I Carson Napier 5
II Off for Mars 15
III Rushing Toward Venus 26
IV To the House of the King 42
V The Girl in the Garden 53
VI Gathering Tarel 67
VII By Kamlot’s Grave 79
VIII On Board the _Sofal_ 91
IX Soldiers of Liberty 102
X Mutiny 111
XI Duare 123
XII “A Ship!” 132
XIII Catastrophe 144
XIV Storm 155
I
CARSON NAPIER
“If a female figure in a white shroud enters your bedchamber at midnight
on the thirteenth day of this month, answer this letter; otherwise, do
not.”
Having read this far in the letter, I was about to consign it to the
wastebasket, where all my crank letters go; but for some reason I read
on, “If she speaks to you, please remember her words and repeat them to
me when you write.” I might have read on to the end; but at this
juncture the telephone bell rang, and I dropped the letter into one of
the baskets on my desk. It chanced to be the “out” basket; and had
events followed their ordinary course, this would have been the last of
the letter and the incident in so far as I was concerned, for from the
“out” basket the letter went to the files.
It was Jason Gridley on the telephone. He seemed excited and asked me to
come to his laboratory at once. As Jason is seldom excited about
anything, I hastened to accede to his request and satisfy my curiosity.
Jumping into my roadster, I soon covered the few blocks that separate
us, to learn that Jason had good grounds for excitement. He had just
received a radio message from the inner world, from Pellucidar.
On the eve of the departure of the great dirigible, O-220, from the
earth’s core, following the successful termination of that historic
expedition, Jason had determined to remain and search for von Horst, the
only missing member of the party; but Tarzan, David Innes, and Captain
Zuppner had persuaded him of the folly of such an undertaking, inasmuch
as David had promised to dispatch an expedition of his own native
Pellucidarian warriors to locate the young German lieutenant if he still
lived and it were possible to discover any clue to his whereabouts.
Notwithstanding this, and though he had returned to the outer world with
the ship, Jason had always been harassed by a sense of responsibility
for the fate of von Horst, a young man who had been most popular with
all the members of the expedition; and had insisted time and time again
that he regretted having left Pellucidar until he had exhausted every
means within his power of rescuing von Horst or learned definitely that
he was dead.
Jason waved me to a chair and offered me a cigarette. “I’ve just had a
message from Abner Perry,” he announced, “the first for months.”
“It must have been interesting,” I commented, “to excite _you_.”
“It was,” he admitted. “A rumor has reached Sari that von Horst has been
found.”
Now as this pertains to a subject entirely foreign to the present
volume, I might mention that I have alluded to it only for the purpose
of explaining two facts which, while not vital, have some slight bearing
on the remarkable sequence of events which followed. First, it caused me
to forget the letter I just mentioned, and, second, it fixed the date in
my mind—the tenth.
My principal reason for mentioning the first fact is to stress the
thought that the matter of the letter, so quickly and absolutely
forgotten, had no opportunity to impress itself upon my mind and
therefore could not, at least objectively, influence my consideration of
ensuing events. The letter was gone from my mind within five minutes of
its reading as completely as though it had never been received.
The next three days were exceedingly busy ones for me, and when I
retired on the night of the thirteenth my mind was so filled with the
annoying details of a real estate transaction that was going wrong, that
it was some time before I could sleep. I can truthfully affirm that my
last thoughts were of trust deeds, receivers in equity, and deficiency
judgments.
What awoke me, I do not know. I sat up with a start just in time to see
a female figure, swathed in what appeared to be a white winding sheet,
enter my room through the door. You will note that I say door rather
than doorway, for such was the fact; the door was closed. It was a
clear, moonlit night; the various homely objects in my room were plainly
discernible, especially the ghostly figure now hovering near the foot of
my bed.
I am not subject to hallucinations, I had never seen a ghost, I had
never wished to, and I was totally ignorant of the ethics governing such
a situation. Even had the lady not been so obviously supernatural, I
should yet have been at a loss as to how to receive her at this hour in
the intimacy of my bedchamber, for no strange lady had ever before
invaded its privacy, and I am of Puritan stock.
“It is midnight of the thirteenth,” she said, in a low, musical voice.
“So it is,” I agreed, and then I recalled the letter that I had received
on the tenth.
“He left Guadalupe today,” she continued; “he will wait in Guaymas for
your letter.”
That was all. She crossed the room and passed out of it, not through the
window which was quite convenient, but through the solid wall. I sat
there for a full minute, staring at the spot where I had last seen her
and endeavoring to convince myself that I was dreaming, but I was not
dreaming; I was wide awake. In fact I was so wide awake that it was
fully an hour before I had successfully wooed Morpheus, as the Victorian
writers so neatly expressed it, ignoring the fact that his sex must have
made it rather embarrassing for gentlemen writers.
I reached my office a little earlier than usual the following morning,
and it is needless to say that the first thing that I did was to search
for that letter which I had received on the tenth. I could recall
neither the name of the writer nor the point of origin of the letter,
but my secretary recalled the latter, the letter having been
sufficiently out of the ordinary to attract his attention.
“It was from somewhere in Mexico,” he said, and as letters of this
nature are filed by states and countries, there was now no difficulty in
locating it.
You may rest assured that this time I read the letter carefully. It was
dated the third and postmarked Guaymas. Guaymas is a seaport in Sonora,
on the Gulf of California.
Here is the letter:
My dear Sir:
Being engaged in a venture of great scientific importance, I find it
necessary to solicit the assistance (not financial) of some one
psychologically harmonious, who is at the same time of sufficient
intelligence and culture to appreciate the vast possibilities of my
project.
Why I have addressed you I shall be glad to explain in the happy event
that a personal interview seems desirable. This can only be
ascertained by a test which I shall now explain.
If a female figure in a white shroud enters your bedchamber at
midnight on the thirteenth day of this month, answer this letter;
otherwise, do not. If she speaks to you, please remember her words and
repeat them to me when you write.
Assuring you of my appreciation of your earnest consideration of this
letter, which I realize is rather unusual, and begging that you hold
its contents in strictest confidence until future events shall have
warranted its publication, I am, Sir,
Very respectfully yours,
CARSON NAPIER.
“It looks to me like another nut,” commented Rothmund.
“So it did to me on the tenth,” I agreed; “but today is the fourteenth,
and now it looks like another story.”
“What has the fourteenth got to do with it?” he demanded.
“Yesterday was the thirteenth,” I reminded him.
“You don’t mean to tell me—” he started, skeptically.
“That is just what I do mean to tell you,” I interrupted. “The lady
came, I saw, she conquered.”
Ralph looked worried. “Don’t forget what your nurse told you after your
last operation,” he reminded me.
“Which nurse? I had nine, and no two of them told me the same things.”
“Jerry. She said that narcotics often affected a patient’s mind for
months afterward.” His tone was solicitous.
“Well, at least Jerry admitted that I had a mind, which some of the
others didn’t. Anyway, it didn’t affect my eyesight; I saw what I saw.
Please take a letter to Mr. Napier.”
A few days later I received a telegram from Napier dated Guaymas.
“LETTER RECEIVED STOP THANKS STOP SHALL CALL ON YOU TOMORROW,” it read.
“He must be flying,” I commented.
“Or coming in a white shroud,” suggested Ralph. “I think I’ll phone
Captain Hodson to send a squad car around here; sometimes these nuts are
dangerous.” He was still skeptical.
I must admit that we both awaited the arrival of Carson Napier with
equal interest. I think Ralph expected to see a wild-eyed maniac. I
could not visualize the man at all.
About eleven o’clock the following morning Ralph came into my study.
“Mr. Napier is here,” he said.
“Does his hair grow straight out from his scalp, and do the whites of
his eyes show all around the irises?” I inquired, smiling.
“No,” replied Ralph, returning the smile; “he is a very fine looking
man, but,” he added, “I still think he’s a nut.”
“Ask him to come in,” and a moment later Ralph ushered in an
exceptionally handsome man whom I judged to be somewhere between
twenty-five and thirty years old, though he might have been even
younger.
He came forward with extended hand as I rose to greet him, a smile
lighting his face; and after the usual exchange of banalities he came
directly to the point of his visit.
“To get the whole picture clearly before you,” he commenced, “I shall
have to tell you something about myself. My father was a British army
officer, my mother an American girl from Virginia. I was born in India
while my father was stationed there, and brought up under the tutorage
of an old Hindu who was much attached to my father and mother. This
Chand Kabi was something of a mystic, and he taught me many things that
are not in the curriculums of schools for boys under ten. Among them was
telepathy, which he had cultivated to such a degree that he could
converse with one in psychological harmony with himself quite as easily
at great distances as when face to face. Not only that, but he could
project mental images to great distances, so that the recipient of his
thought waves could see what Chand Kabi was seeing, or whatever else
Chand Kabi wished him to see. These things he taught me.”
“And it was thus you caused me to see my midnight visitor on the
thirteenth?” I inquired.
He nodded. “That test was necessary in order to ascertain if we were in
psychological harmony. Your letter, quoting the exact words that I had
caused the apparition to appear to speak, convinced me that I had at
last found the person for whom I have been searching for some time.
“But to get on with my story. I hope I am not boring you, but I feel
that it is absolutely necessary that you should have full knowledge of
my antecedents and background in order that you may decide whether I am
worthy of your confidence and assistance, or not.” I assured him that I
was far from being bored, and he proceeded.
“I was not quite eleven when my father died and my mother brought me to
America. We went to Virginia first and lived there for three years with
my mother’s grandfather, Judge John Carson, with whose name and
reputation you are doubtless familiar, as who is not?
“After the grand old man died, mother and I came to California, where I
attended public schools and later entered a small college at Claremont,
which is noted for its high scholastic standing and the superior
personnel of both its faculty and student body.
“Shortly after my graduation the third and greatest tragedy of my life
occurred—my mother died. I was absolutely stunned by this blow. Life
seemed to hold no further interest for me. I did not care to live, yet I
would not take my own life. As an alternative I embarked upon a life of
recklessness. With a certain goal in mind, I learned to fly. I changed
my name and became a stunt man in pictures.
“I did not have to work. Through my mother I had inherited a
considerable fortune from my great-grandfather, John Carson; so great a
fortune that only a spendthrift could squander the income. I mention
this only because the venture I am undertaking requires considerable
capital, and I wish you to know that I am amply able to finance it
without help.
“Not only did life in Hollywood bore me, but here in Southern California
were too many reminders of the loved one I had lost. I determined to
travel, and I did. I flew all over the world. In Germany I became
interested in rocket cars and financed several. Here my idea was born.
There was nothing original about it except that I intended to carry it
to a definite conclusion. I would travel by rocket to another planet.
“My studies had convinced me that of all the planets Mars alone offered
presumptive evidence of habitability for creatures similar to ourselves.
I was at the same time convinced that if I succeeded in reaching Mars
the probability of my being able to return to earth was remote. Feeling
that I must have some reason for embarking upon such a venture, other
than selfishness, I determined to seek out some one with whom I could
communicate in the event that I succeeded. Subsequently it occurred to
me that this might also afford the means for launching a second
expedition, equipped to make the return journey, for I had no doubt but
that there would be many adventurous spirits ready to undertake such an
excursion once I had proved it feasible.
“For over a year I have been engaged in the construction of a gigantic
rocket on Guadalupe Island, off the west coast of Lower California. The
Mexican government has given me every assistance, and today everything
is complete to the last detail. I am ready to start at any moment.”
As he ceased speaking, he suddenly faded from view. The chair in which
he had been sitting was empty. There was no one in the room but myself.
I was stunned, almost terrified. I recalled what Rothmund had said about
the effect of the narcotics upon my mentality. I also recalled that
insane people seldom realize that they are insane. Was _I_ insane! Cold
sweat broke out upon my forehead and the backs of my hands. I reached
toward the buzzer to summon Ralph. There is no question but that Ralph
is sane. If he had seen Carson Napier and shown him into my study—what a
relief that would be!
But before my finger touched the button Ralph entered the room. There
was a puzzled expression on his face. “Mr. Napier is back again,” he
said, and then he added, “I didn’t know he had left. I just heard him
talking to you.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as I wiped the perspiration from my face and
hands; if I was crazy, so was Ralph. “Bring him in,” I said, “and this
time you stay here.”
When Napier entered there was a questioning look in his eyes. “Do you
fully grasp the situation as far as I have explained it?” he asked, as
though he had not been out of the room at all.
“Yes, but—” I started.
“Wait, please,” he requested. “I know what you are going to say, but let
me apologize first and explain. I have not been here before. That was my
final test. If you are confident that you saw me and talked to me and
can recall what I said to you as I sat outside in my car, then you and I
can communicate just as freely and easily when I am on Mars.”
“But,” interjected Rothmund, “you _were_ here. Didn’t I shake hands with
you when you came in, and talk to you?”
“You thought you did,” replied Napier.
“Who’s loony now?” I inquired inelegantly, but to this day Rothmund
insists that we played a trick on him.
“How do you know he’s here now, then?” he asked.
“I don’t,” I admitted.
“I am, this time,” laughed Napier. “Let’s see; how far had I gotten?”
“You were saying that you were all ready to start, had your rocket set
up on Guadalupe Island,” I reminded him.
“Right! I see you got it all. Now, as briefly as possible, I’ll outline
what I hope you will find it possible to do for me. I have come to you
for several reasons, the more important of which are your interest in
Mars, your profession (the results of my experiment must be recorded by
an experienced writer), and your reputation for integrity—I have taken
the liberty of investigating you most thoroughly. I wish you to record
and publish the messages you receive from me and to administer my estate
during my absence.”
“I shall be glad to do the former, but I hesitate to accept the
responsibility of the latter assignment,” I demurred.
“I have already arranged a trust that will give you ample protection,”
he replied in a manner that precluded further argument. I saw that he
was a young man who brooked no obstacles; in fact I think he never
admitted the existence of an obstacle. “As for your remuneration,” he
continued, “you may name your own figure.”