The Return of the Nyctalope

by Jean de La Hire

  “It’s probable. Did you notice what direction he came from?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s where we need to go—but we have to get through that entire crowd.”

  “Easy! We’ll open a path with out electric torches.”

  Then they saw Tugg jump on to the first step, exactly where Fageat, seated beside the recumbent Véronique, had received them. The huge Nocturnal raised and arm and shouted. Instantaneously the rumor of the crowd fell silent, and the lyrical song of the Diurnals immediately rose up, without any the need for any “conductor.”

  The song was such a marvel that, in spite of their anguished preoccupation with the subject of Véronique, the two friends were gripped by the same admiring emotion that had immobilized them on their arrival, before they had been flattened by the Nocturnals leaping on their backs.

  For a few minutes they were ecstatic, like Ulysses’ sailors on hearing the song of the sirens.

  Saint-Clair was the first to break that hold, and said with contained vehemence:

  “Enough, Gno! Don’t listen. And let’s not hold back. We need to get to Véronique right away.”

  “Let’s go!” said Gno, in the same tone. “Electricity?”

  “Yes!”

  “We’ll march side by side—but keep an eye on our rear. Nocturnals untouched by the light mustn’t be allowed to attack us from behind and knock us down!”

  “Certainly not! This time, we’d be doomed!”

  “And so would Véronique!”

  “Let’s go.”

  It was a nightmare journey. Only the human imagination, exercised in inexplicable mystery, in the incomprehensible enigma of the craziest dreams, can realize such a phantasmagoria, in which the impossible and the real are amalgamated, in which the horrible and the grotesque are entangled, and which is a formidable torture because the victim of the dream believes, subconsciously, that he will never get out of that Gehenna.

  Having switched on the two powerful torches simultaneously, Gno Mitang and Saint-Clair leapt down from their pedestal together. Instinctively, they howled: “Oooh! Aaah!”

  The nearest Nocturnals turned round, and were immediately struck full in the face, in the eyes, by the electric beams, as unsustainable for them as the Sun’s rays in broad daylight. Did they understand? Had they been informed that the great Woo Fagg, on his marvelous arrival, had given a demonstration of his power of light and death?

  The Nyctalope and the Japanese, of course, did not ask that question. They advanced side by side at a rapid pace, often glancing behind them, without stopping, whipping the crowd at head height with the rigid lash of their electric beams, in front of them first, then to the sides, and then behind them, and henceforth all around the moving block that they formed, there as a demonic racket of atrocious screams, an infernal moving chaos of living bodies that were bounding, recoiling, falling down and writhing in heaps on the ground.

  Always, after the first painful stroke, the huge hands were plastered against the faces before the disorderly collapse of the body: an instinctive, but belated, gesture of protection—for the luminous jets, incomprehensible, or at least unexpected and always unsustainable, struck with a rapidity, a continuity and a mobility against which none of the crazed Nocturnals thought of defending themselves by simply turning their backs.

  The initial reflex of the unfortunates afflicted, and then the others who saw the invincible evil coming, was to leap backwards—with the result that soon, throughout the immense grotto, there was a terrible tempest of violent bodies pressing and colliding with one another, throwing one another into the air, crushing one another, shoving one another and being shoved, like the confused waves of a furious sea in which the winds and currents are in conflict...

  Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang were impassive at first as they advanced into the tumultuous gap that the electric beams opened up in front of them. Immediately, however, the song of the Diurnals broke off. The Nyctalope had but one thought: not to deviate in his course; to go straight ahead in the direction from which he had seen the giant Tugg arrive. He had one reference-point: the amphitheater, which he needed to keep to his left, always at the same distance, which he had estimated at approximately thirty meters.

  In spite of the Nyctalope’s fixed determination, however, and in spite of the determination that the Japanese had to ensure, by means of frequent half-turns, of the security of their rear, the two friends gradually lost their grim impassivity. The task they were accomplishing, which they had to accomplish, was truly too horrible. Its nightmare effects were repeated, superimposed and propagated in such cataclysmic proportions!

  Deafened by the unspeakable howling, jostled by the writhing of the Nocturnals fallen at their feet, suffocating in that atmosphere already heavy, into which thousands of hairy bodies sweating in anguish were discharging their odors, Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang soon felt as if their heads were on fire, their nerves exasperated, their chests oppressed, their throats wheezing...

  Pitilessly, however, they went forward, on and on, fighting with all their conscious and lucid minds against the deadly impression of nightmare that overwhelmed them, repressing their physical malaise with all of their will-power—and finally, they reached, at the far side of the immense cavern, a place where there as no longer a single Nocturnal in front of them, and where the crazed masses behind them were retreating, trampling fallen bodies.

  “There! That must be it!” exclaimed the breathless Nyctalope.

  The two electric beams extended freely into the black hole of a relatively narrow gallery.

  “Gno! Turn your back to me and walk backwards. Or, rather, no! Here, take my torch, and light your forward march as normal, three paces before me, and prevent anyone from following us by directing the other beam behind you. Understand?”

  The Japanese was much less excited than the Nyctalope.

  “How could I not understand, my dear Leo? Calm down and go forward. I’ll follow you, sand my rear-guard will never cease to be luminously effective. But calm down, I implore you! You’ll be facing Fageat before long—and he’s armed!”

  “Thanks, Gno!” said Saint-Clair, with grave firmness.

  He handed his illuminated electric torch to his friend. Then, moving normally, he took his pistol from its holster, disengaged the safety-catch, checked the mobile chamber and made sure that there was already a bullet in the breech, ready to be fired—and, retaining the weapon in his right hand, he went into the tunnel.

  Twenty minutes earlier, in the little cave with the three steps and the phosphorescent pillar, before the unexpressive eyes of the attentive Diurnals, reflecting on phenomena that they did not understand, and before Ariste Fageat, quivering with desire, Véronique had woken up.

  At first her gaze was that of a sleepwalker; she did not move her head or her hands, and did not make the slightest effort to stand up, slumped as she was, propped up by the monkey-skins.

  Soon, however, her eyes assumed a gaze—and they saw Fageat standing almost immediately in front of her, and then the four Diurnals sitting huddled together, and finally the phosphorescent column.

  There was a moment of uncomprehending perplexity, with a sensation of heaviness in her head, softness in her limbs and a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Suddenly, however, a desire to know, to understand, animated her eyes, and caused her body to sit up straight, while her hands, with an instinctive gesture of modesty, closed upon and buttoned up her pajama jacket to the neck—for Mademoiselle d’Olbans, barefoot and bare-headed, her hair hanging loose, was only clad in night-pajamas.

  An instant later, her gaze was gravely fixed upon the engineer, and she said, curtly:

  “What am I doing here? Where are we? What’s happened?”

  Fageat bowed respectfully, sketched a gesture intended to appease, and, in a voice that was emotional for reasons other that those which Mademoiselle d’Olbans could yet imagine, said:

  “It’s a long story, Mademoiselle—and very ext
raordinary. We’ve all been captured, inside the Olb.-I for those who were asleep and in the immediate vicinity for those who were awake and went out to see what as happening…”

  He stopped, a trifle breathless.

  “Captured?” cried Véronique. “How? By whom?”

  “By the Nocturnals!” Fageat replied, with a kind of hateful violence.

  “But how?” Véronique insisted. “How? That’s incredible… crazy!”

  Then Fageat could not help a snigger that was supposed to be bitter but was merely insolent:

  “Crazy? Incredible? You can’t see, then, that you’re in one of the Nocturnals’ caves? Imprisoned, like these four Diurnals, like me...”

  Véronique attached her own thoughts, logically, to Fageat’s:

  “What about Saint-Clair? Gno Mitang? Vitto, Soca, Magot? Why aren’t they here with me, and you? Where are they?”

  “Oh, Mademoiselle!” exclaimed the engineer, with a grand gesture of his arms, “let me tell you how it happened…my story will answer all your questions...”

  “Well go on, then! Tell me!” the young woman spat out, with a hysteria of which she immediately became conscious and for which she reproached herself, so effectively that, to calm herself down, she had the idea of looking at the four Diurnals, whose delightful faces, turned toward her, were taut with attention and curiosity, but whose unexpressive eyes were incapable, alas, of giving her any comfort.

  Nevertheless, the sight of those four beings, so peaceful, delicately pink in the light spread by the phosphorescent column, immediately did her good. She turned back to Fageat and said, in a calmer voice:

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, this is what happened,” began the engineer, in a tone that was more casual than was appropriate to the terrible significance of the story that he was about to tell, which he had been preparing meticulously since Tugg had left him there. “You remember, Mademoiselle, that after dinner, you all went to bed and I took the first watch?”

  “Yes, yes...”

  “An hour went by. You were all asleep. Suddenly, I heard strange noises around the Olb.-I. I listened, but, being unable to identify them, I had the idea of opening a porthole, in order to hear better—and also to see better, for I couldn’t see anything through the crystal, misted as it was by some kind of humidity. So I opened a porthole and, in truth, without realizing that I was committing an idiotic imprudence, I put my head outside. Immediately, I was grabbed by the neck and shoulders. I was able to cry out. I was released, and cried out again. Immediately, I was grabbed again—but Monsieur Saint-Clair had heard. The light of his electric lamp put my assailants—who were Nocturnals—to flight.

  “Monsieur Mitang arrived. Monsieur Saint-Clair ordered me to arm myself and equip myself. He went out, and Monsieur Mitang went with him—but they must have been attacked from behind, for moments later the Olb.-I was invaded by the Nocturnals, who overwhelmed me before I was able to light a single electric lamp. I was only illuminated by the green light of the central compartment. I think Vitto, Soca and Margot were surprised in their hammocks; I didn’t see them.

  “Before my eyes, a Nocturnal picked you up, deeply asleep, in his arms. I was able to glimpse Monsieur Saint-Clair and Monsieur Mitang being carried away, like you and me. What a gallop through the woods, all the way to the hills! I was pressed by two enormous hands against the breast of a Nocturnal. Suddenly, there was a vast hole at the base of a hill, a cavern, total darkness, and the gallop continued through interminable tunnels. Finally, I was deposited here, and left here, with you, who were laid down on those furs, and these four Diurnals with insignificant eyes.

  “I hadn’t been disarmed, and the equipment that I had only just had time to buckle on—very little, as you can see—hadn’t been touched. As my limbs had been left free, however, and I have a powerful electric torch and my pistol, I’m not entirely demoralized, Mademoiselle. And although I’m the only one able to fight, to defend you and save you, I’ll succeed, for the electric torch and the pistol, judiciously employed, are the weapons by means of which—you with the torch and me with the gun—we’ll overcome the Nocturnals, opening up a path through their midst, terrorizing them, even forcing one of them to guide us to the exit from the tunnels...”

  There, Fageat fell silent. Yes, he had reached the end of his story, but most of all it was because he could not go on. He could not go on because he could see in Mademoiselle d’Olbans’ eyes that she did not believe him.

  Simply, and in a firm voice, she said, scornfully:

  “You’re lying. I sense that nothing you’re saying is true.”

  But the young woman had to make a great effort to say that. Precisely because she was convinced that the man was lying, she was afraid—afraid of Fageat, whose gaze had too frequently sent shivers of repulsion through her back at Les Pins.

  She remembered! And now, in the anguishing enigma of the situation, she understood that she was at the mercy of that enemy, free in all his limbs and armed, with whom she found herself alone, as a consequence of unknown events whose mystery threw her into confusion. But Mademoiselle d’Olbans had character, energy and self-control. Rejecting the fear that she felt spreading within her, mentally and physically, she put on a brave face, stood up and thought hard...

  Standing thus on the first step, she was level with the four Diurnals sitting on the second step. She sensed the delicate natural perfume that emanated from their healthy bodies, unacquainted with any malady. And that caused her to think:

  Alone? No, I’m not alone. I can talk to these Diurnals in such a way that they’ll understand me well enough. I’ve spent hours in their city. They’ll defend me. Although slender in appearance, they’re strong—and I’m vigorous. Unless he makes use of his pistol to kill us all, Fageat won’t have the upper hand against five of us.

  That lightning-fast thought rendered her all her courage and usual presence of mind. It doesn’t really matter what happened, she said to herself then. The future will make the facts clear. I only need to think about the present, and the present is the struggle against Fageat, after reaching a rapid understanding with the Diurnals.

  Immediately, she spoke again:

  “Yes, you’re lying,” she repeated. “Your laborious lie must be hiding an abominable perfidy.”

  Fageat laughed, brutally. He had just thought:

  I was very naïve to think that my story would hold up! And very stupid to want to play the noble knight when, without much embarrassment, I’m the master! I made a mistake—so what! Won’t I obtain much more pleasure from imposing my will than by playing the dandy in the hope of a reward? Let’s throw away the mask!

  And he began to laugh.

  Then he gave voice, by means of a violent flood of words, to the obsession that had been torturing him for weeks and months. He was abominable in his cynicism, frightful in his sadistic joy...

  But Véronique was not listening. She did not even hear him. All her mental labor consisted of recalling the words of the Diurnal language that she had learned aboard the Olb.-I with the winged Rheans. She recalled the words, chose those which, at the present moment, had the most useful signification, the most adequate to the extraordinary circumstances.

  Abruptly, with a supple effort of her entire body, she sprang up on to the second step, and was immediately behind the seated Diurnals, who rose to their feet in response to the cry she uttered as she leapt. Rapidly, she spoke to them in their own language, words that signified:

  “I’m a being of the same nature as you. I know your city. My companions and I come from a star in your sky. We saved Diurnals whom the Nocturnals were abducting. This man, this being of our species, has betrayed us and allied himself with the Nocturnals against us and against the Diurnals. Help me, until our leader, the most powerful being in the world, arrives. He will save us. He will vanquish the Nocturnals, who will no longer attack your city...”

  And those rapid, but not precipitate, words, articulated with care, Vér
onique repeated, in order that she might be better understood, while Fageat, carried away by his passion, vociferated, ironically and menacingly, expressing his intentions violently and indecently, rejoicing in the certainty of his triumph...

  The Diurnals were listening to Véronique, their comprehension gradually increasing—and the bewildered Ggo and Rrou, hidden in a shadowy corner, were beginning to comprehend Véronique and not understanding a word of what Fageat was saying.

  But then other sounds were heard than those of human voices. From the gallery came a kind of gust compounded of a dull rumor. That rumor quickly grew, seemingly extending, rising and spreading, and was soon and extraordinary din such as neither the Nocturnals nor the Diurnals had ever heard.

  Véronique fell silent. Fageat stopped talking. None of them was listening any longer to anything but the din.

  The engineer guessed immediately what was happening.

  “Great gods!” he swore, giving no further thought to Véronique. “The Nyctalope and the Japanese have escaped. They’re taking action!”

  “Ah!” said Véronique, astounded.

  Fageat had but one thought now: to intervene right away; to kill Saint-Clair and Mitang, whom he envisaged simultaneously victorious over the terrorized crowd of Nocturnals but fully occupied, hampered by that very fact.

  He put his left index-finger to the switch of the lamp on his breast, clutched the heavy pistol in his right hand, and launched himself into the tunnel.

  Perplexed, Rrou and Ggo did not budge.

  The encounter took place half way along the corridor.

  Fageat saw the beam of the torch that Gno Mitang was directing forwards. He saw nothing else, because Gno and Saint-Clair were invisible, still too far away for his own lamp, attenuated and blue-tinted by the camouflage, to render them visible to him.

  At the same moment, however, the Nyctalope saw Fageat. His reflexes were prompt. He leapt backwards, snatched the torch out of Gno’s right hand and extinguished it.

  Already, two shots had rung out in quick succession.