He was in a familiar room. . . . Yes, Doctor Grays' room at the Blue Bay Hotel.
The people around him were familiar. . . . There was Gest. There were Kroner and Doctor Grays, and—Beatrice. There
were the Blue Bay chief of police, and two men.
But the limp feminine form he held in his arms was Madame Sin, the fury he had been fighting in Chichester's library! And in his hand was still the gold link bag he had wrenched from her!
The woman in his arms stirred. She looked blankly up at him, stared around. A cry came from her lips.
"Where—am I? Who are you all? What are you doing in my room? But this isn't my room!"
Her face was different, younger-looking, less exotic. She wasn't Madame Sin; she was a frightened, puzzled girl.
Keane's brain had slipped back into gear, and into comprehension of what had happened.
"Where do you think you are?" he said gently. "And what is your name?"
"I'm Sylvia Crane," she said. "And I'm in a New York hotel room. At least I was the last I knew, when I opened the door and the man in the red mask came in. . , ."
She buried her face in her hands. "After that—I don't know what happened "
"Nor do any of us," quavered Gest, "For God's sake, Keane, give us some idea of what has happened here, if you can!"
IT was o%'er an hour later when Beatrice and Keane entered the door of his suite. It had taken that long to explain to the people in Doctor Grays' rooms. Even then the explanation had been but partial, and most of it had been frenziedly and stubbornly disbelieved even though proof was there.
Keane's shoulders were bowed a little and his face wore a bitter look. He had thwarted Doctor Satan in his attempt to extort a fortune from the resort. But
MASK OF DEATH
171'
Once more his deadly enemy had got away from him. He had failed.
Beatrice shook her head.
"Don't look like that. The fact that you're here alive is a miracle that makes up for his escape. If you could have seen yourself, and that girl, when the police brought you back from Chichester's house! As soon as they set you down in the doctor's rooms, you and the girl came together. You fought again for her purse, as you say you started to do in Chichester's house ten hours ago. But you moved with such horrible slowness! It was like watching a slow-motion picture. It took you hours to raise your arm, hours to take the purse from her hand. And your expression changed with equal slowness. ... I can't tell you how dreadful it was!"
"All due, as I said, to this," Keane sighed. ■
He stared at the little metal cage he had taken from the purse.
"The latest product of Doctor Satan's warped genius. A time-diverter, I suppose you might call it."
"I didn't understand your explanation in Grays' rooms, after you'd brought those people out of their dreadful coma," said Beatrice.
"I'll try again."
Keane held up the geometric figure.
"Time has been likened to a river. We don't know precisely what it is, but it seems that the river simile must be apt. .Very well, we and all around us float on this river at the same speed. If there were different currents in the same river, we might have the spectacle of seeing those nearby move with lightning rapidity or with snail-like slowness as their time-environment differed from ours. Normally there is no such difference, but with this fantastic thing Doctor Satan has succeeded in producing them artificially.
"He has succeeded in working out
several sets of angles which, when opposed against each other as this geometric figure opposes them, can either speed up or slow down the time-stream of whatever it is pointed at. The final angle is formed by this movable bar in its relation to the whole. By its manipulation, time can be indefinitely retarded or hastened. He utilized the bizarre creation in this way:
"In New York he contacted a quite innocent party by the name of Sylvia Crane. He hypnotized her, and forced his spirit into her body while hers was held in abeyance. Then 'Madame Sin' registered here. She made acquaintance with Weems. On the roof garden, she pointed the infernal figure at him, with the little bar turned to retard time. The result was that Weems suddenly lived and moved at immensely retarded speed. It took about twenty-four hours for his arm to raise the champagne glass to his lips, though he thought it took a second. Our actions were so swift by comparison that they didn't register on his consciousness at all. He confessed after I'd brought him out of his odd time-state with the device, that he seemed to raise his glass while in the roof garden, and start to lower it when he found himself abruptly in Doctor Grays' bedroom. He didn't know how he got there or anything else. It was the same with the nine in the roulette room. They came back to normal speed only a second or two after being retarded in the roulette room. But it was hours to us, and meanwhile they seemed absolutely motionless." ,
"How on earth did you ever get a hint of such a thing as this?" said Beatrice.
"Weems' watch gave a pointer. It was all right, the jeweler said, but it wouldn't run. Well, it did run—but at a speed so slow that it could not be recorded. The roulette wheel was another. The ivory
.WEIRD TALES
ball did not roll down the side of the wheel because the wheel was rotating—. with infinite slowness after being retarded by die same thing that made the people look like frozen statues. Satan, as Madame Sin, couldn't do anything about the wheel. But he—or 'she'—could and did take the watches from all concerned, to guard against discovery that way. However, there was no chance to get .Weems' watch; there were always people around."
"You said Doctor Satan moved in the body of Chichester as he did in the girl's body."
"Yes. I got a hint of that when I observed that Chichester and Madame Sin never seemed to be in evidence at the same time. Also because the exact sum of Blue Bay's cash reserve was so readily learned. Again when Wilson was killed in a room where only the three officials sat. He was killed by Chichester, who was at the moment animated by Satan's soul. He was killed, by the way, by a speeding-up of time. The rest were retarded and suffered nothing but nerve shock. Wilson was killed when the speed of his time-stream was multiplied by a million: you can stop a heart without injuring it, but you can't suddenly accelerate a heart, or any other machine, a million times, without bursting it. That's why his heart looked as though it had blown up in his chest."
Keane stopped. The bitter look grew in his eyes.
« "This failure was wholly my own fault," he said in a low tone. "I knew when I found the duplicate financial statement in Madame Sin's rooms that it was a trap to draw me to Chichester's home. Doctor Satan would never have been so careless as to leave a thing like that behind inadvertently. Knowing it was a trap, I entered it, and found Sa-, tan's soulless body. If I'd destroyed it
immediately. . . . But I didn't dream that Madame Sin would follow me so quick-¥'
Beatrice's hand touched Keane's fleetingly. He was looking at the geometric figure and did not see the look in her eyes.
"The world can thank heaven you're alive," she said softly. "With you dead, Doctor Satan could rule the earth "
There was a knock at die door. Gest was in the hall.
"Keane," he said. "I suppose this will sound like a small thing after all you've done. You've saved us from bankruptcy and saved Lord knows how many people from a living death from that time-business you tried to explain to us. Now there's one more thing. Workmen in Chichester's home tell us that they can't build up one of the walls of the library, which is non-existent for some reason. There the room is, with one wall out, and it can't be blocked up! Do you suppose you "
Keane nodded, with a little of his bitterness relieved by a smile.
"I remember. The time-diverter was pointed at that wall for an instant as the girl and I struggled. Evidently it was set for maximum acceleration, to burst my heart as it did Wilson's. It got the library wall, which is gone because in the point of the future which it almost instantly reached, there is no library or home or any
thing else on that spot. I'll bring it back to the present, and to existence again, so you won't have a physical impossibility to try to explain to nervous guests of Blue Bay Resort."
"And after that," he added to himself, "I'll destroy this invention of Hell. And I wish its destruction would annihilate its inventor along with it—before he contrives some new and even more terrible tov!"
"Within this ring the Arab stood upright. His voice boomed out like a great metal gong."
W,
erewolf of the Sahara
By G. G. PENDARVES
r A tremendous tale, depicted against the background of the great desert, about
the evil Arab sheykh El Shabur, and dreadful occult forces that were
unleashed in a desperate struggle for the soul of a beautiful girl
THE three of them were unusually the Libyan coast of North Africa. For
silent that night over their after three weeks they had been delayed here
dinner coffee. They were camp en route for the Siwa oasis. Two men and
ing outside the little town of Solium on a girl.
m
WEIRD TALES
"So we really start tomorrow," Merle Anthony blew a cloud of smoke toward the glittering night sky. "I'm almost sorry. Sollum's been fun. And I've done two of the best pictures I ever made here."
"Was that why you burned them up yesterday?" her cousin, Dale Fleming, inquired in his comfortable pleasant voice.
The girl's clear pallor slowly crimsoned. "Dale! What a "
"It's all right, Merle," Gunnar Sven interrupted her. "Dale's quite right. Why pretend this delay has done you any good? And it's altogether my fault. I found that out today in the market. Overheard some Arabs discussing our expedition to Siwa."
"Your fault!" Merle's beautiful face, and eyes gray as a gull's wing, turned to him. "Why, you've simply slaved to get the caravan ready."
Gunnar got to his feet and walked out to the verge of the headland on which they were camped. Tall, straight'as a pine he stood.
The cousins watched him; the girl with trouble and perplexity, the man more searchingly. His eyes, under straight upper lids, flatly contradicted the rest of his appearance. He was very fat, with fair hair and smooth unlined face despite his forty years. A sort of Pickwickian good humor radiated from him. Dale Fleming's really great intellectual power showed only in those three-cornered heavily-lidded eyes of his.
"Why did you give me away?" Merle demanded.
His round moon face beamed on her. "Why bluff?" he responded.
"Snooping about as usual. Why don't you go and be a real detective?" she retorted crossly.
He gave a comfortable chuckle, but his eyes were sad. It was devilishly hard to watch her falling for this Icelander. Ever since his parents had adopted her—an
orphan of six—she had come first in Dale's affections. His love was far from Platonic. Gunnar Sven was a fine creature, but there was something wrong. Some mystery shadowed his life.' What it was, Dale was determined to discover.
"Truth will out, my child! The natives are in terror of him. You know it as well as I do! They're all against helping you and me because he's our friend."
"Stop being an idiot. No one could be afraid of Gunnar. And he's particularly good with natives."
"Yes. He handles them well. I've never seen a young 'un do it better."
"Well, then?"
"There's something queer about him. These Arabs know it. We know it. It's about two months now since he joined forces with us. Just after my mother decamped and left us in Cairo. The cable summoning her home to Aunt Sue's death-bed arrived Wednesday, May 3rd. She sailed May 5th. Gunnar Sven turned up May 6th."
"All right. I'm not contradicting you. It's never any use."
"You refused to wait for Mother's return in Cairo, according to her schedule."
"Well! Cairo! Everyone paints Cairo and the Nile. I wanted subjects that every five-cent tourist hadn't raved over."
"You wanted Siwa Oasis. Of all Godforsaken dangerous filthy places! And in the summer "
"You know you're dying to see the oasis too," she accused. "Just trying to save your face as my guardian and protector. Hypocrite!"
He roared with laughter. The Arab cook and several other servants stopped singing round their cooking-pots to grin at the infectious sound.
"Touche! I'd sacrifice my flowing raven locks to go to Siwa. But"—his face grew surprizingly stern—"about Gunnar. Why
WEREWOLF OF THE SAHARA
175
does he take such enormous pains not to tell us the name of the man he's been working for?"
"I've never asked him."
"I haven't in so many words, of course. But I've led him up to the fence over and over again. He's steadily refused it. With good reason."
"Well?"
"He works for an Arab. A sheykh. A man notorious from Morocco to Cairo. His nickname's Sheykh El Afrit. The Magician! His real name is Sheykh Zura El Shabur."
"And what's so earth-shaking about that?" asked Merle, patting a dark curl into place behind her ear.
"He's a very—bad—hat! Black Magic's no joke in this country. This Sheykh El Shabur's gone far. Too far."
"I'm going to talk to Gunnar. He'll tell me. It's fantastic. Gunnar and Black Magic kideed!"
Dale watched her, amused and touched. How she loathed subtleties and mysteries and tangled situations!
"She'd waltz up to a lion and pull its whiskers if anyone told her they were false. As good at concealment as a searchlight."
Gunnar turned from the sea as Merle walked purposefully in his direction. He stood beside her—mountain pine overshadowing a little silver birch.
"H-m-m!" Dale threw away a freshly lighted cigarette and took another. "Merle and I wouldn't suggest that. More like Friar Tuck and Maid Marian."
He was startled to see Gunnar suddenly leap and turn. The man looked as if he'd had a tremendous shock. He stood peering across the wastelands stretching eastward, frozen into an attitude of utmost horror.
Dale ran across to Merle. She broke
from his detaining hand and rushed to Gunnar's side.
'What is it? What do you see? Gunnar! Answer me, Gunnar!"
His tense muscles relaxed. He sighed, and brushed a hand across his eyes and wet forehead.
"He's found me. He's coming. I had hoped never "
"Who? What are you talking about?"
She shook his arm in terror at his wild look and words.
"He said I was free! Free! I wouldn't have come near you if I'd known he lied. Now I've brought him into your life. Merle! Forgive me!"
He took her hands, kissed them frantically, then turned to Dale with burning haste and fairly pushed him away.
"Go! Go! Go! Now—before he comes. Leave everything! Ride for your lives. He'll force me to .. . go! Go!"
"Aid yarudd! What means this, Gunnar—my servant?"
The deep guttural voice seemed to come up from the bowels of the earth. The three turned as if a bomb had exploded. A figure loomed up not ten feet away. Merle stared with wide startled eyes. A minute ago the level wasteland had shown bare, deserted. How had this tall Arab approached unseen?
Gunnar seemed to shrink and wither. His face was tragic. The newcomer fixed him for a long moment in silence, staring him down.
"What means this, Gunnar, my servant?" Once more the words vibrated through the still night.
The Icelander made a broken ineffectual movement of his hands, and began to speak. His voice died away into low, vague murmurings.
"For this you shall account to me later," promised the tall Arab.
He strode forward. His black bur-noose rippled and swayed about him. Its
WEIRD TALES
peaked hood was drawn close. A long face with pointed black beard, proud curving nose, and eyes dark and secret as forest pools gleamed beneath the hood.
Merle shrank back. Her fingers clutched Gunnar's. They were cold and limp in her grasp.
> Dale leaned forward, peering into the Arab's face as a connoisseur examines an etching of rare interest.
"You speak very good English, my friend. Or is it enemy?"
The whole demeanor of the Arab changed. His white teeth flashed. He held out welcoming hands, clasped Dale's in his own, and bowed low to the girl. He turned last to the Icelander.
"Present me!" he ordered.
Gunnar performed the small ceremony with white lips. His voice sounded as if he'd been running hard.
"Zura El Shabur. Zura of the Mist," translated the sheykh. "I am your friend. I have many friends of your Western world. The language! All languages are one to me!"
Dale beamed. "Ah! Good linguist and all that! Jolly good name yours, what! Gave us quite a scare, popping up out of the atmosphere like Aladdin's djinnee!"
El Shabui's thin lips again showed his teeth.
"Those that dwell in the desert's solitude and silence learn to reflect its qualities."
"Quite! Quite!" Dale gurgled happy agreement. "Neat little accomplishment Very convenient—for you!"
"Convenient on this occasion for you also, since my coming prevented the in-hospitality of my servant from driving you away."
"No! You're wrong there. Gunnar's been our guardian angel for weeks past. Given us a wonderful time."
"Nevertheless, I heard that he urged you to go—to go quickly from Solium."
Dale burst into laughter; long, low gurgles that relieved tension all around. "I'm one of those fools that'd rather lose a pot of gold than alter my plans. One of the camel-drivers has made off with a few bits of loot. You heard the thrifty Gunnar imploring me to follow him."
Merle backed up the tale with quick wit. "Nothing of vast importance. My silver toilet things, a leather bag, and a camera. Annoying, but hardly worth wasting hours to retrieve."
She came forward, all anxiety to give Gunnar time to pull himself together.
El Shabur made her a second low obeisance and stared down into her upturned vivid face. "Such youth and beauty must be served. Shall I send Gunnar after the thief?"
The idea of separation gave her a shock. Intuition warned her to keep the Icelander at her side for his sake, and for her own. Together there seemed less danger.
Weird Tales volume 28 number 02 Page 8