THE DAY
1
Marusa, obviously, was flight leader. She knew the sailing marks.
Max had quickly grasped the principle of those wonderful flying suits
with their simple, fool-proof gear. A toss of a coin decided our
order. Max followed Marusa--then I--and last, of necessity, Lonergan.
Max turned aside. Marusa threw her arms around me. She was deathly
pale.
“My _mother_!” she whispered. “I can’t believe it.… Oh, God, I can’t
believe it!”
Then she raised those beautiful, tearless eyes to me.
“In case there’s any hitch”--her conquest of herself was
wonderful--“good-bye!”…
I have only the dimmest recollection of her actual departure. I don’t
recall seeing her step into that strange, self-adjusting suit--there
were six of them in the room. But I remember noticing the blue light
spring up across the chasm--the sound of deep, unearthly booming as
Lonergan turned on the power wave.…
Hazily, too, I sometimes get a fleeting picture of a winged thing
gliding out and down… then flashing swiftly upward past me.
“She has pluck, that one!” Gaston Max’s hand was on my shoulder. “Her
poor little life has been turned topsy-turvy.”
I couldn’t look at him for a moment--nor speak.
“For her, as for us,” he went on, “even now there is only the chance
of the .75----”
Then, I turned.
He was holding a small apparatus in his hand which resembled a very
compact headpiece.
“She threw it down,” he added simply, “before she went.”
The deep booming continued.
“We are wasting time, Woodville. Good-bye, my friend--until we meet
again!”
He moved a lever in the rack below that long beam upon which the bat
suits were suspended. The one beneath which he stood dropped and
enveloped him… I saw him making the adjustments. The great, hideous
thing slowly descended to the stone floor. The wings opened.
I saw the blue light beyond. I saw the spasmodic movement of Max’s
feet against the steel rail.…
Out he swept--and down. Up, at rocket speed, he flashed past me.
That deep roar in the pit continued. Lonergan was keeping the power on
for me.
I stepped toward the third suit. I stopped.
Beside the headpiece discarded by Marusa a second headpiece lay!
It was that which Max had found in the pocket of Nestor’s coat!…
A magnificent, theatrical gesture, you may say? Truly Gallic and in
the best d’Artagnan manner? I agree on all four counts. But it must
have been a high honour to have won the friendship of a M. d’Artagnan.
There was a sort of numbness claiming my brain. The unendurable
throbbing--which, now, I knew to be produced by colossally powerful
plants installed in Felsenweir--added to that subterranean booming,
began to daze me.
Automatically, I moved again toward the third “bat.”…
Running footsteps sounded on stone stairs!
I hesitated--and was lost.
Mme. Yburg ran in!
2
At sight, and in spite of my frame of mind, I recognized a change in
her.
The mantle of ice which she wore had been melted. Her natural pallor
was intensified. Her eyes were like jewels in shadow.
As always, she was perfectly gowned, meticulously groomed--but the
ghostlike psychic hands twitched nervously, fingers opening and
closing. Remembering Marusa as last I had seen her, every line, every
contour, every little mannerism spoke to me intimately. My heart went
out to this distracted woman.
“Tell me, quickly… has Marusa gone?”
“Yes.”
Her hands became clenched so tightly that I knew the long, pointed
nails must be buried in her palms.
“God! what madness! But at least she is protected.”
I picked up the headpieces. I had no wish to be cruel, even now, but
the truth might save the world.
“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong! She has chosen to join… the many.”
Those brilliant eyes opened widely--unnaturally. For a moment I feared
that Mme. Yburg was about to lose control--that all was lost.
But her nerves were more than masculine.
“Why,” she asked, her voice very low-pitched, “_why_ did she do this?”
“_Because she knows._”
Those slender white hands had not unclenched: they did not unclench
now.
“You told her? And she believed you?”
“I did not tell her. I don’t know who did.”
She relaxed those clenched hands. And I saw, as I had expected to see,
blood in her palms.
“_Fate_ told her. It could never be. I always knew!”…
The deep booming ceased. Lonergan had turned the power off.
Our glances met and clashed.
“How did you buy over Nicholson?”
“It was never attempted.”
I heard lumbering, metallic footsteps mounting the ladder from the
control pit.
“What do you mean?”
“Nicholson, if that’s his name, is lying insensible down below.”
An aluminium figure appeared at the ladder head. Lonergan climbed out,
stood still, and watched.
“This is John Lonergan,” I said.
He raised his vizor.
Mme. Yburg stared at him as one might stare at a ghost. Her pallor was
positively alarming; then:
“How,” she inquired softly--and I could detect no hint of animus in
her voice--“how did you intend to save _yourself_?”
From a glistening, sweat-daubed face Lonergan’s eyes shot a glance at
me like that of a guilty schoolboy.
“How in blazes do _I_ know!” he replied. “Nobody had thought of that
but _me_! But I guess I’d have found a way.”
Then it was--but not until then--that I realized the truth:
Lonergan could never have followed us! We had overlooked this. _He had
known_.…
My eyes grew oddly misty. Perhaps it was due to that intolerable
throbbing. Suddenly, as though coming through a thick curtain, I heard
Mme. Yburg’s voice.
“My friend”--she was addressing Lonergan--“where cleverness must have
failed, it is after all self-sacrifice which has saved the world.”
“The world’s far from being saved!”
It was Lonergan’s growl which snatched me back to normal.
I looked at Mme. Yburg. Her face remained deathly white. But she was
smiling--that smile which was at once an irritant and a caress!
“You may be wrong, Mr. Lonergan. I have followed an ideal--an ideal
you could never grasp. To-night, my personal loss has made me one of
the many. I know that my ideal had its roots in hell!”
“Fine,” said Lonergan. “But what do we do now?”
Mme. Yburg reached out one slender hand, with those deep nail wounds
in its delicate palm, and touched the speaker’s mailed shoulder.
“Take this off. Be quick!”
Little as I could see of Lonergan’s glistening face, I saw enough of
his expression to tell me that he had grasped the situation. He
withdrew.
“My husband,” said Mme. Yburg, in a low, monotonous voice, “Count von
Yburg, was killed in the final assault on Ypres. My own family has
lived for generations on an estate near Cracow in Poland. Marusa
inherits courage, my friend, pride and poise. She also has a heritage
of vices on both sides which it must be your task to study!”
“But----”
She grasped my shoulders, looked into my eyes.
“Tell me you love her--_really_ love her!”
“I love her sincerely. I loved her from the first moment I saw her.”
“That is physical love. She is very attractive.”
“I have learned to know and respect her. She is the only girl I have
ever wanted to marry.”
“She has set her heart on you. These sudden passions are a part of her
heritage. I have studied you, and I think you can make her happy--if
you can handle her! Be good to her--you _must_ be good to my Musa----”
The steely control nearly broke down. Her voice faltered on that pet
name, which I had never heard but which now I treasured as a jewel.
Then, miraculously, she was self-possessed again.
“But let her feel the bridle from the very beginning. There will never
be any trouble.”
Lonergan returned.
He wore a very fine silk vest, trousers with belt, socks, and shoes.
He carried the aluminium suit.
Mme. Yburg gripped my shoulders, smiled again--and turned to him.
“I am taking your job on, Mr. Lonergan,” she explained. “Only
temporarily…”
With a self-possession which must have disarmed the vilest prudery,
she peeled off her smart frock. Then she proceeded to buckle on the
aluminium suit of the flight controller. It was grotesquely big.
“I am lost in this!” she declared.
But at last:
“Take your chance quickly,” she said, and stepped on to the ladder.
“She will be hovering--may even have flown back. If Anubis wakes I am
powerless. So be quick!”
“There’s one hope!” I cried--“a gun is being moved----”
Lonergan clapped his hand over my mouth.
“Mr. Lonergan!” Mme. Yburg’s voice even now held no note of anger.
“That gun would save me from the only other way!”
Lonergan’s hand was removed, and:
“Then there _is_ another way?” he challenged.
“Yes! Next to Anubis, _I_ shall be in charge at dawn.… Good-bye.
Hurry!”
She climbed down the ladder.…
Lonergan held out one clenched fist.
“Heads or tails?”
“Heads!”
He opened his hand.
I saw a worn English penny. It displayed the head of King Edward VII.
“Always was a fortunate gambler,” Lonergan growled--“and then some.…
Hello!”
The deep booming had begun again. Mme. Yburg had turned the power on.
“Go to it, Woodville! I’ll be right behind you. Pray kind heaven
Anubis stays asleep till we land!”…
3
The sensations of that flight--which I dare to predict no man will
experience again for at least a generation--were indescribably
pleasant.
Pushing off--one’s heels against the metal bar--was definitely sickly.
The blue light ahead alone promised safety. There followed a deathly
fall, a pause--then, a swift uplift of breathless ecstasy. It
resembled those dreams of childhood in which we fly, untrammelled,
across vast tracts of country.
That mysterious power zone reached, into which these invisible
elevators shot the traveller, control became a matter almost of
mood--so sensitive was the mechanism. I enjoyed all that glorious
mastery of the air which so often I had envied in the sea gull.
Upon an impalpable wave I floated as a canoe floats lightly upon
water. There was a gentle swaying, a nearly imperceptible tidal urge.
A movement of either hand, slightest inclination of my body to right
or left, swung me to port or starboard. To raise my feet was to dive;
to press down my toes resulted in an instant climb.
A mile below me I saw Felsenweir as I had seen it reflected on that
circular table in the laboratory. I could clearly see moving figures
in surrounding and approaching roads.
I pressed the control under my right hand.…
Inexperience betrayed me. At a speed that cannot have been less than
eighty miles an hour I was hurled through space!
Raising my hand as eagerly as I had lowered it, I found myself
floating serenely again.
At which moment Marusa’s agonized appeal reached me.
“Brian!” I heard, eerily--“Brian! Answer me!… Where are you?”…
“Marusa!” I cried.
“Brian dear! Oh, thank God!”
“Gaston Max speaking! Where are you?”
“I’m all right, old man!”
“Heaven be praised, my friend! I am glad. I withdraw…”
One thing became evident. Confidences were impossible between
travellers on the energy waves!
“Listen, Brian! Make for the Old Castle--Hohen-Baden. You can’t miss
it. You know it. I’ll head you off. When you see me, follow on.”
“All right, darling.”
I studied the landscape far below. Gingerly, I moved around several
points. I set my course. With extreme care this time, I pressed down
the control.…
And then, with such a sense of self-reproach as I cannot hope to
convey, I remembered the man who had made all this possible.
“Lonergan!” I cried--“_Lonergan_…”
Loudly--he must have been very near--came his reply:
“I’m headed same way.”
Ahead I saw two batlike shapes. Marusa’s voice reached me:
“Swing round behind me, Brian. When you see I’m floating, watch. We’ll
be over the cemetery! When I drop, wait for M. Max to follow. Then
come over. You’ll see the green light below you. Just let yourself
drop. Can Mr. Lonergan hear?”
“_I_ heard!” Lonergan’s voice replied.
4
My mile drop through space into the ancient vault of the Felsenweirs
occupies a niche of its own in these memoirs. If the sensation of
rocketesque ascent had been thrilling, this of a deadweight crash was
appalling.
I knew we were in the hands of the flight controller on duty--and at
the mercy of anyone having access to the Felsenweir power house.
And, as I fell, I could not rid my mind of an idea that somebody had
cut off the energy wave!
Then came check--second check--third check… my descent grew slower.
But, still falling at great speed, I flashed down into a black pit.
Some hint entered my mind of a metal-clad figure on a platform… there
were switches… it was not unlike a limelight perch in a theatre.…
I was stationary… I was going up… then I felt the grapnel made
fast--felt myself hauled clear.
Reaching down, I tugged at the release.…
With the scene of reunion which followed I find myself unable to deal.
Marusa was clinging to me, trembling wildly. Gaston Max had his arms
about us both.… Then Lonergan came in.
“How do we cope with my opposite number on the downstairs control
platform?” he inquired.
His unemotional attention to the job in hand was just the cold douche
we required. This remarkable man would have entered heaven or hell
without qualm or enthusiasm, concentrating all the time on (a)
whereabouts of the party he was looking for; (b) how he was going to
get him out.
As it chanced, the problem, did not arise. We followed Marusa up many
stairs which ultimately led to a small, square chamber.
She opened a locked door, beckoning me to follow.
“I knew it!” Max murmured. “It is the renovated tomb adjoining the
Felsenweir vault! I have ordered that it shall be watched!”
We were arrested as we came out… the cemetery was stiff with police!