RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
Fantastic Adventures, May 1943, with "Mistress of the Dark"
A London cellar gave up a girl and Roger Bacon's secret. Both combined to promise sure defeat for the Axis.
In her possession were the secrets of the ancient alchemists.
JEFF STERN glanced mechanically at his watch as the sudden flash of a parachute flare spread light across the shadowy width of Oxford Street below. Crouching close to the protecting roof wall, he watched the plane dive suddenly and heard the roar of its motors change in pitch to an ear-chilling whine. Two hours ago the first Nazi bombers had appeared above London. In those two hours the city had broken wide open under the flame and roar of the barrage.
The diving plane leveled off a bare hundred yards above and zoomed upward into the blackness as its load of heavy bombs were released from their racks. Stern heard them hit a block away and the series of explosions that followed drowned every other sound from his ears. He stood up slowly.
On the other side of the battered sand-bagged roof, Joe Archer staggered to his feet, his slicker torn and dirt-covered. Archer's dark eyes flashed under the rim of his battered regulation helmet.
"Ain't you had enough of this fire and brimstone yet?" His voice came to Stern above the steady clatter of guns in the park down the block. "Let's get outa here before they knock the stairs out from under us."
Jeff Stern turned, his slim muscular body protesting every move. He grinned and in the uncertain light his once tanned face was white and dirt streaked.
"This is a funny kind of business," he said as Archer reached his side. "We've got to get as much information as possible about the explosives those boys are using. The only sure way I know is to catch one of their eggs in our arms and that doesn't appeal to me, somehow."
Archer shrugged.
"That last plane must have been tossing them at my wrist watch," he growled. "Lucky they came out of that dive a little late."
He followed Jeff Stern across the roof to the open skylight. Stern swung himself over the edge of the opened skylight and dropped to the attic floor below. Archer followed, swearing aloud as his heavy frame struck the floor.
They entered a dark, deserted hallway. Stern followed the wall downward until a faint glow from the street told him they were on the ground floor. They stood before the massive oak doors that led into the street. Stern hesitated and suddenly put his weight against them. The building shook under the force of a new explosion. Nazi planes seemed to be coming in more closely spaced now.
"Start moving!" Archer pushed him from behind in his eagerness to get out. "I'm looking for the nice thick wall of a shelter."
TOGETHER they dashed into the blackness and across the
cobblestones at a right angle. Half way into the street, a
parachute flare caught them full in the glare of white light.
High above, the sudden whine of a dive bomber sounded as it
peeled off and rocketed downward.
"Hit the dirt!" Archer shouted. Stern dropped face downward, his fingers digging at the rough surface of the street.
The Nazi leveled off just above the roof tops. The shrieking whistle of the bomb drowned a string of curses from the lips of Joe Archer.
With a roar, the building behind them seemed to bulge out and dissolve into flying bricks and mortar. Jeff Stern's helmet seemed a thin, useless thing. Scattered debris ripped the air above them. Smoke and dust mushroomed out and over the two men on the pavement.
Joe Archer groaned suddenly and was then silent. The bedlam of falling walls struck Stern's ears as he reached quickly toward his companion. His fingers closed over Archer's motionless wrist.
Thin and far away, a woman's scream for help came to him.
"Please—someone help me!"
Stern hesitated, wondering if he should get Joe to safety or try to help the owner of the frenzied voice.
The cry faded under the sounds of the falling walls and something struck Stern across the shoulders. He went to his knees, and felt a second blow on the steel of his helmet. He felt his face strike against the pavement, an unbearable weight on his shoulders, and Stern knew no more.
THE London office of Chemists, Inc. was small and
unpretentious. Major Walter Steele had a good reason for choosing
the musty old house in the east end of the city for his overseas
headquarters. Chemists, Inc. was under secret orders from the
United Nations ruling board. Any undue attention shown the firm
was not welcome.
It was after midnight when the last bombers roared away. The sudden howl of the all-clear sirens brought Steele from behind the big desk. Through the window he saw a mud-streaked ambulance take the far corner on two wheels and grind to a halt in front of the brown stone building.
Mary Steele, wearing a leather tunic, gloves, and whipcords that molded her slim hips, climbed out quickly and waved a reassuring hand at him from the street. He watched her mount the high steps and slip into the hall door before he turned away from the window. Far across town, the section around Oxford Street blazed high, lighting the sky with its blood red flames. The door behind him opened and Mary Steele came in. She tossed her gloves on his desk.
"Bad night, Dad?"
Steele groaned.
"Worst yet," he admitted. "I'll venture that Nazis will brag for months about their attack on London, April sixteenth. I stayed in the cellar for a while. After that I said to hell with the Axis and their bombs."
"So," Mary interrupted, "you came upstairs and curled up behind that big desk of yours. Dad, I worry more about you than I would a whole family of children."
Steele shook his grey head impatiently.
The girl came close to him, putting her hands on his wide shoulders. Her eyes were very serious.
"Dad, do you think we're making any headway?"
Steele's head dropped forward a bit. The stubborn curve at the corners of his mouth relaxed.
"Now you listen to me, young one. I've got Von Strom and Jeff Stern on this job with me. We may take some time, but we'll handle the job right for all of that. You stick to the ambulance division and let Chemists, Inc. handle its end of the deal."
MARY STEELE went to the chair behind the desk and sat down.
Swinging her feet to the desk top, she studied her father for
several moments. Under her steady scrutiny, his smile faded and
the tired look came back. Mary's eyes grew soft.
"Let's not kid ourselves, Dad," she said. "The government told you to turn out an explosive that will surpass anything the Axis can produce. You chose Jeff Stern because I said he could handle any job given him. You chose Von Strom because he's a wizard in the lab." She faltered. "But I'm not sure of any of us now. Jeff hasn't been able to get the right clue and you hate to say so because you know I love him. As for Von Strom..." She stopped abruptly, her lips curling slightly.
"As for Von Strom—what has he done?" The voice, mild and a bit humble, came from the laboratory door behind her. Twisting about, she faced the stolid efficient chemist, Hans Von Strom.
"I'm sorry, Hans," Mary said. She stood up. "I'm a little unkind tonight. I guess the thought of those devils up there dropping their death on helpless people upsets me."
Von Strom didn't move at once. His expression was humble—a silent plea.
"I'm sorry that my parents were German," he said. "Sorry that I bear their name. I have always tried to be a good American."
Major Steele seemed to bristle.
"That's enough, you two," he said sharply. "Before the war you were the best of friends. Now the ghost of Hitler pops up every time Von Strom comes into the room."
"Sorry," Mary said, and she meant it. Von Strom entered the musty office, absently wiping his hands on his apron. He looked out the window. Away toward the business district the flames were leaping higher, showing no signs of abating.
"What an inferno!" He pointed across the blazing roof tops. "I hope Mr. Stern and Mr. Archer are safe."
The girl behind him stiffened, her face white with sudden fear.
"Dad, is Jeff out again tonight? Hasn't he taken enough chances?"
Steele shrugged.
"Apparently not," he answered. "Joe and he left shortly before nine. Said he wanted to see some more first hand action and try to find out just what effect the Nazi bombs were having on larger structures."
Von Strom turned from the window, his brown eyes on Mary.
"They planned to observe from the roof of the Thorndyke store on Oxford Street," he said. "If you care to go there, I'd like to accompany..."
"Mary's ready to turn in," Steele said. "She's had enough running around for..."
Mary Steele was already at the door, her gloves half on.
"I never get enough running around," she said sharply. "Not while I don't know what's happened to the boys." Then to the hesitating Hans Von Strom, "Come on, Hans. No hard feelings."
TOGETHER they hurried down the worn steps and into the
ambulance. As they bounced around the corner she managed a quick
look back toward the window and her father.
"Dad's got to get some action soon," she said, partly to herself, "or we might as well fold up and go back to the States."
"I know..." Von Strom's eyes were glued to the burning skyline ahead. "I only hope the action is favorable."
Oxford Street was a mass of burning rubble and piled bricks. It had been roped off and bobbies patroled the ends of the street. They hurried out of the car and ran forward. Because of her uniform, Mary got through the ropes without any questions, and they raced toward the business section.
Suddenly it dawned on the girl that the building they sought was no longer there. She stopped, staring with terrified eyes at the crater where it had been. On the pavement were pools of blood where someone had lain. Broken walls jutted upward, stark boundaries to a once great building. Below, pungent smoke drifted from the open pit of the cellar.
She turned around, facing the stolid, emotionless face of Hans Von Strom. She saw concern in his quiet eyes, and suddenly grew weak with fright. His arms, strong and understanding, were about her.
"I—I guess they must have left—before...?"
Her lips trembled. Her mind was trying to believe that Jeff was safe. It was useless. Terror and horror swirled into her heart.
Von Strom tried to smile reassuringly.
"I'm sure they are safe," he said. "Stern knows how to take care of himself."
His slightly-stooped figure seemed to waver suddenly, then swell to grotesque size. As from a great distance she heard his voice, but the words were unintelligible. And then a black mist seemed to envelope her mind, and she knew no more.
"JEFF!" The voice was small and distant in Jeff Stern's ear.
"Jeff, snap out of it."
Stern opened his eyes, and put hesitant fingers to the dull, throbbing pain at the back of his head.
He sat up, heard the thin whine of sirens from a distance and remembered where he was.
"Guess I must have passed out," he said slowly. "Are you all right, Joe?"
Joe Archer was on his hands and knees, his face dripping blood. He grinned lopsidedly.
"This ain't Heaven," he said. "A brick and me connected. I just came around. Had to dig you out from under half the street."
He slipped his arm under Stern's shoulders and helped him up.
Stern looked down the length of the burning street and the full meaning of what the Nazi bombs had done, made him angry and sick. Suddenly he remembered the woman who had screamed for help.
"Joe! Remember hearing a woman cry out just before that last bomb fell?"
Archer grinned, sweeping a dirty sleeve across his bloody face.
"An angel, maybe?" he asked.
"No! I'm serious. Just before I fell, I heard a girl's voice coming from the building we were in. It seemed to come from somewhere in the cellar."
Archer shook his head.
"No one could live in that mess," he said. "Sure it wasn't your imagination?"
Stern didn't answer. He stood quietly for a moment, made his decision, and started across the street toward the open pit. Archer was close behind. Ahead of them, broken, twisted stairs led downward into pitch blackness.
"Roger! Someone help me, please!"
"That's it," Stern shouted over his shoulder. "She's still alive."
He dashed frantically through a scarred opening and into the roofless building. The voice had come from below. He stumbled downward, and Archer came close behind him, swearing with every step.
They reached the cellar bottom, and in the half-light of reflected flame Stern saw the lower tunnel. From the side of the cellar wall, a stout oak door had been blown from its hinges. Beyond this door and down a slanting tunnel, Stern could see a faint glowing light.
"Roger! Hurry!"
The girl's voice could not be mistaken now. Stern went toward the opening swiftly, paused and stared downward with puzzled eyes. Before another door at the lower end of the tunnel, the girl stood waiting.
SHE was like no one he had ever seen. Standing in the faint,
phosphorescent glow from the room behind her, she looked as fresh
and clean as a dream. Her hair golden and smooth, crowning her
head like a halo. She was dressed in a costume, theatrical in its
daring simplicity. Tight black silk clung to her body. A crimson
robe was caught about her white throat and fell to her
thighs.
Close behind Stern, Joe Archer stood still, his big mouth open.
"She's—she's a witch," he gulped. "Jeff, look on her shoulder."
Perched with wings outspread, a huge bat fluttered from its place on her right shoulder. It seemed an evil symbol of the place itself. Then without warning, the girl swayed forward helplessly and fell to the rough stone steps. The bat flailed the air above her head.
Stern ran downward three steps at a time. He knelt at her side and, lifting her in his arms, turned her over gently. He cradled her head and shook her gently.
"This is the screwiest setup I've ever seen." Archer was at his side. "How a doll like her got down here is beyond me."
Stern smiled.
"She's coming around," he said. "Something caused her to faint. She seems very weak. I don't understand what kept her from coming up, once the raid was over. She doesn't seem to be wounded."
The girl's eyes opened suddenly and Stern saw fear in their depths.
"Please," she asked, "take me to Roger. I meant him no harm. I have been punished long enough."
"Roger?" Stern helped her up, and she stood close to him, head bowed.
The question implied in Stern's voice seemed to surprise her.
"You know who Roger is?"
"Sorry," he admitted. "Never heard of the lad, but if you'll give us the address, we'll see that you're delivered safely to him."
The girl's head arose and her body was suddenly taut with anger.
"Fool," her eyes flashed. "There is no one in England who does not know of Roger. Take me to him at once."
Somewhat stunned by the sudden flare of temper, Stern hesitated. The girl was about to protest further, but the excitement had been too much. Her face turned white and she started to slump forward again. Stern put both arms about her, lifting her slight body tenderly into his arms. She allowed her head to sink back against his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly. "About Roger. I'm afraid much has changed. It makes little difference now."
"There'll be time enough later," Stern said. "Right now the raid is over and I think we'll get you to the hospital."
"Raid? Hospital?" She pronounced the two words slowly, as though they were strange to her. "I do not understand."
There were a number of things that puzzled Stern also. Bits of conversation that would take a lot of explaining when the time came.
Joe Archer was already half way up the tunnel.
"Let's get out of here," he urged. "The whole damn outfit will be caving in on us any minute now."
"I think," Stern said to the girl in his arms, "that after we have you safely to bed, there's a long story you'll be wanting to tell me."
HE carried her upward, into the once more quiet night. If the
things she saw above ground were bringing any questions to her
mind, the girl did not voice them. At the top of the steps, Stern
paused. Her head was pressed close to him and the soft hair
smelled good, close to his lips.
"This is good," she said softly. "I have not rested for a long time."
Looking down at her, Stern wanted to press his mouth to her soft lips.
"I should think not," he agreed. "That's the worst raid we've had in months."
She did not reply.
Joe Archer was waiting impatiently.
"Joe," Stern said, "use those bricks and broken planks. Seal up the end of that lower tunnel so we can come back and look it over when we have the time."
Archer grinned.
"You've already got the buried treasure," he said. "But if you say hide the tunnel, I'll hide the tunnel."
In the street, Stern hesitated, waiting until Archer caught up with them. They stood alone in the moonlight. The heavy guns were silent. It was a strange, battle-scarred London. Fire crackled and flickered on every side. The street was alive with men. The girl in Stern's arms was silent, breathing lightly. She said nothing, but Stern felt somehow that the London that greeted her was even more of a shock than it was to him.
He realized then that they had been on Oxford Street for nearly three hours. Major Steele would be concerned for their safety. If Mary had come in after they left, she would be frantic by this time. He looked once more at the girl in his arms.
"Feel well enough to walk?" he asked. "We've got to deliver you and get back to the office. The boss will want to know what's happened to us."
She nodded silently and slipped to her feet. Removing his trench coat, Stern wrapped it tightly about her. Half hidden by its folds, she smiled up at him.
"Would you like to tell us who you are?" he asked. "I'm Jeff Stern. Any time I can help, I'd like you to remember me."
Her face was crimson and she looked away.
"My name is Ann Masters."
It was like a confession of shame and she seemed surprised that he showed no emotion.
"How about Roger?" Joe Archer asked suddenly. "And where do you live? You know, home and the hat-rack? Where do we take you?"
She looked very small and alone in the darkness.
"I have no home, now. There is no Roger. It is all gone..."
Archer looked quickly at Stern. Odd that the chemist showed no surprise.
"Then you're going with us," Stern said quietly. "I had an idea something was wrong. I think I understand something of what is troubling you. Perhaps, later, you'll tell me more."
WHEN Mary Steele awakened, she was at first aware only of the
dull headache that made everything lopsided and wrong. She braced
herself on one elbow and tried to sit up. Then Oxford Street and
the horror of not finding Jeff Stern flooded back to her. She had
fainted.
Then where was she now? This strange little room? She pressed her clenched fists into tightly closed eyes and felt warm tears run down her cheeks. The room, when she opened her eyes again, was frightening. The walls were dirty and the cot on which she lay was cheap and uncomfortable.
Panic-stricken, she sat up. Her gloves were missing. Her clothing was torn and filthy. There were no windows in the small room—nothing but a closed door.
She stood up, swaying a little, and dashed to the door. Before her hand closed over the knob, she knew it would be locked. She shook it under her hand. Impatient at first, she grew angry.
"Let me out of here!"
Her voice bounced quickly around the four small walls. No answer. A fit of violent shivering swept over her body.
There was the sound of slapping water under the floor. She listened intently. She must be a prisoner somewhere along the water front. Hans Von Strom! He had brought her here!
What the kidnapping could mean, she could only guess.
Perhaps Von Strom would use this to frighten her father into giving up his work. Perhaps even worse than that.
Footsteps sounded in the hall beyond the door. They came close, slowly, as though deliberately spaced to frighten her. A key turned in the door and it opened. Hans Von Strom came in. It wasn't the quiet laboratory worker she had known. His body was stiff and upright and his eyes were flashing.
"I see you have awakened." His words were sharp. "I hope you suffer no ill effects."
Mary Steele faced him, doing her best to hide her fear.
"You will take me home at once," she said sharply.
Von Strom chuckled without humor.
"We may as well understand each other, Miss Steele," he said.
He crossed the floor and she sank back on the cot, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"You have long accused me of being a fifth columnist." Von Strom's face was gray and expressionless. "Well, in a way you were right. I am a member of the German Intelligence. There is no harm in you knowing that now."
Her eyes never faltered from his.
"I have been fair with you from the first," she answered. "You've never heard me say a thing that would hurt you in Dad's eyes."
Von Strom sat down at her side. She tried to draw away from him but thick fingers settled tightly around her wrist.
"You needn't fear me," he said tonelessly. "I will talk and you will listen."
"You're a brave man, Hans," she twisted her hand from his. "Take full advantage of a woman while you can. When men face you..."
He flushed.
"I have been working for my Fatherland for many years," he said. "It became necessary to join your father when we found that he planned such important work."
"I tried to warn my father of that," she answered coldly. "Yet, I can still see no reason for bringing me here. Before, I did you no harm. Now, if I have one chance..."
Von Strom smiled.
"The harm is already done," he answered. "Perhaps you are wondering why tonight of all nights, your friend Jeff Stern was in the direct line of our bombing planes?"
She waited for him to go on. He arose and walked toward the door. With his back against the panel he smiled at her.
"It was I who suggested the Thorndyke Building as a splendid place for Stern and that nit-wit, Archer, to observe the enemy. It was also I who made sure they would be directly in the path of German bombs. They were blown to hell without a chance to escape. My men did their work well."
Like an angry tigress, Mary Steele was on her feet and dashing toward him. She heard the grunt of pained surprise that escaped his thick lips, as her body struck hard against him. Her nails sank into his face.
"You fiend! You horrible, murdering fiend!" She didn't realize that her voice was escaping in a high pitched, frenzied scream of hate.
"You have made a mistake, Fräulein!" His arms tightened like steel about her waist. The breath jerked out of her suddenly and she sobbed with pain and fear. Her head fell forward against his chest.
"You—you beast!"
"I have tried to make this an impersonal task," his voice purred softly in her ear. "I have attempted to forego the pleasure of personal contact and follow my line of duty alone. Now that you have thrown yourself into my arms..."
She tried to wrench away from him but his arms were tight about her.
"Let me go. Let me go! I'll—I'll—"
"You'll do nothing, Fräulein. You have taunted me before your father. You have showered your attention on Stern. Now we are alone and I'll have my way."
He pressed her back across the room. Her arm was half around him, and she felt something hard in the pocket of his coat.
A gun!
She could take that chance. The chance to escape by killing a man.
The cot was under her. She sank down upon it and he partially released his grip on her waist. A tight smile played across Von Strom's face and perspiration beaded his forehead.
"That is better, Fräulein." His voice was appeasing, gruff.
Her hand was in his pocket now and the butt of the pistol in her fingers. She smiled up at him and as he bent over her, she drew the gun into the open. With all her strength she pressed the trigger. "Click!"
Von Strom jumped away from her, his face black with rage.
"You fool. You little fool!"
The trigger had fallen on an empty chamber. With a snarl he rushed toward her, trying to knock the weapon from her grasp. She swung it downward as he came and the steel struck his temple and glanced toward the floor. With a grunt of pain, Von Strom went to his knees and rolled over on his back. He lay still. Blood dripped from the barrel of the gun over Mary Steele's wrist.
She looked about wildly. He had not locked the door when he came in. It opened easily and she looked down the long, dark hall of the deserted building. A quick glance backward convinced her that Von Strom would remain silent for some time. Her feet clattered against the uncarpeted hall as she fled wildly down the short flight of stairs toward the door that glowed dully below her.
In the street, she knew this was the waterfront. The fog was white and ghostly about her and a single yellow light burned in a pub across the street. She went toward it, hoping there would be someone who would help her.
A man loitered by the curb on the far side of the street. He stepped forward as she approached. Mary Steele tried to avoid the outstretched arms, recognized the face that was half hidden under a dock worker's cap and held her at arms' length.
"Jeff! Oh, Jeff Stern! Thank God you're all right. I was so afraid."
STERN held her tightly. Tipping her chin up, he kissed her
lips, then held her at arms' length.
"Stout fella!" he said "Now that we've found each other, where is Von Strom. How did you escape?"
She drew him back into the shadow of the building, wide eyed and incredulous.
"You—you knew?"
He shook his head.
"Only part of it," he confessed. "We returned to your Dad's office and he told us you'd gone with Von Strom. I've suspected the German for some time. Last week I found out he took a room in this section of town. I followed him to this block and heard that he was known at the ale house. When you didn't come back, I suspected he had brought you here. I didn't know the exact address, so I had no choice but to try each house. I had been at the job for an hour when you walked into my arms."
With his jacket around her, Mary Steele felt better. She told him what had happened.
"I—I had to hit him on the head," she finished. "I don't think he—he's dead."
Stern's hands were clenched at his side.
"If it weren't for you," he said slowly, "I'd hope he was finished. It would save us all a lot of trouble."
The street was silent. Fog had drifted closer to the ground and the single light in the pub was no longer visible.
"Should we send someone to take him away?" Mary asked.
Stern smiled grimly.
"I'm afraid it isn't as simple as that," he confessed. "No one but you and I know who Von Strom really is. There must be others who work with him. If we can keep him locked up where they cannot find him, we may be able to break up the entire gang at once."
"But how...?"
"Leave that to me," he answered. "Right now I'm afraid you'll have to go back with me and show me where you left him."
They crossed the street quickly and Mary Steele retraced her way toward the room she had so recently escaped. Light was visible through the open door. Von Strom was where Mary had left him.
"Well, young lady," Stern said, dropping to his knees beside the German. "Nice job you did here. Still breathing, worse luck."
"Jeff!" Mary stood over him, still wondering how she had found him alive. "What happened tonight. Von Strom said he deliberately planned to have you and Joe killed. We thought you both were in the..."
Her voice quivered with emotion.
"I know." His hand folded over hers. "Von Strom meant to frighten you all he could. We left the building just before that direct hit. We would have been away sooner, but something happened in that building that may turn out to be a very important development."
VON STROM was quiet and white at Stern's feet. He stirred and
opened his eyes slightly. The lids dropped again and the movement
went unnoticed by the others.
"I don't understand," Mary said.
"I'm sorry." Stern would have welcomed the chance to tell her more if only he himself were sure. "I'd rather wait. I'm sure that in the ruins of the Thorndyke Building we've discovered a treasure so vast that it will change the entire course of the war. A power that will place us on the winning side in six months."
"Oh! Jeff." Mary's eyes were shining. "I had faith in you from the first. I knew if Dad would give you a chance..."
"I'd like to take the credit," he admitted. "But I'm afraid it is impossible this time."
"Tell me about it," she asked.
"It will all sound crazy to you," he cautioned, "but if anything comes of this thing, you can thank a woman's scream, and a man who, seven hundred years ago, learned to make gold from any metal that came under his touch."
Her eyes were wide with wonder. Mary Steele did not understand, and yet she was confident that Jeff Stern must know what he was talking about.
He was smiling again, holding her close to him.
"Look, kid," he said. "Don't ask me to explain a thing now. It doesn't even make sense to me yet. I have a few clues that I found and a lot of imagination to work with. Meanwhile, we've got to get Von Strom out of here and to the office. I'll have him watched and we'll take care of him in due time."
"And the secret?" she asked. "Can you tell me soon?"
"Soon—I hope," he promised, and bent over the limp figure of the man on the floor.
Von Strom's eyes were closed tightly. He forced his body to go limp and Stern lifted him to his shoulder. Hans Von Strom had heard much in these last few moments. There was yet time for escape. Perhaps it was well that Jeff Stern was not dead. He had mentioned treasure and the Fatherland could use treasure to much advantage.
MAJOR STEELE watched quietly as the ambulance drew up before
the darkened house that contained the laboratories of Chemists,
Inc. He was relieved to see Jeff Stern get out, open the door for
Mary and stand as she climbed wearily from the car. Steele had
hesitated several times during the past two hours, wanting to go
in search for them and at the same time, realizing that he had no
idea where to go. There was also the matter of Joe and the oddly-
dressed girl on the second floor. Stern and Joe Archer had
returned with her. Stern had insisted that she take Mary's
bedroom and had assigned Archer as her watch dog.
Steele shook his head, tried to puzzle out just what there was about her that could be so important and suddenly bent closer toward the glass, bewildered at what he saw outside.
Hans Von Strom must be hurt.
Stern had opened the rear door of the ambulance and between them, Mary and he were lifting a blanket-covered stretcher from the interior. Steele left the window quickly and managed to reach the door in time to hold it open for them. The pair came in quickly, wordlessly. Steele rushed into the study and readied the couch.
"Hans?" he asked. "Is he hurt?"
Stern dropped his end of the stretcher a little abruptly and turned toward the old man.
"Not half as bad as he should be," he said. "He had Mary locked up in a water front dive. The man's a Nazi spy."
"Why! The ungrateful..."
"Never mind, Dad." Mary Steele drew the window shade quickly and Stern drew the blanket off the outstretched German. "We've got him tied up so he'll cause no harm. Jeff says we should keep him out of sight for the present."
Steele shot a questioning glance at the young American and Stern nodded.
"I've got a hunch Von Strom isn't the head man in London," he said. "They are trying to put us out of business. Von Strom told that much to Mary tonight. If he is missing long enough, we may be able to trap the others into showing their faces. I think it's worth a gamble."
In spite of himself, Steele chuckled.
"This is becoming what the boys used to call a full house," he said. "Joe hasn't come down since you told him to keep an eye on the girl upstairs. Hadn't you better tell him he can eat now?"
At the mention of a girl, Mary Steele looked at Stern questioningly.
"Say, Jeff Stern, one girl in this outfit is enough."
Stern smiled.
"I guess an explanation is overdue," he admitted. "I suppose you, Major, have also been doing a little wondering about the girl in the dancing costume?"
"You're right," Steele answered gruffly. "And so will Mary when she gets a look at her."
Quickly Stern explained what had happened when he and Archer had been bombed, heard the cry for help, and returned to the wrecked building to find Ann Masters. When he had finished, Steele shook his gray head slowly from side to side.
"Damn funny," he muttered. "There's more to this than meets the eye."
"Right," Stern agreed. "That's what I thought. In fact, I made a few discoveries that may be very valuable to us."
"Then she is the girl you were talking about when you said we were on the trail of treasure," Mary said. "It all depends on her?"
STERN sat down at the head of the couch on which Von Strom was
lying.
"In a way—yes," he admitted. "I'll admit that so far, it's all crazy—impossible. Yet, if what I saw and imagine are true—who knows?"
He stood up quickly. "At least it's worth a gamble." Steele paced across the room impatiently.
"Damn it, man. What's worth the gamble? Let us in on this deep secret of yours."
Stern glanced down at the figure of Hans Von Strom, and noticed the German was breathing more smoothly. His eyelids nickered open and he seemed bewildered with what he saw. His lips opened and a scowl crossed his face.
"What is the meaning...?"
He tried to arise but firmly-tied ropes on his arms and legs prevented him from moving.
"I demand to be released at once."
Steele towered over him.
"I'd like to release you by knocking that filthy head off your shoulders," he growled. "For the time being you can be thankful that we need you where no one can find you."
Von Strom tried to protest but Stern broke in.
"I think," he said, "that we can put him in the other room on the second floor. There's a good lock on the door and no windows for him to fall out of. Perhaps a little time will convince him that his tongue was made for some other reason than to lie."
A string of oaths whipped from Von Strom's lips. Steele lifted him from the couch and sent a fist crashing into his mouth. The German sank down on the floor like a bag of sawdust and Steele held his fist gently.
"I shouldn't hit a man who can't fight back," he said softly. "But when I think of what he meant to do to Mary, I can't help it."
He reached down and with a twist of his body, lifted Von Strom to his shoulder.
"Lead the way," he said. "We'll lock up one Nazi where he can't hurt our cause for a few hours."
VON STROM was, for the time being, where he could do no harm.
Joe Archer reported that all was well. Ann Masters had slept
quietly since retiring. Archer sat with the others in the plain,
comfortable office.
"I tell you, Jeff," Archer said suddenly, "that place gave me the creeps. I—I got the feeling that we were sort of going back into time and seeing something that doesn't exist any more. You know, the bat and that old tunnel, and the way she's dressed. Damned if I wouldn't hate to go back there."
Stern dropped the papers he held in his hand, stood up and reached for his helmet.
"I'm going back now," he announced. "But if you're afraid of the place..."
"And I'm driving."
Mary was at his side, waiting. Stern turned to her, knowing he must not let her go.
"Sorry," he said. "This is a man's job. We haven't any right prowling around in that mess. God knows at what minute the whole remaining structure may cave in."
"I don't give a darn," she protested. "Jeff, it's my place to be with you. After what happened tonight, I want to go with you every night. We're good luck to each other."
Joe Archer was waiting at the door, his coat on.
"Make up your mind," he said. "We better be moving before daylight. There'll be officials hanging around there when the sun comes up."
Stern hesitated, then bent over the girl. He kissed her quickly on the cheek.
"Sorry, pardner, this is my job. You and your Dad keep your eyes on the two upstairs. When Ann wakes up, try to make her comfortable. I've a hunch she will be very puzzled by her surroundings."
He followed Archer outside and they climbed into the car.
"Oxford street," Stern said. "And don't spare the horse- power."
THEY found the remains of the Thorndyke Building, entered the
cellar and in five minutes Archer had helped him clear away the
debris that covered the entrance of the lower tunnel. The place
was dark and musty. Stern drew out a pocket flash and sent the
beam of light searching down the dark hole.
"Here goes nothing," he said, and started down the well-worn steps. Archer followed a good distance behind, muttering under his breath. They reached the lower end of the shaft where Stern had first seen the girl, Ann Masters. A huge door closed the end of the tunnel completely. It was on this door that Stern now focused his light.
The panel was black with age, and solid. On its surface Stern made out several clearly defined pictorial markings.
"Joe," Stern said. "See those designs. What do you make of them?"
In the darkness, Archer's voice was hollow and respectful.
"Looks like a kid tried to draw pictures," he said, "and didn't have much luck at it."
For a moment Stern was silent, sending the ray of light up and down against the door's surface.
"Those pictures," he said finally, "are the symbols of alchemy. The symbols of a science a thousand years old. No chemist lives today that wouldn't secretly like to know what alchemy really accomplished. I think, Joe, that we are on the brink of finding out." *
* Alchemy was the great-grandfather of chemistry. It was the science of transmutation of the elements; more particularly of the transformation of base metals into gold. In modern usage, alchemy designates the art of chemistry as practiced in olden times before it had been placed on a scientific footing. Alchemy was based on the idea that all matter is made up of one substance which appears in many forms. Therefore, according to alchemists who dabbled in what at that time was often termed black magic, all matter could be changed from one form into another. Because gold has always been man's greatest dream, much time was spent on formulas that were supposed to change lead and other base metals, into gleaming, yellow gold. However, it is not true, that although many of these men were useless dreamers, all of them did nothing to improve our present field of science. For example, Bacon, living in the twelfth century, is credited for inventing many things. He is supposed to have given us the first gunpowder, microscope and telescope. Witchcraft and alchemy, however, went hand in hand.—Ed.
Archer shivered.
"I'm on the brink of catching a damn good cold," he said. "Let's see what this alchemist stuff is all about and get the hell out of here."
Stern pushed the door slightly with his foot. It moved inward. He grasped the worn handle and opened it. Dull, stagnant air rushed from the opening beyond. Holding the light in a shaking hand, he sent its beam over the sill.
Archer's breath sucked in noisily. "A lab," he said in a hushed voice, "but like none I ever saw before." Stern nodded.
"Come inside," he said, "but be careful that you disturb nothing. I want a look at this place before anyone else knows it's here."
Archer followed him slowly across the little room, brushing webs from his face as they fell in shrouds about him.
The room was barely eight feet square. A single, waist high table covered its center and on the table were row on row of dusty, age-pitted crucibles and instruments. The floor was littered with broken glass and odd bits of equipment. The walls, constructed of great rough rocks, were hanging with soot and webs.
Stern crossed to the table and ran his finger lightly over its top. A light streak showed in the thick dust, as it clung to his finger. He whistled softly.
"The girl must have been in here," he said. "Yet, there seems to be no mark..."
His eyes focused, in the dim light, on the odd couch pushed into the far corner of the room. Archer's gaze followed Stern's own and the big man's mouth dropped open.
"Good God, Jeff," Archer whispered. "It couldn't be..."
THE couch was ages old. It must have been brought here from
some old court. Dust a half inch in thickness had settled over
it. In the center of that dust was the clean imprint of a human
figure. A set of single tracks led straight to the door. They
were the footprints of a girl.
Stern went toward the couch, and in his heart he was satisfied. It all fitted neatly into place.
The girl had been too weak to climb the stairs. She had cried out for Roger, and been angry with them when they failed to respond to the name. As wild as it seemed, there was but one explanation.
Seven centuries ago, Roger Bacon had worked at his science of alchemy, somewhere in London. Records indicated that his mistress had displeased him. She had disappeared, according to early texts, and soon after, Bacon had been thrown into the jail of London for ten years, on the charge of witchcraft.
The name of Roger Bacon's mistress, listed in remote court records, was Ann Masters.
The whole thing staggered Jeff Stern. Yet, he realized that he had expected something like this from the first. The bursting bombs must have broken open the door to this secret laboratory. Something had aroused Ann Masters from the coma she had been in. The secret of her remaining alive would yet be solved. For the present, he must find the papers, the records of Bacon's work that must be here.
Stern pivoted to the startled Archer.
"I can't tell you what we've found, for the time being. Start looking through that old case over there for papers. You may find formulas here that will help us solve our toughest problems. The man who owned this place could foresee our use of planes and battleships. He may have gone farther and designed objects for our use."
Stern was already busy himself. He knew something of the working habits of such men as Bacon. There would be a case, no doubt, containing the collected work of the man. He started on the table. Dusting it carefully, he found only the rough boards, with occasional alchemist markings carved into the top. The instruments he left as they were. Perhaps, later, they would be valuable.
Archer was busy with the heavy cabinet by the wall. He had dragged out a stack of early books. Now, rising to his feet, he held out a loose sheath of rolled parchment.
"Here's something," he said. "Maybe you can make sense out of it."
Stern took the roll eagerly, spread it out on the table and bent over the folds. The paper was yellow with age. He sorted several from the pile and then stopped suddenly, reading with difficulty, the strange English script. The words were faded, barely discernible.
"Plans for the fudden change of bafe material to rare gold."
He read slowly, deciphering the queer use of the letter 'f' in place of 's.' As he read, an unbelieving scowl crossed his forehead. The script covered the entire page of parchment. It indicated the equipment and the formulas to be used. The last few words held Stern spellbound.
"Example of this work found in the rare metal ftone on my bench. Collected at random from the ftones of the field."
Bacon had made an ordinary stone into a solid chunk of gold, and had left it on the bench. Stern searched eagerly for the thing, remembered at last that there had been no gold of any kind in the room when they entered it, and gave up.
"Fairy tales?" Archer asked. "I got a hunch all we'll get out of this is a paper-weight from the desk."
He held a blackened, lumpy looking mass at arm length for Stern to examine.
"Found it on the floor by the end of the table," he said.
STERN grasped the object quickly and turned it over in his
hand. This, then, was Roger Bacon's gold. He smiled a little
sadly. Men had dreamed of such things before. For a few hours
perhaps, Bacon had turned the stone yellow and fooled himself.
Now, after nearly a thousand years, it had reverted to type and
turned dusty and black once more. He rubbed it between his
fingers and felt the thin, black dust collect on his finger like
a fine pumice. The odor of it was strong and powerful.
Archer had finished his search of the cabinet. He stood by the door, now, impatient to get out of the place. Stern folded the paper in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket. He rolled the remaining parchment and tied it with the old cord.
"If nothing else," he smiled ruefully, "we've uncovered a nice find for some historian. I had hoped..."
"To find gold hanging from the ceiling," Archer interrupted. "Well, it's just as well. Now we can go to work all over again. Let's lock this joint up and get out. I've had enough of this place, personally."
A sound in the tunnel behind him caused Archer to turn suddenly on his heel. He found himself staring directly into the barrel of an automatic pistol.
The sound of footsteps, the heavy door opening, also brought Stern around with unpleasant suddenness.
"I trust I'm not intruding on a treasure hunt." Hans Von Strom stood just outside, his face a cruel mask, the gun in his hand pointed with deadly aim at Stern's face. "I had an appointment with you gentlemen and it was with some difficulty that I was able to keep it."
Stern leaned back against the table, trying to push the roll of script out of sight on the far side. Von Strom was expecting something of the sort. He was in the room with a bound, pushing Stern roughly to one side.
"I'll take that."
His hand darted out, grasped the roll and slipped it into his coat.
Archer was the first to regain his speech. His face was dark red with anger, as he waited for the gun to waver.
"How in hell did you...?"
With the papers in his possession, Von Strom seemed more at ease. He backed toward the door again, careful that they did not get behind him.
"How did I escape?" He chuckled. "Quite a simple matter. I asked Miss Steele for food, knowing her father would deliver it himself. He's not as strong as a young man. The plate slipped from my grasp, I bent to pick it up, a quick twist of the wrist and my fine old friend, Major Steele, was writhing on the floor. I do not think he will see me again, now that I have the secret of the gold formula."
It was Stern's turn to speak. He hadn't moved since Von Strom had entered the room. Now, still leaning against the table, he watched the German with half closed eyes.
"I assume from your talk about treasure," he said, "that you overheard my conversation with Miss Steele."
Von Strom bowed shortly.
"You assume much," he said pointedly. "Yes, I overheard. Such talk means much to my government. A few hours to digest this material and perhaps Germany will be in a position to dictate even stronger peace terms than you ever imagined."
"And meanwhile," Archer asked, "what do you intend doing with us?"
Von Strom grinned.
"Nothing," he answered, looking around the tiny, rock-lined room. "I will leave you where I found you, with only one difference."
He stepped outside the room quickly, and the silence was shattered as the heavy door slammed closed. When Von Strom spoke again, his voice was muffled and deadened by the heavy planks.
"The door is held firmly in place by a heavy beam, gentlemen," he sneered. "There is air inside for a few hours. After that..."
His footsteps retreated along the tunnel, and the tiny cell was silent again. Archer groaned.
"And me thinking that the worst thing that could happen, would be the walls falling in. Looks like we're in a jam, Jeff."
Stern drew from his pocket the paper he had so carefully placed there a few minutes before.
"This," he said, "is our only reprieve. Von Strom knows enough about chemistry to recognize the papers he has as useless. He'll come back again, searching for the true formula. When he does, we'll be ready for him."
"AND now the girl is gone," Steele said. He stopped talking,
drew a tired hand over his bandaged head and pushed his feet to
the desk top. "I tell you, Jeff, we've got to get to the bottom
of this thing in a few hours, or hell's to pay."
Jeff Stern stopped pacing up and down the office and sat on the edge of the desk. Opposite him, Joe Archer, somewhat the worse for wear, sat beside Mary Steele on the davenport.
"How did you happen to think of looking for us at the hidden laboratory?" Stern asked.
Steele shook his head.
"It was Mary," he admitted. "After Von Strom hit me over the head and escaped, she was worried about you. She spent a while bringing me around. It must have been while she bandaged my head, that the girl Ann Masters escaped. When Mary found she also was gone, there was nothing for us to do but find you and Joe at once. We had a little trouble finding the tunnel, removed the beam that held the door closed, and you know the rest."
"And how!" Archer added. "We could have lasted about one more hour if you hadn't got us out of that hole."
Stern's mind was following the events of the past twenty-four hours. Von Strom had what he thought was the secret process of making gold. The girl, Ann Masters, was loose somewhere in London. She could know nothing of what would happen to her if Von Strom's men located her. Stern knew the gold formula was valueless. Could he, should Von Strom come back, convince the German that the search for riches was useless? He doubted it.
A sudden knock sounded on the outer door.
Steele stood up.
"Never mind," Archer offered, "I'll get it."
He was back in a minute, carrying a small sealed envelope. He passed it to Stern. Surprised, Stern took the envelope, saw his name scrawled across it, and opened the flap. He read the three lines of quaint writing with quickening heart.
"Jeff Stern, please come at once to the dwelling, 46 Dempster on the Thames. I need you but you must appear alone—Ann Masters."
"Anything that will help us?"
"What?"
Stern looked up blankly.
"Anything that will put light on this mess?" Steele asked again, a little impatiently.
Stern folded the note quickly and slipped it into his pocket.
"Perhaps," he answered a little grimly. "At least I'll know in a short time. I've got to leave now. It's necessary that I go alone. If I'm not back in two hours, you'd better send the authorities to this address."
He scrawled the address, 46 Dempster on the Thames, across the desk blotter and slipped into his coat. Mary stopped him at the door.
"From Ann?" she asked.
"Yes," Stern said. "Don't you worry, kid. She's old enough to be your great-grandmother."
He opened the door quickly and went out.
Mary Steele made a rapid decision. "Come on, Joe," she said. "We're going to keep an eye on Jeff. He's not so good when it comes to taking care of himself these days."
46 DEMPSTER was in the squalid waterfront section of the city,
not far from the room where Von Strom had first held Mary Steele
captive. The address itself meant little to Stern, but the
appearance of the big, run-down house put him on guard. A flight
of stone steps went half way up the front and ended at a heavy
door. He climbed them slowly and let the old knocker rise and
fall several times. To his relief, Ann Masters herself opened the
door. She had changed her clothing. The costume was gone, and in
its place was soft, translucent silk. The robe alone covered her
from the low neck line to her toes. It was a silky, blue stuff
that floated like a cloud around her slim body.
"I thought you would come," she said.
The door closed behind him, and Stern found the hallway dark and drab when compared to the lovely girl at his side. He followed her without question into a large room that bordered the hall. Ann Masters sat down on an old-fashioned love seat by the window. Her soft, vibrant beauty looked strange and out of place in the tomb-like house. From the very first, Stern had wondered how and why she was here. She could know nothing of the city. She didn't fit into this place any more than she fitted into the queer, vault-like hole under the Thorndyke Building. Staring into her deep eyes, he had to shake himself to make the story of Roger Bacon sound true.
"You are puzzled by me?"
"Can you blame me?"
She nodded a negative reply and bent forward toward him.
"Believe that from the start I would do nothing to harm you." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "If, in the next few hours, strange things happen, always know that I am at your side, trying to help."
Her hand was soft and warm on his. He sat close to her, and her nearness was subtly intoxicating.
"I did not leave my room of free will. There are men in this house. They forced me to come here and to write that note to you. No! You must show no alarm. They are watching. Make believe you are talking of personal things."
Her arm crept around his neck and drew him close. In spite of himself, Stern liked the contact. He sat closer and, pretending to laugh at what she had said, slipped his arm about her smooth waist.
"You have been in Roger's laboratory?"
"Yes," he answered. "It is true. You are the Ann Masters...?"
Her head dropped a bit and the long lids covered any expression in her eyes.
"Yes," she confessed. "If you have guessed that, you must know the rest. Someday when there is time, I will tell you the whole story. I was kept alive by a strange fluid that he put into my body. I would have been there for ages, had not the force of an explosion let oxygen into the cell and revived me."
Stern shivered.
"I owe my life to you," Ann said softly. "You are a great man, Jeff Stern. I can make you the greatest man in your world. You must trust me every moment, every hour..."
He shook his head quickly.
"I promise," he said. "I promise to believe in you in spite of everything. It's a privilege I'll always hold sacred."
"IT is difficult to interrupt so touching a scene."
Stern jumped to his feet, and the girl on the lounge cowered back, frightened by the heavy-set, determined Von Strom. The Nazi was alone at the door, a satanic grin spreading over his heavy face.
"You have done your job well, little one," Von Strom smiled at Ann Masters.
The girl drew her robe about her, not daring to move. Her eyes were on Stern, imploring him not to believe. In spite of what seemed to be a complete betrayal, Stern felt somehow that Ann Masters had deemed his capture necessary. He had promised to trust her, and Stern was a man of his word. His fingers touched hers for a moment and he squeezed them lightly. Then he arose to face Von Strom.
"It seems," he said dispassionately, "that we have a habit of meeting many times in the same day."
"And this, the last time, is the most pleasant," the German said. "It was your good fortune to escape the last trap. Now you have walked into the London headquarters of our little group of agents. It is not safe for us to leave you alive this time. We take the information we need and your body will be found in the Thames. Simple, like that."
He snapped his fingers and two husky, waterfront hangers-on stepped into the room. Stern waited patiently as they strapped his arms and legs with leather belts. When the time came for him to fight, Ann Masters would give the word. Until then, he was at the mercy of Von Strom. The man's eyes, small and pig-like from too much drink, held no hope for him. It would all depend on the game being played by the partly-clad girl on the couch. Stern hoped fervently that she knew what she was doing, and more important than that, that she was on his side.
JOE ARCHER slowed the black car down until they were creeping
along the row of slum tenements of Dempster Place. At Number 35
Dempster he stopped, switched out the car lights and motioned
Mary Steele to get out.
"Just a short distance away," he whispered. "I'd rather park here and see if we can get in without them seeing us."
The girl nodded. Her heart was in her throat. Ever since Jeff Stern had left in the afternoon, she had known that she must follow him. There was no use kidding herself. Mary Steele was so much in love with Stern, that at this moment she was burning inside with fear for his safety, and a hatred for the girl, Ann Masters, who had asked him to come here alone.
46 Dempster was a great, hulking house set back from the street.
Archer stood a few houses away, watching the dark entrance.
"I don't like it a bit," he said to the girl at his side. "We can't just walk in the front door."
"Why not?" Mary asked. "If we try to creep around, they'll see us and we'll be in the soup. Let's walk right up to the door. If we see that Jeff is safe, we'll leave. If not, we'll pretend to leave, and go for the police."
Joe Archer scratched his head.
"Things are too darn simple the way you figure them out," he complained. "Something always happens to complicate them before we get through."
"Come on," Mary started toward the steps. "There's only one way to find out what's going on in there."
Archer pressed the heavy knocker down with his fingers. Silence. He tried again and heard shuffling footsteps approach the door. It opened slowly and an old woman poked her head through the opening. She wore ancient slippers and a dirty house dress and her gray hair was covered with a dark green dust cloth. "Well?"
"H—hello," said Joe. "Does Ann Masters live here?"
"She does."
"Could we speak to her, please," Mary interrupted. "It's rather important."
The woman hesitated, glanced behind her and opened the door wide. It was dark inside and for an instant Mary Steele saw nothing. The door behind them closed quickly and she took Archer's arm. Footsteps sounded in the darkness. They were heavy and business-like against the floor.
A man came from the shadows, and in one hand was the heavy outline of an automatic rifle.
"We meet again." Hans Von Strom stood with legs apart, cradling the rifle carefully in the crook of one arm. There was little expression on his face but the eyes were red and slitted with anger. "This time we have a cage from which I do not think you will escape."
Archer twisted about, only to find that the old woman had produced a snubby automatic from her dress. She trained it at Archer's head. Her face was split by a wide, toothless grin.
"You people just go right up and make yourselves at home in the guest room," she cackled. "Miss Masters will be with you, soon."
THE "guest room," in which Von Strom had locked his prisoners,
was a long, narrow chamber in an upstairs section of the house.
It was sound-proof and only one door entered from the room at the
front of the house. The guest room contained three chairs, a
battered table and nothing else.
"What I'd like to know," Joe Archer moaned, "is why we ever let that damned Nazi get away from us in the first place?"
Jeff Stern, his face a study of conflicting emotions, sat beside Mary. For an hour he had been waiting for word from Ann. She had promised to help. At least he had detected in her actions a desire to do something for him.
"Perhaps it's as well that Von Strom did escape," he answered finally. "Now we know where the Germans have their hideout. If we get a few breaks, we may be able to do something yet."
He looked down at Mary, and smiled.
"I only wish you would stay at home part of the time," he said. "We can't afford to take needless chances with you here."
Mary Steele frowned.
"It seems that you are the one who usually needs help," she protested. "Besides, I don't like the idea of you getting notes from girls when you have to see them alone. It isn't safe."
Von Strom's entrance saved Stern from further explanation. The Nazi was worried. He wasted no time getting to the point.
"Stern, you and I have nothing to hide from each other on the chemistry angle," he sat down opposite them, making sure his back was to the door. "Those papers I took from you at the old laboratory are useless. I'm pretty sure you know where the true formula is. I want it."
Stern leaned back comfortably in his chair.
"Sometimes, Von Strom," he answered slowly, "I see you as a big, blubbering wind-bag. What gives you the idea in the first place, that there is any treasure?"
Von Strom swallowed the insult with a smooth smile.
"If this is to be a game of wits," he answered. "We'll play it that way. I know that you found something I didn't. I heard you tell Miss Steele that you thought you had something important. That's enough, knowing you, to make me feel there is no doubt that you have made a valuable discovery. I'm going to find out what it is."
Jeff Stern stood up.
"You've put your cards on the table," he said. "I'll play mine. I did have the wild idea that the secret of making gold had been discovered. I know now that I was wrong. You're on the wrong track, Hans. All you're going to get from the whole business is trouble."
Von Strom was on his feet, his face twisted with rage.
"That's your answer." He backed toward the door. "Now, I'll give you mine. The girl Ann Masters will live for five minutes. Unless you knock on that door before those five minutes are up, I'll put so much lead in her body that she'll sink in the Thames like a load of bricks."
He stamped angrily from the room and the door slammed behind him.
"MAYBE you'd better tell him, Jeff," Archer said finally. "I
hate to see the kid murdered."
"Please, Jeff." Mary Steele's eyes were filled with tears. "I'm sorry I accused you of playing around. Save the girl."
Stern was silent. He knew that outside somewhere, Ann Masters would die if he did not help her. What he could do was the question.
"Von Strom forgets one thing," he said aloud finally. "I have no knowledge that he doesn't know about. The paper in my possession is supposed to be a formula for gold. Actually the stuff turns to a black, worthless substance."
He drew the small, stone-like sample from his pocket. "This," he announced disgustedly, "is Hans Von Strom's gold." Archer groaned.
"That puts us in a swell mess," he said. "When Von Strom finds out we're passing black rock onto him, he'll have us all shot."
Some of the powder had separated from the rough surface of the stone, and covered Stern's hand. Absent-mindedly he reached for a match and placed a half smoked cigarette between his lips. Scratching the match across his shoe, he cupped it in his palm. There was a sudden flare of light and the dust in his fingers flashed into flame. Quickly he slapped his hand to his shirt and the flames died. Joe Archer came forward in his chair, face white as a ghost.
"Good God," he shouted. "The dust, it burns."
Stern looked at his hand ruefully.
"It sure does." Then, "Joe; Mary. Do you realize what we've got? The sudden flash, the intense heat. This stuff isn't rock. It's gunpowder."
Mary drew her handkerchief quickly, wiping away the flecks of burned powder in his hand. Perhaps, after all, Jeff Stern would be able to do something now.
"Sometimes," she said tenderly, "I think blind luck follows you every step of your life."
Stern controlled his voice carefully. They must work fast.
"That laboratory belonged to Roger Bacon," he said. "He made tons of gunpowder before anyone else knew what the stuff was."
"Lucky for us, he did," Archer beamed. "We'll blow the daylights out of this place now."
"I think we could," Stern answered. "If I'm any judge, it's more powerful than anything I've ever seen. Unfortunately we can't just blow our way out of here."
Archer's jaw dropped.
"And why not...?"
"Ann Masters," Mary said. "We've got to save her."
Stern started toward the locked door.
"Do what Von Strom tells you to do; don't start anything, and leave the rest up to me."
He started to pound on the door with all his strength. The solid piece of rock gunpowder was tucked safely into his pocket.
THE ancient laboratory of Roger Bacon was packed to the door
with visitors. The tiny room, its wall flickering under candle
light, seemed like a strange tomb.
Hans Von Strom had taken no chances that his prisoners might escape. They had come in the night. There were three carloads, including Ann Masters, Stern, Archer, Mary Steele and five officials of the German Intelligence Staff.
Von Strom stood near the table, a triumphant grin on his ugly face. Across from him, Jeff Stern worked busily over the freshly cleaned crucibles.
"We have humored the fool," Von Strom turned to his associates. "We have brought him here as he wished. We have promised the things he asked for. He has no choice now, but to produce the gold we have waited for."
The men nodded quietly. They had their orders to kill without mercy, once Jeff Stern was able to show them a test tube of the metal they wanted.
Mary Steele sat quietly on the old lounge, an arm around Ann Masters. The girl from beyond time was frightened. Her small body shook in the embrace of Mary's arm.
Archer wondered what Jeff had on his mind. They were still under guard. Archer knew, even as the first steamy liquid arose from its crucible and foamed to the table, that Jeff Stern was on the spot. If he tried to use the explosive here, they would all be destroyed. Perspiration stood out in heavy beads on Archer's forehead.
Jeff Stern was stalling. He hadn't planned things this way. Von Strom's decision to bring them all here was his alone. Stern had wanted to come alone, and in his mind, he knew that death for him wouldn't be hard as long as the girls and Joe were safe. Now he must think of another plan.
Von Strom was growing impatient.
"We have no useless time to spend here," he growled. "You have destroyed the papers. Hurry, that I may witness the manner in which you produce the stuff. We must get out of here without delay."
Stern nodded. His eyes arose once to the girls on the couch. To murder them here, in cold blood...
His eye caught the roving, worshipping depths of Ann Masters' stare. The girl's lids were half closed. She was trying to say something, plead with him. In Jeff Stern's heart there was love for Ann that went deeper than life itself. It was from her that he had drawn strength, a purpose that he had never possessed before they met.
Now he stared at her across the table as his fingers went about the task they must do.
FROM the floor, he extracted a large stone. It lay on the
table before him. The magic fluid was ready. He lifted the test
tube and felt the heat of it through his gloved hand. Hans Von
Strom came close to the table, bending over the glass. The men by
the door, guns ready, were motionless, waiting.
Mary Steele arose and Ann Masters was at her side. She still shivered under the light robe, but Stern knew it wasn't the cold that troubled her. Suddenly he was sure that Ann Masters knew the secret of the gunpowder. He was so sure that the look in her eyes frightened him. It wasn't the expression of the child- like girl he had known. All the background and strife of a lost people were in her stare. He alone noticed the tenseness of her body. He alone realized that in her mind some plan was evolving.
The test tube tipped slowly in his finger and the flow of yellow liquid poured over the stone on the table.
Von Strom's lips parted eagerly and his tongue moistened them. The stone turned suddenly from a dull gray to brilliant, flashing yellow. It wasn't the yellow of dye, but the full, living sparkle of gold. Before it had cooled, he clutched it up and turned it over and over in his hand. It was solid, heavy with value.
His eyes shifted until they met Stern's, tense and waiting on the far side of the table.
"It is gold," he said. "I can do the same now. Your task is finished."
He backed slowly toward the door. The stone was clutched tightly in one hand, his pistol in the other. The Nazis stood close together, ready for the last act.
Mary and Ann Masters were drawn slowly toward Stern. Archer, his face flaming red, drew away from the Nazi group. Ready for the kill, they did not protest. The room was divided now. Stern's eyes never left the yellow stone in Von Strom's hand. His face relaxed slowly, and a smile came over his face.
"You are a clever man, Hans," he said slowly. "Look at your gold."
Von Strom glanced quickly at the thing in his hands. Its color was already gone. With darkening features, he watched what had been gold turn to dusty black rock between his fingers. The look of anger that spread across his face, mirrored itself on the faces of his friends.
"You fool," he shouted. "You damned American fool. Do you think you can get away with this?"
With all his strength, he threw the black object straight at Stern's head.
STERN tried to dodge, felt the heavy fragment strike the side
of his head, and went to his knees. He tried to arise but the
blow had been well placed. He sank to the floor, pain blinding
him.
He knew that the room was suddenly alive with action. Von Strom was swearing loudly and Stern heard the sudden loud explosion of a gun shot. He staggered to his feet, fell forward across the table as Ann Masters rushed toward the Nazis at the door. In her right hand she held the flaming burner that Stern had used a short time before. In her left...
Jeff Stern made one great effort to push the table away from him. Ann was before Von Strom now, and between them she seemed to be fumbling with something that he tried to grasp from her.
"No you don't—Fräulein..."
A terrific explosion shook the walls, and the table tipped backward on top of Stern. Mary Steele's scream of horror rose above the dying sound and Stern knew that the room had been torn apart with the force that had killed the Nazis.
For a long time he knew no more. Yet, in his unconscious mind, the face of Ann Masters turned like a lovely pin-wheel. Her voice in his ear, the softness of her lips on his cheek. Over and over he heard her whisper.
"Believe from the start that I would do you no harm..."
FROM the clean, white bed at Mercy Hospital, Jeff Stern could
once more take a long-range view of what had happened. Somehow he
was glad. After they told him what had happened, Mary Steele and
gruff, good natured Joe Archer had left him alone with his
thoughts.
From the first, he had loved Ann. If, across the ages, they were to meet again, he knew she would remember. That look in her eyes when he had watched her from his place by the table. The way she had grasped the solid gunpowder, and shielding them with her own body, touched the flame that had blown Von Strom and his men from existence. Ann Masters had known the secret of Bacon's "fool's gold." She had used it to save Jeff Stern, at the cost of her own life.
Others, Stern thought grimly, would also learn the horrible powder that had destroyed Ann. Even now, great armadas of American bombers were winging their way high in the sky above Berlin. Every city in Germany would awaken amidst chaos, to find the world of the swastika torn asunder with bombs that were five times more powerful than their worst dreams had imagined.
But for the bravery of one girl, the tables would be reversed. The spirit of Ann Masters, although unknown, would be flying with those men on their mission of death over Germany.
Stern closed his eyes, and felt the soft air from the open window.
His lips parted in a contented smile.
"Believe from the start that I mean you no harm—strange things may happen—I am always at your side—trying to help."