CHAPTER XVII.\
THE CHIEF CHEMIST
1
There came a change in the form of the staircase. A rather low arch intruded. Beyond, I saw that the steps were narrower; that the spiral which they described was smaller. I consulted memories of Felsenweir based upon my study of the castle from the Devil’s Elbow. Thus far, I reasoned, I had really climbed no higher than the top of the great keep.
This was the base of the watch tower. I passed the arch. The steps now were much hollowed, the masonry of the walls was crumbling with age.
I paused.
An iron gate checked further progress.
Immediately beyond this gate a section of stairway had collapsed. A black pit of unknown depth yawned before me and a draught of cold, clammy air swept up through the warmth of the passage. On the farther brink of the chasm, and about on a level with my eyes, the steps continued again, disappearing around a bend.
But—and I realized that it was an astounding phenomenon—they disappeared into darkness!
Sharply defined on the first step lay a shadow of the iron grille, an outline of the arched passage. In other words, artificial sunlight ended at the gate.…
Clutching the bars, I stared, with a shiver of apprehension, down into the pit. I turned, and looked behind me. What was I expected to do now?
This problem was quickly solved.
A section of seemingly solid wall immediately before me opened silently. It was a masked door. I saw a short corridor, dimly lighted in contrast to that synthetic sunlight on the staircase. Obviously this corridor was new, composed of, or faced with, the same kind of stonework as the great hall below.
At the end, on the right, there was an opening. Upon the bluish illumination of the corridor a light which I judged to be green shone out, forming a square patch on the left-hand wall.
A pace beyond the masked door stood a gigantic black-armoured figure, motionless, inhuman, its huge mace grounded upon the pavement. I wondered, doubted, but knew that my fate was not in my own hands. Then:
“I wish you to inspect the laboratory, Woodville. Dr. Nestor is expecting you.”
The Voice!
Teeth tightly clenched, I passed the guardian figure, walked on, and found myself looking into a large room in which subdued green light prevailed. It was a wonderfully equipped laboratory.
A man in white overalls awaited me. He was slim and of medium height; pallid. He wore a very small moustache, and jet-black hair grew low upon his cheekbones. Seen through the lenses of tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, his dark eyes were very cruel. A Greek, I thought.
“Ah, Mr. Woodville,” he said, and smiled unpleasantly. “My name is Nestor. I’m the second chemist here and my instructions are to show you around the laboratory. The chief chemist will be along any moment. Please come right in.”
The world’s greater universities endow their inmates with certain peculiarities of accent sometimes amounting to a dialect. I had no difficulty in placing this man. Dr. Nestor was a graduate of Harvard.
I went in. I resigned myself to what I recognized to be inevitable. Anger, violence were alike uncalled for. I must accept, and endeavour to behave normally.
“It would probably interest you,” the second chemist continued, “to see one of our more simple devices. It has a certain personal interest.”
He spoke perfect Harvard, but my first theory that he was of Greek parentage remained unshaken.
“Please avoid touching things. Some of them are very delicate; some, very dangerous. If you will come this way…”
I followed him through such a maze of scientific paraphernalia as surely never before had been assembled. By the farther wall of the place he paused, pointing to a sort of square desk, the top of which was covered with what appeared to be ground glass. A foot or so above it a peculiarly shaped lamp was suspended.
“I can’t offer you a cigar,” he went on, “as smoking isn’t allowed here; but”—he held out a packet of chewing gum—“this is a fair substitute.… No? Well, you won’t mind if I do?”
He stripped a slip of gum and placed it between his teeth.
“Now, sir, I will explain why you experienced such difficulty in exploring the woods below Felsenweir. This, you see, is a map of the territory.”
He touched a button. Upon the glazed surface appeared a delicately outlined map.
“These red dots”—he indicated them—“mark the highroad surrounding the grounds of the castle. Of course, you remember the highroad? Now these, Mr. Woodville, are the three zones.”
He manipulated a switchboard. A shimmering, changing wave of violet light sprang up within the dotted line which marked the highroad.
“The third zone.”
An inner, irregular circle of violet light appeared upon the map.
“The second zone—to which you so nearly penetrated.”
A third wave of light appeared surrounding the ground plan of the castle.
“The first zone.”
I was silent.
“These are sound waves, Mr. Woodville. The Master, if he wishes, will give you further particulars. But these barrages consist of zones of sound, tuned to so high a key as to be inaudible but instantly fatal to animal life. If you’ll notice”—the second zone disappeared in response to some manipulation—“they can be put down or raised at will. So, as you must realize, not all Hindenburg’s shock troops could reach us! Felsenweir survived five sieges in mediæval times. To-day, notwithstanding air power, artillery development, and modern tactics, it’s impregnable as ever.”
The zones disappeared. The map disappeared.
“I’m further instructed,” my unpleasant guide continued, “to explain to you the death of the man Hans Pfal. He died in your friend’s car on the way back to Baden. Will you please follow me very carefully. There are several danger spots in this part of the laboratory.”
He moved away, chewing industriously; and I followed. The floor was slippery, being composed of what looked like green glass. The walls also were green and glistening; the ceiling was dull gray. Right and left of the path along which he led me stood glass tables bearing incomprehensible apparatus.
I shrank from touching anything, following my white-clad guide, who wore rubber-soled shoes, as one follows the light of salvation.
We passed from one end to the other of the lofty, silent room.
Dr. Nestor stopped before a sort of gigantic index which occupied nearly the whole of one wall. It consisted of hundreds of columns of figures, running from tens into thousands, irregularly arranged. In some respects it resembled the time table of trains used at railway termini. At its base was set a long, shallow desk.
“Here,” said Dr. Nestor, smiling, “are the Brothers of Anubis—each bearing a number.”
He pulled back a white sleeve, revealing a disk chained to his arm. I saw it to be identical with that worn by the man who had died in Max’s car.
“363,” he explained, “is my own number.”
Reversing the disk, he glanced at me. It bore an Egyptian figure which I recognized.
“Only the first grade of initiates understand the significance of these amulets, or badges, which every member of the order must wear—I may add, under penalty of death. As a matter of fact, they’re tuned in to this keyboard. Distance doesn’t count. Melbourne’s as near as Berlin. I’ll show you what I mean and then you can draw your own conclusions as to how Hans Pfal died.”
He moved one of many levers upon the desk. A round spot of white light mounted a column of figures. Immediately over a number it stopped.
“Note!” said the demonstrator—“my own number: 363!”
Again he displayed the disk upon his wrist.
“It’s only necessary now, Mr. Woodville, to move a certain switch and I should die instantly and painlessly. Nor would my body bear any mark of violence. This was how Hans Pfal died. And this, you see, is how we assure secrecy.”
He reversed the lever. The spot of light descended and disappeared.
“You’re surely privileged,” Dr. Nestor declared. “Only chosen members of the order are ever admitted to this laboratory.”
The queer, X-ray light of the place faltered momentarily.
“Chief chemist!” Nestor exclaimed. “This ends my watch, Mr. Woodville. I now go to change. Don’t think I’m discourteous: I’m just obeying orders. The Chief will be with you in a moment. Stay right where you are… and don’t touch anything! Good-bye, sir!”
I watched Dr. Nestor’s white-clad figure receding among mazes of apparatus. He walked silently.
Came an interval. It was ended by a sound which I knew—that of an ascending elevator. I turned. Right at my elbow, beside the huge indicator, a panel opened.
Mme. Yburg stepped out!
2
Moments come in everybody’s life which, because they are so numbing, leave no definite impression whatever. This was one of them.
I saw that she wore a long white jacket of the kind affected by surgeons. Beneath it, her silk-clad legs struck an incongruous note. But I observed, my first shock of amazement over, that she had substituted rubber-soled slippers for the chic shoes which I associated with those slim, delicately arched feet.
“You look frightfully surprised!”
She was regarding me amusedly. The elevator panel had closed, the whine had died away.
“I am!”
“Why? Your brilliant friend, Mr. Lonergan, has told you of my association with the Hartford mystery. And that fascinating Frenchman, Gaston Max, assured you, did he not, that I was in the Pyrenees on a certain occasion? You must surely know I am a woman with a mission!”
She was mocking me—or so I thought; holding her head proudly erect and watching, under half-lowered lids, with those calm, slightly oblique eyes. One slender, psychic hand rested on her hip.…
It fascinated me—that hand. I found myself wondering why it was so white, and not sunburned… the poise of the body, the pose of the head…
She smiled, a red-lipped smile which at once irritated and caressed.
“Well? What are you thinking about? You say nothing.”
“I’m thinking about Apollonius of Tyana.” She ceased to smile. “That great philosopher declared that ‘loquacity has many pitfalls—but silence, none.’ ”
Her level gaze caught and held my own.
“You are not so clever as John Lonergan,” she said quietly, “and you have none of the subtlety of Gaston Max. But although I never liked the English, I think I like you.”
“A somewhat equivocal compliment!”
Mme. Yburg laughed outright. She pressed her hand lightly on my shoulder and as lightly withdrew it.
“Anubis never makes mistakes. I understand why, of three, he has selected you to make the choice.”
“But I want to know——”
She checked me.
“Kindly ask no questions which I’m unable to answer. Ask any you like about the laboratory.”
Her calm eyes held an unspoken warning.
“Sorry,” I returned.
I forced myself back to a state of passivity. I washed my hands of speculations, and determined from now on to behave like a visitor being shown around an explosive factory. The feat was one of mental acrobatics. But I achieved it.
“Very well. I’ve had personal and unpleasant experience of the sound zones. Their principle defeats me. But I’m curious to know how an intruder is spotted. I ask for this reason: Your third barrage or zone wasn’t laid down when Lonergan and myself recently penetrated to the woods. You trapped us with it. How did you know we were there?”
Mme. Yburg smiled again.
“I can explain very easily, my friend. Follow me closely. Touch nothing. Be careful.”
Her solicitude was real. In this it differed from the sentiments of Dr. Nestor. Plainly, the latter disliked me. Yet, whilst I recognized Mme. Yburg’s friendship, I knew unmistakably that sex had no place in it. All the time she was weighing me up, calmly. I wondered why.
Following her, fearful of stumbling on the slippery floor, of brushing against any one of the strange mechanisms right and left, I watched the lithe, swaying figure and tried in vain to pin down a memory which taunted me.…
She led me through intricate ways to a place roughly centre of the laboratory, where a magnified green lampshade overhung a low, circular table. The top was covered with that same sort of opaque glass upon which I had seen the map of the sound zones.
Some change was made in the lighting. I gave a start of amazement.
As if from an airplane, I looked down upon the castle of Felsenweir!
I saw the woods which hemmed it in, the old military road winding through them. Every detail was sharp, clear, as if bathed in sunlight. I saw other roads surrounding the crag; the very spot at which I had been captured by that nude inhuman Thing! I saw the path down to the abandoned village.…
“Whoever is on duty here is responsible, you see. I don’t know if Dr. Nestor showed you the insulated path? … Well, there is such a path through all three barrages. Hans Pfal, returning from the town, meant to use this. But our clever French friend overpowered him.…
“This mechanism operates in moonlight also. Dr. Nestor saw John Lonergan and yourself enter the woods. He was on duty at the time. He laid down the second barrage. Then the third.
“Frankly, you defeated us on that occasion. Dr. Nestor is frightfully sore! … Pfal, by the way, was one of our engine room staff. By the time communication was established with Anubis, other measures were useless. He ordered the poor Pfal to be silenced. Look! There’s a man driving a cart along the highroad.”
I looked. Crystal clear, I saw the horse, the vehicle, the driver, moving along a road below the castle. I judged it all of a mile distant.
That wondrous panorama vanished. The green light in the laboratory flickered—and became steady again.
“Anubis is ready to see you,” said Mme. Yburg.
3
In complete darkness, I found myself speeding upward. This was my longest journey by elevator, and I decided that I was ascending the ancient watch tower by the only available route. The staircase I knew to be ruinous.
A panel opened as the elevator stopped. I saw a small, square lobby, dimly lighted with an amber light. I heard the elevator descend, knew that the panel had closed behind me, that I was alone with—what?
Immediately before me hung a curtain of bright and barbaric colouring, ancient Egyptian in scheme. Over it upon a ledge projected a figure of the god Anubis. I closed my eyes tightly for a moment. Silently I told myself, “You are Brian Woodville. You are in the Black Forest of Germany. Remember this—and fight! Fight!”
I opened my eyes. I stared at the gaudy curtain, when:
“Please come in, Woodville,” said the Voice.
I walked to the curtain, drew it aside, and stepped through.…
Quite still I stood, and looked. I had been tricked or had deceived myself. This was not the summit of the watch tower. I was in a very large room, so large that I thought it must have been the banqueting hall of the old fortress. Part of it was queerly illuminated from no visible source by a light resembling moonlight. Walls and ceiling were masked in shadow, so that I could only guess at its dimensions. I stood in darkness. Before me, in a deep, carved chair, a figure sat.
I had never seen a more magnificent head. The great domed brow, which appeared to be quite hairless, displayed a tremendous frontal development. The hawklike but pallid face was lighted by a pair of such beautiful eyes as I had never met with in man or beast. They were phenomenally large and golden: they seemed to be inspired by an inner fire of genius—or of madness.
They were watching me, those wonderful eyes. And I knew instinctively that, masked though I was in shadow, they could see me clearly.…
Grotesquely supporting that terrible, wonderful head was a tiny, black-clad body, slender, feeble, and seated cross-legged in the great chair. Talonlike hands rested upon the knees.
I heard the curtain’s rustle as it dropped behind me. There was no other sound.
The carved chair I saw now to be raised from the floor upon a sort of dais or platform. This platform was richly carpeted and bore two singular decorations: a pair of life-sized kneeling figures.
That right of the chair was wrought in ebony, surely by a great master: the figure of a Nubian girl, hands crossed upon her breast; her head, upon which appeared a close-wrapped turban of gold, lowered; upon one arm a golden bangle. The corresponding figure left of the chair was identical in every way, except that it seemed to be carved in ivory. Gold turban and armlet appeared again.
I had never seen such exquisite pieces of statuary. Yet, whilst I visualized these wonders, not once did I wholly withdraw my gaze from amber eyes looking out at me searchingly from beneath that great brow.
I was in the presence of Anubis.…
And Anubis was a dwarf!