by Harold Ward
Because of her he had turned traitor to all he held dear—honor, the respect of his fellow men, the Secret Twelve—yes, even his country. For her he had agreed not to interfere with the plans of this monster. For a moment he was tempted to seek Death and take back his promise. Then the thought of Nina came to him. Nina, alone in the power of this horrible creature. No! For the time being he would go through with it.
DEEP down in his heart, he knew that Ricks or Blake—any of the others—would have done the same under the circumstances. He could vision good old Ricks nodding affirmation. For Ricks, he knew, loved Nina Fererra—loved her like his own daughter who rested on the hillside in Fairmount cemetery.
He could imagine them worrying over his prolonged absence, wondering if he had been killed or whether he had again fallen a captive to the wily old scientist. Soon the papers would be filled with his disappearance...
He had barely completed his dressing when the door opened and the Zombi appeared again and, with a low bow, led him through a narrow hallway into a magnificently appointed dining room. Doctor Death, lounging near the fireplace in dinner dress, rose at his approach and greeted him with a smile.
“I note your astonishment at the appearance of my little retreat here,” he said. “You should know me well enough by this time, Jimmy, not to be astounded at anything I do. When you and your colleagues of the police so unfortunately burned down my former headquarters you evidently overlooked the fact that I am not the sort of man who puts all of his eggs into a single basket.
“I have, in fact, several retreats similar to this. And all, by the way, underground. I find that caves and deep, dark caverns are best suited to my health.” He chuckled at his little jest, then sized Jimmy up appraisingly.
“I note that you found your outfit,” he smiled.
Holm nodded.
“Which leads me to wonder how you found opportunity to get it so soon,” he answered.
Doctor Death elevated his eyebrows.
“So soon?” he said. “Ah, but I see. You were exhausted. It was necessary for me to put you completely under my influence in order that you might wake up fully recovered from your little ordeal. My dear boy, I got your clothes—or, that is, one of my men did—last night. It was yesterday morning when you retired. You have slumbered peacefully for two days and one night.”
Jimmy Holm’s jaw dropped. What answer could he make to such a statement coming from such a wonderful man? In spite of his hatred for Doctor Death—and he loathed him to the very depths of his soul—he was awed by his power. The man did things in such a vast way. He was colossal—a superman gone wrong. A devil out of hell, who, in spite of his sins, invoked respect for his immensity.
The door opened and Nina Fererra entered. Her hair gleamed like polished ebony. She was attired in the height of fashion; her arms and shoulders, bare, revealed the delicate ivory of her satin-like skin. Jimmy Holm’s whole body tingled with anticipation. She walked toward him slowly, a sad smile upon her crimson lips, her slender white hands held out to him appealingly.
“Jimmy!”
“Nina!”
His arms went about her and he crushed her to his breast. He felt her frail form tremble in his grasp and knew that she, too, was thinking of the terrible price they had paid for this moment of happiness.
“It was worth it! Yes, it was worth it!” his soul cried out.
Again and again he pressed her to him, crushing her against his strong, young body, until she released herself.
Doctor Death, standing nearby, watched them with cynical eyes.
“Love!” he muttered. “Bah! Yet, old as I am, with years of experience behind me, I have learned a lesson. Love will open the way when brute force fails.”
He offered Nina his arm and led the way to the table.
It was not until they had completed their repast and the plates had been removed by the grim-visaged Zombi that Death, leaning back in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand, raised it slowly.
“To my success,” he said.
He waited. Neither of them drank. He seemed tempted to say something but changed his mind. Then, his cigar and that of Jimmy glowing, a cigarette in Nina’s slim white fingers, he leaned forward and surveyed them quizzically through the haze of smoke.
“Nina and I leave within the hour,” he said abruptly.
Holm’s jaw dropped.
“Meaning—what?” he asked.
“Meaning,” Death said as he leaned his elbows on the table, “that I am going to Egypt in search of the secret. Nina’s beauty furnishes a suitable setting for my ugliness. Then, too, once under my power, she is a priceless assistant.
Jimmy Holm was nonplussed. He saw a startled look creep into Nina Fererra’s eyes.
“And—Jimmy?” she exclaimed.
Death leaned back in his chair and chuckled.
“I have an excellent place for your young friend,” he said. “I am taking only one thing besides ourselves—several of my pet creations—my Zombi and my elementals. I’m taking the lusty brute you saw—a diabolical creature. His cage will make an excellent cell for your young friend while we are gone. It is either that or—death. I am taking my more intelligent Zombi because their thoughts are my thoughts. They never fail to obey. I am taking my pet elemental in an iron-staved box.
HE chuckled sinisterly as he saw Nina Fererra shudder. Jimmy Holm’s mind was working like mad. He half rose from his chair, his fists doubled. Death waved him back.
“Your word,” he said warningly.
“I demand it back!” Holm said hotly.
Death gave a sudden exclamation. From somewhere behind him two huge Zombi dashed forward. They seized Holm by the arms. Nina screamed. Death held her back as the two walking dead men, in whose grip Jimmy was like an infant, pushed him from the room.
Then the door closed behind them.
Down the long black corridor into the cavern filled with its slimy horrors Holm was dragged. He battled like a fiend. But in vain. The monstrosity which Death had created was gone. A huge box standing nearby, ready for transportation, with several tiny airholes, evidently now held the monster. Into the empty cell Jimmy was rudely pushed.
He fought madly as the door was being closed. Then, like a flash of lightning out of a clear sky, the thought came over him that against these things brute strength was of no avail. Thought—thought alone would master them.
He concentrated as he had never concentrated before in his life. The Zombi at the door hesitated... stopped... turned to Jimmy inquiringly.
Then, in response to his thought waves, the door slowly slid open and the Zombi entered.
He had won!
To Jimmy Holm had suddenly come a wild idea—so weird, so fantastic that even he was startled by it.
He would take the place of one of these Zombi!
Disguised as a dead man he would accompany Doctor Death and Nina Fererra to Egypt!
Chapter XII
Dead Men Tell No Tales
JIMMY HOLM was moving rapidly now, his mind concentrated on that single idea. And the Zombi responded under his thought power. Hastily he changed clothes with the Zombi. Jimmy shuddered as he arrayed himself in the worn suit of the cold, dead thing, then smeared his face with a bit of dirt from the side of the cave to change his appearance. Luckily, he and the Zombi were about the same size. Holm knew that Death paid little attention to the doings of these weird, bizarre things from the grave.
Thus it was that he was fully attired and standing by the side of his fellow Zombi gazing through at the shell of a man who stood just inside the cell, the white of his shirt front gleaming in the semi-darkness, when Death made his sudden appearance.
In response to Jimmy’s thought emanations, the Zombi in the cell dropped to the stone floor and, his back turned, seemed to give way to despair. Doctor Death chuckled, not realizing that his will, for a moment relayed, had given Jimmy his chance to get control over the creature taking his place in the box.
“The Zom
bi I have left behind will see that you are fed, my young friend,” he asserted.
Regulating his movements as mechanically as the Zombi at the other end, Jimmy Holm seized his end of the big box and followed the lead of Doctor Death.
The sinister scientist led the way through the narrow corridor into another passageway and up a flight of stairs at the head of which was a closed door. He pressed a button and it opened, revealing on the other side a panel in the living room of the old house through which Jimmy had made his entrance. It was in darkness. The front door was open, however, and through it he led the way onto the tumbledown porch.
A short distance away on a stretch of level ground almost hidden by the trees and bushes was a huge cabin plane. The moonlight touching its silvery wings made a never-to-be forgotten picture. Its engine was idling; the pilot and co-pilot stood beside the open door.
Doctor Death led the way toward it.
“To Egypt,” he said gravely as he assisted Nina up the narrow steps.
The big ship darted along the ground for a little distance, then took to the air like a bird. Twice the pilot circled to gain altitude. Then he straightened the machine out at four thousand feet and settled back in his seat, a look of grim satisfaction on his face, as he gazed down on the myriad lights of the city. Then he handed the controls over to the co-pilot and, stepping into the cabin, approached Doctor Death.
“We are headed directly south by east,” he said. “The motors are humming sweetly, sir, and the old crate’s doing two hundred.”
Doctor Death nodded.
“Splendid, pilot,” he said approvingly. “Continue as you are for another fifteen minutes, then swing four points to the south. Your landing directions are here.”
He handed the pilot a sheet of paper on which were written several figures. The latter glanced at them, folded the paper, placed it in his pocket and nodded approvingly. Returning to the compartment, he dropped into his seat again, said a few words to the co-pilot and, leaning back in his seat, closed his eyes as if to sleep.
On and on they droned. The lights of the city were left behind and beneath them there was now only the silvery expanse of the ocean. Nina Fererra had already changed her evening dress for traveling attire. Holm, lying back in the hold of the plane, a dead man on either side of him, the horrible elemental in the box close to his feet, shuddered.
Yet he was where he could see Nina—protect her if worse came to worse. But he did not want to disclose himself except in a case of extreme necessity. With the party, unknown to the scientist, there was always an opportunity to beat Death at his own game.
Would he kill the old man if the chance offered itself? In his heart he knew that he would. Yet he knew the sinister scientist too well to try unless everything was right for the attempt. Failure meant but one thing—the loss of his own life and, even worse, Nina Fererra would be irreparably within Death’s power.
The stewardess came from her cubicle in the rear with coffee and sandwiches. Holm noticed that she shuddered as she set the tray down on the table before Death, spilling a tiny bit of coffee over the white cloth.
The old man looked up, a kindly smile on his cadaverous face.
“Nervous, my dear?” he inquired. “The altitude, possibly.”
The girl shuddered again.
“There is something back in the baggage compartment, sir—something that gives me the creeps,” she answered candidly. “I’m sorry, sir; I guess that I’m what people call psychic.”
Doctor Death smiled again.
“Merely some of my pets, young lady,” he told her. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
The girl shivered as if an icy hand had swept across her brow.
“Pardon me for my seeming lack of propriety,” she answered. “But I’ve never had such a feeling before. I feel as if something—as if death were in the air—waiting for me. I—I guess it’s what you call a premonition.”
“Nonsense!” Doctor Death snapped. “Tomorrow morning you will be laughing at your fears.”
He turned to Nina as the girl moved away.
“The elemental,” Holm heard him whisper. “The experiment was so interesting that I was unable to resist the temptation to bring it along in order to watch its development. Peculiar how the stewardess sensed it, caged, as it is, in an iron box.”
AN hour passed. Suddenly with a gesture to the passengers, the pilot motioned to his assistant. The big ship banked sharply. A stream of fire rocketed upward far to the left. Above them it mushroomed out like an umbrella of molten gold, the sparks dropping back toward the earth and going out in mid air. It was followed by a second and then a third. Doctor Death leaned forward and spoke to Nina.
“The signals. We transfer here.”
The girl looked at him in astonishment.
“It is an island,” the old man explained. “I have a speedy yacht waiting here to pick us up. My life is too valuable to risk a trip across the ocean in such a frail craft as this.”
Again Jimmy Holm was forced to respect the man’s methods. He thought of everything. Nothing was left to chance. Everything dovetailed together.
They were dropping rapidly now. Before them land loomed up darkly. In the center of the dark spot were innumerable clots of flame. They grew larger and larger until they seemed to mount almost as high as the ship. Then they died down again, forming a circle of light toward which the ship headed.
The pilot banked again and swung into a great circle, the powerful headlights searching the ground like great fingers. Satisfied, he throttled his motors down to a low purr and descended rapidly. The ground came up to meet them. The pilot flattened the ship out as the wheels struck the earth and rolled forward a little distance, finally coming to a stop.
THEY were in the midst of what appeared to be a level plot of ground stretching away toward a low range of hills, while in the foreground was a smooth, sandy shore upon which a small launch was beached. A quarter of a mile away a trim yacht was riding at anchor, her lights casting long needles of golden phosphorescence across the silvery blue of the moonlight water.
Half a dozen men stood around the landing flares. Now they crowded forward, a tall, dark-haired cruel-visaged man in yachting uniform in the lead. He brought his hand to the visor of his cap in a smart salute.
“Mr. Quimby, sir,” he introduced himself to Death. “Second officer of the Sea Gull, sir.”
Death nodded approvingly. Jimmy and his fellow Zombis were already removing the baggage from the plane. Death jerked his thumb toward them.
“My men will handle all of my luggage,” he said. “Pay no attention to them. They are deaf and dumb and will not answer if you speak to them.”
Quimby shuddered as he gazed at the stiffly moving automatons who were carrying the luggage to the launch.
“I’ll say that they’re peculiar,” he muttered in an undertone to one of his men. “They remind me of men I’ve seen in Haiti—Zombi, they calls ’em. Walking dead men, I’ve heard that they were. Ugh!”
Nevertheless, he saluted again and walked away.
Satisfied that his orders would be carried out, Death led the way across the stretch of sandy beach to the launch. Quimby took the tiller. The men on shore gave a mighty shove and the launch slid off the sand into the water. The engineer cranked the engine and the little craft darted across the moonlit expanse of water in the direction of the long, low yacht at anchor in the bay.
The launch made a second trip for the Zombi and the luggage. Jimmy, following the lead of the two dead men, his eyes staring straight to the front, his motions as stiffly mechanical as were theirs, sat in the thwarts and wondered if any of them would ever make the return trip.
Everything had been taken aboard. Now, waiting for the anchor to be raised, Nina, looking trim and lovely in her ulster and smart little hat, stood watching the big airship as it darted cross the green stretch of meadow like some great bird.
A little way away Jimmy and his two fellow Zombi stood, apparently not inte
rested in the beautiful panorama spreading itself before them. Yet his mind was on Nina. He wondered if he dared tell her that he was near. He decided that it was best to remain silent. Something—some little move on her part—might betray him.
The pilot circled around them in salute, then, having gained his altitude, straightened his ship out and started back toward New York.
Nina shrieked.
The great plane seemed to disintegrate before their eyes. Fire flew in every direction as the bird-like structure melted apart. Then came a dull report. It echoed across the waters. For an instant the broken, burning fragments of the airplane seemed to rest in midair.
Then they, like the rocket sparklets, died out or dropped into the ocean.
“The devil!” one of the sailors ejaculated in an excited voice to his mate. “Sounded like a bomb to me.”
“I’ll stick to the water for mine,” the other remarked. “Them danged things are dangerous.”
Nina whirled as Doctor Death approached. A look of sadness hovered over the old man’s saturnine countenance, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he nodded in the general direction where the airplane has disappeared.
“Sad! Sad!” he remarked in a hollow voice.
“Premeditated?” Quimby, who was on the bridge, demanded.
Doctor Death shrugged his thin shoulders.
“I would not go so far as to say that,” he answered coldly. “But, on the other hand, lucky. Dead men, as you are well aware, tell no tales. No one will ever—even accidentally—drop a word to the police of where the transfer was made.”
Jimmy Holm remembered the little stewardess’ premonition of danger and shivered.
Chapter XIII
Murder by the Dozen
HATING Death, as he did, with an intensity that knew no bounds, Jimmy Holm forced to wonder at the man more and more as time went on. Crazed he was after a fashion, yet the maggots of madness that squirmed through his brain seemed only to intensify his diabolical cunning.