The other made no reply, but threw a hidden switch. Perry, lying flat on

his back on the ancient table, suddenly found himself being bathed by

what seemed to be a ray of light, and yet was not a ray of light. What

was it? It was surely not visible, yet it was tangible. A terrific force

was emanating from that devilish globe above him, drawing him out of

himself--or--no--was he expanding? Again his ears became filled with

confused, horrible sounds, the outlines of the room faded from sight,

he felt a strange sense of inflation ... of lightness.... Oblivion!

* * * * *

From where the others sat a gasp of wonder went up. At the first contact

of the switch there had been a momentary flash of greenish light within

the bulb, and then a swift transition to a beautiful orange. It had then

faded altogether, leaving the glass apparently inert and inactive.

But it was not so! The form lying beneath the bulb was evidently being

racked with untold tortures. The face became a thing of horror. Now it

had twisted into a grotesque semblance of Handlon's--now it again

resembled Perry's. The Professor quietly increased the pressure of the

current. From the bulb emanated a steel gray exhalation of what must be

termed light, and yet so real it was seemingly material. Assuredly it

was not a ray of light as we understand light. It came in great beating

throbs, in which the actual vibrations were entirely visible. Under each

impact the body of Perry seemed to change, slowly at first, then with

increasing speed. The body was now swelled to enormous size. Bland

reached forward to touch it.

"This de-cohering influence," the Professor was murmuring, almost

raptly, "causes the atoms that go to make a living body repel one

another. When the body is sufficiently nebulized, the soul--Back! Back,

you fool!" he suddenly shrieked, grasping Bland by the arm. "Do you want

to kill him?"

Bland hurriedly retreated, convinced perforce that Kell's alarm was

genuine. The editorial fingers had penetrated the subject's garments

without resistance and sank into the body as easily as if it were so

much soft soap!

* * * * *

The body continued to expand until at length even the hard-headed

plainclothesman realized that it had been reduced to a mere vapor.

Within this horrid vaporized body, which nearly filled the room and

which had now lost all semblance to a man, could be discerned two faint

shapes. Swiftly the Professor extinguished the lantern. The shapes,

vague though they were, could be recognized as those of Horace Perry and

Skip Handlon. And they were at strife!

All eyes were now focused on Professor Kell, who was evidently waiting

for something to happen. The two apparitions within the body-cloud were

at death grips. One had been overcome and was temporarily helpless. It

was that of Handlon. And then again the astral of Perry forcibly ousted

that of Handlon from the cloud-cyst. And at that instant Professor Kell

shut off the influence-tube.

At once a terrific metamorphosis took place. There came a sharp sound

almost like a clap of thunder, with the slight exception that this was

occasioned by exactly the reverse effect. Instead of being an

_ex_plosion it might more properly be termed an _in_plosion, for the

mist-cloud suddenly vanished. The de-cohering influence having been

removed, the cloud had condensed into the form of Perry. Apparently none

the worse, he was even now beginning to recover consciousness. The

astral of Handlon was no longer visible, though hovering in the

vicinity.

Perry's body was again his own.

* * * * *

At this time Jimmie O'Hara elected to start something new by hitting the

Professor a workmanlike blow on the back of the head with the butt of

his automatic. The next thing Bland or anyone else present knew the

unconscious body of the Professor was on the table and Jimmie was

groping for the concealed switch. At length he found it, and the green

flash of light appeared in the bulb, followed by the brilliant orange

manifestation.

"What in hell are you doing?" gasped Bland.

"De-astralizing the Professor," replied O'Hara cheerfully. "Don't you

get the idea yet? Watch!"

Fascinated, the four men saw the terrific emanation take its baleful

effect. As before, the body commenced to expand and gradually took on a

misty outline. Larger and larger it grew, until finally it had become a

vast cloud of intangible nothingness which filled the room like some

evil nebula.

A cry of consternation from the detective aroused Jimmie. Skip Handlon's

astral had appeared within the field of the nebula to fight for

possession. There ensued what was perhaps the weirdest encounter ever

witnessed. Though he was in poor physical shape, the Professor seemed to

have an extremely powerful astral; and for some time the spectators

despaired of Handlon's victory. Once the latter, evidently realizing

that the powerful influence tube had rendered him visible, glanced

sharply in Jimmie's direction. O'Hara was considerably puzzled at this,

but watched the progress of the struggle tensely. At length the moment

seemed to arrive which the reporter's astral had been awaiting. It

turned tail and fled away from the astral of the Professor, disappearing

beyond the outer confines of the nebula.

Jimmie suddenly divined the other's purpose and dived for the hidden

switch. As he had anticipated, Handlon had finally given up the attempt

to overcome the astral of Kell by force and had made up his mind to

accomplish his end by strategy. Almost on the instant that Jimmie's hand

closed on the switch the reporter's astral again leaped into the field

of the nebula. Fiercely it signalled to the former second story man to

shut off the current, but the admonition was unnecessary, for Jimmie had

already done so.

* * * * *

Swiftly the cloud-cyst faded. Even as the group caught a fleeting sight

of Skip Handlon, the last that mortal eyes would ever see of him as he

actually was, there came a violent disturbance at the edge of the

shrinking nebula. Would the speed of condensation of the atoms which

comprised the body of Professor Kell serve to shut out the pursuing

astral of Kell?

Even Bland held his breath!

The cloud lost its luminous quality, the action of condensation

increasing in speed. It was barely visible in the enshrouding gloom. An

astral had long since been enveloped within the rapidly accumulating

substance. Came a sudden clap of sound as before, and the final act of

resolution had been accomplished. Whether the Professor had succeeded in

regaining a position within the cloud-cyst before the crucial second

none could say.

Jimmie relighted the lantern. Apparently the effect of the love tap

administered by his automatic was more or less of a lasting character,

and the men were put to some ado to restore the body of Kell to

consciousness. At length their efforts began to bear fruit, however, and

it became expedient to remove the patient to the softer couch in the

sitting room below. As they moved forward to lay hold of the limp body a

figure appeared in the doorway to the hall. It was the plainclothesman,

Riley.

"How about getting under way for town," he wanted to know. "Is the old

party croaked yet? Miss Manion has had a fierce time and says she won't

stay near this house another minute. I don't like this place myself

either. Do you know I just got kicked by a poll parrot? Let's get away

from here."

"Hold on, Riley, what are you talking about?" growled Bland. "Kicked by

a poll parrot! You're--"

"That's all right, Chief," broke in the now thoroughly cheerful Perry.

"That jackass I shot could probably have told us all about it. I

positively know the beast could talk."

"Humph!" snorted Bland, "Well, if a donkey can talk, and a bull can

bite, and a hound can hook, why shouldn't a parrot--Judas Priest, I'm

getting as crazy as the rest of you! Hurry up and get Kell downstairs so

we can see who he is. There I go again! Oh, go lie down, Riley."

"But look, Bland, look!" Riley was pointing a demoralized finger at a

cage in the corner. He tugged frantically at Bland's coat sleeve. "See

what's in there, won't you? I--well, I did find some liquor in your car,

and Miss Manion made me take some. I--I didn't know it would do this to

me. Look in there; please, Mr. Bland!"

* * * * *

Bland gave Riley a dark look, but nevertheless he reached for O'Hara's

flashlight. In the cage two yellow eyes blinked sleepily out at him.

Perry began to laugh.

"Why, there's nothing in there but a cat. Skip and I heard it purring

when we first came in here this afternoon. Guess Riley--"

"Great God, Jimmie, give me your gun!" Hard Boiled Bland for the moment

failed to merit his sobriquet. The torch in his hand threw a trembling

beam full into the cage. "It's a snake! And--there! It's doing it

again!"

A snake it was, indubitably, a huge black specimen with bright yellow

stripes. Bland's frenzied yell seemed not to have excited it at all, for

now the sleek fellow had arched its body neatly and was calmly licking

its sides with a long forked tongue. After a moment it halted the

operation long enough to rub its jaw against a bar of its cage, and gave

vent to a sociable mew!

Even this could not dash the spirits of Horace Perry. He laughed

delightedly again as he laid Bland by the arm.

"That creature is perfectly harmless, Chief," he told the editor.

"Somewhere I suppose there's a mighty dangerous kitty cat at large, but

there's no sense in taking it out on this poor reptile. Let's live and

let live."

With a show of reluctance Bland returned Jimmie's automatic, then strode

over to where lay the form of Kell. Perry and O'Hara lingered by the

cage long enough to arrange a plan to let the snake out doors as soon as

opportunity offered, after which they joined their Chief. Riley went

out to resume his vigil in Bland's car, while his fellow sleuth prepared

to light the way downstairs. Under his guidance the sick man was carried

below without mishap.

Downstairs the now conscious form of the venerable Professor was laid

out on the ancient sofa until his senses could clear a bit. Presently

the eyelids fluttered open and a feeble voice asked, "Where the deuce am

I, and how did all you guys get here?"

* * * * *

A joyous gasp went up. That voice! Although uttered in somewhat the same

vocal quality as Kell's the intonation and accents had strangely

altered. O'Hara leaned eagerly over the figure on the couch. The

question he asked was startling in its incongruity:

"How are you feeling, _Skip_!"

"Rotten," was the reply from the lips of Kell. "What hit me such a crack

on the dome? I feel as if I had been dragged through a knot-hole. Lemme

up."

"Stay still," commanded O'Hara, kindly but firmly. "You aren't fit to

move yet. You are going on a long ride and will need your strength.

Don't talk, either."

A half-hour later they left the house. In the front yard the editor

called a hasty conclave which included the entire party. Hard Boiled

Bland has never been known to talk so much at a stretch, before or

since.

"Before we start back," he began, "we had better come to an understanding.

In the first place--Skip, come over here a minute."

Norma Manion uttered an involuntary cry of fear as the aged form of Kell

passed by her. Skip's instant response to his name had, of course, been

perfectly natural to him. But it had an odd effect on the others.

"Miss Manion, and gentlemen," Bland went on, with a bow of mock

ceremony, "I want you to meet Mister--er, Mister--oh hell, call him

Saunders. This is Mr. Kenneth Saunders, ladies and gentlemen. When he

gets a shave and has his new face patched up I believe you will like his

appearance much more than you do now.

"Seriously though, folks, I hope that with a little fixing up the

gentleman will hardly resemble Professor Anton Kell. Kell is dead.

Obviously, however, this gentleman can hardly continue his existence as

Skip Handlon. Hence--well, hence Mr. Saunders. And don't forget the

name.

"Now another little matter. This house has proven a curse to humanity.

What has transpired here need never be known. Would it not be the wiser

to eliminate all traces of to-night's happenings? There is a way." He

looked significantly at the others.

* * * * *

"You mean--" began Perry.

"That we destroy all traces of Professor Kell's villainy. Although he is

no more, still someone might notice that _his body actively remains_.

And no one wants to do any explaining."

"It's the only way we can protect Handlon," one of the sleuths

ruminated, half to himself. "No judge would ever believe a word about

this de-astralization business. The chances are we would all go to the

booby hatch and Handlon would go to prison for Kell's crimes."

"There were four of us that witnessed the fact of the--the soul

transfusion, though," Perry objected. "Wouldn't that be enough to clear

Skip? Besides, wouldn't it be possible for us to lead a jury out here

and duplicate the experiment?"

"Too much undesirable publicity," growled Bland, who for once in his

life had found reason to keep something good out of the headlines. "What

do you say, people?"

"I move we move," from the detective who had had the uncomfortable job

of attending to Norma Manion.

"Gentleman, I believe we understand each other," said Jimmie quietly.

"Now I am going into the barn"--significantly--"to see if everything's

all right. While I am there something _might_ happen. You understand?"

The others nodded silent assent.

* * * * *

In the snug seat of Jimmie's speedster Norma Manion shivered as she

followed the direction indicated by her companion's finger. It was that

darkest hour which comes just before the dawn.

To the westward could be perceived a dull, red glow, which, even as they

watched with fascinated eyes, developed into an intense glare. Gradually

the fading stars became eclipsed in the greater glory.

Three cars, motors throbbing as if eager to be gone, stood a space apart

on the main road. The car behind O'Hara's was the Manion machine, now

occupied by Bland and Riley. The remaining one was a touring car and

contained the balance of the party. Perry was at the wheel, and beside

him sat the Handlon-Kell-Saunders combination.

"Thus passes a den of horror," whispered Jimmie to his companion.

"It is the funeral pyre of my father," the girl answered simply. She had

long since recovered from her initial outburst of grief at her loss, and

now watched the progress of the conflagration dry-eyed. At length Jimmie

slipped an arm protectingly about the trembling shoulders.

"You have seen enough," he said. As the three cars raced from the scene

of the holocaust, faint streamers in the east told of the rising orb of

day.

"Good-by, Keegan, forever," murmured Norma.

"Amen," O'Hara devoutedly agreed.

From the Ocean's Depths

_By Sewell Peaslee Wright_

Man came from the sea. Mercer, by his thought-telegraph, learns

from the weirdly beautiful ocean-maiden of a branch that

returned there.

[Illustration: _Her head was a little to one side, in the attitude of one

who listens intently._]

From somewhere out on the black, heaving Atlantic, the rapid, muffled

popping of a speed-boat's exhaust drifted clearly through the night.

I dropped my book and stretched, leaning back more comfortably in my

chair. There was real romance and adventure! Rum-runners, seeking out

their hidden port with their cargo of contraband from Cuba. Heading

fearlessly through the darkness, fighting the high seas, still running

after the storm of a day or so before, daring a thousand dangers for the

sake of the straw-packed bottles they carried. Sea-bronzed men, with

hard, flat muscles and fearless eyes; ready guns slapping their thighs

as they--

Absorbed in my mental picture of these modern free-booters, the sudden

alarm of the telephone startled me like an unexpected shot fired beside

my ear. Brushing the cigarette ashes from my smoking-jacket, I crossed

the room and snatched up the receiver.

"Hello!" I snapped ungraciously into the mouthpiece. It was after eleven

by the ship's clock on the mantel, and if--

"Taylor?" The voice--Warren Mercer's familiar voice--rattled on without

waiting for a reply. "Get in your car and come down here as fast as

possible. Come just as you are, and--"

* * * * *

"What's the matter?" I managed to interrupt him. "Burglars?" I had never

heard Mercer speak in that high-pitched, excited voice before; his usual

speech was slow and thoughtful, almost didactic.

"Please, Taylor, don't waste time questioning me. If it weren't urgent,

I wouldn't be calling you, you know. Will you come?"

"You bet!" I said quickly, feeling rather a fool for ragging him when he

was in such deadly earnest. "Have--"

The receiver snapped and crackled; Mercer had hung up the instant he had

my assurance that I would come. Usually the very soul of courtesy and

consideration, that act alone would have convinced me that there was an

urgent need for my presence at The Monstrosity. That was Mercer's own

name for the impressive pile that was at once his residence and his

laboratory.

I threw off the smoking-jacket and pulled on a woolen golfing sweater,

for the wind was brisk and sharpish. In two minutes I was backing the

car out of the garage; a moment later I was off the gravelled drive and

tearing down the concrete with the accelerator all the way down, and the

black wind shrieking around the windshield of my little roadster.

My own shack was out of the city limits--a little place I keep to live

in when the urge to go fishing seizes me, which is generally about twice

a year. Mercer picked the place up for me at a song.

The Monstrosity was some four miles further out from town, and off the

highway perhaps a half-mile more.

I made the four miles in just a shade over that many minutes, and

clamped on the brakes as I saw the entrance to the little drive that led

toward the sea, and Mercer's estate.

* * * * *

With gravel rattling on my fenders, I turned off the concrete and swept

between the two massive, stuccoed pillars that guarded the drive. Both

of them bore corroded bronze plates, "The Billows," the name given The

Monstrosity by the original owner, a newly-rich munitions manufacturer.

The structure itself loomed up before me in a few seconds, a rambling

affair with square-shouldered balconies and a great deal of wrought-iron

work, after the most flamboyant Spanish pattern. It was ablaze with

light. Apparently every bulb in the place was burning.

Just a few yards beyond the surf boomed hollowly on the smooth, shady

shore, littered now, I knew, by the pitiful spoils of the storm.

As I clamped on my brakes, a swift shadow passed two of the lower

windows. Before I could leap from the car, the broad front door, with

its rounded top and circular, grilled window, was flung wide, and Mercer

came running to meet me.

He was wearing a bathrobe, hastily flung on over a damp bathing suit,

his bare legs terminating in a pair of disreputable slippers.

"Fine, Taylor!" he greeted me. "I suppose you're wondering what it's all

about. I don't blame you. But come in, come in! Just wait till you see

her!"

"Her?" I asked, startled. "You're not in love, by any chance, and

bringing me down here like this merely to back up your own opinion of

them eyes and them lips, Mercer?"

* * * * *

He laughed excitedly.

"You'll see, you'll see! No, I'm not in love. And I want you to help,

and not admire. There are only Carson and myself here, you know, and the

job's too big for the two of us." He hurried me across the broad

concrete porch and into the house. "Throw the cap anywhere and come

on!"

Too much amazed to comment further, I followed my friend. This was a

Warren Mercer I did not know. Usually his clean-cut, olive-tinted face

was a polite mask that seldom showed even the slightest trace of

emotion. His eyes, dark and large, smiled easily, and shone with

interest, but his almost beautiful mouth, beneath the long slim

mustache, always closely cropped, seldom smiled with his eyes.

But it was his present excited speech that amazed me most. Mercer,

during all the years I had known him, had never been moved before to

such tempestuous outbursts of enthusiasm. It was his habit to speak

slowly and thoughtfully, in his low, musical voice; even in the midst of

our hottest arguments, and we had had many of them, his voice had never

lost its calm, unhurried gentleness.

To my surprise, instead of leading the way to the really comfortable,

although rather gaudy living room, Mercer turned to the left, towards

what had been the billiard room, and was now his laboratory.

The laboratory, brilliantly illuminated, was littered, as usual, with

apparatus of every description. Along one wall were the retorts, scales,

racks, hoods and elaborate set-ups, like the articulated glass and

rubber bones of some weird prehistoric monster, that demonstrated

Mercer's taste for this branch of science. On the other side of the room

a corresponding workbench was littered with a tangle of coils,

transformers, meters, tools and instruments, and at the end of the

room, behind high black control panels, with gleaming bus-bars and

staring, gaping meters, a pair of generators hummed softly. The other

end of the room was nearly all glass, and opened onto the patio and the

swimming pool.

* * * * *

Mercer paused a moment, with his hand on the knob of the door, a strange

light in his dark eyes.

"Now you'll see why I called you here," he said tensely. "You can judge

for yourself whether the trip was worth while. Here she is!"

With a gesture he flung open the door, and I stared, following his

glance, down at the great tiled swimming pool.

It is difficult for me to describe the scene. The patio was not large,

but it was beautifully done. Flowers and shrubs, even a few small palms,

grew in profusion in the enclosure, while above, through the movable

glass roof--made in sections to disappear in fine weather--was the empty

blackness of the sky.

None of the lights provided for the illumination of the covered patio

was turned on, but all the windows surrounding the patio were aglow, and

I could see the pool quite clearly.

The pool--and its occupant.

* * * * *

We were standing at one side of the pool, near the center. Directly

opposite us, seated on the bottom of the pool, was a human figure, nude

save for a great mass of tawny hair that fell about her like a silken

mantle. The strangely graceful figure of a girl, one leg stretched out

straight before her, the other drawn up and clasped by the interlocked

fingers of her hands. Even in the soft light I could see her perfectly,

through the clear water, her pale body outlined sharply against the jade

green tiles.

I tore myself away from the staring, curious eyes of the figure.

"In God's name, Mercer, what is it? Porcelain?" I asked hoarsely. The

thing had an indescribably eery effect.

He laughed wildly.

"Porcelain? Watch ... _look_!"

My eyes followed his pointing finger. The figure was moving. Gracefully

it arose to its full height. The great cloud of corn-colored hair

floated down about it, falling below the knees. Slowly, with a grace of

movement comparable only with the slow soaring of a gull, she came

toward me, walking on the bottom of the pool through the clear water as

though she floated in air.

* * * * *

Fascinated, I watched her. Her eyes, startlingly large and dark in the

strangely white face, were fixed on mine. There was nothing sinister in

the gaze, yet I felt my body shaking as though in the grip of a terrible

fear. I tried to look away, and found myself unable to move. I felt

Mercer's tense, sudden grip upon my arm, but I did not, could not, look

at him.

"She--she's smiling!" I heard him exclaim. He laughed, an excited,

high-pitched laugh that irritated me in some subtle way.

She was smiling, and looking up into my eyes. She was very close now,

within a few feet of us. She came still closer, until she was at my very

feet as I stood on the raised ledge that ran around the edge of the

pool, her head thrown back, staring straight up at me through the

water.

I could see her teeth, very white between her coral-pink lips, and her

bosom rising and falling beneath the veil of pale gold hair. She was

breathing _water_!

Mercer literally jerked me away from the edge of the pool.

"What do you think of her, Taylor?" he asked, his dark eyes dancing with

excitement.

"Tell me about it," I said, shaking my head dazedly. "She is not

human?"

"I don't know. I think so. As human as you or I. I'll tell you all I

know, and then you can judge for yourself. I think we'll know in a few

minutes, if my plans work out. But first slip on a bathing suit."

I didn't argue the matter. I let Mercer lead me away without a word. And

while I was changing, he told me all he knew of the strange creature in

the pool.

* * * * *

"Late this afternoon I decided to go for a little walk along the beach,"

Mercer began. "I had been working like the devil since early in the

morning, running some tests on what you call my thought-telegraph. I

felt the need of some fresh sea air.

"I walked along briskly for perhaps five minutes, keeping just out of

reach of the rollers and the spray. The shore was littered with all

sorts of flotsam and jetsam washed up by the big storm, and I was just

thinking that I would have to have a man with a truck come and clean up

the shore in front of the place, when, in a little sandy pool, I

saw--_her_.

* * * * *

"She was laying face down in the water, motionless, her head towards the

sea, one arm stretched out before her, and her long hair wrapped around

her like a half-transparent cloak.

"I ran up and lifted her from the water. Her body was cold, and deathly

white, although her lips were faintly pink, and her heart was beating,

faintly but steadily.

"Like most people in an emergency. I forgot all I ever knew about first

aid. All I could think of was to give her a drink, and of course I

didn't have a flask on my person. So I picked her up in my arms and

brought her to the house as quickly as I could. She seemed to be

reviving, for she was struggling and gasping when I got here with her.

"I placed her on the bed in the guest room and poured her a stiff drink

of Scotch--half a tumblerful, I believe. Lifting up her head, I placed

the glass to her lips. She looked up me, blinking, and took the liquor

in a single draught. She did not seem to drink it, but sucked it out of

the glass in a single amazing gulp--that's the only word for it. The

next instant she was off the bed, her face a perfect mask of hate and

agony.

"She came at me, hands clutching and clawing, making odd murmuring or

mewing sounds in her throat. It was then that I noticed for the first

time that her hands were webbed!"

* * * * *

"Webbed?" I asked, startled.

"Webbed," nodded Mercer solemnly. "As are her feet. But listen, Taylor.

I was amazed, and not a little rattled when she came for me. I ran

through the French windows out into the patio. For a moment she ran

after me, rather awkwardly and heavily, but swiftly, nevertheless. Then

she saw the pool.

"Apparently forgetting that I existed, she leaped into the water, and as

I approached a moment later I could see her breathing deeply and

gratefully, a smile of relief upon her features, as she lay upon the

bottom of the pool. Breathing, Taylor, on the bottom of the pool! Under

eight feet of water!"

"And then what, Mercer?" I reminded him, as he paused, apparently lost

in thought.

"I tried to find out more about her. I put on my bathing suit and dived

into the pool. Well, she came at me like a shark, quick as a flash, her

teeth showing, her hands tearing like claws through the water. I turned,

but not quickly enough to entirely escape. See?" Mercer threw back the

dressing robe, and I saw a ragged tear in his bathing suit on his left

side, near the waist. Through the rent three deep, jagged scratches were

clearly visible.

* * * * *

"She managed to claw me, just once," Mercer resumed, wrapping the robe

about him again. "Then I got out and called on Carson for help. I put

him into a bathing suit, and we both endeavored to corner her. Carson

got two bad scratches, and one rather serious bite that I have bandaged.

I have a number of lacerations, but I didn't fare so badly as Carson

because I am faster in the water than he is.

"The harder we tried, the more determined I became. She would sit there,

calm and placid, until one of us entered the water. Then she became a

veritable fury. It was maddening.

"At last I thought of you. I phoned, and here we are!"

"But, Mercer, it's a nightmare!" I protested. We moved out of the room.

"Nothing human can live under water and breathe water, as she does!"

Mercer paused a moment, staring at me oddly.

"The human race," he said gravely, "came up out of sea. The human race

as we know it. Some may have gone back." He turned and walked away

again, and I hurried after him.

"What do you mean. Mercer? 'Some may have gone back?' I don't get it."

Mercer shook his head, but made no other reply until we stood again on

the edge of the pool.

The girl was standing where we had left her, and as she looked up into

my face, she smiled again, and made a quick gesture with one hand. It

seemed to me that she invited me to join her.

* * * * *

"I believe she likes you, Taylor," said Mercer thoughtfully. "You're

light, light skin, light hair. Carson and I are both very dark, almost

swarthy. And in that white bathing suit--yes, I believe she's taken a

fancy to you!"

Mercer's eyes were dancing.

"If she has," he went on, "it'll make our work very easy."

"What work?" I asked suspiciously. Mercer, always an indefatigable

experimenter, was never above using his friends in the benefit of

science. And some of his experiments in the past had been rather trying,

not to say exciting.

"I think I have what you call my thought-telegraph perfected,

experimentally," he explained rapidly. "I fell asleep working on it at

three o'clock, or thereabouts, this morning, and some tests with Carson

seem to indicate that it is a success. I should have called you

to-morrow, for further test. Nearly five years of damned hard work to a

successful conclusion, Taylor, and then this mermaid comes along and

makes my experiment appear about as important as one of those breakers

rolling in out there!"

"And what do you plan to do now?" I asked eagerly, glancing down at the

beautiful pale face that glimmered up at me through the clear water of

the pool.

* * * * *

"Why, try it on her!" exclaimed Mercer with mounting enthusiasm. "Don't

you see, Taylor? If it will work on her, and we can direct her thoughts,

we can find out her history, the history of her people! We'll add a page

to scientific history--a whole big chapter!--that will make us famous.

Man this is so big it's swept me off my feet! Look!" And he held out a

thin, aristocratic brown hand before my eyes, a hand that shook with

nervous excitement.

"I don't blame you," I said quickly. "I'm no savant, and still I see

what an amazing thing this is. Let's get busy. What can I do?"

Mercer reached around the door into the laboratory and pressed a

button.

"For Carson," he explained. "We'll need his help. In the meantime, we'll

look over the set-up. The apparatus is strewn all over the place."

He had not exaggerated. The set-up consisted of a whole bank of tubes,

each one in its own shielding copper box. On a much-drilled horizontal

panel, propped up on insulators, were half a score of delicate meters of

one kind and another, with thin black fingers that pulsed and trembled.

Behind the panel was a tall cylinder wound with shining copper wire, and

beside it another panel, upright, fairly bristling with knobs, contact

points, potentiometers, rheostats and switches. On the end of the table

nearest the door was still another panel, the smallest of the lot,

bearing only a series of jacks along one side, and in the center a

switch with four contact points. A heavy, snaky cable led from this

panel to the maze of apparatus further on.

* * * * *

"This is the control panel," explained Mercer. "The whole affair, you

understand, is in laboratory form. Nothing assembled. Put the different

antennae plug into these jacks. Like this."

He picked up a weird, hastily built contrivance composed of two

semi-circular pieces of spring brass, crossed at right angles. On all

four ends were bright silvery electrodes, three of them circular in

shape, one of them elongated and slightly curved. With a quick, nervous

gesture, Mercer fitted the thing to his head, so that the elongated

electrode pressed against the back of his neck, extending a few inches

down his spine. The other three circular electrodes rested on his

forehead and either side of his head. From the center of the contrivance

ran a heavy insulated cord, some ten feet in length, ending in a simple

switchboard plug, which Mercer fitted into the uppermost of the three

jacks.

"Now," he directed, "you put on this one"--he adjusted a second

contrivance upon my head, smiling as I shrank from the contact of the

cold metal on my skin--"and think!"

He moved the switch from the position marked "Off" to the second contact

point, watching me intently, his dark eyes gleaming.

Carson entered, and Mercer gestured to him to wait. Very nice old chap,

Carson, impressive even in his bathing suit. Mercer was mighty lucky to

have a man like Carson....

* * * * *

Something seemed to tick suddenly, somewhere deep in my consciousness.

"Yes, that's very true: Carson is a most decent sort of chap." The words

were not spoken. I did not _hear_ them, I _knew_ them. What--I glanced

at Mercer, and he laughed aloud with pleasure and excitement.

"It worked!" he cried. "I received your thought regarding Carson, and

then turned the switch so that you received my thought. And you did!"

Rather gingerly I removed the thing from my head and laid it on the

table.

"It's wizardry, Mercer! If it will work as well on _her_...."

"It will, I know it will!--if we can get her to wear one of these,"

replied Mercer confidently. "I have only three of them; I had planned

some three-cornered experiments with you, Carson, and myself. We'll

leave Carson out of to-night's experiment, however, for we'll need him

to operate this switch. You see, as it is now wired only one person

transmits thoughts at a time. The other two receive. When the switch is

on the first contact, Number One sends, and Numbers Two and Three

receive. When the switch is on Number Two, then he sends thoughts, and

Numbers One and Three receive them. And so on. I'll lengthen these leads

so that we can run them out into the pool, and then we'll be ready.

Somehow we must induce her to wear one of these things, even if we have

to use force. I'm sure the three of us can handle her."

"We should be able to," I smiled. She was such a slim, graceful, almost

delicate little thing; the thought that three strong men might not be

able to control her seemed almost amusing.

"You haven't seen her in action yet," said Mercer grimly, glancing up

from his work of lengthening the cords that led from the antennae to the

control panel. "And what's more, I hope you don't."

* * * * *

I watched him in silence as he spliced and securely taped the last

connection.

"All set," he nodded. "Carson, will you operate the switch for us? I

believe everything is functioning properly." He surveyed the panel of

instruments hastily, assuring himself that every reading was correct.

Then, with all three of the devices he called antennae in his hand,

their leads plugged into the control panel, he led the way to the side

of the pool.

The girl was strolling around the edge of the pool, feeling the smooth

tile sides with her hands as we came into view, but as soon as she saw

us she shot through the water to where we were standing.

It was the first time I had seen her move in this fashion. She seemed to

propel herself with a sudden mighty thrust of her feet against the

bottom; she darted through the water with the speed of an arrow, yet

stopped as gently as though she had merely floated there.

As she looked up, her eyes unmistakably sought mine, and her smile

seemed warm and inviting. She made again that strange little gesture of

invitation.

With an effort I glanced at Mercer. There was something devilishly

fascinating about the girl's great, dark, searching eyes.

"I'm going in," I said hoarsely. "Hand me one of your head-set things

when I reach for it." Before he could protest, I dived into the pool.

* * * * *

I headed directly towards the heavy bronze ladder that led to the bottom

of the pool. I had two reasons in mind. I would need something to keep

me under water, with my lungs full of air, and I could get out quickly

if it were necessary. I had not forgotten the livid, jagged furrows in

Mercer's side.

Quickly as I shot to the ladder she was there before me, a dim, wavering

white shape, waiting.

I paused, holding to a rung of the ladder with one hand. She came

closer, walking with the airy grace I had noted before, and my heart

pounded against my ribs as she raised one long, slim arm towards me.

The hand dropped gently on my shoulder, pressed it as though in token

of friendship. Perhaps, I thought quickly, this was, with her, a sign of

greeting. I lifted my own arm and returned the salutation, if salutation

it were, aware of a strange rising and falling sound, as of a distant

humming, in my ears.

The sound ceased suddenly, on a rising note, as though of inquiry, and

it dawned on me that I had heard the speech of this strange creature.

Before I could think of a course of action, my aching lungs reminded me

of the need of air, and I released my hold on the ladder and let my body

rise to the surface.

* * * * *

As my head broke the water, a hand, cold and strong as steel, closed

around my ankle. I looked down. The girl was watching me, and there was

no smile on her face now.

"All right!" I shouted across the pool to Mercer, who was watching

anxiously. Then, filling my lungs with air again, I pulled myself, by

means of the ladder, to the bottom of the pool. The restraining hand was

removed instantly.

The strange creature thrust her face close to mine as my feet touched

bottom, and for the first time I saw her features distinctly.

She was beautiful, but in a weird, unearthly sort of way. As I had

already noticed, her eyes were of unusual size, and I saw now that they

were an intense shade of blue, with a pupil of extraordinary proportion.

Her nose was well shaped, but the nostrils were slightly flattened, and

the orifices were rather more elongated than I had ever seen before. The

mouth was utterly fascinating, and her teeth, revealed by her engaging

smile, were as perfect as it would be possible to imagine.

The great mane of hair which enveloped her was, as I have said, tawny in

hue, and almost translucent, like the stems of some seaweeds I have

seen. And as she raised one slim white hand to brush back some wisps

that floated by her face, I saw distinctly the webs between her

fingers. They were barely noticeable, for they were as transparent as

the fins of a fish, but they were there, extending nearly to the last

joint of each finger.

* * * * *

As her face came close to my own, I became aware of the humming,

crooning sound I had heard before, louder this time. I could see, from

the movement of her throat, that I had been correct in assuming that she

was attempting to speak with me. I smiled back at her and shook my head.

She seemed to understand, for the sound ceased, and she studied me with

a little thoughtful frown, as though trying to figure out some other

method of communication.

I pointed upward, for I was feeling the need for fresh air again, and

slowly mounted the ladder. This time she did not grasp me, but watched

me intently, as though understanding what I did, and the reasons for

it.

"Bring one of your gadgets over here, Mercer," I called across the pool.

"I think I'm making progress."

"Good boy!" he cried, and came running with two of the antennae, the

long insulated cords trailing behind him. Through the water the girl

watched him, evident dislike in her eyes. She glanced at me with sudden

suspicion as Mercer handed me the two instruments, but made no hostile

move.

"You won't be able to stay in the water with her," explained Mercer

rapidly. "The salt water would short the antennae, you see. Try to get

her to wear one, and then you get your head out of water, and don yours.

And remember, she won't be able to communicate with us by words--we'll

have to get her to convey her thoughts by means of mental pictures. I'll

try to impress that on her. Understand?"

* * * * *

I nodded, and picked up one of the instruments. "Fire when ready,

Gridley," I commented, and sank again to the bottom of the pool.

I touched the girl's head with one finger, and then pointed to my own

head, trying to convey to her that she could get her thoughts to me.

Then I held up the antennae and placed it on my own head to show that it

could not harm her.

My next move was to offer her the instrument, moving slowly, and smiling

reassuringly--no mean feat under water.

She hesitated a moment, and then, her eyes fixed on mine, she slowly

fixed the instrument over her own head as she had seen me adjust it upon

my own.

I smiled and nodded, and pressed her shoulder in token of friendly

greeting. Then, gesturing toward my own head again, and pointing upward.

I climbed the ladder.

"All right, Mercer," I shouted. "Start at once, before she grows

restless!"

"I've already started!" he called back, and I hurriedly donned my own

instrument.

Bearing in mind what Mercer had said, I descended the ladder but a few

rungs, so that my head remained out of water, and smiled down at the

girl, touching the instrument on my head, and then pointing to hers.

I could sense Mercer's thoughts now. He was picturing himself walking

long the shore, with the stormy ocean in the background. Ahead of him I

saw the white body lying face downward in the pool. I saw him run up to

the pool and lift the slim, pale figure in his arms.

* * * * *

Let me make it clear, at this point, that when I say that I saw

these things, I mean only that mental images of them penetrated my

consciousness. I visualized them just as I could close my eyes and

visualize, for example, the fireplace in the living room of my own

home.

I looked down at the girl. She was frowning, and her eyes were very

wide. Her head was a little on one side, in the attitude of one who

listens intently.

Slowly and carefully Mercer thought out the whole story of his

experiences with the girl until she had plunged into the pool. Then I

saw again the beach, with the girl's figure in the pool. The picture

grew hazy; I realized Mercer was trying to picture the bottom of the

sea. Then he pictured again the girl lying in the pool, and once again

the sea. I was aware of the soft little tick in the center of my brain

that announced that the switch had been moved to another contact point.

I glanced down at her. She was staring up at me with her great, curious

eyes, and I sensed, through the medium of the instrument I wore, that

she was thinking of me. I saw my own features, idealized, glowing with a

strange beauty that was certainly none of my own. I realized that I saw

myself, in short, as she saw me. I smiled back at her, and shook my

head.

* * * * *

A strange, dim whirl of pictures swept through my consciousness. I was

on the bottom of the ocean. Shadowy shapes swept by silently, and from

above, a dim bluish light filtered down on a scene such as mortal eyes

have never seen.

All around were strange structures of jagged coral, roughly circular as

to base, and rounded on top, resembling very much the igloos of the

Eskimos. The structures varied greatly in size, and seemed to be

arranged in some sort of regular order, like houses along a narrow

street. Around many of them grew clusters of strange and colorful

seaweeds that waved their banners gently, as though some imperceptible

current dallied with them in passing.

Here and there figures moved, slim white figures that strolled along the

narrow street, or at times shot overhead like veritable torpedoes.

There were both men and women moving there. The men were broader of

shoulder, and their hair, which they wore to their knees, was somewhat

darker in color than that of the women. Both sexes were slim, and there

was a remarkable uniformity of size and appearance.

None of the strange beings wore garments of any kind, nor were they

necessary. The clinging tresses were cinctured at the waist with a sort

of cord of twisted orange-colored material, and some of the younger

women wore bands of the same material around their brows.

* * * * *

Nearest of all the figures was the girl who was visualizing all this for

us. She was walking slowly away from the cluster of coral structures.

Once or twice she paused, and seemed to hold conversation with others of

the strange people, but each time she moved on.

The coral structures grew smaller and poorer. Finally the girl trod

alone on the floor of the ocean, between great growths of kelp and

seaweeds, with dim, looming masses of faintly tinted coral everywhere.

Once she passed close to a tilted, ragged hulk of some ancient vessel,

its naked ribs packed with drifted sand.

Sauntering dreamily, she moved away from the ancient derelict. Suddenly

a dim shadow swept across the sand at her feet, and she arrowed from the

spot like a white, slim meteor. But behind her darted a black and

swifter shadow--a shark!

Like a flash she turned and faced the monster. Something she had drawn

from her girdle shone palely in her hand. It was a knife of whetted

stone or bone.

Darting swiftly downward her feet spurned the yellow sand, and she shot

at her enemy with amazing speed. The long blade swept in an arc, ripped

the pale belly of the monster just as he turned to dart away.

* * * * *

A great cloud of blood dyed the water. The white figure of the girl shot

onward through the scarlet flood.

Blinded, she did not see that the jutting ribs of the ancient ship were

in her path. I seemed to see her crash, head on, into one of the

massive timbers, and I cried out involuntarily, and glanced down at the

girl in the water at my feet.

Her eyes were glowing. She knew that I had understood.

Hazily, then, I seemed to visualize her body floating limply in the

water. It was all very vague and indistinct, and I understood that this

was not what she had seen, but what she thought had happened. The

impressions grew wilder, swirled, grew gray and indistinct. Then I had a

view of Mercer's face, so terribly distorted it was barely recognizable.

Then a kaleidoscopic maze of inchoate scenes, shot through with flashes

of vivid, agonizing colors. The girl was thinking of her suffering,

taken out of her native element. In trying to save her, Mercer had

almost killed her. That, no doubt, was why she hated him.

My own face appeared next, almost godlike in its kindliness and its

imagined beauty, and I noticed now that she was thinking of me with my

yellow hair grown long, my nostrils elongated like her own--adjusted to

her own ideas of what a man should be.

* * * * *

I flung the instrument from my head and dropped to the bottom of the

pool. I gripped both her shoulders, gently, to express my thanks and

friendship.

My heart was pounding. There was a strange fascination about this girl

from the depths of the sea, a subtle appeal that was answered from some

deep subterranean cavern of my being. I forgot, for the moment, who and

what I was. I remembered only that a note had been sounded that awoke an

echo of a long-forgotten instinct.

I think I kissed her. I know her arms were about me, and that I pressed

her close, so that our faces almost met. Her great, weirdly blue eyes

seemed to bore into my brain. I could feel them throbbing there....

I forgot time and space. I saw only that pale, smiling face and those

great dark eyes. Then, strangling, I tore myself from her embrace and

shot to the surface.

Coughing, I cleared my lungs of the water I had inhaled. I was weak and

shaking when I finished, but my head was clear. The grip of the strange

fantasy that had gripped me was shaken off.

Mercer was bending over me; speaking softly.

"I was watching, old man," he said gently. "I can imagine what happened.

A momentary, psychic fusing of an ancient, long since broken link. You,

together with all mankind, came up out of the sea. But there is no

retracing the way."

* * * * *

I nodded, my head bowed on my streaming chest.

"Sorry, Mercer," I muttered. "Something got into me. Those big eyes of

hers seemed to tug at threads of memory ... buried.... I can't describe

it...."

He slapped me on my naked shoulder, a blow that stung, as he had

intended it to. It helped jerk me back to the normal.

"You've got your feet on the ground again, Taylor," he commented

soothingly. "I think there's no danger of you losing your grip on terra

firma again. Shall we carry on?"

"There's more you'd like to learn? That you think she can give us?" I

asked hesitantly.

"I believe," replied Mercer, "that she can give us the history of her

people, if we can only make her understand what we wish. God! If we only

could!" The name of the Deity was a prayer as Mercer uttered it.

"We can try, old-timer," I said, a bit shakenly.

Mercer hurried back to the other side of the pool, and I adjusted my

head-set again, smiling down at the girl. If only Mercer could make her

understand, and if only she knew what we wanted to learn!

I was conscious of the little click that told me the switch had been

moved. Mercer was ready to get his message to her.

Fixing my eyes on the girl pleadingly, I settled myself by the edge of

the pool to await the second and more momentous part of our experiment.

* * * * *

The vision was vague, for Mercer was picturing his thoughts with

difficulty. But I seemed to see again the floor of the ocean, with the

vague light filtering down from above, and soft, monstrous growths

waving their branches lazily in the flood.

From the left came a band of men and women, looking around as though in

search of some particular spot. They stopped, and one of the older men

pointed, the others gathering around him as though in council.

Then the band set to work. Coral growth were dragged to the spot. The

foundation for one of the semi-circular houses was laid. The scene

swirled and cleared again. The house was completed. Several other houses

were in process of building.

Slowly and deliberately, the scene moved. The houses were left behind.

Before my consciousness now was only a vague and shadowy expanse of

ocean floor, and in the sand dim imprints that marked where the strange

people had trod, the vague footprints disappearing in the gloom in the

direction from which the little weary band had come. To me, at least, it

was quite clear that Mercer was asking whence they came. Would it be as

clear to the girl? The switch clicked, and for a moment I was sure

Mercer had not been able to make his question clear to her.

* * * * *

The scene was the interior of one of the coral houses. There were

persons there, seated on stone or coral chairs, padded with marine

growths. One of the occupants of the room was a very old man; his face

was wrinkled, and his hair was silvery. With him were a man and a woman,

and a little girl. Somehow I seemed to recognize the child as the girl

in the pool.

The three of them were watching the old man. While his lips did not

move, I could see his throat muscles twitching as the girl's had done

when she made the murmuring sound I had guessed was her form of speech.

The scene faded. For perhaps thirty seconds I was aware of nothing more

than a dim gray mist that seemed to swirl in stately circles. Then,

gradually, it cleared somewhat. I sensed the fact that what I saw now

was what the old man was telling, and that the majestic, swirling mist

was the turning back of time.

Here was no ocean bottom, but land, rich tropical jungle. Strange exotic

trees and dense growths of rank undergrowth choked the earth. The trees

were oddly like undersea growths, which puzzled me for an instant. Then

I recalled that the girl could interpret the old man's words only in

terms of that which she had seen and understood. This was the way she

visualized the scene.

* * * * *

There was a gray haze of mist everywhere. The leaves were glistening

with condensed moisture; swift drops fell incessantly to the soaking

ground below.

Into the scene roamed a pitiful band of people. Men with massive frames,

sunken in with starvation, women tottering with weakness. The men

carried great clubs, some tipped with rudely shaped stone heads, and

both men and women clothed only in short kittles of skin.

They searched ceaselessly for something, and I guessed that something

was food. Now and then one or the other of the little band tore up a

root and bit at it, and those that did so soon doubled into a twitching

knot of suffering and dropped behind.

At last they came to the edge of the sea. A few yards away the water was

lost in the dense steaming miasma that hemmed them in on all sides.

With glad expressions on their faces, the party ran down to the edge of

the water and gathered up great masses of clams and crabs. At first they

ate the food raw, tearing the flesh from the shells. Then they made what

I understood was a fire, although the girl was able to visualize it only

as a bright red spot that flickered.

The scene faded, and there was only the slowly swirling mist that I

understood indicated the passing of centuries. Then the scene cleared

again.

* * * * *

I saw that same shore line, but the people had vanished. There was only

the thick, steamy mist, the tropic jungle crowding down to the shore,

and the waves rolling in monotonously from the waste of gray ocean

beyond the curtain of fog.

Suddenly, from out of the sea, appeared a series of human heads, and

then a band of men and women that waded ashore and seated themselves

upon the beach, gazing restlessly out across the sea.

This was not the same band I had seen at first. These were a slimmer

race, and whereas the first band had been exceedingly swarthy, these

were very fair.

They did not stay long on shore, for they were restless and ill at ease.

It seemed to me they came there only from force of habit, as though they

obeyed some inner urge they did not understand. In a few seconds they

rose and ran into the water, plunged into it as though they welcomed its

embrace, and disappeared. Then again the vision was swallowed up by the

swirling mists of time.

* * * * *

When the scene cleared again, it showed the bottom of the sea. A group

of perhaps a hundred pale creatures moved along the dim floor of the

ocean. Ahead I could see the dim outlines of one of their strange

cities. The band approached, seemed to talk with those there, and moved

on.

I saw them capture and kill fish for food, saw them carve the thick,

spongy hearts from certain giant growths and eat them. I saw a pair of

killer sharks swoop down on the band, and the quick, deadly accuracy

with which both men and woman met the attack. One man, older than the

rest, was injured before the sharks were vanquished, and when their

efforts to staunch his wounds proved unavailing, they left him there and

moved on. And as they left I saw a dim, crawling shape move closer,

throw out a long, whiplike tentacle, and wrap the body in a hungry

embrace.

They came to and passed other communities of beings like themselves, and

a city of their own, in much the way that Mercer had visualized it.

Fading, the scene changed to the interior of the coral house again. The

old man finished his story, and moved off into a cubicle in the rear of

the place. Dimly, I could see there a low couch, piled high with soft

marine growths. Then the scene shifted once more.

A man and a woman hurried up and down the narrow streets of the strange

city the girl had pictured when she showed us how she had met with the

shark, and struck her head, so that for a long period she lost

consciousness and was washed ashore.

* * * * *

Others, after a time, joined them in their search, which spread out to

the floor of the ocean, away from the dwellings. One party came to the

gaunt skeleton of the ancient wreck, and found the scattered,

fresh-picked bones of the shark the girl had killed. The man and the

woman came up, and I looked closely into their faces. The woman's

features were torn with grief; the man's lips were set tight with

suffering. Here, it was easy to guess, were the mother and the father of

the girl.

A milling mass of white forms shot through the water in every direction,

searching. It seemed that they were about to give up the search when

suddenly, from out of the watery gloom, there shot a slim white

figure--the girl!

Straight to the mother and father she came, gripping the shoulder of

each with frantic joy. They returned the caress, the crowd gathered

around them, listening to her story as they moved slowly, happily,

towards the distant city.

Instead of a picture, I was conscious then of a sound, like a single

pleading word repeated softly, as though someone said "Please! Please!

Please!" over and over again. The sound was not at all like the English

word. It was a soft, musical beat, like the distant stroke of a mellow

gong, but it had all the pleading quality of the word it seemed to bring

to mind.

I looked down into the pool. The girl had mounted the ladder until her

face was just below the surface of the water. Her eyes met mine and I

knew that I had not misunderstood.

I threw off the instrument on my head, and dropped down beside her. With

both hands I grasped her shoulders, and, smiling, I nodded my head

vigorously.

She understood, I know she did. I read it in her face. When I climbed

the ladder again, she looked after me, smiling confidently.

Although I had not spoken to her, she had read and accepted the

promise.

* * * * *

Mercer stared at me silently, grimly, as I told him what I wished.

Whatever eloquence I may have, I used on him, and I saw his cold,

scientific mind waver before the warmth of my appeal.

"We have no right to keep her from her people," I concluded. "You saw

her mother and father, saw their suffering, and the joy her return would

bring. You will, Mercer--you will return her to the sea?"

For a long time, Mercer did not reply. Then he lifted his dark eyes to

mine, and smiled, rather wearily.

"It is the only thing we can do, Taylor," he said quietly. "She is not a

scientific specimen; she is, in her way, as human as you or I. She

would probably die, away from her own kind, living under conditions

foreign to her. And you promised her, Taylor, whether you spoke your

promise or not." His smile deepened a bit. "We cannot let her receive

too bad an opinion of her cousins who live above the surface of the

sea!"

* * * * *

And so, just as the dawn was breaking, we took her to the shore. I

carried her, unresisting, trustful, in my arms, while Mercer bore a huge

basin of water, in which her head was submerged, so that she might not

suffer.

Still in our bathing suits we waded out into the ocean, until the waves

splashed against our faces. Then I lowered her into the sea. Crouching

there, so that the water was just above the tawny glory of her hair, she

gazed up at us. Two slim white hands reached towards us, and with one

accord, Mercer and I bent towards her. She gripped both our shoulders

with a gentle pressure, smiling at us.

Then she did a strange thing. She pointed, under the water, out towards

the depths and with a broad, sweeping motion of her arm, indicated the

shore, as though to say that she intended to return. With a last swift,

smiling glance up into my face, she turned. There was a flash of white

through the water. She was gone....

Silently, through the silence and beauty of the dawn, we made our way

back to the house.

* * * * *

As we passed through the laboratory, Mercer glanced out at the empty

pool.

"Man came up from the sea," he said slowly, "and some men went back to

it. They were forced back to the teeming source from whence they came,

for lack of food. You saw that, Taylor--saw her forebears become

amphibians, like the now extinct Dipneusta and Ganoideii, or the still

existing Neoceratodus, Polypterus and Amia. Then their lungs became, in

effect, gills, and they lost their power of breathing atmospheric air,

and could use only air dissolved in water.

"A whole people there beneath the waves that land-man never dreamed

of--except, perhaps, the sailors of olden days, with their tales of

mermaids, which we are accustomed to laugh at in our wisdom!"

"But why were no bodies ever washed ashore?" I asked. "I would think--"

"You saw why," interrupted Mercer grimly. "The ocean teems with hungry

life. Death is the signal for a feast. It was little more than a miracle

that her body came ashore, a miracle due perhaps to the storm which sent

the hungry monsters to the greater depths. And even had a body come

ashore it would have been buried as that of some unknown, unfortunate

human. The differences between these people and ourselves would not be

noticeable to a casual observer.

"No, Taylor, we have been party to what was close to a miracle. And we

are the only witnesses to it, you and Carson and myself. And"--he sighed

deeply--"it is over."

I did not reply. I was thinking of the girl's odd gesture, at parting,

and I wondered if it were indeed a finished chapter.

Vandals of the Stars

_By A. T. Locke_

A livid flame flares across Space--and over Manhattan hovers

Teuxical, vassal of Malfero, Lord of the Universe, who comes

with ten thousand warriors to ravage and subjugate one more

planet for his master.

[Illustration: _Many planes and Zeppelins were circling around the

mysterious visitant._]

It came suddenly, without warning, and it brought consternation to the

people of the world.

A filament of flame darted down the dark skies one moonless night and

those who saw it believed, at first, that it was a meteor. Instead of

streaking away into oblivion, however, it became larger and larger,

until it seemed as though some vagrant, blazing star was about to plunge

into the earth and annihilate the planet and every vestige of life upon

it. But then it drew slowly to a stop high up in the atmosphere, where

it remained motionless, glowing white and incandescent against the

Stygian background of the overcast skies.

In shape it resembled a Zeppelin, but its dimensions very apparently

exceeded by far those of any flying craft that ever had been fabricated

by the hand of man.

As it hung poised high up in the air it gradually lost its dazzling glow

and became scarlet instead of white. Then, as it continued to cool, the

color swiftly drained from it and, in a few minutes, it shone only with

the dull and ugly crimson of an expiring ember. In a half-hour after it

first had appeared its effulgence had vanished completely and it was

barely visible to the millions who were staring up toward it from the

earth.

It seemed to be suspended directly above Manhattan, and the inhabitants

of New York were thrown into a feverish excitement by the strange and

unprecedented phenomenon.

* * * * *

For it scarcely had come to a stop, and certainly it had not been poised

aloft for more than a few minutes, when most of those who had not

actually witnessed its sensational appearance were apprised of the

inexplicable occurrence by the radiovision, which were scattered

throughout the vast metropolis. In theaters and restaurants and other

gathering places, as well as in millions of homes, a voice from the

Worldwide Broadcasting Tower announced the weird visitant. And its

image, as it glowed in the night, was everywhere transmitted to the

public.

Only a short time after it first had been observed people were thronging

roof-tops, terraces, and streets, and gazing with awe and wonder at the

great luminous object that was floating high above them.

There were those who thought that the world was coming to an end, and

they either were dumb with fright or strident with hysteria. People with

more judgment, and a smattering of scientific knowledge, dismissed the

thing as some harmless meteorological manifestation that, while

interesting, was not necessarily dangerous. And there were many,

inclined to incredulity and skepticism, who believed that they were

witnessing a hoax or an advertising scheme of some new sort.

But as the moments went by the world commenced to become stirred and

alarmed by the reports which came over the radiovisors.

For powerful planes and metal-shelled Zeppelins had climbed swiftly

aloft to investigate the incomprehensible Thing that was poised high

above Manhattan, and almost unbelievable reports were being sent

earthward.

* * * * *

Dirk Vanderpool had been sitting alone on the broad terrace of his

apartment that occupied the upper stories of the great Gotham Gardens

Building when he saw that streak of fire slip down against the darkness

of the night.

For a moment he, too, had believed that he was watching a meteor, but,

when he saw it come to a slow stop and hang stationary in the heavens,

he rose to his feet with an exclamation of surprise.

For a while he gazed upward with an expression of astonishment on his

face and then he turned as he heard someone walking softly in his

direction. It was Barstowe, his valet, and the eyes of the man were

alive with fear.

"What is that thing, Mr. Vanderpool?" he asked in a voice that trembled

with alarm. Barstowe was a man of middle age, diminutive in size, and he

had the appearance of being nearly petrified with terror. "They are

saying over the televisor that--"

"What are they saying about it?" asked Dirk somewhat impatiently.

"That no one can explain what it is," continued Barstowe. "It must be

something terrible, Mr. Vanderpool."

"Wheel out the luciscope," ordered Dirk.

* * * * *

Barstowe disappeared into the apartment and returned with a cabinet that

was mounted on small, rubber-tired wheels. The top of it was formed of a

metallic frame in which a heavy, circular, concave glass was fitted. The

frame was hinged in front so that it could be raised from the rear and

adjusted to any angle necessary to catch the light rays from any distant

object. Within the cabinet the rays passed through an electrical device

that amplified them millions of times, thus giving a clear, telescopic

vision of the object on which the luciscope was focused.

This instrument, years before, had supplanted entirely the old-fashioned

telescopes which not only had been immense and unwieldly but which also

had a very limited range of vision.

Dirk adjusted the light-converger so that it caught the rays that were

being emanated by the weird and shimmering mass that was suspended

almost directly above the lofty terrace on which he was standing.

Then he switched on the current and glanced into the eye-piece of the

apparatus. For several moments he remained silent, studying the image

that was etched so vividly on the ground-glass within the luciscope.

"It is a queer thing, there is no doubt about that," he confessed when

finally he raised his head. "It resembles a gigantic Zeppelin in shape

but it does not seem to have any undercarriage or, as far as I can see,

any indication of propellers or portholes. I would say, though,

Barstowe, that it might be a ship from some other planet if it wasn't

for the fact that it seems to be in an almost molten state."

* * * * *

Dirk again looked into the luciscope and then he made a few adjustments

with a thumb-screw that projected from the side of the apparatus.

"It is up about forty thousand feet," he told Barstowe, "and it must be

more than a half-mile in length. Probably," he added, "it is a planetary

fragment of some odd composition that is less responsive to gravitation

than the materials with which we are familiar. You will find, Barstowe,

that there is nothing about it that science will not be able to explain.

That will be all now," he concluded.

Barstowe walked over the terrace and disappeared into the apartment.

Dirk, left alone, wheeled the luciscope over by the chair in which he

had been sitting and near which a radiovisor was standing.

He switched on the latter and listened to the low but very distinct

voice of the news-dispatcher.

"--and planes and Zeppelins now are starting up to investigate the

strange phenomenon--"

Again Dirk placed an eye to the lens of the luciscope and once more the

Thing leaped into his vision. The powerful machine brought it so close

to him that he could see the heat waves quiver up from it.

The light that it radiated illuminated the night for thousands of feet

and Dirk could see, by means of that crimson glare, that many planes and

Zeppelins were circling around the mysterious visitant. None of them,

however, approached the alien freak, the heat apparently being too

intense to permit close inspection.

* * * * *

Dirk himself was tempted for a moment to jump into a plane and go up and

take a look at the fiery mass.

But, after a moment's consideration, he decided, that it would be far

more interesting and comfortable to remain right where he was and listen

to the reports which were being sent down from above.

"--thus far there seems to be no cause for alarm, and people are advised

to remain calm--careful observations of the luminous monster are being

made and further reports concerning it will be broadcast--"

Dirk Vanderpool rose to his feet, walked to the coping of the terrace

and peered into the magnascope that was set into the wall.

He saw that the street, far below him, was jammed with struggling people

and the device through which he was looking brought their faces before

him in strong relief. Dirk was deeply interested and, at the same time,

gravely concerned as he studied the upturned countenances in the mob.

Fear, despair, reckless abandon, mirth, doubt, religious ecstasy and all

the other nuances in the gamut of human emotions and passions were

reflected in those distorted visages which were gazing skyward.

* * * * *

The silvery humming of a bell diverted his attention from the scene of

congestion below him and, turning away, he walked across the terrace and

into the great living room of his luxurious abode.

Stepping to the televisor, he turned a tiny switch, and the face of a

girl appeared in the glass panel that was framed above the sound-box. He

smiled as he lifted the receiver and placed it to his ear.

"What is the matter, Inga?" he asked. "You look as if you were

expecting--well, almost anything disastrous."

"Oh, Dirk, what is that thing?" the girl asked. "I really am frightened!"

He could see by the expression in her blue eyes that she, too, was

becoming a victim of the hysteria that was taking possession of many

people.

"I wouldn't be alarmed, Inga," he replied reassuringly. "I don't know

what it is, and no one else seems to be able to explain it."

"But it is frightful and uncanny, Dirk," the girl insisted, "and I am

sure that something terrible is going to happen. I wish," she pleaded,

"that you would come over and stay with me for a little while. I am all

alone and--"

"All right, Inga," he told her. "I will be with you in a few minutes."

He hung up the receiver of the televisor and clicked off the switch. The

image of the golden-haired girl to whom he had been speaking slowly

faded from the glass.

* * * * *

Attiring himself for a short sixty-mile hop down Long Island, Dirk

passed out to the landing stage and, stepping into the cabin of his

plane, he threw in the helicopter lever. The machine rose straight into

the air for a couple of hundred feet and then Dirk headed it westward to

where the nearest ascension beam sent its red light towering toward the

stars. It marked a vertical air-lane that led upward to the horizontal

lanes of flight.

Northbound ships flew between two and four thousand feet; southbound

planes between five and seven thousand feet; those eastbound confined

themselves to the level between nine and eleven thousand feet, while the

westbound flyers monopolized the air between twelve and fourteen

thousand feet.

All planes flying parallel to the earth were careful to avoid those red

beacons which marked ascension routes, and the shafts of green light

down which descending planes dropped to the earth or into lower levels

of travel.

When Dirk's altimeter indicated seventy-five hundred feet he turned the

nose of his ship eastward and adjusted his rheostat until his motors,

fed by wireless current, were revolving at top speed.

The great canyons of Manhattan, linked by arches and highways which

joined and passed through various levels of the stupendous structures of

steelite and quartzite, passed swiftly beneath him; and, after passing

for a few minutes over the deserted surface of Long Island, he completed

his sixty-mile flight and brought his ship to a rest on a landing stage

that was far up on the side of a vast pile that rose up close to the

shore of the Sound.

* * * * *

As soon as he stepped from the door of the cabin he was joined by a girl

who, apparently, had been lingering there, awaiting his arrival.

She was perhaps twenty years old, and she had the golden hair, the light

complexion, and the blue eyes which still were characteristic of the

women of northern Europe.

The slender lines of her exquisite figure and the supple grace which she

displayed when she moved toward Dirk were evidence, however, of the

Latin blood which was in her veins.

For Inga Fragoni, the daughter and heiress of Orlando Fragoni, seemed to

be a culmination of all of the desirable qualities of the women of the

south and those of the north.

The terrace on which Dirk had landed was illuminated by lights which

simulated sunshine, and their soft bright glow revealed the violet hue

of her eyes and the shimmering gloss of her silken hair. She wore a

sleeveless, light blue tunic which was gathered around her waist with a

bejeweled girdle.

On her tiny feet she wore sandals which were spun of webby filaments of

gold and platinum.

"Dirk, I am so glad that you are here!" she exclaimed. "I felt so much

alone when I called you up. Dad is locked in the observatory with

Professor Nachbaren and three or four other men and the servants--well,

they all are so terrified that it simply alarms me to have them

around."

"But that is Stanton's plane there, isn't it?" asked Dirk, indicating a

powerful looking machine that stood on the terrace.

* * * * *

"Yes, Dirk," the girl replied. "He arrived here three or four minutes

before you did. I thought, at first, that it was you coming. And Dirk,"

she continued, with a note of excitement in her voice, "he flew up to

look at that thing, and I know that he is as frightened about it as I

am."

Dirk grunted, but he gave no expression of the dislike and distrust that

Stanton aroused in him. The latter, he knew, was very much inclined to

look with favor on Inga, and his presumption annoyed Dirk because, while

he and the girl had not declared their intention of living together,

they were very much in love with each other.

"You will want to hear him tell about it, I know, Dirk," the girl said.

"I left Stanton up on the garden terrace when I saw you coming down.

Come; we will go and join him."

Dirk and Inga strolled slowly along paths which were lined with exotic

shrubbery and plants. Here and there a fountain tossed its glittering

spray high into the air while birds, invisible in the feathery foliage,

warbled and thrilled entrancingly. Soft music, transmitted from the

auditoriums below, blended so harmoniously with the atmosphere of the

terraces that it seemed to mingle with and be a part of the drifting,

subtle scents of the abundant flowers which bloomed on every side.

For these upper terraces of Fragoni's palace were enclosed, during

inclement weather, with great glass plates which, at the touch of a

button, automatically appeared or disappeared.

Winding their way easily upward, Dirk and Inga came finally to a

secluded terrace which overlooked the Sound. Here they saw Stanton, who

was unaware of their approach, looking skyward at the dim and sinister

shape which was outlined against the sky. Stanton's brow was contracted

and his expression was filled with apprehension. He started suddenly

when he became conscious of the presence of Dirk and the lovely daughter

of Fragoni.

He rose to his feet, a short man in his forties, stocky in build and

somewhat swarthy in complexion. He contrasted very unfavorably with

Dirk, who was tall and well-built and who had abundant blond hair and

steady steel-blue eyes.

"What do you make of that thing, Vanderpool?" he asked, almost ignoring

the presence of Inga.

"I don't know enough about it yet to be able to express an opinion,"

Dirk replied. "We will find out about it soon enough," he added, "so why

worry about it in the meantime?"

"It is well enough to affect such an attitude," said Stanton, with a

touch of sarcasm in his voice, "but let me tell you, Vanderpool, that

there is good reason to worry about it."

* * * * *

Dirk frowned at the statement as he saw a shadow pass over the fair face

of Inga.

"That thing up there," continued Stanton, with conviction in his voice,

"is not a natural phenomenon. I flew fairly close to it in my plane and

I know what I am speaking about. That thing is some sort of a monster,

Vanderpool, that is made of metal or of some composition that is an

unearthly equivalent of metal. It is a diabolical creation of some sort

that has come from out of the fathomless depths of the universe." He

shuddered at the fantasy that his feverish imagination was creating. "It

is metal, I tell you," he continued, "but it is metal that is endowed

with some sort of intelligence. I was up there," he breathed swiftly,

"and I saw it hanging there in the sky, quivering with heat and life."

"You are nervous, Stanton," said Vanderpool coolly. "Get a grip on

yourself, man, and look at the thing reasonably. If that thing has

intelligence," he added, "we will find some way to slay it."

"Slay it!" exclaimed Stanton. "How can you expect to slay a mad creation

that can leap through space, from world to world, like a wasp goes

darting from flower to flower? How can you kill a thing which not only

defies absolute zero but also the immeasurable heat which its friction

with the atmosphere generated when it plunged toward the earth? How can

you kill a thing that seems to have brains and nerves and bones and

flesh of some strange substance that is harder and tougher than any

earthly compound we have discovered?"

* * * * *

He stopped speaking for a moment. They listened to the voice that was

broadcasting from the Worldwide Tower.

"--our planes have approached to within a few thousand feet of it

and are playing their searchlights over the surface of the leviathan.

It is not a meteorite of any kind that scientists have heretofore

examined--its surface is smooth and unpitted and shows no apparent

effect of the tremendous heat to which it was subjected during its drop

through the atmosphere. It seems to be immune to gravity--its weight

must be tremendous, and it is fully three-quarters of a mile long and

between seven and eight hundred feet in diameter at its widest part, but

it lies motionless--motionless--at about forty thousand feet."

"It doesn't appear now as if it would prove very dangerous," remarked

Dirk.

"--and people are warned again to maintain their composure and to go to

their homes and remain there for their own protection and the protection

of others. Riots and serious disturbances are reported from cities in

all parts of the world--mobs are swarming the streets of Manhattan and

the other boroughs of New York, and the police are finding it difficult

to restrain the frenzied populations in other centers...."

* * * * *

There was a pause, then, of some moments, and then the voice of the

broadcaster, vibrant with excitement, was heard again.

"--a plane has made a landing on the surface of the monstrosity, which,

it seems, has not only lost its heat but is becoming decidedly cold--"

A servant appeared from among the shrubbery and paused before Dirk.

"There is a call for you, Mr. Vanderpool," he said respectfully.

Dirk excused himself and, entering the sumptuous apartment that opened

from the terrace, went to the televisor. He saw the face of Sears, the

chief secretary of Fragoni, in the glass panel.

"There will be a meeting of the council at nine o'clock in the morning,

Mr. Vanderpool," came the voice over the wire.

"Thank you, Sears," replied Dirk. "It happens that Stanton is here at

the present time. Shall I notify him of the conclave?"

"If you will, please," Sears responded. "By the way, Mr. Vanderpool, is

there anything wrong at your apartment? I tried to call you there before

I located you here and I failed to get any response."

"I guess that all of my servants have run out from under cover because

of their fear of that thing in the sky," Dirk responded. "Do you know

anything about it, Sears?" he asked.

"It will be discussed at the meeting to-morrow morning," replied Sears

shortly. "Good night, Mr. Vanderpool."

* * * * *

Dirk, upon returning to the terrace, saw that both Stanton and Inga were

silently and fearfully looking up into the night.

"A meeting of the council at nine o'clock in the morning, Stanton," Dirk

said abruptly. "I told Sears I would notify you."

"I thought that we would be called together very soon," said Stanton.

"It's concerning that damn thing up there."

"Perhaps," agreed Dirk carelessly. "Well," he added, "I believe that I

will hop home and get some sleep."

"Sleep!" exclaimed Stanton. "Sleep? On a night like this?"

"Oh, Dirk," pleaded Inga, "stay here with me, won't you? I am not going

to bed because I just know that I wouldn't be able to close my eyes."

"Let him go, Inga, if he wants to sleep," urged Stanton. "I will stay

here and keep watch with you."

"--and if order is not restored in the streets of Manhattan within the

course of a short time, the authorities will resort to morphite gas to

quell the turbulence and rioting--"

"The streets must be frightfully congested," said Inga. "It is the first

occasion in a long time that the police have had to threaten the use of

morphite."

"--we do not want to alarm people unnecessarily but we have to report,"

came the hurried voice of the broadcaster, "that the monstrous mass that

has been hanging above the city just made a sudden drop of five thousand

feet and again came to a stop. It is now a little more than six miles

over Manhattan and--again it has dropped. This time it fell like a

plummet for twelve thousand feet. It is now about twenty thousand feet,

some four miles, above Manhattan and--"

* * * * *

A cry of alarm came from the lips of Inga as she gazed upward and saw

that gigantic, ominous-appearing object loom dim and vast in the

darkness above them.

She went to Dirk and threw her arms around him, as if she were clinging

to him for protection.

"Don't leave me, Dirk," she whispered. "I can just feel that something

terrible is going to happen, and I want you with me!"

"I'll stay with you, of course," whispered Dirk. Something of that

feeling of dread and apprehension which so fully possessed his two

companions entered into his mind. "Don't tremble so, Inga," he pleaded.

"It is a strange thing, but we will know more about it in the morning.

Be calm until then, my dear, if you can."

He looked over the shoulder of the girl, whose face was buried against

his breast, and he saw a hundred great red and green shafts of light

shooting up into the air. Fleeting shadows seemed to pass swiftly up and

down them, and he knew that thousands of planes were abroad, some of

them seeking the heights and others dropping down.

The great towers of Long Island were all aglow, and it was apparent that

few people were sleeping that night. The scarlet sky over Manhattan

indicated that the center of the metropolis, too, was alive to the

menace of the weird visitant that now was so plainly visible.

All night long they remained on the terrace. Dirk and Inga seated close

together and Stanton, at a distance, brooding alone over the disaster

which he felt was impending.

The illuminated dial of the great clock that was a part of the

beacon-tower on the Metropole Landing Field told of the slow passing of

the hours.

All night long they listened to the reports that came through the

radiovisor and watched that immobile, threatening monster of metal.

But it remained static during the rest of the night. And, with the

coming of a gray and sunless dawn, it still hung there, motionless,

silent and sinister.

* * * * *

The next morning the President of the United States of the World, from

the capitol at The Hague, issued a proclamation of martial law, to

become effective at once in all parts of the world.

The edict forbade people to leave their homes, and it was vigorously

executed, wherever the police themselves were not in a state of

demoralization.

At about the same time a special meeting of the Supreme Congress was

called, the body to remain in session until some solution of the mystery

had been arrived at.