Murgunstrumm and Others

by Cave, Hugh

  I broke the seal carefully, removing the sheaf of papers that lay inside. In amazement I studied them, dropping them one by one back into the container. They were scribbled formulas, most of them, meaningless to the casual man of medicine. But one—and here I bent suddenly forward, staring intently at the writing before me—was singularly interesting.

  I shall quote from it exactly as it was written, in the sharp, scrawling hand of the man who had summoned me, the man who had, to all intent, left these papers in my care:

  October 9. I am nearing the end of my research. The combination of serums seems to contain all of the elements necessary for my purpose. I should have completed my task months ago, but England does not contain the fluids that I sought. Tonight, after I have examined the serum once more, I shall experiment. If I succeed, milady Margot's darling hound will be deathless!

  October 10. The worst has passed. Less than an hour past I treated the dog with a very small amount of my new discovery. For a moment he showed no reaction; then, with a great shriek, be bolted from the laboratory. There has been no sign of him since. Every effort to locate him has been of no avail. I am convinced that my secret is worthy of a human test.

  October 11. Nine A.M. I have become firm in my resolution. Margot would not understand my motives and would hinder me to the utmost; therefore I must have another witness. Perhaps it would be best to send for Hale. He, of all men alive, would understand and sympathize. I shall call him.

  Four P.M. I have sent for Hale. As soon as be arrives, I shall go through with my plans. Meanwhile, there are several slight changes which must be made in the serum before it is ready for the final test. These will keep me occupied until Hale's coming—and then we shall see! The intense work of the last week has left me weak and nervous. I fear a return of the damnable heart-sickness that has threatened me for the last ten years. But Hale will know how to pull me together.

  Those are the words of Gordon Null, exactly as he had set them down. What fiendish fluid he had found—what mad concoction he had discovered that would prolong human and animal life to eternity—I could not know. For many years he had been working to complete this unholy scheme. Many times during the early days of our acquaintance, he had discussed it with me. The secret of existence had become an obsession with him. And now—

  I dropped the papers with a shudder of apprehension. Would I find a madman here in this place of shadows? Would I find, amid the whisperings and murmurings of these grim halls, a man who had solved the mystery of life and death? Would I be forced to stand by and help him experiment—upon himself?

  It was another question, spoken in a half-whisper of fear, that jerked me about with a start, jerked me about, I say, to find a pair of soft, staring eyes watching me, and a slender arm outstretched toward me.

  "You—you are Ronald Hale?"

  I stepped toward her. The thought came instantly to me that this was Margot. This was Null's daughter, the girl who had cared for him and humored him since the death of his wife, four years ago.

  She was almost beautiful as she came toward me in the dim light of the lamp. Black hair, as dark as her father's—half-parted lips that trembled as she spoke, a lithe, supple body that moved without motion. Beautiful, I say, and yet for all that, gripped with something that might have been terror.

  "I am so glad," she whispered. "You don't know— Oh, it is good to have some one here!"

  "Something has happened?" I asked quickly.

  Her fingers touched my arm. I could feel the tremor of her body and of her voice, as she stood close to me. "Father—is dead," she said slowly. "Something horrible—something we cannot fight against—has murdered him! The strain of the last few days weakened his—heart. And then—he was frightened to death!"

  There must be something of the scientist in me—something cold and mechanical. I believe I stared at the girl before me, but I was thinking of the diary I had just finished reading. And I am positive that my first reaction to Margot's statement was the feeling of irritation that Null should have succumbed before explaining the secret of his serum to me—before even putting it to a test. Then, through my unreasonable thoughts, I heard the words of the girl who faced me.

  "It happened about nine o'clock," she was saying. "Father came from his laboratory and went straight to his own room, after giving me these papers for you—" she indicated the documents which I had already discovered and read. "He complained of terrible pains, but he would not let me come near him. I have never seen him so pale and thin."

  She hesitated. The terror had returned to her face, and her fingers tightened on my arm as she went on, "At half past nine, Mrs. May, the old housekeeper, went upstairs with some strong coffee. Then, I heard a scream—a horrible scream. When I reached the room—his room—I found him there, on the bed. And—and also—" Margot's voice dropped to a hushed whisper— "Mrs. May was there, lying on the floor, beside the bed. They—they were both dead!"

  A sob broke through the girl's lips. A single glance at her pale, frightened features convinced me that she was telling a direct story, with no attempt at drama. And yet—

  "You are sure?" I asked her, as she stood facing me. "You are sure that the housekeeper was dead? She had not fainted from the shock of finding your father dead?"

  "No, I am sure. I have been a nurse, Dr. Hale. Both father and she were terribly contorted, as if—as if some huge animal had killed them. Father's body was twisted horribly; and Mrs. May's neck was broken in a dreadful way."

  "Her neck was broken?" I repeated. "By what?"

  "I do not know. Whatever it was, she saw it before she was overpowered. Father saw it, too, It—it is—ghostly!"

  "I must ask you to take me to his room," I said hoarsely. "There was a reason for his death, and a reason for hers. Whatever it is, we must find it before the thing repeats itself."

  She moved away silently. I hesitated only long enough to pick up the diary that I had been reading; then, with the sheaf of papers hidden securely in my coat pocket, I followed her to the upper part of the house.

  It was a small, musty room that we entered at last—very much like the study on the floor below. My first impression was of a flickering candle that burned on the table against the wall; and then, as I became used to the yellow glow, I made out a form on a bed—and another distorted shape that lay on the floor beside it.

  I thrust Margot back from entering that room of double death. I advanced alone; she stood by the door, watching me with fearful eyes; I went directly to the bed. The candle had been placed so that its halo of light fell precisely over Gordon Null's face, throwing every detail of the man's features into an almost living reality. And the eyes were a mask of agony—they were dead, horribly dead, and yet positively glaring in their intensity; they were magnetic, drawing me closer and closer; and as I bent over them I found something else—a positive gleam in those fear-filled eyes.

  The cause of this man's death had been fright; fear had stopped the beating of his weak heart. Whatever he had seen—whatever had swooped down upon him—had killed him even before it reached him. But the thing, whatever it was, had twisted his body horribly.

  He lay rigid, curled like a gnarled length of wire. I can think of nothing better to say than to compare him with a huge, half-coiled spider. His left arm lay outstretched, reaching almost to his knees—stiff. His right arm was bent at the elbow. The upper half lay straight; the lower section, from elbow to hand, extended almost perpendicularly into the air, terminating in half-open, curled hand. Nothing supported it. It hung there as if the intruder had propped it up and wrenched the bones into position.

  I had completely forgotten my surroundings. As I turned away from the bed, my foot struck that other dead body and, with a start, I glanced down. For a moment I could see nothing distinctly; the shadows of the bed concealed what lay there. Then that face of terror burned through the gloom into mine, and I recoiled with a shudder.

  Doctor I am, but never in my years of practise have I seen a
woman's face so utterly convulsed with horror. The neck was broken—I could judge instantly from the lolling position of the head. But the thing that had brought death to this old woman had been something frightful and unbelievable. She had been flung aside, killed in a single blow, and left there.

  As I stood over her, a hand touched my arm. I turned slowly to face the girl who had led me through the corridors.

  "You—see?" she whispered.

  I nodded quietly. With a final glance at Null's body, I drew her aside to the safety of the door.

  "Are we alone here?" I asked.

  She shook her head.

  "There is the Burman—the man who let you in."

  I turned suddenly to stare at the silent form by the bed. In a flash the thought struck me—were those frightful gashes at her throat the marks of Oriental fingers? There are few people in the world who can kill with a single twist of the hand, and the Orientals have learned the secret. With their infernal ju-jitsu, their uncanny holds and tortures—

  But Margot read my thoughts.

  "He has been here for years," she said. "He was father's trusted servant. At times he even helped father in the laboratory."

  "Will you call him, please?" I asked her. "If he has worked with Sir Gordon, he may know more than either of us. I should like to question him—alone."

  She moved silently away. When she had gone, I heard her footsteps echoing softly down the long hail, becoming fainter and fainter. Then, with a shrug, I turned once again to that room of horror.

  I must have stumbled back—must have cried aloud. I can recall even now the numbing sense of helpless fear that overwhelmed me, in spite of the fact that the thing I saw had a logical explanation. But I am not ashamed of such a terror, for the sight that lay before me would have brought fear to many a braver man.

  Gordon Null's body lay in the same rigid position, unmoved. The face still stared with that ghastly glare of triumph. But the man's arm—that forearm which had been propped up in a perpendicular position—lay full length across his chest, pointing directly into my face!

  I am a doctor of some repute; I have seen more than one touch of horror; I have watched a patient overcome the grip of ether and wake up in the midst of a major operation; I have seen a man supposedly dead for two days stand up and scream; and yet those things are to be expected in hospital routine—they are part of the grim business of surgery. But here, in this house of whispers and darkness, this sudden fear was more than I could stand.

  I left the room with staggering steps, my whole body twitching with an uncontrollable sense of the supernatural. There was an explanation for this ghastly thing, I knew full well: the dead man's hand had been paralyzed in an upright position. In pacing about the room I had caused sufficient vibration of the bed to jar the tense muscles loose again—and the arm had fallen.

  And yet I groped through the gloom of the outer passage like a man who has seen some ghastly ghost. Only with an effort did I find my way to the head of the great stairs.

  And there, with one hand on the carved banister, I stopped, for the Oriental stood before me, waiting for me to speak. He had come soundlessly, with footsteps that made no tread on the heavy carpet. Now, with that expressionless stare masking his eyes, he faced me. It was the sight of his indifference, I believe, that took the fear from my own heart and thrust me back into the reality of the situation.

  If Null had taken this fellow into his confidence, the Burman could tell me something; perhaps, by cautious questioning-1 had had some experience with Orientals before—I might learn the secret of Sir Gordon's death and the nature of the unnamed thing which had murdered both him and the housekeeper.

  I drew the servant to one side, where the rays of an overhead gas jet fell on his face. "You knew Sir Gordon intimately?" I asked him.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "I work with him sometimes."

  "You assisted him?"

  "Sometimes."

  "Can you tell me what he was working with just before—this happened?"

  The Burman's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. For a moment I thought he would shake his head; then he said quietly: "He make some serum, he call it. He tell me maybe he give me some. Make me live long time, maybe never die."

  "And did he?"

  "No. First he give it to— No. I do not know."

  He was deliberately evading me. My fingers closed firmly over his arm, and I stared directly at him. "First," I repeated, "he gave it to the dog. Now tell me!"

  His eyes shifted quickly to mine, and fell again. I felt him start. Then: "He give it to dog. The dog go away, screaming. That was last night—late."

  "Do you know where the dog is?" I demanded.

  He hesitated. Then, leaning toward me, he whispered the words, "You come!" Without waiting for my reply, he turned abruptly and went silently down the passage. At the head of the stairs he stopped once to see that I was following. A moment later he moved down into the shadows of the lower hail. Our journey was but a short one, ending in the farther corner of the stone vault. And here, as the Oriental stepped aside, I saw a thing which will forever haunt my memory!

  It was a dog—a huge black hound common enough throughout the moors. He was dead; that much I am certain of. But his head, with glassy, sightless eyes, and mouth covered with dry foam, was twisted in a horrible position of contortion.

  I dropped to my knees beside the creature. My fingers passed over his body, and found nothing but a cold, stiff carcass. The animal was no longer alive; not a semblance of life inhabited his rigid form. And then, as I bent closer, my hand fell accidentally against that twisted head.

  Even as I touched it—and the thing was deathly cold to my touch—the fearful thing swung toward my hand with a rapid, silent thrust of fury. Had I stayed there, without leaping back, my hand would have been severed at the wrist—by a pair of dead jaws!

  I faced the Oriental with as much composure as I could muster. "Tell me," I said, "how Sir Gordon treated this animal! Just how did he force the serum into it?"

  The Burman advanced cautiously and pointed with rigid finger to the dog's throat. The creature's head turned slowly, following his hand with malicious evil, and as the head came up I saw a faint purple mark under its lower jaw.

  This, then, was where Null had injected his murderous fluid; and this horrible monstrosity that lay sprawled on the stone at my feet was the result of his fiendish experiment. I could only think that it was by the mercy of God that Null had died before using the hideous serum on himself.

  "You see?" The Burman moved to my side. "When the master stab him with needle, dog screech and claw like devil himself. An hour ago, maybe more, I come down here to make sure all doors are close. I find him here, like that. He make no move for me until I touch his head. Then he fight me, like that."

  I looked again toward that ghastly corpse-thing on the floor. The dog's head had dropped again in a lifeless heap, hanging down over its dead paws. I stepped back. The thing made no move to follow me. It was dead. Evidently, then, its sudden surge of horrible life came only after some disturbing element had awakened it. Left alone, it would stay passive until some chance intruder touched that head of living death. I recalled the fearful gashes in the old housekeeper's throat—the uncanny position of Null's twisted body, and I stared at the hound at my feet. But I could not face my own thoughts. They were too horrible.

  "Show me the way back," I said, "back to Sir Gordon's study."

  The events that I had been through—the horror and terror of a double death and this dead, thing with its awful living head—these were merely a suggestion of what was to come. As I paced slowly behind the Oriental, groping out of the lower recesses of the house, I did not suspect the things that lay in wait of me. Had I done so, I should have fled that place as quickly as my numbed body could crawl away.

  At length, after some time, we reached the main halls, and there, in the room to which I had first been introduced, I found Lady Margot. She sat by the table, the same o
n which I had found Null's diary, with the light of the lamp cast slantwise over her face. The face itself, after the horror of the last few hours, was strangely calm; and once again I was struck with the Madonna-like beauty of it. There was courage in her quiet bearing—more courage than I could find in my own heart, after such a series of ordeals.

  "You have found something?" she said, rising to meet me.

  I glanced about the room cautiously. The Oriental, having led me here, had disappeared like a shadow. We were alone—alone with the ancient table and the disorderly pile of papers that lay scattered over its surface.

  "I will tell you what I know," I said quietly. "Sir Gordon had been experimenting with a serum which would procure eternal life. It was his hobby, his obsession."

  She nodded. "I know. He has spoken to me of it."

  "He found it," I went on, "from the books and papers there—" I indicated the table beside us— "it is evident that the serums he used were obtained from two most singular creatures: a mad gorilla and a venomous puff-adder. He combined the two in some ingenious manner, and tried his secret on the hound."

  "The hound?" She started visibly, as if a sudden memory had returned to her. "It was he then that I heard scream?"

  "The dog," I told her slowly, "is dead, in the cellar of the house. His body—his whole body—is cold and rigid; but his head is horribly alive. There is but one solution: Sir Gordon injected the serum into the creature's throat; the poison entered the blood and was carried directly to the heart in a matter of seconds; the poison paralyzed the heart, and the circulation stopped at once; but not before the poison, in the immediate region of the wound, found time to move through the tiny outlets of the main blood vessels—to take effect upon the dog's head."

  She nodded. Evidently she understood what I was attempting to tell her—that Sir Gordon's serum had been powerful enough to kill the heart, but not powerful enough to affect the blood vessels which had carried it to the heart; and that, in the fleeting instant before it had deadened the circulatory system, it had made the tissues of the dog's head deathless—with awful effect.