A light gleamed feebly through a small window. Closer approach revealed
that it was set in a wall which formed the front of a dwelling partly
extending back into the cliff.
They pressed their faces against the dripping pane. Beside a fireplace
in which a few dying embers glowed faintly, a robust man with a flowing
beard was nodding over a book. A kerosene lamp flickered on the table
beside him.
They felt along the wall for a door and rapped. After a moment, it
opened. The beard was thrust forward and the man behind it stood
regarding them from beneath bushy eyebrows.
"We're lost," began Marlin. "What's the chance--?"
"Eh?" the bearded man craned his neck, peering beyond them. "So you're
the ones we've been waiting for. Where's the other?"
"There's only the three of us."
With a slightly puzzled manner, he allowed them to enter. Marlin
crossed to the fireplace. "Mind if I build this up?"
Not waiting for a reply, he heaped on chunks of pine log from the
half-filled woodbox and soon had a rousing fire. McGruder and the girl
knelt gratefully in front of the blaze--the girl shivering. Not bad,
Marlin decided, at his first sidelong glimpse of her face--or wouldn't
be, when her wet hair was fixed up. Then he growled at himself and
abruptly turned away.
Their host stood with folded arms, surveying the mud-smeared trio with
evident distaste. Experiencing a vague sense of alien presences, Marlin
suddenly whirled, his hand clutching at the pocket in which McGruder's
automatic reposed.
A door, apparently leading to the interior of the mountain, was partly
open. Peering from the narrow aperture were three curiously repellent
faces and one of singular beauty.
Sally and the detective, crouching before the fire, turned at his
smothered exclamation. The three faced the barrage of eyes in silence
until the bearded man gestured peremptorily.
"Shut the door," he ordered.
"Come in if you must."
As they trooped into the room, Marlin caught a glimpse of a dark
passageway. The unmistakable earthy smell of a mine shaft or tunnel
reached his nostrils.
They were a nondescript group. At first glance, three of the newcomers
had appeared to be men. Marlin saw now that one was a woman. She had a
bulbous nose, bleary red eyes, and a scar that twisted one corner of
her mouth into the semblance of a grin. Her gaunt figure was swathed in
a dingy robe.
One of the men was powerful and well-knit--he looked to be a match for
Marlin himself. The other was wizened and under-sized, with a shrewd,
weasel face. Strands of greasy hair overhung his eyes, forcing him to
cock his head like a poodle in order to see. Both men had made shift
to pull their trousers over their underwear before putting in an
appearance.
In contrast to these was the fourth--a girl of perhaps eighteen with a
sweetly innocent face framed in a shimmering halo of golden hair. In
her long white robe she was a vision of ethereal loveliness. The eyes
of Marlin and McGruder instinctively fastened upon her.
* * * * *
The woman with the twisted grin cackled. "Look your fill, smarties, for
that's all you'll get. Pearl ain't for the likes of you, so don't get
ideas."
The weasel-faced man sidled forward, extending a clammy hand. "Wukkum
to our dump," he said ingratiatingly. "Meet the gang. My name's
Link--Percival B. Link for the blotter, Slinky Link to my frien's." He
jerked a thumb toward the woman. "Maw Barstow. This overgrown hunk of
meat is Bart DuChane, alias Chaney the Great. Just finished doing a
stretch for manslaughter. Oughta stuck to his crystal gazing."
The eyes of the man thus introduced glittered venomously, but his lips
forced a smile. He spoke in a controlled voice.
"I might suggest that people who discuss others too freely sometimes
meet with accidents."
Marlin studied him with a sense of taking the measure of an adversary.
"My name is Dave Marlin," he acknowledged.
"Who's your frien's?" demanded Link.
The detective replied, nodding toward the girl who had worn the
handcuffs. "Sally Camino--slickest floozie in the con-game racket. My
name's McGruder. D. A.'s office," he added significantly.
Link peered through his thatch of hair. "McGruder," he said
reflectively. "Ain't you the Len McGruder that was kicked off the force
in Columbus for hijacking? Sure! I know you!"
Marlin swung on the detective. "You're no law officer," he said. "Let's
see that badge."
"Keep your hands offa me!" the detective snarled, clutching his coat.
Sally Camino faced him in sudden fury. "You rat!" she spat at him.
"You're an even bigger phony than I guessed. Taking me across the state
line so's you could put the screws on the gang. Well, let me tell you,
fake copper, when Briscoe hears of this--"
"You one of the Briscoe mob?" demanded Link. "Why I was practic'ly
lined up with Briscoe--before I got sent up the last time. It's a small
world, ain't it?"
The girl glanced at him with repugnance. "Yeah? That just about makes
us pals, don't it?"
The irony was wasted. "Sure does," he grinned.
"How about her?" McGruder indicated the golden-haired girl.
"That's Pearl," explained Link. "She ain't all there."
"A lot you know about it!" retorted Maw Barstow. "Pearlie's brighter
than you think. Is these the ones that was comin', dearie?" she
demanded.
The girl's lips parted in a beatific smile.
"Has vishuns," explained Link. He tapped his forehead to indicate a
mysterious form of mental activity. "The old guy--he's nuts too."
This confidence was imparted in a lowered voice, but hardly low enough
to avoid being overheard.
"Who is he?" demanded McGruder.
"The name," responded the vibrant voice of the bearded man, "is Elias
Thornboldt. And your informant is perfectly correct when he assures you
that I am crazy."
The newcomers stared.
"What of it!" Thornboldt demanded, his voice rising in pitch. "I have
brains, even if they are addled. I have respectability. I should
associate with scientists--decent citizens--instead of scum. Thieves,
murderers, pickpockets, harlots--you are not nice people, not any of
you!"
He glared at the group as if challenging denial.
"With my brains," he went on, breathing heavily, "I should create a
wonderful space ship--instead of a monstrosity that was never intended
on heaven or earth. Fortunately, I know I am mad. The rest of you do
not know what vermin you are!"
Marlin felt a hand plucking at his sleeve. He glanced down to meet the
eyes of Link peering through strands of dank hair.
"We better ooze out," the creature said. "When the old gink gets
started like that he'll keep it up all night."
The passage, as Marlin had surmised, was a tunnel through the rock.
Bart DuChane led the way with a flashlight. A narrow plank walk marked
its length for something like a hundred feet. They emerged on what
seemed to be a ledge of the open mountainside. The rain was still
pouring, but an outcropping overhead partly protected the ledge. Across
the way, a rim of tall pines could be discerned against the murky sky.
"It's the hollow of an ancient crater," DuChane volunteered. "That
dark mass in the pit below--but why spoil your anticipation? Tomorrow
you'll see for yourselves." He laughed unpleasantly. "These are the
bunkhouses--ladies to the left, men to the right. Maw is a stickler for
the proprieties."
They entered a narrow shack--apparently one of several along the ledge.
There were two lower and two upper bunks. Since the lower had been
appropriated by DuChane and Link, the late comers climbed into the
upper tier.
"Looks almost as if they was expecting us--or somebody," commented
McGruder. "The old goof sorta hinted--"
"They were," chuckled DuChane. "You'd be surprised."