the most remarkable discoveries of all time. The one on your left is the most destructive weapon known to man. The other I consider the most constructive discovery in the history of science. It may even lead to an understanding of the nature of life, and of the future of the spirit after death.
“Both of these were developed by my brother Philip and me together—but we have disagreed about the use to which they shall be put.
“Philip”—the inventor dropped his voice to a whisper—“wants to sell the secret of the Death Projector—the tower, there—as an instrument of war. If I should permit him to do that, it might lead to the destruction of whole nations!”
“How?” demanded Quest “I’ve heard of a device called the Death Ray. Is this it?”
“No, no,” said Clason contemptuously. “Even in a perfected state the Ray would be a child’s toy compared to the Projector. This is based on our discovery that invisible light rays of a certain wave-length, if highly concentrated, destroy life—and our additional discovery that if these are synchronized with short radio waves the effect is absolutely devastating.