_A Nation Waits in Dread_
As Prester Kleig, looking twice his forty years because of fatigue, and
almost nameless terrors through which he had passed, went to his
rendezvous, the news-gatherer, who shall here remain nameless, raced for
the Broadcasting Tower.
As Prester Kleig entered the Secret Room and at a signal all the many
doors behind him, along that interminable stairway, swung shut and were
tightly locked, the news-gatherer raced for the microphone and gave the
"priority" signal to the operator. Millions of people would not only
hear the words of the news-gatherer, but would see him, note the
expressions which chased one another across his face. For television was
long since an accomplished, everyday fact.
"Prester Kleig, of this government's Secret Service, has just returned
to the United Americas! Your informer has just seen him step from the
monoplane of Carlos Kane, atop the Capitol Building, and repair at once
to the Secret Room, closely guarded. But I saw his face, and though he
is under forty, he seems twice that. And you know now what this country
has only guessed at before--that he has seen Moyen. Moyen the half-man,
half-god, the enigma of the ages. What does Prester Kleig think of this
man? He doesn't say, for he dares not speak, yet. But your informer saw
his face, and it is old and twisted with terror! And--"
* * * * *
That ended the discourse of the news-gatherer, and it was many hours
before the public really understood. For, with a new sentence but half
completed, the picture of the news-gatherer faded blackly off the
screens in a million homes, and his voice was blotted out by a humming
that mounted to a terrific appalling shriek! Some terrible agency, about
which people who knew their radio could only guess, had drowned out the
words of the news-gatherer, leaving the public stunned and bewildered,
almost groping before a feeling of terror which was all the more
unbearable because none could give it a name.
And the public had heard but a fraction of the truth--merely that Kleig
had come back. It had been the intention of the government to deny the
public even this knowledge, and it had; but knowledge of the denial
itself was public property, which filled the hearts of men and women all
through the Western Hemisphere with nameless dread. And over all this
abode of countless millions hovered the shadow of Moyen.
The government tried to correct the impression which the news-gatherer
had given out.
"Prester Kleig is back," said the radio, while the government speaker
tried, for the benefit of those who could see him, to smile
reassuringly. "But there is nothing to cause anyone the slightest
concern. He has seen Moyen, yes, and has heard him speak, but still
there is nothing to distress anyone, and the whole story will be given
to you as soon as possible. Kleig has gone into the Secret Room, yes,
but every operative of the government, when discussing business
connected with diplomatic relations with foreign powers, is received in
the Secret Room. No cause for worry!"
* * * * *
It was so easy to say that, and the speaker realized it, which was why
he could but with difficulty make his smile seem reassuring.
"Tell us the truth, and tell us quickly," might have been the voiceless
cries of those who listened and saw the face and fidgeting form of the
speaker. But the words were not spoken, because the people sensed a
hovering horror, a dread catastrophe beyond the power of words to
express--and so looked at one another in silence, their eyes wide with
dread, their hearts throbbing to suffocation with nameless foreboding.
So eyes were horror-haunted, and men walked, flew, and rode in fear and
trembling--while, down in the Secret Room, Prester Kleig and a dozen old
men, men wise in the ways of science and invention, wise in the ways of
men and of beasts, of Nature and the Infinite Outside, decided the fate
of the Nation.
That Secret Room was closed to every one. Not even the news-gatherers
could reach it; not even the all-seeing eye of the telephotograph
emblazoned to the world its secrets.
But _was_ it secret?
Perhaps Moyen, the master mobster, smiled when he heard men say so, men
who knew in their hearts that Moyen regarded other earthlings as
earthlings regard children and their toys. Did the eyes of Moyen gaze
even into the depths of the Secret Room, hundreds of feet below even the
documentary-treasure vaults of the Capitol?
* * * * *
No one knew the answer to the question, but the radio, reporting the
return of Kleig, had given the public a distorted vision of an embodied
fear, and in its heart the public answered "Yes!" And what had drowned
out the voice of the radio-reporter?
No wonder that, for many hours, a nation waited in fear and trembling,
eyes filled with dread that was nameless and absolute, for word from the
Secret Room. Fear mounted and mounted as the hours passed and no word
came.
In that room Prester Kleig and the twelve old men, one of whom was the
country's President, held counsel with the man who had come back. But
before the spoken counsel had been held, awesome and awe-inspiring
pictures had flashed across the screen, invented by a third of the old
men, from which the world held no secrets, even the secrets of Moyen.
With this mechanism, guarded at forfeit of the lives of a score of men,
the men of the Secret Room could peer into even the most secret places
of the world. The old men had peered, and had seen things which had
blanched their pale cheeks anew. And when they had finished, and the
terrible pictures had faded out, a voice had spoken suddenly, like an
explosion, in the Secret Room.
"Well, gentlemen, are you satisfied that resistance is futile?"
Just the voice; but to one man in the Secret Room, and to the others
when his numbing lips spoke the name, it was far more than enough. For
not even the wisest of the great men could explain how, as they knew,
having just seen him there, a man could be in Madagascar while his voice
spoke aloud in the Secret Room, where even radio was barred!
The name on the lips of Prester Kleig!
"Moyen! Moyen!"