The Third Murray Leinster

by Murray Leinster

  “Oh, Mr. Morrison, sir,” he said tremulously, “the bridge is covered again and the horrible stuff is coming up to the house. You can see it move, sir. We’ll all be suffocated when it catches us, sir.”

  Morrison shook his head impatiently.

  “Don’t bother me.”

  The butler was trembling fitfully, “Beg pardon, sir, but the men says as they won’t stay no longer, and they’re going to try to get over the bridge to the mainland, sir.”

  “Very well, let them.”

  The butler left the room. Presently Morrison heard an uproar outside. The butler was protesting at the top of his voice against something. Morrison went out to see what was the matter. Even his indifference was penetrated by the sight he saw. The silvery slime had crept up to a point but a hundred yards from the house, and was still slowly advancing. Half a dozen servants were bringing out one of Morrison’s cars, and were evidently planning to make a dash in it, despite the efforts of the butler to hold them back. Morrison stepped forward.

  “Wait a moment, James,” he said quietly. “Let the men have the car, but it would be better for one to make the attempt first. There’s no use all risking their lives until we know whether there’s a chance of success.”

  His chauffeur was hastily tuning up a motor cycle.

  “I’ll make a try, sir,” he said grimly. “I’ll circle the house once or twice until I get up speed, and then shoot for the bridge. I think I’ll make it.”

  Morrison nodded. The motor cycle caught and began to run. The chauffeur circled the lawn once—twice. His machine was running at a terrific speed. He came around the third time, swung on the handlebars, and shot straight for the bridge. The silvery slime shot away from his front wheels in twin waves as he cut through the mass. The throttle was wide open and the engine worked manfully. Straight for the bridge he went, plowing through the thick, sticky mass. Then the accumulated volume of jelly before him broke down the impetus of his cycle. In spite of all he could do it slowed down, down. It tottered weakly and fell. The chauffeur leaped from it and plunged forward. He slipped and fell, then struggled to his feet again. Five feet more, ten feet more. He was like an animated statue of burnished metal. Thick ropes of silver clung to him as he struggled forward. No man could keep up such exertions. He labored with almost insane force, but his progress became slower and slower. At last he moved forward no more, but still straggled weakly. Then he toppled gently from his feet. The slime covered him silently and placidly. The watchers gasped. The silver tide grew slowly toward the house.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Nita was clinging to Davis’ hand as they drove out to the Gerrods’ cottage again. Traces of her fright still lingered on her face, and Davis’ hand was comforting. Gerrod and Evelyn were silent and discouraged. The only really promising plan for fighting the Silver Menace had proven so ineffectual as to be practically useless. In silence the little motor car wound along the twisting road to the little cottage.

  All of them were quiet, even gloomy, as they sat down to lunch. Evelyn tried to talk lightly, but conversation lagged in spite of her efforts. The maid brought in their dishes and removed others without a sound. None of them could eat more than a very little.

  When the meal was finished Gerrod and Evelyn went out on the porch to discuss gravely the chances, even now, of producing the explosive needed to hold back the Silver Menace. The almost instantaneous reproduction that had taken place over the cleared area at sea, however, made it evident that nine hundred tons of explosive would be needed, not every week, but every day. All the factories in the country, working at their highest speed, could not supply the quantity necessary.

  Davis went into the laboratory and brought out one of the silvery test tubes of animalcules.

  “Nita,” he said mournfully, “I’ve fought Germans and come out on top. Gerrod and I fought Varrhus and won out. But these infernal little animals, so small I have to take a microscope to see them, seem to have me beaten.”

  Nita’s soft hand crept up and snuggled inside Davis’ larger one.

  “No, they haven’t, either,” she insisted stoutly. “You’ll think of something yet.”

  Davis sighed.

  “And it would be so perfect if we could be the ones to find out how to beat them,” he said dolefully. “That would satisfy your father, and we’d have nothing else to worry about.”

  Nita looked up into his solemn face, and, in spite of herself, laughed.

  “You’re worrying too much,” she announced. “We’re going to take a vacation and go into the music room and I’m going to play soft music that will take your mind off your troubles.”

  She led him into the tiny music room of the bungalow, and sat down at the small grand piano there.

  “You can turn over the music for me,” she said gravely as she made room for him on the seat before the keyboard.

  There was no music on the rack of the piano, but neither of them thought of that. Davis set down the test tube he had brought with him and prepared to listen. Nita quite forgot to play any recognizable melody, too. Davis thoughtlessly took possession of her left hand, so she idly struck chords with her right, while the two of them talked foolishnesses that were very delightful. They spoke in low tones, and their voices were soft. They were having an amazingly pleasant time.

  They heard footsteps on the porch, and self-consciously drew apart. Gerrod and Evelyn were coming indoors to go back into the laboratory to work on wearily in hopes of stumbling on something that might have an effect upon the ever-encroaching Silver Menace. Davis hastily picked up the test tube full of animalcules. As he took it in his hands, however, he uttered an exclamation of astonishment. The contents were no longer silvery! The tube was full of water with a faintly yellowish tinge. Davis’ jaw dropped.

  “People!” he called hastily. “Come here! Something has happened!”

  Gerrod and Evelyn appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Something’s happened to these little beasts.” Davis held out the test tube. “Twenty minutes ago this was full of the silver stuff. I put it down on the sounding board here and now they’re smashed up and dead!”

  Gerrod looked at the tube intently.

  “Where was it?”

  Davis showed him. Gerrod put one hand on the spot and struck a chord tentatively. His expression changed from weariness to hope.

  “Wait a minute!” he exclaimed, and darted into the laboratory, to return a moment later with half a dozen test tubes full of the sticky animalcules. “We’ll put another one there and strike a chord.”

  He did so. The contents of the test tube remained unchanged. He struck another. Still no change. Then, deliberately striking one key after the other, with the eyes of all four of them fixed hopefully on the test tube, he began to go up the keyboard. Note after note was struck, but just as they were about to give up hopes of finding the cause of the first tube’s clearing Gerrod struck a key—the F above high C. The instant the shrill note sounded out the test tube clouded—and was clear! It had lain upon the sounding board of the piano. The vibrations of the piano string had been communicated to it through the sounding board.

  “Done!” shouted Davis at the top of his voice.

  Nita was speechless.

  “Sympathetic vibrations,” said Gerrod happily. “If you could hang up one of those microscopic shells and ring it it would ring that note. So, when the vibrations from the piano strike them, they vibrate in sympathy, only the piano vibrations are so strong and the shells so fragile that they rack themselves to bits, and the animals are killed. Whee! Hurray! Hurray!”

  He shook hands all around, hardly, able to contain his excitement.

  “But I say,” said Davis anxiously, “will those vibrations travel through water, and can we put a piano overboard?”

  Gerrod laughed.

  “We�
�ll put a submarine siren overboard,” he said excitedly, “and tune it to that note. You can hear a submarine siren for fifteen miles with an under-water telephone. Man, you’ve done the trick!”

  The maid appeared in the doorway.

  “Some one on the telephone for Miss Morrison.”

  Nita reluctantly left the room where the others were chattering excitedly. She went to the telephone and put the receiver to her ear, still unconsciously trying to catch the words of the party in the music room. Almost the first words she heard drove them from her mind, however. Her father was speaking.

  “Nita,” he was saying coolly, “this is your father. I’m marooned in the house on the island, and the Silver Menace is climbing up the walls. The windows are blocked. I’m expecting them to break in any minute. When they do I’m done.”

  “Daddy!” Nita choked, aghast.

  “Simmons, the chauffeur, tried to get across the bridge this morning,” said her father still more coolly, “and the sticky stuff got him. The room I’m in is dark. The Silver Menace has climbed up to the roof. We’ve stopped up the chimney so it can’t come down to get us, but when the house is completely covered we’ll be in an air-tight case that will suffocate us sooner or later. I’m rather hoping the windows will break in before that time. I’d rather die like Simmons this morning.”

  “But, daddy, daddy, hold on! We’ll come to you—”

  “It can’t be done,” her father interrupted crisply. “I called you to say good-by and to tell you to look after the families of the servants that are fastened up here with me.” He paused a moment, and said quietly: “I’m in the library downstairs. I can hear the windows creaking. They may give way at any moment and let the horror into the house. It tried to creep in under the doorsills, but we calked them with the table linen.”

  “Daddy!” cried Nita agonizedly. “Oh, daddy, try to fight it off just a little while! We’ve found a way to stop it! We can kill them all!”

  “I have about ten minutes more, Nita,” said her father gently. “You couldn’t get to me. Be a good girl, Nita—” There was a crash. “There go the windows! Good-by, Nita, good-by—”

  The others heard her cry out, and rushed from the music room to hear her calling, calling desperately for her father to answer her, calling into a silent phone.

  CHAPTER IX.

  Davis pounded mightily upon the great gate of the half-deserted shipyard. Behind him, Nita was sobbing in spite of her efforts to hold back her tears. Evelyn tried her best to calm Nita, but without real effect. Gerrod had shot the party out at the gate of the shipyard and darted off in the little motor car on some mysterious errand. Davis pounded again wrathfully, using a huge stone to make his blows reverberate through the yard. A workman came slowly toward them.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” Nita called tearfully. “Please hurry!”

  The workman recognized her through the palings. All of Morrison’s employees knew his daughter. The workman broke into a run. The gate swung open.

  “Where’s Mr. Keeling, the manager?” demanded Nita urgently. “We must see him at once.”

  The workman pointed, and the three of them hurried as fast as they could walk toward the man he had indicated.

  “Mr. Keeling,” said Nita desperately. “Father is marooned in our house up the Hudson. He may be dead by now. We’ve got to get to him!”

  “I don’t know how—” began the manager helplessly.

  “I want a submarine siren,” said Davis crisply. “One that can be tuned to different notes. Also the fastest motor boat you have. Give the necessary orders at once.”

  “But the Silver Menace—” began the manager again.

  “Don’t stand there talking,” barked Davis in a tone that secured instant obedience. “Get the siren and the boat. And hurry! This is life and death!”

  Galvanized into action, but still confused, the manager gave the orders. A fast motor boat that had been hauled ashore and pot into a shed when the Silver Menace blocked the river was hauled out. A heavy submarine siren was hastily unearthed from one of the workshops, and Davis drove the workmen to the task of fitting a sling on the boat by which the siren could be lowered over the bow. A heavy crane was run up and the motor boat made fast, in readiness to be lifted overboard. Every one worked with the utmost speed of which they were capable. Davis was not his usual good-natured self now. He drove his workmen mercilessly. Hardly had the last of their preparations been completed when a heavy truck rumbled into the yard. Gerrod had commandeered the truck and worked wonders. A grand piano had been lifted bodily into the big automobile. As the truck stopped he was lifting the lid that protected the keys. An electrician stood by the siren, with the tuning apparatus exposed. Hardly had the engine of the truck been shut off when they were busy tuning the blast of the siren to match the tinkling sound of the piano. It took a heart-breakingly long time to get the pitches precisely alike, but then the launch swung high in the air and alighted on the surface of the jelly below. The electrician in the launch pressed the button that would set the siren at work sending out its blast of sound waves through the water.

  Those on the bank watched in agonized apprehension. The siren sank into the jelly like mass. No audible sound issued from it, once it was submerged, but when the curious sound waves issued into the water from the giant metal plate that in normal times carried warnings to ships at sea a change was visible in the jelly. Where ever the curious water sound traveled the silvery jelly clouded and abruptly turned to liquid! Almost instantly the space between the two wharves, in which the launch lay, was free of the horrible stuff. Gerrod shouted excitedly. Davis swore happily. Nita pushed anxiously forward.

  “We’ve got to get to daddy!” she cried desperately. “We mustn’t waste a second! Not an instant!”

  The four of them piled into the launch. An engineer leaped down and twisted the motor. The fast launch shot forward, the submarine siren at the bow sending out its strange water sound that was inaudible to those on board, but which had such an amazing effect on the microscopic animals that composed the silver sea. As the launch gathered speed and headed up the Hudson a high bow wave spread out on either side. The water on which they rode was yellowed and malodorous, but it was water, and not the silvery, slime that had threatened the world. The Silver Menace vanished before the launch as if by magic. When the motor boat approached, with its siren still sounding fiercely, though inaudibly, the jellied surface of the river shivered into yellowed liquid, and the creeping horror on the banks trembled and became a torrent of water that flowed eagerly back into the bed of the stream.

  The island on which Morrison had been marooned loomed up ahead, looking like a small mountain of silver. The house at its top was as a monument of shining metal. But as the boat sped toward it the silvery appearance of the coating clouded and melted away. Instead a torrent of evil-smelling water poured down the sloping sides of the island and into the river again!

  They found the servants weeping for joy. Morrison, when the windows of the library had broken in under the weight of the mass of the horror outside, had leaped through the door of the library and slammed the door behind him. They had calked the cracks with cloth, and for a moment isolated the Silver Menace in that one room. As window after window broke in, however, they had been forced to withdraw from room to room, until at last they were huddled together in a tiny linen closet, windowless and without ventilation. They were waiting there for death when they heard the rushing of water all about them and found the Silver Menace, silver and a menace no longer, flowing down to rejoin the waters from which it had come.

  As is the way of women, Nita, having sobbed heartbrokenly for sorrow when she believed her father dead, now sobbed even more heartbrokenly for joy at finding him alive, but she did not neglect, after a reasonable interval, to bring Davis forward.

  “You know him, daddy,” she said, smiling. “Well, he is the person who found the way
to destroy the Silver Menace, and so he’s the person you are going to pay that big reward to.”

  Morrison shook hands with Davis. He knew what was coming next.

  “And though it hasn’t anything to do with the other things,” Nita said proudly, “he’s the person I’m going to marry.”

  “It would be ungracious,” observed Morrison, “to disagree with you. Mr. Davis, you are a lucky man.”

  “I know it,” said Davis, laughing in some embarrassment. He looked at Nita, who dimpled at him, and was promptly and frankly kissed for her daring. She did not seem to mind, however. In fact, she dimpled again.

  * * * *

  The last vestige of the Silver Menace was turned to yellowed water within a month. Submarine sirens, carefully tuned to precisely the pitch that would cause the tiny shells to shatter themselves, were hastily set aboard huge numbers of fast steamers, that swept the ocean in patrols, clearing the sea as they went. Whenever the clear note was poured out by one of the under-water sirens the silvery animalcules died in their myriads. Slowly, as the evil smell of their bodies dissipated, the inhabitants of the Atlantic Ocean came back to their normal haunts. By shoals and schools, by swarms and in tribes, the fishes came down again from the North. A week after the destroying steamers began their patrol rain fell on the Atlantic coast. The abnormally dry air above the ocean took up water avidly and poured it down on the parched earth with a free hand. The ocean, too, took up again its former function of furnishing cool breezes during the day and warm breezes at night. The seashore became once more a place of charm and delight. At least Davis and Nita found it so. Davis was being waited upon with decorations and honorary degrees, with the freedom of cities and medals of honor from learned societies. At each presentation solemn speeches were made in which he was told how superlatively clever he was. Remembering the purely accidental nature of his discovery, he found it difficult to keep from laughing. These things were tiresome, but were not active nuisances until after his marriage. When he found that he and Nita would not be left alone, that no matter how scrupulously they concealed their identity it was sooner or later discovered and they were interviewed and written up in special articles for the newspapers he grew annoyed.