Doctor Death Vs. The Secret Twelve - Volume 1

by Harold Ward

  “Perfectly,” Holm answered.

  He started to obey Death’s command. His fingers sought the scarabaeus and pressed upon them. He felt them twist and writhe beneath his fingers like live things.

  He recollected himself in time. A great wave of mental power surged through him. He saw Nina’s beautiful face peering at him through the semi-darkness, a look of agonized appeal on her face. Kaleidoscopically, he visioned his comrades standing just outside the door. Ricks! Blake! Darrow! Even Edgeworth! The Secret Twelve! The assembled scientists!

  The President of the United States, across the waters, was depending on him. He recalled the tired, worn face of the chief executive and knew that he was calling to him, commanding him to fight this hellish, damnable thing with all the strength at his command. They were depending upon him.

  With a sudden oath he hurled the locket a dozen yards away.

  “Thank God, I had the strength to resist you!” he exclaimed.

  A look of anger swept cross the face of Doctor Death. His cavernous eyes gleamed ferociously. Jimmy Holm reeled backward as the old man’s hate-wave struck him. He dropped to his knees, steeling himself against it. Over him and around him he felt the greater intellect meet his own.

  Something seemed to be doing battle inside his brain, surging back and forth within him like two gladiators on the field of mortal combat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nina leaning forward, her face twisted into a look of concentration. He knew that she was daring once again, as she had done so often in the past to help him, to match the strength of her mind against the gigantic intellect of this weird being who called himself Doctor Death.

  Yet in the end Death prevailed. Jimmy felt the old man’s hold over him growing stronger and stronger. He knew that it was the hypnotic influence of the past few weeks that was beating Nina’s thought waves back; she lacked the ability to concentrate properly because of her constant association with Death’s dominant brain.

  And he, weakened by the sufferings that he had gone through, was unable to longer fight the mental battle with this gigantic intellect.

  CONTESTING every inch of the way, his will power gradually grew less and less. He saw Nina Fererra stagger backward a step as she gave up in despair. Reluctantly he dragged his feet to the spot where he had thrown the locket. He picked it up and took a step toward Doctor Death.

  Something flashed through his brain. The key! Death, concentrating on gaining possession of the locket, had forgotten it—if he knew that it was in Jimmy’s possession, which, in all probability, he did not.

  He was standing close to Nina. His hand was like a dead thing, so hard was it to fight off the baleful influence of Doctor Death. Yet he managed to insert it in his pocket. As the cold, metal touched his fingers, he recovered himself for an instant. The thought flashed through his brain that it was the dead Anubis who was battling for him now. Pulling himself together, he pressed the key to Nina’s palm.

  “The door... Ricks... outside!” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  He was battling like a fiend against the will that was drawing. him along. Nina Fererra darted away, picking up the fallen flashlight as she sped onward. Not until she had reached the door did she press her finger to the button, the better to insert it in the hole.

  Death saw her. He screamed angrily. But she had succeeded. Inch by inch, the door was slowly moving upward. Beneath it, Jimmy could see the feet of his comrades as they crowded forward... It was up even with their knees now...

  Nina Fererra reeled backward as Death’s thoughts surged over her... Again Death had mastered her. Whirling, she rushed across the dais to where Jimmy stood, his face twisted into a look of grim determination. He was yet a yard away from Death, moving forward inch by inch, battling like a tiger to keep himself from handing over the locket until his comrades arrived.

  She seized the locket from Jimmy’s grasp and handed it to Death.

  There was a sudden rush of feet. The locket was jerked away from the grim old man at the sarcophagus.

  Jimmy Holm stepped back as the thought waves ceased their hold upon him. It was Ricks who had seized the locket—who had leaped ahead of his fellows. Behind him were Blake, Edgeworth, Darrow—the Secret Twelve! In the background the others—the Egyptian officials—even old Hatasu toothlessly chortling over their triumph.

  “Dog!” he cackled, darting forward and shaking his skinny fist in the face of Death.

  “Ghoul! Jinn! Despoiler of tombs! Liar!”

  He was frothing at the mouth as Ricks shouldered him back.

  “Thank God! Thank God!” Jimmy Holm said hoarsely.

  He shuddered convulsively. Then, recollecting himself, he took a step forward.

  “And now, Rance Mandarin, alias Doctor Death,” he said brusquely, “you are under arrest. The Egyptian government has waived all formality. These men with us are Egyptian officials high in government circles and they will vouch for my statements,”

  Doctor Death smiled wanly.

  “Do you mind removing the top of this sacrophagus from my arm?” he demanded. “It is getting rather tiresome trying to hold up several tons of stone.”

  Holm nodded.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “In my excitement, I had forgotten your predicament.”

  He turned to his men. Surrounding the sarcophagus on all sides they managed to lift the top a trifle and Doctor Death fell backward, his arm free, but dangling uselessly by his side. He seated himself wearily on the stone coffin.

  “A life for a life, Jimmy,” he said weakly.

  Holm whirled.

  “Meaning—what?” he demanded.

  “Meaning that I am an old man and badly injured. Yet I have no desire to go to prison or to be hanged by the neck for some of the alleged crimes that I have committed. I offer you the life of the girl you love—of Nina—for my freedom.”

  Ricks cursed.

  Holm turned on his heel and gazed at the empty imbecilic face of Nina Fererra. She had dropped to the stone floor, the frothy spittle drooling from her mouth, her limbs twitching spasmodically.

  “INSANE!” Death chortled. “I made her so. It was my brain that put her in that condition. My brain alone can restore her intellect. I give you my word—the word of Doctor Death—the word that has never been broken—that I will restore her immediately if you will give me my freedom once we are outside this tomb. Do you agree? Otherwise she will, die—a raving maniac.”

  Holm leaped forward, lifting Nina’s head from the floor. A glance told him the truth.

  “Great God!” he exclaimed. “She is dying!”

  He looked up at Ricks—at Blake, at Caminetti. It was truly, as Death had said, a life for a life. It was love against duty. The monster was in their power. And yet...

  Ricks nodded assent to Holm’s unspoken question. The others wagged their heads in agreement.

  The young detective looked up, his face haggard and drawn.

  “You win, damn you!” he snarled.

  Chapter XXV

  Hell’s Eruption

  FOR a long time no one spoke. They stood in a little group around Nina.

  She had ceased her convulsions and now lay, her head in Jimmy’s lap, barely breathing. Darrow, who had taken his degree in medicine, knelt beside her, his finger on her barely moving pulse. Leaning forward, he picked up the flashlight and, raising her eyelids, allowed the strong beam to play against the distorted pupils.

  “There is but little hope,” he said. “I’m afraid that she is—going.”

  Jimmy Holm raised his haggard face to that of Doctor Death.

  “If she dies, no power on earth can stop me from killing you!” he said.

  He scarcely raised his voice above a whisper, yet those about him knew that he was in deadly earnest.

  The sinister scientist chuckled.

  “And if she dies, you have my permission to kill me, Jimmy,” he responded. “I have given you my word—the word that has never yet been broken. In return fo
r my life, I will return Nina to you. She will live.”

  Even as he spoke a change came over the face of the dying girl. She shuddered. Then her eyes opened. They had lost their maniacal glare. Her face relaxed and she breathed easily. She looked into the face of Jimmy and smiled wanly.

  “I must have fainted,” she said. “The excitement—”

  “I know! I know!” Jimmy Holm responded brokenly.

  For the first time since boyhood he broke down and cried for joy. Gruff old Ricks, blowing his nose violently to hide his emotion, brushed away a salty tear that was cruising down his weather-beaten face.

  “Do you feel well enough to be moved, sweetheart?” Jimmy asked.

  She nodded assent with a smile.

  “I am all right,” she responded.

  She would have gotten to her feet had not Jimmy restrained her.

  Several of the little Egyptian soldiers extemporized a stretcher by fastening their coats to their rifles. Upon this Nina, in spite of her protests, was placed.

  “If you insist,” she said. “Although I have not been used to such attention of late.”

  Again Jimmy gritted his teeth and glared at Doctor Death. The old man returned his stare with a cynical smile.

  “I can’t get out of this horrible place soon enough,” she added.

  Nothing had been told her of what had happened. It would be time enough when they were once more outside of the cave of horrors.

  With two of the Secret Twelve men assisting Doctor Death, they started down the narrow passageway toward the outer cave. The sinister old scientist was weak, his face contorted with pain, yet his deeply sunken eyes were as bright as ever as he gazed from side to side looking for the last time up the goal he had sought so hard to achieve.

  The main party under command of Darrow was a little distance ahead. Then came Ricks, the locket of Anubis still dangling from his fingers, Blake by his side. A pace behind was Jimmy, walking beside Nina’s litter carried by four Egyptian soldiers. Death, a Secret Service man on either side, brought up in the rear.

  Death had been biding his time. Now, as they reached the outer cave, he moved. Tearing himself from the men who were assisting him, he leaped forward, his hand outstretched.

  “The locket, Ricks! The locket!” he shouted.

  Inspector Ricks turned, a peculiar look creeping over his rough-hewn face.

  “That’s right,” he mumbled thickly like a drunken man. “I forgot that I had it. It’s yours. Everything is imagination, just as you once told me. There at the House of Harmachis, the Egyptian, you hypnotized us.

  “You made us think that we were seeing things—bodies changing, dead men trying to choke us and leaving bloody fingers on my throat. Everything is mind and your mind is stronger than mine, so you make me think that I see these things. Do you remember the time that you made me think that a dead man was choking me and that Jimmy had to cut its arms off before it would let go?

  “Even this cave does not exist,” Ricks went on, his tones blurred and indistinct. “I am dreaming all this. Soon I will wake up and probably forget that I ever dreamed.”

  “That is true,” Death said gravely. “This is all a part of a play gotten up for your entertainment. Soon you will awaken and laugh at the queer, fantastic things that you have seen here. Now, give me the locket!”

  Ricks stretched forth his hand as if to hand the golden case to Doctor Death.

  “For God’s sake, watch yourself!” Jimmy Holm shouted, overhearing the conversation and whirling on the big Inspector.

  Ricks scowled.

  “It belongs to him,” he said. “This is all a play that Death has arranged for us.”

  “Don’t give it to him!” Nina screamed.

  She tried to get up. One of the litter bearers pushed her rudely back.

  “Sit down!” he growled at her in Egyptian. “The locket belongs to the jinn. He is entitled to it.”

  Jimmy was in the midst of the little group at the rear now. One of the big Secret Service men swung at him. The other reached for his gun.

  “It belongs to Death!” The man growled. “Give it to him, Ricks!”

  “God! He’s got them all under his spell!” Holm shouted.

  He leaped forward, throwing his weight against Ricks in an effort to keep him from handing the locket back to Death. The Inspector struck at him. He dodged and planted a blow squarely on Ricks’ chin. The big man grunted and bored in. Blake of the Secret Service jerked the chain from his grasp and handed the talisman to Doctor Death.

  THE old man shrieked with joy as he seized the prize for which he had fought so hard. With a mighty effort, he lifted his broken arm and, placing the locket in the palm of his swollen hand, held it while he manipulated the stones which worked the combination.

  For an instant it appeared that he would succeed. There was a click...

  Jimmy Holm, the renewed vigor of his mind lessening Death’s power over him, was fighting like a mad man now. Blake strove to hold him back. He shook off the Secret Service man as if he were but an infant. Ricks plunged at him like a football tackle, seizing him by the legs. The others crowded around him, striking, holding, striving to force him back.

  Death’s hold over them was supreme. Again the wily old scientist had demonstrated his ability as the greatest master of mass hypnotism the world had ever produced, bringing into use his vaunted tenth degree of hypnosis as he had never used it before.

  His face was wet with perspiration as he leaned forward, his cavernous eyes glaring like the twin fires of hell. Out of the corner of his eye Jimmy Holm caught a look of triumph as the lid sprang open a tiny space. The long, bony finger touched the edge of the opening—was about to be thrust inside—

  Holm leaped. His head struck Blake squarely in the stomach. The Secret Service man went down in a heap, gasping for breath, a dazed look creeping over his face. Ricks, knocked down by the assault, seized his subordinate by the legs. Holm went down. But as he fell, his hand was outstretched. His fingers grasped the golden chain... jerked the locket from the old man’s grasp.

  Holm rolled over like a cat, landing upon his back. With a quick motion he hurled the accursed thing.

  Over the great heap of dead in the gigantic pit, the locket sailed. It crashed against the rocky wall... shattered in a thousand fragments.

  From it burst a great red flame—a light that fairly seared the eyeballs. There was a dull roar. It smote against the ear drums like the thunder of a million guns. The earth shook beneath their feet.

  The pile of cadavers seemed to leap into the air as the flames baptized them in an unholy crimson glare. The whole world seemed filled with flying bodies...

  Then darkness—ominous, stygian!... The wailing of the wind...

  Then oblivion.

  They were outside the basin when recollection came to them—outside the basin—standing overlooking the camp at the edge of the wadi. The front of the great hill had tumbled down, completely blocking the sloping shaft and the fissure which led through the mountain.

  How had they gotten there? None of them could tell.

  For them all memory had ceased to exist from the instant that Holm had thrown the locket until they looked into the faces of each other and wondered.

  SUCH of the party as had been left outside said that they had come rushing out, screaming like maniacs, just as the tunnel gave way. That for a moment they had stood there, looking back, gibbering and shrieking.

  There had been an explosion. The crash of failing rocks. A volcanic thunder as the top of the mountain fell into the chasm.

  They were all there—all save Doctor Death.

  Had he perished inside the cavern? Was he still inside the basin? Or had he made his way out with the remainder of the party, only to disappear during the confusion?

  None of those outside remembered seeing him. The question was one that could not be answered.

  Jimmy Holm, standing at the edge of the wadi, his arm around the slim waist of the woman he lo
ved, looked back at the frowning mountain and shook his head horribly.

  “I am afraid,” he said. “Horribly afraid. I would feel more secure were I certain he was dead. God grant that he is!”

  Nina Fererra nodded assent.

  Turning to the great caravan stretched out behind him, Jimmy gave the order that was to take them speeding across the desert to Cairo and—home.

  The Shriveling Murders

  Giants shrivel to doll-size in Death’s most horrible scientific coup! Washington is about to collapse! Jimmy Holm uses the sinister scientist’s own gory weapons to battle the learned monster. This saturnalia of science is filled with bloodshed and terror.

  Chapter I

  IN the greatest city of the modern world twelve men sat in tense conference around a huge mahogany table in an exclusive hotel. In front of the closed door of the room stood a little group of grim-faced, bulky men. Other men bearing the stamp of the law in their faces paced the stairways, rode in the elevators and occupied inconspicuous places in the lobby.

  The street was filled with squad cars, their occupants peering furtively in every direction. In the police stations men sat with telephone head-sets glued to their ears, the telephonic connection opened to the hotel. Emergency squads were held in readiness.

  One of the twelve at the grim conference was the President of the United States!

  The President was speaking:

  “I have called this meeting of The Secret Twelve for the purpose of informing you that the nation is confronted by an even greater menace than before,” he said huskily. “Doctor Death still lives!”

  “We had all thought this Doctor Death, once known as Doctor Rance Mandarin, dead. We had thought that his diabolical dream of restoring the world to its original state could be forgotten. But this man who has sworn to destroy all science by employing his superior knowledge of destructive science, is not dead. This man who calls himself Doctor Death has struck again.”