Larry, Jeff, and Abe were pounded on the back by their companions,
while eager hands dropped to the derelict to begin the transfer of
cargo.
"You three better hie yourselves down to the galley and get some grub,"
Carlyle grinned.
Jeff and Abe took him at his word; but Larry, lingering, asked Carlyle
pointedly:
"How's Ann? She was pretty sick when I left her."
He would have taken oath that the salvage boss' dark eyes flinched.
Those piercing eyes searched his face for an instant before Carlyle
replied. Finally:
"Not so good, Captain," he said. "Why don't you look at her? Might do a
lot for her, you know."
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," Larry Wolfe ground out. "I seemed to be
so much excess cargo last time."
He turned stiffly and passed him. But, drawn by something more powerful
than his wounded pride, he went straight to Ann's room and knocked
softly.
A voice so weak he scarcely recognized it answered him.
Larry went in. Ann was lying back against the pillows. The deathly
pallor of her face caused him to start.
"Ann!" he groaned. "What is it? What's happening to you?"
The girl's bloodless features did not warm at sight of him. But a
strain of fear coursed through her throaty tones.
"I don't know," she whispered. Her fingers went to toying with the
little heart lying against her throat.
Suddenly Larry was striding forward, to stand looking down at the jewel
with blazing eyes. "Damn that thing!" he gritted. "You're going to turn
it over to me right now. I don't know what it is, but I'll swear it's
alive with some deadly force of its own. It's glowing like a piece of
red radium!"
Ann's waxen fingers closed over it. "You're talking like an insane man,
Larry!" she panted. "You may as well understand right now that I'm not
taking orders from you like a stevedore. If I want to wear a simple
piece of jewelry, no amount of your ranting will prevent me!"
Larry's cheeks grew scarlet, his fists knotting up hard. "Maybe it
won't," he retorted, "but by Heaven, Carlyle knows the secret of that
stone and I'm going to wring it out of him right now!"
"Larry!" The girl's voice followed him, laden with sharp fear.
Larry Wolfe ignored her cry and strode to the loading deck. What he
contemplated was mutiny, perhaps, but it was Ann's life at stake.
Carlyle was not on the loading deck, nor did Larry locate him on the
bridge. As a final resort he strode to the ship owner's room. The door
was unlocked, and he barged in without knocking.
Staring angrily about him, he saw no sign of his quarry. Then a sort
of madness laid hold of him. He began to ransack Carlyle's belongings,
searching--what he sought, he couldn't have said. But he was seeking
proof that Thaddeus Carlyle was something more than he represented
himself to be.
There was nothing he wouldn't have expected to find there. Nothing
but one small article: an oval-shaped brooch of yellowed ivory, a
tiny painting of a man's head on it. He had examined similar ones in
museums. Carrying it over to the light, Larry was shocked to note the
resemblance of the man's face to Carlyle.
Then he found the minute, hair-line script below it: "Thaddeus
Carlyle, Lord Mon--" The last word had been obliterated by time.
Larry's breath rattled in his throat as a queer panic gripped him.
Feverishly he shoved stiff fingers through his hair. _Lord Monfort--!_
They hadn't made miniatures like this one for hundreds of years.
Larry turned the brooch over and discovered on the back the words:
"From Helene. Nov. 1346."
The brooch struck the floor with a clink. The sound seemed to pour
new life into Larry. He shouted, "Ann!" and sprang into the hall and
swiftly toward the girl's room.
* * * * *
Voices stopped him just before he touched the knob. Carlyle's voice,
softer than he had dreamed it could be, murmuring:
"If only there weren't Larry--if I weren't afraid he might steal your
love back. You say he means nothing to you, and yet--"
"You _know_ he means nothing to me!" For all its animation, Ann's voice
held the monotonous cadence of one who is half-asleep.
"You do love me, Ann--more than life itself?"
"More--than life--Thad!"
"Ann, I'm going to ask you something--wait, dear! I know you're tired;
but you must keep your eyes open a moment longer...."
The door crashed inward. Larry Wolfe was through it and upon Carlyle
before the latter could get to his feet. He had been sitting on the
edge of Ann's bunk. With steel fingers Larry hauled him to his feet.
"You damned parasite!" he shouted. "You thought you'd prey upon Ann the
same way you did the others, did you?" His fist struck out, but the
salvage boss caught his wrist and held it.
"Are you insane?" he roared.
Larry's mood was not one of arguing. Again he struck, and this time the
blow chopped into Carlyle's mouth and brought blood.
Ordinarily the bigger man could have cut Larry down with a few
man-killing punches, but the madness in Larry Wolfe knew neither pain
nor weakness. He took savage blows to the face and ribs, but stayed on
his feet. A lucky uppercut jarred Carlyle's teeth in his head, and for
an instant he was sagging against the wall.
Larry seized that split-second to spring to the bedside of the
terrified girl and tear the necklace from her throat. He threw it
at Carlyle with all his force. The gem missed, shivered into tiny,
glittering crystals on the floor, like shining drops of blood.
Thaddeus Carlyle's face paled under its deep tan. He glanced down at
the wreck of the crystal heart. He was on the point of drawing his
pistol when the alarm began to ring.
"Mr. Carlyle! Captain Wolfe!" the voice boomed through the ship.
"_Martian_ returning. All hands at their posts!"
On the tail of the warning came a shock that tore the _Friar Bacon_
from the side of the derelict. Larry had a glimpse through the port, of
men in space suits left hanging in the void between the two ships, of
gold ingots floating grotesquely around them.
The battle was forgotten, as fighters toppling over a cliff forget
their differences and scramble for safety. Larry followed the ship
owner up the corridor, climbed the ladder to the top deck, sprang to
the firing lever of the big energy gun stationed in the nose.
The other men darted from the control room to their posts. The _Friar_
was stationary for a second, while Carlyle located the other ship. With
a surge of swift power that took the passengers' breath, the craft shot
after it.
* * * * *
Haggard's strategy had been to get in line with the sun and keep in
line with it while he rushed down on the unsuspecting salvage ship.
Reports were crackling in from all parts of the ship regarding the
damage done. Nothing had been touched, it seemed, except one of the
forward scout carriers, which was blasted loose.
Larry was tensely vigilant as he crouched over the firing lever. He did
not glance at Carlyle. The salvage boss' face seemed to have set into
grimmer lines than ever. Up ahead the _Martian_ was fighting to keep
out of line. Haggard's poor shot had put them in the disadvantage.
Carlyle piloted like a demon, straining the ship until the bulkheads
chattered in their steps. Haggard's slightest error meant the gap
between them closed that much more. Suddenly something seemed to go
wrong. The _Martian_ faltered for a tenth of a second. In the next
moment Thaddeus Carlyle swerved until the pirate's rocket tubes were
straight before them.
"Fire!" he clipped.
Larry pulled swiftly at the lever. There was no response. Harder, he
tugged.
"I said _fire_!" Carlyle shouted at him. "I can't hold this point any
longer. They're under way again."
Sweat started from Larry's pores. "The thing's jammed, Chief!" he
groaned. "They got our gun with that first shot."
Carlyle seemed to wilt a little. What it meant was that they were up
against a fast, armed vessel with no means of defending themselves. As
if Brand Haggard sensed the trouble, too, he put the _Martian_ about
and came booming down the line at them, head-on.
Carlyle's response was slow. The ship heaved violently as a rear
stabilizer melted under Haggard's shot. Only the fact that the shock
threw them away from the pirate's line of fire saved them.
Now it was the _Friar Bacon_ that dodged and ran. The air boiled all
about them. Larry could envision Haggard's grinning, savage countenance
hovering over the firing lever, ceaselessly yanking at it.
And there was something wrong with the staggering _Friar_. Larry
thought for a while that their stabilizers were not functioning. Always
they were a fraction of a second late in diving out of range. It was
when Haggard was not over a few hundred yards in the rear that Larry
glanced over at Carlyle. In a flash he was on his feet....
He saw sunken, shrivelled cheeks and glazing eyes. Gray hair straggling
from under the jaunty officer's cap. A scrawny neck going down into a
collar many sizes too large.
Larry was cold all over. He took Carlyle by the shoulders and hauled
him out of the chair, surprised at the lightness of his body. The bony
fingers clawed at the controls and then gave them up. Larry let him sag
to the floor and grabbed the controls.
Haggard was diving again, with throttles wide open. A few miles ahead
lay the wreckage of the _Astral_. Larry suddenly saw his chance. He
had no gun, nothing to fight back with; but here was where courage and
skill might count heavily.
With the _Martian_ a hundred yards in the rear, dead on the stern,
Larry fired both bow rockets and the port stern rocket. Braces screamed
and loose objects toppled, as the _Friar Bacon_ slowed and went into a
tight pin-wheel. The _Martian_ roared up alongside. Larry blasted out
with the other stern rocket and the two craft jarred together. At the
same instant he turned on the boarding magnets, so that the ships were
held together as though welded.
Brand Haggard's blond head bobbed into view only fifteen feet away. He
stood up from the firing lever and stared through the bridge port at
Larry. This was the first time Larry had ever seen him when he was not
grinning that arrogant wicked grin of his.
* * * * *
Haggard was shaking his fist and yelling. His gun was useless now. And
he knew only too well what lay in Larry's mind: To carry him dead into
the _Astral_ and pile the _Martian_ up like a racing car striking a
brick wall!
The captain of the black vessel tried every strategy he knew. But Larry
held it down to the course he had set. The two ships flashed on toward
destruction.
Haggard's face showed in the glass, threatening, cajoling, pleading. At
the last moment he held up two fist-fulls of paper money, trying to buy
another chance. Larry laughed and dropped his hand on the magnet lever.
Screams of terror built up within the _Friar Bacon_ as the crew
discovered the derelict dead ahead. They were drowned under the roar of
rockets as Larry cut the pirate loose and moved to avoid the _Astral_.
He had a horrible moment of watching a fin on the wrecked vessel reach
out to rake the belly of the slewing salvage ship. Then all dissolved
in a shower of wreckage, the fin crumpling away and flames shooting up
where it had been. The _Martian_ had crumpled up like an accordion.
Bodies flew past the windows, to explode as the pressureless atmosphere
inflated them. Gold ingots mingled with them. Everywhere there was
death, and the horror that can come only from a wreck of two such
space-giants as the _Martian_ and the long-dead _Astral_.
The _Friar_ toppled end over end, a chip caught in a maelstrom. Miles
away from the carnage, Larry Wolfe managed to right it. He stood up
from the controls to find Ann Holland standing white and silent above
Carlyle's body.
Larry shuddered. Carlyle's face was that of a mummy. His hands were
crooked brown hooks like the dried talons of a buzzard. His uniform
draped his shrivelled body like a gunny sack over a skeleton.
Ann pressed against Larry's side, seemingly unconscious that there
had ever been anything wrong between them. "What was he, Larry?" she
whispered.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But he was old--Lord knows how old. That
crystal heart he gave you ... there was something queer about it. I
think that when I destroyed it, I killed him, too."
The girl suddenly buried her face against his chest. "Oh, Larry!" she
sobbed. "It's so horrible. Let's go back ... now!"
"Just as soon as we comb a few gold bars out of the sky," he told
her softly. "Then we're going back and carry on with those plans we
had before you gave me back my ring. But--I'd like to find out some
time--just how old he was, and _what_ he was."
* * * * *
Sooner than they had expected, they were to find at least the answer to
Thaddeus Carlyle's age. Larry and Ann were married the day they docked
in New York. For their honeymoon they sailed to England. It occurred to
Larry while they were there to look for the Monfort tomb in Westminster
Abbey.
They found it, an ancient stone crypt with the names of thirteen Lord
Monforts inscribed, hidden in the shadows of the building's oldest
wing. Birth and death dates followed each name. But after Thaddeus
Carlyle's name were engraved only the numerals:
"1262--"
"Wish I had the courage of my convictions," muttered Larry. "I'd get
them to finish it for the poor devil: '--died, 1970.'"