IX

_I Have Doubts_

Thus ended the strangest and most fascinating narrative that I had

ever heard in my entire career as a newspaperman. I sat breathless at

the very fearlessness with which the man narrated it and I could not

help but believe him. It seemed impossible for him to conjure in his

imagination, in so short a time, such a weird story. It could not have

been done even by the most versatile tellers of fabricated stories!

Long before he had finished his narrative, night had fallen and with it

had come its myriads of brilliant stars glowing overhead. So entranced

were Professor Bloch and I as he told it, that we failed to notice that

the shrouds of night were lifting in the east as the sun cast its first

vermilion rays into the darkened heavens.

Through the night the foreman had continued his tale uninterrupted and

when he eventually finished, mumbling his thanks to us, the desert

world had suddenly become brilliant with the everchanging colors of a

desert dawn. I stared intently into the glowing coals of the camp-fire,

fascinated over the strange experiences he had unfolded to us. It was

hard, very hard, to believe that tale, but somehow, it rang true. I

shuddered at the thought of the grotesque Jovians and their uncanny

powers.

The Professor remained silent lost in deep thought, apparently mulling

over the story in his scientific way. I glanced at him quickly,

expecting to see doubt written plainly on his features. Instead they

were more serious than I had ever beheld them. The foreman hung his

head in a stupor of exhaustion.

"Dowell!" Professor Bloch suddenly called to me as I sat staring into

the fire. The abruptness of his voice caused me to jump nervously.

"Yes, Professor," I answered, very glad that the awesome silence which

had settled over us after the foreman had finished his narrative, had

been broken. "I'm very much awake sir."

"My friend," said the Professor, seriously, "you have heard this

gentleman's weird story. Tell me plainly just how you have taken it. Do

not be afraid to express yourself."

"Well, Professor," I said, nervously. "It is difficult for a layman

to accept such a story without basic facts, yet I feel that certain

portions of it are true. Taking into consideration the fact that

astronomers have just about proven that life exists on certain distant

planets, it is not difficult to believe their assertions that its

development there could be much further advanced than our own in

scientific achievements. It seems quite natural that any form of

life on Jupiter would differ greatly from our own due to atmospheric

conditions and environment. As for radium, it seems quite possible

that a great quantity of it would contain more qualities than are

found in the small amounts of the metal that we have been able to

obtain. However, in my opinion there seems to be but one factor in the

narrative that has caused me to doubt a certain portion of it."

Pausing, I cast a quick glance at the mine-foreman. His head still hung

in the stupor of exhaustion. He appeared to be sleeping soundly in a

squatting position. I looked at Professor Bloch. He was regarding me

thoughtfully, chin resting on his sun-tanned fists. Then I continued:

"It seems to me, Professor," I said, eyeing him, "that if the Jovians

were immortal and could not be killed as this gentleman has related,

there could be no existing skeletal remains. You say that Dr. Jamesson

has recovered a huge skull. This man claims it fits perfectly with

the facial characteristics of the Jovians. Under those conditions it

is hard to accept that part of the narrative due to the fact that

this man says that the Jovians cannot be destroyed and yet identifies

a skull as being in exact conformity with the cranial structure of

the nonterrestrial beings. How could it be possible to recover the

skeletal remains of any creature that is allegedly immortal and

therefore immune to death?"

"Your scientific observations and opinions, my friend," Professor Bloch

said, enthusiastically, "are great for a newspaperman! I congratulate

you! Your City Editor told me that you were the best hand on the

_Outstander_ at scientific matters and I believe him. However, I have

gone over the narrative thoroughly and find in it the very same faults

you have mentioned. But I actually believe this man told the truth! The

green tint which marks his skin was undoubtedly caused by radium. I

have seen radium affliction several times and its power discolors the

human skin permanently when it is exposed to its rays for any length

of time. I agree with you when you say that radium in large quantities

must have more qualities than are known to exist in the small amounts

recovered.

"As for the huge skull which Dr. Jamesson recovered. It is my opinion

that the Jovians were not entirely immortal--that is, when they are

outside of their accustomed atmospheric conditions. It is easy to

believe that they achieved immortality on their own planet, for we

today, on this globe, are slowly approaching a period when longevity

will be increased to an astonishing degree. It is my prediction that

we, too, will some day have achieved immortality to a certain degree

inasmuch as radium is already known to have removed the cancerous

tissues of the human anatomy that cause death.

"However, I have reasons to believe that some of the Jovians were

destroyed by the peculiar atmosphere of this earth when they arrived

here. Naturally they could not be accustomed to our atmospheric

conditions and results were that only the fittest survived the rigors

of an alien planet. We must consider that years must have been consumed

before they actually succeeded in locating the underground source of

the radium deposit. Those who were unable to keep up the strenuous

pace, weighted down by the earth's own atmosphere, were quite naturally

cast aside. Some of them could not survive. Hence the skeletal remains

recovered by Dr. Jamesson!"

"But, Professor," I argued, seriously, "How could they survive the

slugs from this gentleman's gun? Such a slug as shot from his calibre

of gun would kill an elephant instantly."

"That, my friend, is one of their secrets of immortality. I do not

know how they could survive. I can merely hazard an opinion. This

man narrated that a peculiar green liquid poured from the wounds. I

am convinced, then, that a radium compound instead of blood, coursed

through their veins with power enough to heal even the most gaping

wounds instantly. Radium flowing through their anatomies would have

the power to banish the leaden slugs even as they entered. The lead,

like other lesser metals, would vanish into invisible atoms under the

embrace of radium and would therefore have no more effect upon the

Jovians than would pulverized dust. But great heat, alien atmospheric

conditions or some tremendous violence, would actually destroy a Jovian

if he were not of the most hardy sort. I feel certain of that, my

friend!"

* * * * *

We remained all that day at the camp by the Mesquite Springs. After

a hurried breakfast we lay down and slept until late afternoon. The

heat was terrific and it beat down upon me with deadening effect. I

slept through it, dreaming terrible dreams. Eventually I was awakened

by Professor Bloch who had already prepared a light lunch. The

mine-foreman was holding a pan of sizzling bacon over a tiny fire while

the Professor set other victuals on the tail of the buckboard. I rubbed

my eyes sleepily and tilted my hat forward to keep the burning sun from

searing my face.

"We almost left you, Dowell." Professor Bloch laughed, good naturedly.

"You were sleeping so sound and dreaming so pleasantly that I hated to

disturb you, but our friend here thought it best to take you along."

"I'd just as soon die from the heat there, I guess, as melt completely

here. Let's eat! I want to get back to Los Angeles. The City Editor is

reserving a room for me in the ice-house!"

"Very well, we're starting now."

Immediately after lunch we started across the Valley toward the

mysterious red streak of table-land that marked the Manalava Plain.

For hours we rode in the bouncing buckboard--for hours, it seemed, we

walked along side of it to relieve the laboring animals. The sun beat

down with terrific intensity and the heat waves danced blindingly from

the sand.

Eventually we found it necessary to continue on foot, leaving the

burros and the buckboard in a little, partly sheltered arroyo. About

noon we arrived at what the foreman claimed to be the spot where he and

Sands had located the radium pool. The surface of the Manalava Plain

was a jumble of broken rocks and a maze of wide crevices. We stared at

a deep crater-like depression before us but it was void of anything in

the form of liquid. Nothing but boulders lay in its basin and the sides

had crumbled in steep, loose rock-slides!

For what seemed ages, we searched around the surface for some opening

that might lead us down into the deserted tunnels and chambers of the

Jovians. None could be found. Evidence of some great, recent upheaval

was everywhere and search as we did we could locate no avenue by which

we might enter the strange underground world.

Presently Professor Bloch decided that the underground domain had

been destroyed completely by the upheaval, caused no doubt, by the

tremendous force of the radium in propelling the space-traveler from

this earth. Disconsolately we trailed back to the buckboard.

When we eventually returned to Los Angeles, Professor Bloch refused to

make a public statement regarding the foreman's strange experiences,

and I was henceforth unable to submit the narrative for publication

in the _Outstander_. I did, however, write an account of Dr.

Jamesson's discovery of the peculiar skull and hinted indirectly at

its remote connection with the chain of evolution on this globe, and

the possibility of this world being invaded at some future period by

Martians, Jovians or Venusians, but the _Outstander_ published only a

few garbled paragraphs that were unintelligible and valueless.

One thing Professor Bloch did say was that if money and inventive skill

could be obtained an attempt might be made to go to Jupiter to rescue

the unfortunate trio. If such a thing were to happen I will be one of

the crew.

_The Phantom of Terror_

I

_The Phantom_

Professor Jerome Mortenson, hunched over the work bench in his private

laboratory, looked around suspiciously at the sound of stealthy feet

behind him, and found himself looking into the cold, unwavering muzzle

of an automatic. The masked, midnight intruder who held the weapon in

a steady hand, halted abruptly in his tracks and crouched tensely. He

breathed hard, making the only sounds audible in the instrument-filled

room.

"Stand up, professor!" the intruder said coldly. "Don't try anything!"

Mortenson eyed the man calmly from head to foot, his gray, penetrating

eyes trying hard to see behind the polka-dotted 'kerchief that hid the

fellow's features from the bridge of his nose downward. All that he

saw, however, were a pair of beady eyes, flashing with deadly earnest,

a muscular figure that filled a well-cut brown suit, polished black

oxfords and a white flannel cap, the latter pulled rakishly down

over the right temple. The man's eyes fascinated him for a moment. A

devilish light seemed to radiate from them with almost stunning force.

They gave him the aspect of a dangerous man.

"What do you want?" Mortenson grumbled, appraising him.

The intruder chuckled softly, never once removing his steady gaze from

the apprehensive features of his victim. He fumbled into a side pocket

of his coat and brought out a scrap of wrinkled newspaper which he

handed to the scientist with an insolent shrug.

"You should have had better sense, professor," he said coldly, "than to

tell the world that you had discovered a way to penetrate and enter the

Fifth Dimension!"

Mortenson reached out for the paper, a startled look in his eyes now.

His hand trembled suddenly as he unfolded the clipping and glanced over

it.

"I presume you refer to my interview with the editor of the _Journal_?"

he inquired, controlling his anger and fear. "What has that to do with

you?"

"Plenty!" the fellow snapped, advancing a step. "I want the apparatus

you used to enter the Fifth Dimension!"

"You must be crazy," Mortenson gasped weakly. "You could never make use

of it!"

The intruder grunted and Mortenson heard the click of the safety catch

as the man's thumb slid along the side of his automatic.

"That's where you come in!" he said curtly. "You're going to see that I

_can_ make use of it."

"What do you mean?" the scientist asked innocently.

"You know what I mean!" the man hissed sharply. "Don't try to pull

that _innocent_ stuff on me. You're going to hand over your Fifth

Dimensional apparatus with instructions on how to use it. Now hop!"

"You don't know what you're doing," Mortenson argued desperately. "You

must be insane!"

"Don't I?" the man jeered. "What do you think I came here for?"

"The apparatus, of course," said Mortenson, glancing about him

furtively in search of a handy hammer or a weapon, "but, good Lord,

man, you must be fond of trouble!"

"I'm used to it!" the intruder snarled. "And I'm giving you two minutes

to hand it over!"

"That interview did not tell what actually exists in the Fifth

Dimension," the scientist said dryly. "It's a terrible, invisible world

filled with strange beasts that would tear a man to pieces, should he

be caught there."

"You're a calm liar, professor!" the other jeered venomously. "It says

plainly that the Fifth Dimension is nothing more than a curtain of

invisibility!"

"Of course," Mortenson replied evenly. "I said that, because I did not

want to frighten narrow-minded people with the knowledge that on every

side lurk weird, ferocious man-beasts that would annihilate them, were

it possible for them to emerge from behind the veil that hides the

Fifth Dimension from human vision."

The intruder glared at him, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then he

shrugged his broad shoulders decisively.

"You've got one more minute to deliver the goods, professor!" he

barked. "I want the apparatus and instructions on how to operate it.

Now sit down at your typewriter and pound 'em out!"

"It's all right with me, young fellow," said Mortenson resignedly,

"if you want to seal your own doom. That's what you are going to do

if you do some criminal act and place yourself in the Fifth Dimension

to escape apprehension. It's your life, not mine. You won't listen to

reason. I hate to see it...."

"Shut up!" the other growled. "Sit down and write fast!"

"If I should refuse?" Mortenson paused at his typewriter.

"Then I'll drill you," the intruder snapped, tensing.

Mortenson hadn't a qualm of doubt but that the fellow would kill him

in cold blood if he refused. And Mortenson had a great desire to live.

He had just discovered a way to penetrate, neutralize and enter the

invisible world of the Fifth Dimension. He was on the verge of doing

great things in the world of science, and he had no intentions of

removing himself from it by refusing the demands of this daring crook

who was, doubtless, as dangerous as he was fearless.

As he sat down at the typewriter he had a sudden feeling that he would

be doing the law-abiding citizenry a great favor by meekly writing out

instructions as to how to operate the Fifth Dimensional apparatus. The

daring crook would undoubtedly meet his just deserts, if he ventured

behind the veil into the mysterious world of the Fifth Dimension. The

law of man would not be required, he thought, to bring the man to

justice. What lay beyond would see to that.

He shivered a trifle as he thought of it. Swiftly his fingers flew over

the typewriter. Meanwhile the crook stood over him, glaring hostilely,

his gun in readiness to send instant death into the man whose life had

been spent delving into the mysteries of the dimensions. The ignorant

fellow could not know what was in store for him, and he had refused to

listen to cold reason. Mortenson's warning had come from the heart. He

had seen what lay behind the veil, and had been so sick and nauseated

at what he saw, that he had slept little for some nights thereafter.

But let the obstinate fellow go.

Mortenson yanked a sheet of paper from his typewriter, glancing over it

quickly and stood erect.

"There you are, my friend," he said with a shrug. "The instructions are

full and complete. I'll get the apparatus for you."

"Mortenson," the man snapped coldly. "If you've bunked me I'll come

back and blast you into hell! Get that?"

"Never fear, young man," the scientist said, eyeing the fellow

squarely. "The instructions are perfect and simple. Follow them to your

doom. Now for the apparatus...."

"Just a minute, professor," the crook cut in. "You got any plans for

the apparatus?"

Mortenson glanced at him shrewdly, suspiciously. He shook his head.

"No, I have not," he lied glibly. "I have no way of duplicating the

apparatus, if that's what you mean."

"That's it exactly," the other sneered. "If you're lying--"

"I'm not!" the scientist grumbled. "I have not yet had time to make

plans or illustrations. Not getting cold feet, are you?"

The man laughed peculiarly.

"Do I look yellow?" he grunted.

Mortenson agreed silently that he certainly did not look like a coward.

But maybe the yellow streak would show up afterward, when it was too

late to save himself. He smiled grimly and turned his back on the man.

Quickly he strode to a big steel vault that stood in one corner of the

room. The doors hung open. He bent over and removed a strange-looking

helmet and an oval apparatus to which was attached a wide metal belt.

Wires ran down from the helmet and hung loosely with small plugs

dangling at the ends. In front of the helmet were firmly attached two

projecting tubes. With the helmet in place on a man's head, these tubes

fitted in front of the eyes, like field glasses.

The crook appraised the apparatus calmly. He displayed not a trace

of excitement now, but Mortenson's blood pounded at his temples. He

did not object to handing over his instruments, if they were to cause

justice to place the hand of doom on the man who was robbing him and

who had and would rob others. Within ten days he could construct other

sets. The plans were in a safe-deposit vault in the bank. Mortenson

was nobody's fool, though it had not entered his mind when he gave the

_Journal_ editor the interview, that his inventions would ever fall

into the hands of the underworld. He was vaguely sorry now that he had

allowed the news to be published, but it was too late for regret now.

The thing was done.

"There you are, young fellow," he said, placing the apparatus in a heap

on the bench. "Take it and be damned to you!"

"I didn't figure to get it so easy," the crook said, advancing toward

the bench. "I've got a hunch you're trying to be smart!"

He glared at the scientist evilly, his fiery eyes glittering like the

pink orbs of a snake.

"How do you put this stuff on?" he added with a snap.

"Helmet over the head, cylinders in front at the eyes," said Mortenson,

hiding a grin. "Belt around the waist with attachment at the back. Plug

the wires into the oval unit and send yourself into hell!"

"Funny, aren't you?" the fellow growled. "Is that all?"

"Wait and see!" Mortenson mused.

"If you're pulling a fast one ... here! Take this to remember what'll

happen to you if you are!"

The crook stepped forward suddenly. Before Mortenson had time to move

the automatic crashed with a thud on his head. He sank to the floor

with a groan, a terrible roar in his brain, great, dancing lights

spinning before his dazed eyes. The intruder looked at him once,

stepped over the still body and picked up the apparatus. With a pleased

grin he made for the door and vanished into the night.