The Creeping Death

CHAPTER VI IN THE LABORATORY

LUCIEN PARTRIDGE was at work in his laboratory. Garbed in a stained frock, and wearing long white gloves, the old man was making a series of unusual tests. Holding a test tube in his hand, he poured a small quantity of a colorless liquid from a bottle.

To this he added a few drops of a purplish fluid; then a few grains of a reddish powder. The liquid in the test tube clouded; then changed to a brownish hue. Within it appeared tiny flakes of gold!

Partridge set the tube in a holder above a Bunsen burner. He ignited the flame and kept it at a low point. The gold flakes moved slowly within the liquid. The old man watched the results eagerly; then walked away and descended the stairs to the room below.

Here two men were standing beside a furnace. As Partridge approached, one of them leaned forward and opened the bottom of the furnace to reveal a crucible filled with a yellowish mass of molten metal. Partridge smiled and nodded.

The door was closed, and the roar of the furnace sounded, the old man listening as though hearing music that was pleasing to his ears. He walked from the room and went upstairs. From the laboratory he went through a door that led outside.

Dusk was falling. A single star glimmered in the dulling sky. Lucien Partridge’s eyes turned in that direction. But they did not notice the star. They were centered upon a chimney at the top of the building.

A spurt of flame appeared through the chimney. It died away. Then came another red spurt. Lucien Partridge chuckled. He went back into the laboratory and again stood watching the tube that glowed with flakes of gold.

The old man turned to see Vignetti entering the laboratory. He motioned to the Corsican, and the faithful servant came to stand beside him. Partridge pointed to the test tube and chuckled. Then, in a low voice, he began to speak to Vignetti.

Partridge’s method of conversation was curious. He spoke in English, as though expressing his thoughts aloud. Whenever he came to certain remarks, he turned to Vignetti as he spoke, and added a few words in Italian as an interpretation.

“You see it there, Vignetti?” he questioned, as he pointed to the now boiling tube. “Perhaps I have discovered it — perhaps not. Ah — some day, Vignetti, I shall have it!

“Gold — gold!” The old man’s voice rose to a scream. “The alchemists sought it” — the voice became a whisper — “but they could not find it. They tried to transmute baser metals into gold. My way has been different. I have compounded those metals. By seeking first that which would resemble gold, I have sought to some day step beyond and form gold itself.

“Perhaps I shall fail” — the old man smiled wanly — “but it does not matter now. My false gold has brought me true gold. That is because I am clever, Vignetti.”

PARTRIDGE turned off the Bunsen burner, and watched the gold flakes settle to the bottom of the muddy liquid. The old man shrugged his shoulders, and turned again to Vignetti.

“You remember that man who was here a few days ago?” he asked. “He wanted my gold, Vignetti. The real gold — not that yellow stuff that looks like gold.

“I have been giving him gold Vignetti — gold that is mine — gold that I have obtained by my own brains, in exchange for the false gold. But he wanted still more — more — more — always more.

“Well, Vignetti” — the smile kept over Partridge’s lips — “we need not worry longer about him. He was too greedy, Vignetti.”

The old man paused. When he spoke again, his tone became reminiscent. His English words were freely interspersed with Italian, and Vignetti listened with intent pleasure.

“You have traveled far with me, Vignetti,” said Partridge. “We have been everywhere. You have seen — you have learned. The vendetta that you saw in your youth was nothing, eh, Vignetti? A few people — killing — there on one island. Those who killed were killed in turn.

“But my vendetta” — the old man’s gleaming eyes found their reflection in Vignetti’s flashing optics — “ah, my vendetta is with the world! One man against many — and I never fail! Not when I have you helping me, my faithful Vignetti.

“You remember in Peking, Vignetti? My quarrel with that Chinese savant, Li Tan Chang? He knew that I sought to kill him. He would not tell me the secrets that he knew. To kill him was my only way. He tried to kill me, when he so blandly stretched forth his hand.

“But you were there, Vignetti! You knew what he meant to do. Your knife saved my life. I gained what I wanted; and with it, I learned the secret of the death that Li Tan Chang had sought to deal to me. Ah! That secret has served me well!

“Remember how I used it in Hamburg, when Tolfens, the German scientist, would not reveal his methods of experiment? Tolfens is dead — but his work goes on. It is my work, now. You have done well, Vignetti, to be faithful to me.”

The old man drew himself up proudly. He stared across the room as he mechanically removed his working gloves. He gave the gloves to Vignetti. The Corsican unlocked a drawer in a table and placed the gloves at the front of the drawer.

“Gold!” Partridge pronounced the word in a tone of grandeur. “Gold! I shall have all of it, Vignetti! All that is in the world, some day. So much that I shall rule! Rule as master!

“Those men who are working for me — those friends of mine in so many lands where I have been. They are gaining wealth. Morales — Gleason — Armagnac — Pallanci — Sukulos” — the old man’s lips formed other names — “they are gaining wealth; but I have more. All mine is gold — I want nothing else. Gold — gold — more gold — I shall have it. Forster wished it, but I shall have it. I have much of it now — millions!”

A crackling laugh came from the old man’s throat. He seemed to be enjoying a long joke. Vignetti stood by, calmly surveying the old man. His expression showed that this eccentric conduct was a regular routine with Lucien Partridge.

“Yes, Vignetti” — the old man’s new tone was cunning and calculating — “wealth is already mine. With wealth I shall have power. Other wealth cannot equal mine. My power shall never fade. Soon I shall be ready to rule the world.

“Still, I must beware. There are men who will try to shatter my power. Out of chaos, I shall rise to my great glory. I must create chaos! Death brings chaos! There are men who rule here in America. Big men of business — big men of politics — big men of power — and I shall meet them.

“As friends we shall meet — they and I. As friends they shall die! Is that not wonderful? It is better than the knife, Vignetti — for the knife is a sign of enmity.

“That is your method of vendetta that you knew in Corsica. My method is infinitely better — the method of Li Tan Chang — the method of friendship! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

THE cackling laugh echoed through the laboratory. Even stolid Vignetti had imbibed the old man’s enthusiasm. His dark face was livid with an insidious pleasure.

“Bankers — millionaires — presidents” — Partridge’s tone was contemptuous — “what do I care for them? They shall die, at my bidding. Any who shall question me shall die!”

In the bright electric illumination of the laboratory, Lucien Partridge’s face had gained a fierceness that was unbelievable. But now his frenzy faded. Once again he became the quiet, placid old man that Clifford Forster had found so amiable.

A bell sounded from another room. Lucien Partridge looked at Vignetti. The Corsican nodded. That bell indicated a visitor at the outer gate. The servant hurried from the laboratory, and Lucien Partridge waited by the door until he returned.

“It is Mr. Lawrence Guthrie,” explained Vignetti, in his broken English, a method of speech that he frequently used in his announcements.

“Ah Guthrie!” Partridge’s voice indicated pleasure.

With gleaming eyes, the old man walked into the hall. There he spoke to Vignetti in Italian. The Corsican nodded. Partridge pointed to the door and made a motion that indicated that admittance should be granted. Vignetti started for the gate.

A few minutes later, the Corsican ushered Lawrence Guthrie into the laboratory. Lucien Partridge, his lips framed in a pleasant smile, stood waiting to greet his unexpected visitor.