The Room of the Voices
Struck dumb with amazement, I stood like a rat in a trap, and waited
patiently for some explanation of the voice I had heard. But when it
came again, a moment later, I could not repress a start of amazement
and awe, for, though I was alone in the room, the voice seemed to come
from only a couple of feet in front of me.
“I asked you whether you had enjoyed your evening?”
If it was ventriloquism, it was the most marvelous example of it that
I had ever heard. And I put out my hands helplessly, with the wild
thought of some arrangements of mirrors behind which the speaker was
sheltered. But there was nothing there; nothing but the empty room.
“You do not answer?” came the voice again. “Well, it does not matter.
We have done our best to make you at home at all events. And now there
is a little reckoning to pay.”
Though the voice was chilled and dehumanized in a queer way, I thought
I recognized the intonation. It was Ivanovitch again. In a moment he
confirmed this.
“I thought we should meet again to-night, my friend, although you have
not made any effort to find me. But it does not matter. We are forced
to dispose of you, my dear Clayton, in any case. But you are to be
greatly honored. Our Chief will speak with you himself in a moment. I
believe he intends to give you the choice of the manner in which you
will leave us. That is a great concession, my friend. I hope you
appreciate it.”
“I don’t know whether you can hear me or not,” I answered in a loud
voice. “But I wish to goodness you’d appear. What on earth is all this
nonsense about anyway? I felt a little faint and came out of my room
in search of an attendant. And I’ve been looking for one ever since.
And why am I locked in?”
Then close to my ear I heard a laugh, the weirdest sound in the world
when there was no one there. “I can hear you perfectly, my dear
fellow, and you are as amusing as ever. If you searched for an
attendant, surely you found one, eh? And I meant to ask you—did you
enjoy your little chat with your sister?”
Standing motionless in the room, I ground my teeth, but tried to give
no outward sign that the shot had gone home. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about, Ivanovitch, but this joke has gone far enough. Let me
out, will you?”
I knew that it was hopeless, although I was determined to try to the
end. But hope nearly left me when he spoke again.
“Come, come, Clayton, this is too bad of you! Why do you suppose the
child was beaten to-night, if not to attract your attention and make
you talk, so that we could verify our impressions of you? And why do
you suppose the door into this passage was locked the first time and
so conveniently unlocked the second, if not to guide you here? But
enough of this nonsense. Our Chief is here now and will speak to you.
It will be better if you listen.”
Again I stood and waited, and this time there came to may ears a voice
that struck chill to my heart in spite of me. For it was as inhuman,
as cold, as relentless as the sea. Of one thing I was certain, it was
the voice of a man, but a man far removed from the usual run of
mortals. There was an immense pride in it and an immense sense of
power. But to my straining ears it did not sound the voice of a man
who was entirely sane.
“Clayton,” it said, “I have heard much of you of late—too much. You
have interfered with my affairs unwarrantably and to my inconvenience.
Therefore you are to die.” There was a little pause here. “One of my
lieutenants has begged me for your life, however, and while I will not
grant that, you may choose the manner of your death. In a moment or so
you will be asleep. When you wake one of my lieutenants will see you
and hear your wishes. That is all.”
The voice ceased and left me standing alone in a bare room, fear and
despair in my heart and cold sweat on my face. For there was a power
of doom, of finality, about this voice that carried more terror and
more conviction than my waning courage could stand.
But it did not matter. For though I was entirely alone and I could
detect no change in the room nor in the air I breathed, my thoughts
drew inward slowly, the walls of the room seemed to withdraw to an
immeasurable distance, and in a moment my legs gave way under me and I
sank to the floor. For a little more, consciousness of my surroundings
seemed to flicker dimly, and then I plunged into the darkness of
complete oblivion.
I have no exact means of telling how long it was before I came to my
senses again. I only know that one moment I was not, and the next I
was dimly aware of myself. I was in complete darkness now, but the air
of my room was fresh with the out-of-doors.
I turned my head slowly. Then I sat up. My thoughts were suddenly
extraordinarily clear and I felt no pain of any kind. Evidently the
gas, or whatever it was with which they had put me to sleep, had no
bad after-effects. At all events I felt none.
I was suddenly aware that I was looking through a barred window and
that the stars shone through it. And with this sight came the
realization of a queer feature of this place into which I had
ventured. For since I had entered it, this was the first window I had
seen. With some difficulty, for I was a little weak, I struggled to my
feet and caught hold of the bars to look out. There was no glass in
the window and the night air came through it, cool on my face. I took
in deep breaths of it. And suddenly the despair which had settled
about my heart with returning consciousness lifted a little. At all
events I was still alive and had my ring.
I felt for it. It was still on my finger and the safety catch was
still open. It was lucky that I had not stabbed myself with it in
falling.
Then I began to explore the place.
It was a small bare room, with one door of heavy metal bars. There was
only one window and there was no furniture of any kind. Of course the
door was locked, but I fumbled in my pocket and found a match,
lighting it to have a look at the lock. For my little file was in my
pocket, of course.
Suddenly I regretted lighting the match. It might have been seen and I
wanted time, for I had determined at once to saw through the thinner
bars of the window.
I felt in my pocket. The little box containing the tiny file was gone!
It was the cruelest blow of all, and for a moment, I confess, I gave
way to despair. Then slowly courage returned, and I strode to the door
again. The lighted match had shown me a queer scene between the bars
of my door and I wanted to have another look at it, if only to keep my
mind occupied while I waited for death. For at last I felt that I was
to die.
By the flickering light of the match I saw a strange thing indeed. The
room beyond was a much larger one. It had two windows in it, but it
was entirely unfurnished except for the extraordinary contrivance in
the center of the floor.
Lighting one match after another, I made out the general aspect of
this contrivance. But I was very far from being able to explain it.
Clearly it had to do with electricity, for six thick iron pillars
standing about eight feet high were equipped with heavy wires which
ran to a big machine set against the wall and boxed in.
But these pillars were in a circle about ten feet in diameter, and it
was the queer affair at the center of this circle that drew my
attention most. By the light of several matches I made out that it was
some sort of cylinder, about three feet in diameter, open at the top
and bottom, and with a hinged doorway about a foot wide. This cylinder
was about eight feet high, and both the cylinder and the door in it
seemed to be made out of some sort of semi-opaque material that looked
like Venetian glass.
A network of wires ran to it from the six pillars and seemed to be
welded into the surface of it. It looked for all the world like some
sort of an electrical bath, I thought.
But my last match burned my fingers before I could make out anything
further about it, and I sat down to wait for what was to come with as
much resignation as I could muster. At all events I still had my ring.
And if I could not escape, I could perhaps take some toll from my
enemies before I died. I said my enemies, but it was Ivanovitch that I
wanted to kill. The veneer of civilization is thin, I found, for after
what he had done to Margaret I could contemplate killing him in cold
blood quite calmly.
And it was Ivanovitch who came!
The first hint I had of the presence of any one besides myself was the
sudden glare of electric lights in the room beyond the cell in which I
stood. I went softly to the barred door and looked through it. Two men
had just entered through a door at the other side of the larger room.
As they came from behind the glass cylinder I saw that one of them was
Ivanovitch. The other, a lowering fellow with the face of a peasant, I
had not seen before.
In the bright light I took a hasty glance at my surroundings while
they came toward me. And I started with surprise, for all of the house
I had seen was built with the very height of luxury, and here the
floors and walls were of rough stone! Was I in the same house at all?
But I had time for no close inspection, for Ivanovitch walked straight
up to my door, pressed a switch at the side of it and flooded my own
cell with sudden light. “Well, Clayton,” he began, with his cold
smile, “the best of friends must part, and you and I are no exception,
it seems. I have come to find out your wishes in the matter.”
I stared back at him, my mind working like lightning. This was my last
chance, of that I felt sure, and if I were still to win out, I must
meet guile with guile. It was my only hope, faint as it was.
I went slowly up to the door and took hold of the bars. “My God,
Ivanovitch,” I cried in a broken voice, “what have I ever done to you,
that you should want to kill me?”
The man gave a bark of a laugh and the peasant with him looked up and
leered at my tone. “I have nothing against you, man,” he laughed. “But
the Emperor has. You have interfered with his plans—and that is very
dangerous.”
“The Emperor!” I cried weakly.
Ivanovitch glanced over his shoulder. “Merely a fancy of our Chief’s,
Clayton. Come, how do you wish to die?”
“I can’t believe you mean that, Ivanovitch. Surely there is some way
that I can get you to spare my life!” I said: “I have money and will
give it all to you. I will join your organization, anything.”
He laughed again. “We are singing a different tune now, eh?” He took
from his pocket one of the air revolvers that I had seen before and
fitted it into the palm of his hand. Then he turned to the other and
spoke to him in Russian. The fellow straightened up with another leer,
drew a heavy revolver from his pocket and pointed it at me. Then he
leaned back against the wall again, crossing his feet.
Ivanovitch drew a key from another pocket and fitted it into the lock
of my door. My heart leaped with hope, but I still turned upon him a
woebegone face and shrank back into the cell as though in terror.
The door swung open. “Come out,” said Ivanovitch contemptuously. “I
won’t hurt you—either now or later. But I have orders to show this
little plaything to you and see if you prefer that way. Come out, I
say!”
I drew away from the far wall of my cell and crept through the doorway
like a dog with his tail between his legs. Nevertheless, the Russian
retreated before me, keeping his distance warily. When the door of my
cell had closed behind me I drooped against the wall of the outer room
and stood waiting. “What—what are you going to do to me?” I begged. I
hated myself in doing it, but it was for the sake of the others, and I
had shown my hand too often in the past. To quiet his fear of me was
my only hope of getting near him. The other Russian was still covering
me with the heavy revolver, and Ivanovitch left me and went to the
boxed-in machine. He pulled over a switch or something on the side of
it—and instantly the room was filled with a blinding glare of light.
But such light! It glowed now green, now purple, now crimson, until I
half closed my eyes to shut out the brightness of it. It came from the
cylinder in the center of the room, and the latter glowed iridescent
with all the colors of the spectrum, like a living thing from some
celestial sphere. I could only look at it for a moment, and the others
too were shading their eyes. At the same time I was conscious of an
intense heat from the cylinder.
I was dimly aware that Ivanovitch was speaking. The other man handed
him the cap he wore, and Ivanovitch stepped forward and flung it into
the top of the cylinder. Then he stepped over and turned off the
switch again and the glare faded slowly and went out.
“You see?” he said to me, pointing to the thing.
I looked at the floor within the cylinder where the cap must have
fallen. There was nothing there.
“It is a quick and painless death,” laughed Ivanovitch. “And it has
its advantages from our standpoint also, for it leaves no trace!”
I sank down on the floor against the wall. “My God, you can’t kill me
like that. You can’t kill me so soon. Only give me a chance, man! I’ll
do anything you say!”
Ivanovitch was losing patience. He strode over to me. “If you do not
choose the manner of your death and choose now, into that cylinder you
will go by force. The Emperor has promised you the choice of your
death, and it is his whim to keep his promises. If you do not choose,
why——” He shrugged his shoulders. “But if you choose now, you can die
in any way you please: drugs, shooting, this machine, drowning,
suffocation, what you will. Now choose!”
“I will not choose,” I cried. “Give me a little time, only a little
time——”
Ivanovitch ripped out an oath and stooped over me. He caught me under
the arms and lifted me to my feet, and at the same moment I brought up
my hand and pressed the face of the ring into his wrist sharply.
He jumped back with a snarl and fumbled at the pocket into which he
had slipped the air revolver. Then his hands flew to his throat, and
into his face came a terrible look of comprehension. I saw that he was
struggling to speak, and stepped forward just as the other Russian
straightened up with a glance of sudden suspicion and raised his heavy
revolver.
“Come and help me,” I said breathlessly, for Ivanovitch had begun to
sag at the knees. “Something has happened to Ivanovitch!”
The man came forward at that in a shambling run to look at his master,
lowering the revolver as he ran. He came to my side, still trying to
see the face of Ivanovitch. When he saw it he put out his hand to help
me support him, and with a quick movement I pressed the top of the
ring into the back of his hand too. He snatched it away, but he was
slower of comprehension; for his hands went to his throat, and he
stood swaying for a moment before he turned to me. I dropped
Ivanovitch on the floor at that and caught at the big revolver. But
there was little need. An instant longer the fellow swayed in my
grasp, and then he, too, crumpled at the knees and fell, his face
contorting into a mask of feat and agony.
I turned back to Ivanovitch. The man lay where I had dropped him, his
eyes glazing, but with the light of consciousness and comprehension
still in them. As I watched I saw this light gradually fade out of
them, and suddenly they rolled up under the lids and his quivering
body lay still. I turned back to his servant. He, too, was still
quivering, but as I looked, a last tremor went through him and he also
lay still. I was alone. And in that moment I knew that the fates were
with us and that we should succeed.
But there was much to be done yet. Others might come at any moment and
I had still to escape.
I stooped over the body of Ivanovitch, found the air revolver and
slipped it into my pocket. Then, leaving them where they lay, I walked
to the door of the room, switched out the lights, opened the door and
went out. I had walked out under the open sky!
In the faint starlight I could make out the shadowy forms of trees and
bushes all around me. A little way off loomed the bulk of a huge
house. I turned away from it, leaving the path that connected it with
the stone house in which I had been imprisoned, and struck off through
the trees to find a way out.
There was light enough to see faintly where I was walking and to make
out the outlines of things close at hand. But I was afraid of
detection by some guard who might be prowling about the place, and I
stuck closely to the shadow of the trees wherever I could. And at
last, keeping in a straight line, by looking over my shoulder at the
bulk of the house as long as I could see it, I came to the thing I
sought. It was a brick wall, at least ten feet high and perfectly
smooth.
Close by, however, a big tree stretched its branches over the wall. If
I could climb it I could let myself down on to the top of the wall and
so drop down on the other side.
I went to the tree and looked up, and at the same moment a hand fell
on my shoulder and a voice spoke at my ear. The words were Russian and
I could not understand them. But the man’s presence and action were
clear enough and this was no time for parley. I turned quickly and
struck him in the face with the hand on which I wore the ring. He gave
a hoarse cry and staggered back, and I swung myself up into the tree
and began to climb.
By feeling my way carefully I managed to get out on a limb that
overhung the wall. My weight made it sag until I could step off on to
the wall. Here with the limb still in my hands I looked down.
The ring had not yet lost its effectiveness; for in the starlight I
could make out the body of a man, prone on the ground beneath me, his
face turned up to the sky.
And so I released the branch, scrambled down the outer side of the
wall until I was hanging by my hands, and let go, landing with a thud
on the soft ground at the foot of the wall.
I was free!