Conclusion
By Ray Cummings
_In the Bandit Camp_
The dark cave, with its small spots of tube-light mounted upon movable
tripods, was eery with grotesque swaying shadows. The bandit camp.
Hidden down here in the depths of the Mid-Atlantic Lowlands. An
inaccessible retreat, this cave in what once was the ocean floor. Only
a few years ago water had been here, water black and cold and
soundless. Tremendous pressure, with three thousand or more fathoms of
the ocean above it. Fishes had roamed these passages, no doubt.
Strange monsters of the deeps: sightless, or with eyes like
phosphorescent torches.
But the water was gone now. Blue ooze was caked upon the cave floor.
Eroded walls; niches and tiny gullies; crevices and an arching dome
high overhead. A fantastic cave--no one, seeing it as I saw it that
morning at dawn, could have believed it was upon this earth. From
where De Boer had put me--on the flat top of a small, butte-like dome
near the upper end of the sloping cave floor--all the area of this
strange bandit camp was visible to me.
A little tent of parchment was set upon the dome-top.
"Yours," said De Boer, with a grin. "Make yourself comfortable.
Gutierrez will be your willing servant, until we see about this
ransom. It will have to be one very large, for you are a damn trouble
to me, Grant. And a risk. Food will come shortly. Then you can sleep:
I think you will want it."
He leaped from the little butte, leaving the taciturn ever-watchful
Gutierrez sitting cross-legged on the ledge near me, with his
projector across his knees.
* * * * *
The cave was irregularly circular, with perhaps, a hundred-feet
diameter and a ceiling fifty feet high. A drift of the fetid, Lowland
air went through it--into a rift at this upper end, and out through
the lower passage entrance which sloped downward thirty feet and
debouched upon a rippled ramp of ooze outside. It was daylight out
there now. From my perch I could see the sullen heavy walls of a
ridge. Mist hung against them, but the early morning sunlight came
down in shafts penetrating the mist and striking the oily surface of a
spread of water left here in the depths of a cauldron.
De Boer's flyer was outside. We had landed by the shore of the sea,
and the bandits had pushed the vehicle into an arching recess which
seemed as though made to hide it. All this camp was hidden. Arching
crags of the ridge-wall jutted out over the cave entrance. From above,
any passing flyer--even though well below the zero-height--would see
nothing but this black breathing sea, lapping against its eroded,
fantastic shore-line.
Within the cave, there was only a vague filtering daylight from the
lower entrance, a thin shaft from the rift overhead, and the blue
tube-light, throwing great shadows of the tents and the men against
the black rock walls.
There seemed perhaps a hundred of the bandits here. A semi-permanent
camp, by its aspect. Grey parchment tents were set up about the floor,
some small, others more elaborate. It seemed as though it were a
huddled little group of buildings in the open air, instead of in a
cave. One tent, just at the foot of my dome, seemed De Boer's personal
room. He went into it after leaving me, and came out to join the main
group of his fellows near the center of the cave where a large
electron stove, and piped water from a nearby subterranean freshet,
and a long table set with glassware and silver, stood these men for
kitchen and eating place.
* * * * *
The treasure had not yet been brought in from the flyer. But, from
what I overheard, it seemed that the radiumized ingots of the
ill-fated Spawn and Perona were to be stored for a year at least, here
in this cave. I could see the strong-room cubby. It was hewn from the
rock of the cave wall, its sealed-grid door-oval set with metal bars.
I saw also what seemed a small but well-equipped machine shop, in a
recess room at one side of the cave. Men were working in there under
the light of tubes. And there was a niche hollowed out in the wall to
make a room for De Boer's instruments--ether-wave receivers and
transmitters, the aerial receiving wires of which stretched in banks
along the low ceiling.
There was no activity in there now, except for one man who was
operating what I imagined might be an aerial insulator, guarding the
place from any prying search-vibrations.
The main cave was a bustle of activity. The arriving bandits were
greeting their fellows and exchanging news. The men who had been left
here were jubilant at the success of the Chief's latest enterprise.
Bottles were unsealed and they began to prepare the morning meal.
My presence caused considerable comment. I was a complication at which
most of the men were ill pleased, especially when the arriving bandits
told who I was, and that the patrols of the United States were
doubtless even now trying to find me.
But De Boer silenced the grumbling with rough words.
"My business, not yours. But you will take your share of his ransom,
won't you? Have done!"
And Jetta, she had caused comment also. But when the bottles were well
distributed the grumbling turned to ribald banter which made me
shudder that it should fall upon Jetta's ears. De Boer had kept his
men away from her, shoving them aside when they crowded to see her.
She was in a little tent now, not far from the base of my ledge.
My meal presently was brought from where most of the bandits now were
roistering at the long table in the center of the cave.
"Eat," said Gutierrez. "I eat with you, Americano. _Madre Mia_, when
you are ransomed away from here it will please me! De Boer is fool,
with taking such a chance."
* * * * *
With the meal ended, another guard came to take Gutierrez' place and I
was ordered into my tent. The routine of the camp, it seemed, was to
use the daylight hours for the time of sleep. There were lookouts and
guards at the entrance, and a little arsenal of ready weapons stocked
in the passage. The men at the table were still at their meal. It
would end, I did not doubt, by most of them falling into heavy
alcoholic slumber.
I was tired, poisoned by the need of sleep. I lay on fabric cushions
piled in one corner of my tent. But sleep would not come; my thoughts
ran like a tumbling mountain torrent, and as aimlessly. I hoped that
Jetta was sleeping. De Boer was now at the center table with his men.
Hans was guarding Jetta. He was a phlegmatic, heavy Dutchman, and
seemed decent enough.
I wondered what Hanley might be doing to rescue me. But as I thought
about it, I could only hope that his patrols would not find us out
here. An attack and most certainly De Boer and his men in their anger
would kill me out of hand. And possibly Jetta also.
I had not had a word alone with Jetta since that scene in the control
room. When we disembarked, she had stayed close by De Boer. But I knew
that Jetta had fathomed my purpose, that she was working to the same
end. We must find a way of arranging the ransom which would give us an
opportunity to escape.
I pondered it. And at last an idea came to me, vague in all its
details, as yet. But it seemed feasible, and I thought it would sound
plausible to De Boer. I would watch my chance and explain it to him.
Then I realized how much aid Jetta would be. She would agree with my
plan, and help me convince him. And when the crucial time came, though
I would be a captive, watched by Gutierrez, bound and gagged,
perhaps--Jetta would be at liberty. De Boer and Gutierrez would not be
on their guard with her.
I drifted off to sleep, working out the details of my plan.
CHAPTER XVI
_Planning The Ransom_
I was awakened by the sound of low voices outside my tent. Jetta's
voice, and De Boer's, and, mingled with them, the babble of the still
hilarious bandits in the center of the cave. But there were only a few
left now; most of them had fallen into heavy slumber. I had been
asleep for several hours. I figured. The daylight shadows outside the
cave entrance showed that it was at least noon.
I lay listening to the voices which had awakened me. De Boer was
saying:
"But why, Jetta, should I bother with your ideas? I know what is best.
This ransom is too dangerous to arrange." His voice sounded calmly
good humored; I could hear in it now more than a trace of alcoholic
influence. He added, "I think we had better kill him and have done. My
men think so, too; already I have caused trouble with them, by
bringing him."
It jolted me into full wakefulness.
Jetta's voice: "No! I tell you it can be arranged, Hendrick. I have
been thinking of it, planning it--"
"Child! Well what? The least I can do is listen; I am no pig-headed
American. Say it out. What would you do to ransom him safely?"
* * * * *
They were just at the foot of my ledge, in front of De Boer's tent.
Their voices rose so that I could hear them plainly. For all my start
at being awakened to hear my death determined upon, I recall that I
was almost equally startled by Jetta's voice. Her tone, her manner
with De Boer. Whatever opportunities they had had for talking
together, the change in their relationship was remarkable. De Boer was
now flushed with drink, but for all that he had obviously still a firm
grip upon his wits. And I heard Jetta now urging her ideas upon him
with calm confidence. An outward confidence; yet under it there was a
vibrant emotion suppressed within her even tone; a hint of tremulous
fright; a careful calculation of the effect she might be making upon
De Boer. Had he not been intoxicated--with drink and with her--he
might have sensed it. But he did not.
"Hendrick, it can be done. A big price. Why not?"
"Because if we are trapped and caught, of what use is the price we
might have gotten? Tell me that, wise one?"
"We will not be trapped. And suppose you kill him--won't they track
you just the same, Hendrick?"
"No. We would leave his body on some crag where it would be found. The
patrols would more quickly tire of chasing a killer when the damage is
done. They want Grant alive."
"Then let them have him alive--for a big price. Hendrick, listen--"
"Well, what?" he demanded again. "What is your plan?"
"Why--well, Hendrick, like this--"
She stammered, and I realized that she had no plausible plan. She was
fumbling, groping, urging upon De Boer that I must be ransomed alive.
But she had not good reason for it.
"Well?" he prompted impatiently.
"You--can you raise Great New York on the audiphone, Hendrick?"
"Yes," he said.
"Hanley's office?"
"Yes, no doubt. Chah--that would give him a start, wouldn't it? De
Boer calmly calling him!"
* * * * *
He was laughing. I heard what sounded as though he were gulping
another drink. "By damn, Jetta, you are not the timid bird you look.
Call Hanley, eh?"
"Yes. Can it be done and still bar his instruments from locating us?"
"Yes, and bar his television. Believe it, Jetta. I have every device
for hiding. But--call Hanley!"
"Why not? ... Hendrick, stop!"
I started. It seemed that he was embracing her; forcing half drunken
caresses upon her.
I scrambled through my tent doorway, but Gutierrez, who had come back
on guard, at once seized me.
"_Hui_--so haste! Back, you."
The Spaniard spoke softly, and he was grinning. "The chief plays with
woman's words, no? Charming senorita, though she dresses like a boy.
But that is the more charming, eh? Listen to her, Grant."
He gripped me, and prodded my side with the point of his knife blade.
"Lie down Americano: we will listen."
Jetta was insisting. "Hendrick, stop!"
"Why?"
* * * * *
I could see them now. They were seated before the opening of De Boer's
tent. A little stove in front of them. Coffee for Jetta, who was
seated cross-legged, pouring it; a bowl of drink for De Boer. And some
baked breadstuff dainties on a platter.
"Hendrick--"
She pushed him away as he leaned to embrace her. Although she was
laughing with him, I could only guess at the chill of fear that might
be in her heart.
"Foolish, Hendrick!"
"Foolish little bird, Jetta mine."
"You--it is you who are foolish, Hendrick." She slid from his embrace
and held her brimming coffee cup balanced before her, to ward him off.
"You think I am really clever, so trust me, Hendrick. Oh there is a
great future for us: you say I inspire you; let me! Hendrick De Boer,
Chieftain of the Lowlands! My father would have helped you become
that. You can build a little empire. Hendrick--why not? Father wanted
to make you President of Nareda. Why not build your own Lowland
Empire? We have a hundred men now? Why not gather a thousand? Ten
thousand? An empire!"
"_Ave Maria_," from Gutierrez. "This _nina_ thinks big thoughts!"
De Boer raised his bowl. "An empire--De Boer of the Lowlands! Go on;
you amuse me. We have a nice start, with this treasure."
"Yes. And the ransom money. But you will take me first to Cape Town,
Hendrick? We can be married there: I am seventeen in a month."
"Of course, Jetta. Haven't I promised?" There was no convincingness to
me in the way he said it. "Of course. To Cape Town for our marriage."
"Stop! Hendrick, be serious!" He had reached for her again. "Don't be
a fool, Hendrick."
"Very well," he said. "I am all serious. What is your plan?"
* * * * *
She was more resourceful this time. She retorted, "This craven Grant,
he fears for his life--but he is very smart, Hendrick. I think he is
scheming every moment how he can be safely ransomed."
"Hah! No doubt of that!"
"And he has had experience with Chief Hanley. He knows Hanley's
methods, how Hanley will act. Let us see what Grant says of this."
She had no plan of her own, but she hoped that by now I had one! And
she was making an opportunity for me to put it before De Boer.
He said, "There is sense to that, Jetta. If there is any way to fool
Hanley, that craven American has no doubt thought it out."
She held another drink before him. "Yes. Let us see what he says."
He drank; and again as they were near together he caressed her.
"What a schemer you are, little bird. You and I are well matched, eh?"
"Gutierrez may be watching us!" she warned.
They suddenly looked up and saw Gutierrez and me.
"Hah!" Fortunately it struck De Boer into further good humor. "Hah--we
have an audience! Bring down the prisoner, Gutierrez! Let us see if
his wits can get him out of this plight. Come down, Grant!"
Gutierrez shoved me down the ladder ahead of him. De Boer stood up and
seized me. His great fingers dug into my shoulders.
"Sit down, American! It seems you are not to die. _Perhaps_ not."
The strength of his fingers was hurting me: he hoped I would wince.
Mine was now an ignominious role, indeed, yet I knew it was best.
I gasped. "Don't do that: you hurt!"
He chuckled and cast me loose. I added, with a show of spirit, "You
are a bullying giant. Just because you are bigger than I am--"
"Hear that, Jetta? The American finds courage with his coming ransom!"
* * * * *
He shoved me to the ground. Gutierrez grinned, and withdrew a trifle.
Jetta avoided meeting my gaze.
"Have some coffee," De Boer offered. "Alcohol is not good for you. Now
say: have you any suggestions on how I can safely ransom you?"
It seemed that Jetta was holding her breath with anxiety. But I
answered with an appearance of ready eagerness. "Yes. I have. I can
arrange it with complete safety to you, if you give me a chance."
"You've got your chance. Speak out."
"You promise you will return me alive? Not hurt me?"
"De duvel--yes! You have my promise. But your plan had better be very
good."
"It is."
I told it carefully. The details of it grew with my words. Jetta
joined in it. But, most of all, it did indeed sound feasible. "But it
must be done at once," I urged. "The weather is right; to-night it
will be dark; overcast; not much wind. Don't you think so?"
He sent Gutierrez to the cave's instrument room to read the weather
forecast instruments. My guess was right.
"To-night then," I said. "If we linger, it only gives Hanley more time
to plan trickery."
"Let us try and raise him now," Jetta suggested.
The Dutchman, Hans, had joined us. He too, seemed to think my ideas
were good.
Except for the guards at the cave entrance, all the other bandits were
far gone in drink. With Hans and Gutierrez, we went to the instrument
room to call Hanley. As we crossed the cave, with Hans and De Boer
walking ahead together, De Boer spoke louder than he realized, and the
words came back to me.
"Not so bad, Hans? We will use him--but I am not a fool. I'll send him
back dead, not alive! A little knife-thrust, just at the end! Safest
for us, eh, Hans?"
CHAPTER XVII
_Within the Black Sack_
We left the bandit stronghold just after nightfall that same day.
There were five of us on the X-flyer. Jetta and De Boer, Hans and
Gutierrez and myself. The negotiations with Hanley had come through
satisfactorily; to De Boer, certainly, for he was in a triumphant mood
as they cast off the aero and we rose over the mist-hung depths.
It was part of my plan, this meager manning of the bandit ship. But it
was mechanically practical: there was only Hans needed at the controls
for this short-time flight: with De Boer plotting his course, working
out his last details--and with Gutierrez to guard me.
De Boer had been quite willing to take no other men--and most of them
were too far gone in their cups to be of much use. I never have
fathomed De Boer's final purpose. He promised Jetta now that when I
was successfully ransomed he would proceed to Cape Town by comfortable
night flights and marry her. It pleased Gutierrez and Hans, for they
wanted none of their comrades. The treasure was still on the flyer.
The ransom gold would be added to it. I think that De Boer, Gutierrez
and Hans planned never to return to their band. Why, when the treasure
divided so nicely among three, break it up to enrich a hundred?
I shall never forget Hanley's grim face as we saw it that afternoon on
De Boer's image-grid. My chief sat at his desk with all his location
detectors impotent, listening to my disembodied voice explaining what
I wanted him to do. My humble, earnest, frightened desire to be
ransomed safely at all costs! My plea that he do nothing to try and
trap De Boer!
It hurt me to appear so craven. But with it all, I knew that Hanley
understood. He could imagine my leering captor standing at my elbow,
prompting my words, dictating my very tone--prodding me with a knife
in the ribs. I tried, by every shade of meaning, to convey to Hanley
that I hoped to escape and save the ransom money. And I think that he
guessed it, though he was wary in the tone he used for De Boer to
hear. He accepted, unhesitatingly, De Boer's proposition: assured us
he would do nothing to assail De Boer; and never once did his grim
face convey a hint of anything but complete acquiescence.
* * * * *
We had President Markes on the circuit. De Boer, with nothing to lose,
promised to return Jetta with me. In gold coin, sixty thousand U. S.
dollar-standards for me; a third as much from Nareda, for Jetta.
The details were swiftly arranged. We cut the circuit. I had a last
look at Hanley's face as the image of it faded. He seemed trying to
tell me to do the best I could; that he was powerless, and would do
nothing to jeopardize my life and Jetta's. Everything was ready for
the affair to be consummated at once. The weather was right; there was
time for Hanley and De Boer each comfortably to reach the assigned
meeting place.
We flew, for the first hour, nearly due west. The meeting place was at
35 deg. N. by 59 deg. W., a few hundred miles east by north of the
fairy-like mountaintop of the Bermudas. Our charts showed the Lowlands
there to run down to what once was measured as nearly three thousand
fathoms--called now eighteen thousand feet below the zero-height. A
broken region, a depth-ridge fairly level, and no Lowland sea, nor
any settlements in the neighborhood.
The time was set at an hour before midnight. No mail, passenger or
freight flyers were scheduled to pass near there at that hour, and,
save for some chance private craft, we would be undisturbed. The
ransom gold was available to Hanley. He had said he would bring it in
his personal Wasp.
* * * * *
The details of the exchange were simple. Hanley, with only one
mechanic, would hover at the zero-height, his Wasp lighted so that we
could see it plainly. The wind drift, according to forecast, would be
southerly. At 11 P.M. Hanley would release from his Wasp a small
helium-gas baloon-car--a ten-foot basket with the supporting gas bag
above it, weighted so that it would slowly descend into the depths,
with a southern drift.
Our flyer, invisible and soundless, would pick up the baloon-car at
some point in its descent. The gold would be there, in a black casket.
De Boer would take the gold, deposit Jetta and me in the car, and
release it again. And when the balloon finally settled to the rocks
beneath, Hanley could pick it up. No men would be hidden by Hanley in
that basket. De Boer had stipulated that when casting loose the
balloon, its car must be swept by Hanley with a visible electronic
ray. No hidden men could withstand that blast!
Such was the arrangement with Hanley. I was convinced that he intended
to carry it out to the letter. He would have his own invisible X-flyer
in the neighborhood, no doubt. But it would not interfere with the
safe transfer of Jetta and me.
That De Boer would carry out his part, Hanley could only trust. He had
said so this afternoon bluntly. And De Boer had laughed and interposed
his voice in our circuit.
"Government money against these two lives, Hanley! Of course you have
to trust me!"
* * * * *
It was a flight, for us, of something less than four hours to the
meeting place. Hans was piloting, seated alone in the little cubby
upon the forward wing-base, directly over the control room. De Boer,
with Jetta at his side, worked over his course and watched his
instrument banks. I was, at the start of the flight, lashed in a chair
of the control room, my ankles and wrists tied and Gutierrez guarding
me.
Jetta did not seem to notice me. She did not look at me, nor I at her.
She pretended interest only in the success of the transfer; in her
father's treasure on board, the coming ransom money, and then a flight
to Cape Town, dividing the treasure only with Hans and Gutierrez; and
in her marriage with De Boer. She said she wanted me returned to
Hanley alive; craven coward that I was, still I did not deserve death.
De Boer had agreed. But I knew that at last, as they tumbled me into
the basket, someone would slip a knife into me!
I had, as we came on board, just the chance for a few whispered
sentences with Jetta. But they were enough! We both knew what we had
to do. Desperate expedient, indeed! It seemed more desperate now as
the time approached than it had when I planned it.
The weather at 7 P.M. was heavily overcast. Sultry, breathless, with
solid, wide-flung cloud areas spread low over the zero-height. Night
settled black in the Lowlands. The mists gathered.
We flew well down--under the minus two thousand-foot level--so that
out of the mists the highest dome peaks often passed close beneath us.
* * * * *
At 8 P.M. De Boer flung on the mechanism of invisibility. The interior
of the ship faded to its gruesome green darkness. My senses reeled as
the current surged through me. Lashed in my chair, I sat straining my
adjusting eyes, straining my hearing to cope with this gruesome
unreality. And my heart was pounding. Would Jetta and I succeed? Or
was our love--unspoken love, born of a glance and the pressure of our
hands in that moonlit Nareda garden--was our love star-crossed,
foredoomed to tragedy? A few hours, now, would tell us.
De Boer was taking no chances. He was using his greatest intensity of
power, with every safeguard for complete invisibility and silence.
From where I sat I could make out the black form of Hans through the
ceiling grid, at his pilot controls in the overhead cubby. A queer
glow like an aura was around him. The same green radiance suffused the
control room. It could not penetrate the opened windows of the ship;
could not pass beyond the electro-magnetic field enveloping us. Nor
could the curious hum which permeated the ship's interior get past the
barrage barrier. From outside, I knew, we were invisible and
inaudible.
Strange unreality, here in the control room! The black-garbed figures
of De Boer and Jetta at their table were unreal, spectral. At the door
oval, which I could barely see, Gutierrez lurked like a shadow. All of
them, and Hans in the cubby above, were garbed in tight-fitting
dead-black suits of silklene fabric. Thin, elastic as sheer silk web,
opaque, lustreless. It covered their feet, legs and bodies; and their
arms and hands like black, silk gloves. Their heads were helmeted with
it. And they had black masks which as yet were flapped up and fastened
to the helmet above their foreheads. Their faces only were exposed,
tinted a ghastly, lurid green by this strange light. It glowed and
glistened like phosphorescence on their eyeballs, making them the eyes
of animals in a hunter's torchlight, at night.
* * * * *
De Boer moved upon an errand across the control room. He was a burly
black spectre in the skin-tight suit. His footfalls faintly sounded on
the metal floor. They were toneless footfalls. Unreal. They might
have been bells, or jangling thuds; they had lost their identity in
this soundless, vibrating hum.
And he spoke, "We are making good progress, Jetta. We will be on
time."
Ghastly voice! So devoid of every human timbre, every overtone shade
to give it meaning, that it might have been a man's voice, or a
woman's, the voice of something living, or something dead. Sepulchral.
A stripped shell of voice. Yet to me, inside here with it, it was
perfectly audible.
And Jetta said, "Yes, Hendrick, that is good."
A voice like his: no different.
Gruesome. Weird.
* * * * *
I try now to picture the scene in detail, for out of these strange
conditions Jetta and I were to make our opportunity.
9 P.M. De Boer was a methodical fellow. He checked his position on the
chart. He signalled the routine orders to Hans. And he gestured to
Gutierrez. The movements and acts of everyone had been definitely
planned. And this, too, Jetta and I had anticipated.
"Time to make him ready, Gutierrez. Bring the sack in here. I'll
fasten him away."
I was not garbed like the others. They could move out on the wing
runway under Hanley's eyes at short range, or climb in and out of the
balloon car, and not be visible.
Gutierrez brought the sack. A dead-black fabric.
"Shall I cut him loose now from his chair, Commander?"
"I'll do it."
De Boer drew a long knife blade, coated black, and thin and sharp as a
half-length rapier. Gutierrez had one of similar fashion. No
electronic weapons were in evidence, probably because the hiss of one
fired would have been too loud for our barrage, and its flash too
bright. But a knife thrust is dark and silent!
The Spaniard's eyes were gleaming as he approached me with the bag,
as though he were thinking of that silent knife thrust he would give
me at the last.
Dr. Boer said, "Stand up, Grant." He cut the fastenings that held me
in my chair. But my ankles and wrists remained tied.
"Stand up, can't you?"
"Yes."
* * * * *
I got unsteadily to my feet. In the blurred green darkness I could see
that Jetta was not looking at me. Gutierrez held the mouth of the sack
open. As though I were an upright log of wood, De Boer lifted me.
"Pull it up over his feet, Gutierrez."
The oblong sack was longer than my body. They drew it over me, and
bunched its top over my head. And De Boer laid me none too gently on
the floor.
"Lie still. Do you get enough air?"
"Yes."
The black fabric was sufficiently porous for me to breathe comfortably
inside the sack.
"All right, Gutierrez, I have the gag."
I felt them carrying me from the control room, twenty feet or so along
the corridor, where a door-porte opened to a small balcony runway hung
beneath the forward wing. Jutting from it was a little take-off
platform some six feet by twelve in size. It was here that the
balloon-basket was to be boarded. The casket containing the ransom
gold would be landed here, and the sack containing me placed in the
car and cast loose. It was all within the area of invisibility of our
flyer.
De Boer knelt over me, and drew back the top of the sack to expose my
face.
"A little gag for you, Grant, so you will not be tempted to call out."
"I won't do that."
"You might. Well, good-by, American."
"Good-by." And I breathed, "Good-by Jetta." Would I ever see her
again? Was this the end of everything for us?
* * * * *
He forced the gag into my mouth, tied it, and verified that my ankles
and wrists were securely lashed. In the green radiance he and
Gutierrez were like ghouls prowling over me, and their muffled
toneless voices, tomblike.
The sack came up over my head.
"Good-by, Grant." I could not tell which one said it. And the other
chuckled.
I could feel them tying the mouth of the sack above my head. I lay
stiff. Then I heard their steps. Then silence.
I moved. I might have rolled, but I did not try it. I could raise my
knees within the sack--double up like a folded pocket knife--but that
was all.
A long, dark silence. It seemed interminable. Was Gutierrez guarding
me here in the corridor? I could not tell; I heard nothing save the
vague hum of the electronite current.
It had been 9 o'clock. Then I fancied that it must be 10. And then,
perhaps, almost 11. I wondered what the weather outside was like. Soon
we would be nearing the meeting place. Would Hanley be there? Would
Jetta soon, very soon now, be able to do her part? I listened,
horribly tense, with every interval between the thumps of my heart
seeming so long a gap of waiting.
* * * * *
I heard a sound! A toneless, unidentifiable sound. Another like it; a
little sequence of faint sounds. Growing louder. Approaching
footsteps? Jetta's? I prayed so.
Then a low voice. Two voices. Both the same in quality. But from the
words I could identify them.
"Hello, Gutierrez."
"_Nina_, hello."
Jetta! She had come!
"The captive is safe? No trouble?"
"No. He has not moved."
"Careful of him, Gutierrez. He is worth a lot of money to us."
"Well you say it. Senorita. In half an hour now, we will be away.
Santa Maria, when this is over I shall breathe with more comfort!"
"We'll have no trouble, Gutierrez. We're almost there. In ten minutes
now, or a little more."
"So soon? What time is it?"
"Well, after half-past ten. When it's over, Gutierrez, we head for
Cape Town. Clever of me, don't you think, to persuade Hendrick to take
us to Cape Town? Just you three men to divide all this treasure. It
would be foolish to let a hundred others have it."
"True, _Nina_; true enough."
"I insisted upon you and Hans--Gutierrez, what is that?"
A silence.
"I heard nothing."
"A voice, was it?"
"The Americano?"
"No! No--the commander calling? Was it? Calling you, Gutierrez?
Perhaps we have sighted Hanley's Wasp. Go! I'll stand here, and come
quickly back."
* * * * *
Footsteps. Now! Our chance, come at last! I twisted over on my side,
and lay motionless. Ah, if only those were Gutierrez' fading
footfalls! And Jetta, here alone with me in the green darkness! Just
for this one vital moment.
Fingers were fumbling at the top of my sack, unfastening the cord.
Hands and arms came swiftly in. Fingers ran down my back as I lay on
my side to admit them quickly. Fingers went fumbling at the cords that
lashed my crossed wrists behind me. A knee pressed against me. A
hurried, panting, half sobbing breath close over me--
Just a hurried moment. The hands withdrew. The sack went back over my
head. The knees, the slight weight against me, was gone. A few seconds
only.
Footsteps. The voices again.
"Was it the commander, Gutierrez?"
"No. I do not know what it was. Nothing, probably."
"The Wasp in sight?"
"Not yet, _Nina_. You had best go back: De Boer, he might be jealous
of us, no? He is busy with his instruments, but should he realize you
are here, talking with me--"
"Senseless, Gutierrez!"
"Is it so, _Nina_? I have no attraction? Go back to him. Gold I want,
not trouble over you!"
Faint laughter.
"When we sight the Wasp, I'll call and tell you, Gutierrez. Too bad
you won't let me stay with you. I like you."
"Yes. But go now!"
Faint laughter. Footsteps. Then silence.
Our vital moment had come and passed. And Jetta had done her part; the
role of action upon this dim lurid stage was now mine to play.
My hands were free.
CHAPTER XVIII
_The Combat in the Green Darkness_
Another interval. A dead, dark silence. I did not dare move. Gutierrez
was here, within a few feet of me, probably. I wondered if he could
see the outlines of the black sack. Doubtless they were very vague.
But if I exposed my flesh, my face, my hands, that would at once
attract his attention.
I worked the loosened cords from my wrists; moved my stiffened hands
until, with returning blood, the strength came to them. I could not
reach my bound ankles without doubling up my knees. I did not dare
chance such a movement of the sack. But, after a moment, I got my
hands in front of me.
Then I took the gag from my mouth and, with a cautious hand, pried at
the top of the sack where it was bunched over my head. Its fastening
was loose.
Another interval. A dim muffled voice; "The Wasp is in sight,
Gutierrez!"
A movement--a sound like footsteps. Probably Gutierrez moving to the
corridor window to glance at Hanley's distant hovering flyer. I hoped
it might be that: I had to take the chance.
* * * * *
I slid the bag from my face. I feared an abrupt alarm, or Gutierrez
leaping upon me. But there was silence, and I saw his vague dark
outlines at the window oval, five feet from me.
I got my ankles loose and slid the bag off. I was unsteady on my feet,
but desperation aided me.
Gutierrez half turned as I gripped him from behind. My hand on his
mouth stifled his outcry. His black knife blade waved blindly. Then my
clenched knuckle caught his temple, and dug with the twisting Santus
blow. I was expert at it, and I found the vulnerable spot.
He crumpled in my grasp, and I slid his falling body across the narrow
corridor into the nearest cubby oval.
Almost soundless; and in the control room Jetta and De Boer were
murmuring and gazing at Hanley's ship, which hung ahead and above us
at the zero-height.
I had planned all my movements. No motion was lost. Gutierrez was
about my height and build. I stripped his black suit from him, donned
it, then tied his ankles and wrists, and gagged him against the time
when he would recover consciousness. Then I stuffed his body in the
sack and tied its top.
This black suit had a mask, rolled up and fastened to the helmet. I
loosed it, dropping it over my face. Knife in hand, I stood at the
corridor window.
* * * * *
It was all black outside. The clouds were black overhead; the highest
Lowland crags, several thousand feet beneath us, were all but blotted
out in the murky darkness. Only one thing was to be seen: a quarter of
a mile ahead, now, and a thousand feet higher than our level, the
shining, bird-like outlines of Hanley's hovering little Wasp. It stood
like a painted image of an aero, alone on a dead-black background. Red
and green signal-lights dotted it, and on its stern tip a small,
spreading searchlight bathed the wings and the body with a revealing
silver radiance.
Our forward flight had been checked, and we, too, were hovering. Hans
doubtless would remain for a time in the pilot cubby; De Boer and
Jetta were in the control room. It was only twenty feet away, but I
could barely see its oval entrance.
"Gutierrez!"
One of them was calling. My hollow empty voice echoed back as I softly
responded:
"Yes?"
"Be ready. We are arrived."
"Yes, Commander. All is well."
I continued to stand at the window. Hanley's little balloon-car was
visible now. Then he cut it away. We had moved forward in the
interval. The tiny car floated out almost above us.
My gaze searched the void of darkness outside. Did Hanley have an
invisible flyer out there? Perhaps so. But it could accomplish nothing
as yet. It would not even dare approach, for fear of collision with
us.
* * * * *
The tiny car, with a white pilot light in it, swayed with a slow
descent. The basket beneath the supporting balloon oscillated in a
wide swing, then steadied. A sudden flash showed up there--a flashing
electronic stream, from Hanley's Wasp to the basket. The shot swept
the basket interior. No one could be hidden there and survive.
It was Hanley's proof to us that he was following instructions.
"Hah! He obeys properly, Jetta!"
The voice floated back to me from the control room. Could I creep in
there, surprise De Boer now, and kill him? Doubtless. But it would
alarm Hans. I must await my chance to get them together.
"Gutierrez! Hans, get us under it! Gutierrez!"
The vague outline of De Boer came toward me in the corridor, burly
dark blob. His mask was down now. There were points of light, glowing
like faint distant stars, to mark his eyes.
"Gutierrez."
"Yes."
A small black figure followed after him. Jetta.
"Yes, De Boer." I stood over the sack. "I am ready."
De Boer's giant shape towered beside me. Now! My knife thrust now! But
Hans was coming toward us. He would take alarm before I could reach
him.
"Open the side porte, Gutierrez. Hurry, the car is here. Hans, you
should have stayed up there!"
"The drift is calculated; the car is just here."
We were all swift-moving shadows; disembodied voices.
"Get that porte open."
"Yes." I opened it.
* * * * *
We went outside on the runway. I passed close to Jetta, and just for
an instant pressed my gloved fingers on the black fabric of her
arm--and she knew.
"Now, seize it."
"Here, Hans, climb up."
"I have it. Pull it, Gutierrez!"
The car drifted at us from the black void. We caught it.
"Hold it, Gutierrez."
"Hans, clip the balloon. Up with you."
In the blurred haste, I could not get them together. I did not want to
kill one and have the other leap upon me.
We fastened the little balloon and dragged the car onto the take-off
platform. The shape of Hans leaped into the car.
"It is here! The ransom money!"
"Lift it to me. Heavy?"
"Yes."
"Gutierrez, help me. Hurry! If Hanley tries any trickery--"
Our aero was drifting downward and southward in the slight wind.
Hanley's Wasp still hovered at the zero-height.
"In, Gutierrez."
* * * * *
Hans and I hauled out the heavy casket and placed it on the wing
runway. De Boer pried up its lid. The gold was there. I could not tell
where Jetta was; I prayed she would keep away from this.
Then the shape of De Boer was missing! But in a moment he appeared,
dragging the sack.
"Lift him, Gutierrez. Hans, unclip the balloon and shove off the car!"
We were all standing at the two-foot rail of the runway. The
car-basket, floating now, was off side and level with us. My chance!
"In with him, Gutierrez."
I shoved the body, encased in its black sack, with Hans helping me.
And suddenly De Boer's knife came down at the sack! A stab. But an
instinct to save the poor wretch within swept me. I struck at De
Boer's arm and deflected the blow. The sack tumbled into the car.
I had neglected whatever chance had existed. Too late now!
"What in the hell!"
De Boer's shape seized me.
"What--"
It sent me into a sudden confusion. I flung him off. I stumbled
against the shape of Hans.
The car was almost loose; drifting away.
Without thought--a frantic impulse--I pushed Hans over the brink. He
fell into the car. It swayed into an oscillation with the impact. The
balloon sank below our wing level and was gone, with only Hans,
muffled shouts floating up.
* * * * *
And De Boer came leaping at me from behind. I whirled around. My
danger was too much for the watching Jetta. She screamed.
"Philip, look out for him!"
"Hah! The American. By damn, what is this?"
It gave De Boer pause. He gripped a wing stay-wire for a second.
Then he came with a rush.
The corridor door was open behind me. I flung myself into it--and
collided with a shape.
"Philip!"
I shoved at her frantically.
"Jetta, get back! Away from us!"
I pulled at her, half falling. De Boer's shape came through the
doorway into the corridor. And was blotted out in the green darkness
as he turned the other way, to avoid me if I struck.
A silence. The shadow of Jetta was behind me. I stood with poised
knife, listening, straining my eyes through the faint green darkness.
De Boer was here, knife in hand, fallen now into craftly, motionless
silence. He might have been close here down the corridor. Or in any
one of these nearby cubby doorways.
I slid forward along the wall. The corridor was solid black down its
length: the green radiance seemed brighter at the control room behind
me. Had De Boer gone into this solid blackness, to lure me?
* * * * *
I stopped my advance. Stood again, trying to see or hear something.
And then I saw him! Two small glowing points of light. Distant stars.
His eyes! Five feet ahead of me? Or ten? Or twenty?
A rustle. A sound.
His dark form materialized as he came--a huge, black blob overwhelming
me, his arm and knife blade striking.
I dropped to the floor-grid, and his blade went over me. And as I
dropped, I struck with an upward thrust. My knife met solidity; sank
into flesh.
I twisted past him on the floor as he fell. My knife was gone: buried
in him.
Words were audible; choking gasps. I could see his form rising,
staggering. The open porte was near him; he swayed through it.
Did he know he was mortally wounded? I think so. He swayed on the wing
runway, and I slid to the door and stood watching. And was aware of
the shadow of Jetta creeping to join me.
"Is he--?"
"Quiet, Jetta."
He stood under the wing, swaying, gripping a stay. Then his voice
sounded, and it seemed like a laugh.
"The craven American--wins." He moved a step. "Not to see--me die--"
He toppled at the rail. "Good-by, Jetta."
A great huddled shadow. A blob, toppling, falling....
Far down there now the crags and peaks of the Lowland depths were
visible. The darkness swallowed his whirling body. We could not hear
the impact.
CHAPTER XIX
_Episode of the Lowlands_
There is but little remaining for me to record. I could not operate
the mechanism of invisibility of De Boer's X-flyer. But its pilot
controls were simple. With Jetta at my side, trembling now that our
gruesome task was over, we groped our way through the green darkness
and mounted to the pilot cubby. And within ten minutes I had lowered
the ship into the depths, found a landing place upon the dark rocks,
and brought us down.
Hanley's Wasp had landed: we saw its lights half a mile from us. And
then the lights of another ship--an X-flyer convoying Hanley--slowly
materializing nearby.
And then reunion. Jetta and I left De Boer's invisible vessel and
clambered over the rocks. And presently Hanley, staring at our
grotesque black forms, came rushing forward and greeted us.
We were an hour locating De Boer's flyer, for all that Jetta and I had
just left it and thought we could find our way back. But we stumbled
onto it at last. Hanley felt his way aboard and brought it to
visibility. It has since been returned to the Anti-War Department,
with the compliments of Hanley's Office.
The ransom money was restored to its proper source. Spawn's treasure
of radiumized quicksilver we shipped back to Nareda, where it was
checked and divided, and Jetta's share legally awarded to her.
De Boer was dead when Hanley found him that night on the rocks. Jetta
and I did not go to look at him....
The balloon basket landed safely. Hanley and his men were down there
in time to seize it. Hans was caught; and Gutierrez, within the sack,
was found to be uninjured. They are incarcerated now in Nareda. They
were willing to tell the location of the bandit stronghold. A raid
there the following day resulted in the capture of most of De Boer's
men.
All this is now public news. You have heard it, of course. Yet in my
narrative, setting down the events as I lived them, I have tried to
give more vivid details than the bare facts as they were blared
through the public audiphones.
An episode of the strange, romantic, fantastic Lowlands. A very
unimportant series of incidents mingled with the news of a busy
world--just a few minutes of the newscasters' time to tell how a band
of depth smugglers was caught.
But it was a very important episode to me. It changed, for me, a
clanking, thrumming machine-made world into a shining fairyland of
dreams come true. It gave me little Jetta.
(_The End_)
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