Weird Tales volume 24 number 03 (15 page)

papers and memoranda to clear up a thousand mysteries. And the desk is not even locked—or the cabinet, either. See here!"

He thrust back the cover of the desk and began to rummage among the papers, only to give vent to a grunt of disappointment.

"Nothing that is likely to help us here," he declared. "Bills, invoices for chemicals and apparatus supplied—the old boy seems to have been a whale for experimental chemistry. Stop a moment, though!" he added suddenly as he opened the lowest drawer. "Here's something that may shed a little light on our darkness. Just run your eagle eye over these——"

Glancing at the official-looking documents which Ronnie spread on the desk, Hugh saw that one was a printed form bearing the royal arms at its head. It was an official certificate of discharge, and the words which had been filled in by hand intimated that MARLE, Silas James, had been employed in the INVESTIGATION BRANCH of THE RESEARCH LABORATORIES of the ROYAL ARSENAL, WOOLWICH, from April the 23rd, 1915, to October the 11th, 1918, being discharged therefrom at his own request. Another was a well-worn pass, enclosed in a leather case, authorizing the same MARLE, Silas James, to enter the area of the "Danger Buildings" at the royal arsenal.

"Evidently our friend was a retired expert in explosives," Ronnie remarked. "I don't think there's much to be gathered from these papers beyond that not very interesting fact."

Trenchard did not answer immediately. He was staring at the blue-gray papers, his mind working rapidly. At length he turned to Brewster with an unexpected question.

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"Does the date, April the 23rd, 1915, suggest anything to you?"

The other man thought for a few moments, then shook his head.

"Of course the War was on at that time—that accounts for Marie being employed in manufacturing, or inventing, explosives "

"But he need not have had anything to do with explosives at all," Hugh broke in excitedly. "It was on April the 23rd that the first German attack was made in which they used asphyxiating gas! Silas Marie may have been employed in evolving retaliatory counter-measures."

Ronnie Brewster received his chum's suggestion with a careless shrug.

"Interesting, but scarcely informative," was his comment. "I flatter myself I'm not particularly slow in the uptake, but I'm hanged if I can see any connection between a retired government chemist and that precious cloven-hoofed Terror of yours. Why not see what is in the safe?"

Hugh nodded and, selecting the likeliest-looking key on the ring, inserted it in the brass-rimmed keyhole. It fitted— it turned—the ponderous bolts slid back. Grasping the handle, Hugh gave it a half-turn and the heavy door swung open, and as it did so, a loud gasp of amazement escaped his lips.

Until that moment he had scarcely paused to consider what a safe of these dimensions might contain; for all he knew he might be confronted with the dead body of Marie in a repulsive state of decomposition. But the object which met his gaze was less gruesome, though not less surprizing.

The sole content of the safe was a long, bulky, sealed packet, in every respect the counterpart of the one given to him by Joan Endean!

14

A look of the blankest mystification spread over Hugh's features as his eyes fell on the duplicate sealed packet. For it was an exact duplicate, not only in its general size and bulk, but down to such details as the peculiar texture of the paper and the heraldic device which adorned the large red seal. Such a likeness could not possibly be accidental. Either the packet lying before him was the same one that had been stolen from him in the Valley of Rocks, or else this was the genuine packet which the decoy one—containing nothing but blank papers—had been intended to safeguard. In any case, the presence of the latter in Marie's safe formed a strange and unexpected link between him and the mysterious Joan Endean.

"What's wrong, old man?" Ronnie's voice, tinged with a note of amused surprize, brought Hugh's speculations to an abrupt end. "You've been staring at that letter as though you were expecting to see it vanish in a whiff of brimstone. I believe the greedy beggar is disappointed because the safe wasn't packed tight with wads of bank-notes!"

"Scarcely that." Hugh forced a smile as he shook his head. "But that letter happens to be a perfect facsimile of"— he paused, suddenly calling to mind Joan's stipulation of secrecy; adding, a trifle lamely—"of—of another letter that I have seen."

"Nothing wonderful in that," was the other's careless rejoinder. "Most letters have a family likeness on the outside—■ it's what is inside them that makes all the difference between a tender missive of love and a curt intimation that a check by return mail will oblige."

Trenchard picked up the letter and balanced it thoughtfully in his hand as he read the superscription:

THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN HOOF

359

To Hugh Trenchard, M. D.

Beneath, apparently written by the same hand, though in weak and shaky characters, was the injunction: Only to be opened in the event of the Death or Disappearance of Mr. Silas Marie.

"Pardon my idle curiosity," said Ronnie, trying to speak indifferently in spite of his impatience at his friend's tardiness. "Aren't you going to open the thing?"

Hugh again weighed the letter in his hand; then he shook his head.

"Not here, old chap. Judging by the weight, this is a somewhat lengthy communication. I think it would be more cheerful and comfortable to read it before a nice bright fire. Besides" — Hugh pointed to the single window of the laboratory, already dimming in the early dusk—"probably it will be dark in here before I've finished, and—unless I'm very much mistaken—the contents of this packet will not sound any the better for being read in the gloaming."

Returning to the library, they lighted ■ the lamp, drew the curtains and set a match to the fire which was ready laid in the grate. Then and then only did Hugh break the seal, draw forth several closely written sheets of foolscap, and commence to read:

"Dear Doctor:—

"When you read these lines I shall be dead (or I shall have disappeared, which practically amounts to the same thing) and you may regard what I have to state as a revelation coming from the grave. Considering the very short time I have known you, it will undoubtedly come as a surprize to you that I should single you out as my confidant. But you may believe me when I say that I have not reposed this trust in you because my time is short and I have little choice in the matter. I flatter myself that I am a keen and

accurate judge of character, and I know that your acceptance of the strange task which I have imposed on you will not be actuated by the mere sordid desire to possess my money. Moreover, I have travelled in the East long enough to have my mentality tinged and more than tinged, with the fatalism of the Orient. I do not believe that it was mere blind chance that led your footsteps through the mist, guiding you to me in my hour of need, sending in you a champion, young, clear-thinking, with sound nerves and a healthy body. Surely it was Fate—maybe a Power even higher—that ordained the appearance, at the very moment I was stricken down, of the very man whom I should have chosen out of all the world as the one best fitted to carry on the work I had begun. That the work is not free from danger, my own fate will be sufficient proof; whether the end justifies the risk you must judge for yourself. But this much I will say here—no mail-clad Crusader knight ever rode forth on a holier or more righteous cause than the one you will follow in ridding the earth of the Terror of the Moor.

"It would be both tedious and unnecessary to give even a brief account of my eventful life; suffice to say that the outbreak of war in 1914 found me a lecturer on chemistry at a university in the North of England. I soon found my post a sinecure, however, for the whole of the students joined the army in a body one afternoon, and I was left facing rows of empty benches. I myself was too old for military service; so I transferred my activities to a munition factory that had been newly opened in the neighborhood, and for the next six months or so I was employed in the simple routine work of checking the purity of the various chemicals used in the manufacture of explosives. The work, though of course re-

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sponsible and fairly dangerous, was not hard in itself, and I frequently found myself compelled to wait for hours in the great, well-equipped laboratory with nothing whatever to do.

"It was during these periods that I began to make a few experiments on my own account, and as a result I was able to suggest some minor improvements both in the mode of handling and the actual proportions of the ingredients used. But beyond a mere formal acknowledgment of my communications, the War Office took no notice, and I quite thought that my letters were reposing in some dusty pigeon-hole, when, on the twenty-third of April, 1915, I received an urgent and imperative order to proceed to London.

"Upon my arrival at King's Cross Station I was met by an eminent statesman, a man whose features the cartoonist and camera-man have made familiar to every inhabitant of the Kingdom.

" 'Professor Marie, I presume?' he said, coming forward with outstretched hand.

"In the shock of surprize I blurted out his name, but he immediately shook his head in smiling remonstrance.

" 'I fear I can not lay claim to such a famous name'—even at the time I noted the ambiguous nature of his disclaimer— 'A moment's reflection should convince you that you have been misled by a chance resemblance.' He spoke coolly, but the twinkle in his eye told me that I was not intended to take his word too literally. "As a matter of fact, you must consider me as belonging to the good old Welsh family of "Jones." '

" An extensive clan,' I said, falling in with his humor. And what might your business be with me, Mr. Jones?'

" 'Important, but in no way official. I hope you understand that perfectly.' He

repeated the words slowly and emphatically, 'in no way official. You must make up your mind to regard me as merely being a certain Mr. Jones, a private and undistinguished Englishman who has the welfare of his country at heart. Is that quite clear?'

" 'Quite.'

" "Then be pleased to follow me.'

"A big limousine was waiting a few yards away, the door held open by a liveried footman whose stature quite dwarfed my companion. As we emerged into the station courtyard, two other cars started into motion, taking up their position one ahead and one behind the car we were in, and my wonder grew as I noted the burly forms and watchful eyes of their occupants. 'Mr. Jones' might modestly proclaim himself an ordinary private citizen, but it was evident that he had the resources of Scotland Yard at his beck and call.

"The three cars turned west, zigzagging through the mean streets which lie between King's Cross and New Oxford Street", and as we headed south I made sure that we were bound for Downing Street. But we skirted the north side of Trafalgar Square, swinging down the darkened Mall, leaving Buckingham Palace on our right. There was a traffic block opposite Victoria Station, but a brief, silent signal from the leading car cleared a way as if by magic, and a few minutes later we were heading down the King's Road at racing speed. I caught a glimpse of the river as we passed over Putney Bridge, but lost my bearings completely in the dimly lighted suburban roads beyond. When at last we pulled up before a large country mansion, I knew that I must be somewhere in the neighborhood of Richmond, but that was all.

THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN HOOF

361

"^T^ HE door swung open as we ascend-

-i- ed the front steps, and I was ushered into a cheerful dining-room where a rneal lay already spread. Mr. Jones was a brilliant talker, and throughout the meal he kept up a flow of interesting conversation, without, however, once hinting at the nature of the business which he had brought me there to discuss. It was only when we had adjourned to the smoking-room, with one detective patrolling the gravel walk in front of the windows and another keeping watch in the passage outside the door, that he placed his hand in his pocket and produced a small sheet of paper.

" 'Did you write that?' he asked in a conversational tone.

"I nodded, wondering what was coming next. For the thing was merely one of the letters that I had sent to the Ministry of Munitions, suggesting a quite minor and unimportant modification of the formula of one of the stock explosives. But before I could frame the question that was in my mind, he turned the sheet over and pointed to some chemical symbols scribbled in pencil on the back.

" "And this too, I presume?' he went on, watching me keenly the while.

"I took the paper in my hand and read: C 4 H 7 N 3 0 2 . OH 12 0 3 . C 216 H 338 N 51 S 5 0 63 . C 12 H 14 0 4 (N0 3 ) 6 . OH 5 (NO 3 ) 8 . There was a sixth combination of symbols, but this I must not divulge, even to you; so, for the purpose of this narrative, I will refer to it simply as the 'X Formula.'

"In a flash I realized what had happened. I must have been jotting down some notes respecting my experiments, and I had inadvertently used the same sheet of paper on which to write my letter to the ministry.

' 'Yes,' I was forced to admit, 'that is my handwriting. But I certainly had no idea that there was anything on the back

of that sheet when I sent that letter to you.'

" 'I can well believe that!' Mr. Jones smiled somewhat grimly. "It's extremely fortunate that the communication did not fall into other hands. However, I have not brought you here to call you over the coals for being so careless. It is rather to ask you for a friendly explanation of what was in your mind when you made those notes.'

" 'You know the meaning of the formula:?'

"Mr. Jones nodded his gray head. 'Naturally, in these days, when every newspaper is full of the spy peril, we should not allow a set of mysterious-looking letters and figures to pass through our hands without wanting to know the meaning of it. Within an hour of its receipt, that letter was in the hands of a government analyst. But his report only seemed to deepen the mystery. He states that the first three formulas respectively represent creatine, inosite, and albumen —three organic substances which are to be found in every human body; while the last three combinations of symbols represent gun-cotton, nitro-glycerin, and the newly invented devastite — three of the most powerful explosives known to science.'