Master of Death

CHAPTER XVII. THE LIVING SKELETON

HEAVY tires crunched on a gravel driveway. A big limousine came to a stop before an isolated house.

Two men moved through the darkness. They carried a limp body into the building. Laboring footsteps echoed with mechanical beat through the gloomy corridors.

The solemn tread died away. Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, had reached the end of his journey.

His captors were bringing him within the portals of Eric Veldon’s mansion of mystery.

In an upstairs room, a young man was listening to the sounds that betokened Cliff’s arrival. Calm, yet serious-faced, Doctor Rupert Sayre accepted the rhythmic footsteps as proof that another prisoner had arrived.

The room in which Sayre dwelt was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, the young surgeon had found many items provided for his comfort. He was a prisoner, in a high-walled room where daylight penetrated only through an inaccessible skylight. But the burden of confinement seemed less at night.

On this particular evening, Sayre was smoking his favorite pipe, which had been in his pocket at the time of his capture, and the illuminated room was actually a homelike abode.

Rupert Sayre had awakened in his room. Between his discovery of Joseph Barratini’s dead body and the awakening, there had been a complete lapse. Sayre knew that he had been under the influence of some soporific vapor. He did not know how long its effects might have held.

In one corner of the room stood a pedestal which held two instruments. One was like a stock ticker, with its paper ribbon; the other was a small typewriter which had only capital letters. Sayre had first noticed the device when it had ticked a message; he had recognized it as a teletype apparatus.

Brief instructions had imprinted themselves upon the paper ribbon. Some operator, probably in a distant portion of the house, had warned Sayre to make no effort to escape.

The physician had typed back that he would obey the injunction. That had been the beginning of a routine. A corpselike man had stalked mechanically into Sayre’s room, bringing food. Since then, new provisions had been furnished.

Yet Sayre knew that this captivity could not go on indefinitely. He wondered why his life had been spared. He sensed that he would soon learn. Tonight, he had heard an automobile set forth; he had heard it return. Was that a sign that Eric Veldon contemplated plans which might involve Sayre’s welfare?

WHILE the young physician pondered on this question, the teletype began to tick. Puffing his pipe, Sayre strolled to the corner and began to read the words that appeared upon the paper tape.

“I AM READY TO CONFER WITH YOU,” read Sayre. “ARE YOU WILLING TO OBEY THE CONDITIONS WHICH I IMPOSE?”

“YES,” typed the physician.

“MY SERVANT, ALPHA, WILL CONDUCT YOU TO THE MEETING PLACE,” came the next words. “BE READY TO ACCOMPANY HIM.”

“I AM READY,” replied Sayre.

No further message appeared upon the tape. Sayre knocked the ashes from his pipe and sat down to await the coming of Eric Veldon’s servant. Shortly afterward, the door opened. A human automaton entered.

This man was tall and his features seemed to be molded of a pliable substance. In fact, his face, lifeless in expression, looked like a mass of manila-tinted wax. The man’s eyes, though steady, were expressionless. This human machine stared directly at the young surgeon. The molded lips formed a single word:

“Come.”

Sayre arose. The creature stood aside to let him pass. A hand rose like a semaphore signal to point the way along a corridor. Sayre came to the head of a gloomy stairway. He stopped short. Another corpselike figure was standing there. This one was short; the face of the living automaton was of a criminal type. Sayre noted a heavy, pock-scarred jaw.

The man’s arm swung up and pointed toward the stairs. Sayre could hear the approaching beat of footsteps. Alpha, the automaton who had summoned him, was following. Sayre went down the stairs.

There, a few feet beyond the last step, he encountered a cadaverous creature that stood like a lifeless sentinel.

Sayre recognized the monstrosity who had come to Joseph Barratini’s apartment. The human automaton pointed to a corridor that led to the left. Sayre took that path until he found the way blocked by still another living corpse. This one raised a hand to stop his progress.

Alpha arrived and uttered a single, unintelligible word. The last of the sentinels stalked away, with slow, monotonous footbeats. Like echoes, came the sound of other steps. Sayre knew that the men who had guided him were also tramping away from their appointed spots. The physician stood with only Alpha beside him.

The sides of this corridor were paneled. Sayre heard a slight whirring sound. He looked just in time to see a panel slide open. He turned toward Alpha. The mechanical man raised his hand and pointed through the opening.

“Enter,” he spoke, in a dull tone.

SAYRE went into the room. He found himself in a small chamber with dark-paneled walls. There was a table near one end of the room; in front of it was a chair that faced the wall.

On the table, Sayre spied a large frame with dark glass. These objects were barely distinguishable in the gloomy, indirect light of the room.

“Wait,” ordered Alpha, pointing to the chair.

Rupert Sayre sat down. He faced the dark glass. He heard Alpha tramp away. He caught the sound of the closing panel. He was alone.

A hidden mechanism began to thrum. The lights in the room went out. Total blackness prevented Sayre from observing anything that happened until a glow began to penetrate the dark glass of the frame.

Suddenly, the glow burst into an aura of radiant, violet light. Rupert Sayre gasped in utter amazement.

Framed in the space before him, within reach save for the blocking glass, was a terrifying object. A living skeleton, its upper ribs in view, was facing him from the other side of the table. Sayre found himself staring into the eyeless sockets of a skull that grinned monstrous teeth.

This was no illusion. The creature was real. Yet Sayre was quick to recognize the truth. He was looking at the skeleton of a living man. These bones were visible instead of flesh because the person was within the focus of an X-ray machine of extraordinary power. The dark glass formed a screen of fluoroscopic particles which made the scene possible.

Skeleton hands appeared. Bony arms rested their elbows on the table beyond the screen. The jaws of the skull moved. Words seemed to grate from the lipless mouth.

“You are Doctor Rupert Sayre,” said the skeleton.

“I am,” replied the physician.

“I am the master here,” asserted the skeleton. “Do you know my name?”

Sayre was prompt with his reply. He suspected that this bony frame was Eric Veldon, the man whom Joseph Barratini had mentioned; but Sayre was wise enough not to reveal is suspicion.

“No,” he declared.

“That is good,” announced the skeleton. “Tell me. How did you come to follow Doctor Barratini?”

Sayre made a quick decision. He felt that a partial revelation of the truth would enable him to cover up the facts which he did not wish to tell. Tersely and in methodical fashion, he offered his explanation.

“I was calling on Doctor Barratini,” he said. “Someone rapped at the door of the apartment, Doctor Barratini became alarmed. He asked if I had my car available. I told him yes. He put me in another room and told me to follow the man who drove him away.

“An odd-looking fellow entered. He gave money to Doctor Barratini, who then went out with him. I saw them enter a limousine. I followed in my machine. When the limousine stopped, I alighted. I opened the door and found Doctor Barratini dead…”

The skeleton interrupted with a grating laugh. There was no need for Sayre to continue. The young physician calmly awaited the fate that his bony captor might pronounce.

“You are a surgeon,” announced the living skeleton. “Your work is known to me. I learned your identity through cards upon your person. I have work for you to perform. Chance has given you an opportunity.”

RUPERT SAYRE shuddered at the harsh tones of the skeleton’s voice. He knew well that this was Eric Veldon. He felt that he could foretell what the fiend intended to propose. He, Rupert Sayre, would be requested to take up the work which Doctor Joseph Barratini, dead, could no longer perform.

“I have servants,” declared the skeleton, “who serve me well. These minions were once criminals. Doctor Barratini performed operations upon their brains. The men have preserved their natural capabilities, but they no longer remember their pasts. They act mechanically but efficiently.

“Their old names have been forgotten. They are designated by Greek letters. The servant who brought you here was Alpha. He was the first of Doctor Barratini’s subjects.

“Unfortunately, Doctor Barratini and I disagreed. He felt that his operations should be for the benefit of the subjects; that these former criminals could be allowed to take new places in society.

“I decided otherwise. It was necessary for me to eliminate Doctor Barratini. I chose the method which he would least suspect. I summoned him apparently to perform another operation. My minion obeyed two instructions: first, he released a quantity of lethal gas into the interior of the limousine; second, he stopped at a familiar spot to meet another minion who was stationed there.

“I wanted to be sure that Barratini was not followed. You appeared; you stepped into the limousine. My minions brought you along with Barratini.

“The admission of air into the limousine had thinned the gas. You were overcome by the effects, but you did not die. I, naturally, was interested when I learned your identity. I had intended to attempt any future brain operations myself. It has now occurred to me that you can serve in the capacity of operating surgeon.”

The skeleton ceased speaking. Rupert Sayre stared. He was in an incredible situation. He was facing a man whose features he could never recognize. As a means of disguise, Eric Veldon had chosen the amazing course of appearing as a skeleton.

Suddenly, Sayre realized that the man was awaiting his reply to the proposal.

“Suppose,” suggested Sayre, “that I refuse—”

The grating laugh of the skeleton interrupted. Harsh words came from the grinning teeth.

“You have this choice,” announced the fiend. “You may operate upon the subjects whom I provide; or you may pass that privilege on to me. Should I be forced to play the part of surgeon, you, Doctor Sayre, will be my first experimental case.”

The thought was gruesome. Sayre thought of the human automata who paraded the gloom of this horrible house. The young surgeon faltered at the idea of reducing other human beings to that mechanical state; but more terrible was the alternative of becoming one himself!

“I await your decision,” came the discordant voice of the skeleton.

“There is only one possible choice,” remarked Rupert Sayre. “That is to perform as operating surgeon. After all, these men are criminals. I ask only that you provide me with subjects of that type.”

A laugh came from the living skull. Eric Veldon had evidently expected this answer. He was pleased by Rupert Sayre’s attitude. He did not know that young surgeon was working for a delay. Sayre was discreet enough to feign indifference to the fate of the subjects whom Veldon might provide.

“Your request will be granted,” announced the skeleton. “I choose criminals only. They are easy to obtain. Their minds are better suited to my needs.

“You, Doctor Sayre, shall provide me with a host of mechanical men. All will be factors in my schemes. At my beck, they will aid me in whatever purpose I may choose. They will not turn from crime. They will commit new crimes in obedience to my mandates. Deprived of past memory, free from their individual initiative, they will do as I command!”

With these words, the skeleton began to disappear. The bony form was wiped out by degrees, darkness moving upward until the entire figure was gone. A few minutes passed; dim lights glowed within the room.

The man who had spoken with Doctor Rupert Sayre was no longer present.

THE physician realized what had caused this evanishment. The panel in the wall, just beyond the screen, must be capable of sliding up and down. The X-ray machine was behind it. The panel, probably coated with lead on its farther side, could stop the revealing rays.

Eric Veldon had come into the darkened room through some secret entrance. He had taken a chair beyond the table. He had dropped the panel to come within the focus of the rays. Another operation had raised the panel slowly, to end the interview. Veldon had departed.

With Merle Clussig’s powerful X-ray machine; with the improved screening that the inventor had devised to prevent injurious effects, Eric Veldon had accomplished the seemingly miraculous.

Even to Doctor Rupert Sayre, whose knowledge of X-rays gave him an inkling to the method employed, the appearance of the living skeleton had resembled a fantastic nightmare.

The slide panel of the room came open. A new worry swept through Rupert Sayre’s brain. There, at the opening, was Alpha. The servant had come to summon him to a new adventure. The odd, mechanical creature was beckoning.

“Come!” was the word that Alpha uttered.

Rupert Sayre arose, trying to repress the feeling that he could not overcome. He knew that he had made an agreement with Eric Veldon. He sensed that the fiend was ready to put him to the test!