Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 19, No. 99, February 1952
- Автор: Грубер Фрэнк, Кемельман Гарри
- Год: 1952
- Язык: английский
- Год: American Mercury
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 19, No. 99, February 1952». Краткое содержание книги:
“With regret I have to state that the Club’s address may have to be changed once more. An absolute secrecy is hard to maintain; a rumor has been spread—”
The monotonous voice continued, but was no longer listened to by Milt. From the masked face of the speaker and his audience his eyes traveled round the room — uneasily, stealthily. Here was luxury. The Persian rugs upon the floor were worth a fortune. It was a large room of grotesque faces. They stared — a grimacing multitude from great spreads of canvas upon the walls; they grinned from the painted ceiling; they glared from the carven bodies of squat monsters of Chinese and Indian fashioning. Along the length of a table in the middle of the room stretched an immense dragon of brass covered with burnished scales. A powerful electric light glowed in the jaws of this beast, and sent two slanting green rays from its eyeballs.
At a touch upon his arm Milt turned and saw Garman still by his side. Both men were standing by the door, and in shadow.
“I will tell you where you are,” whispered Garman. “This is one of the least known and most exclusive clubs in London, and one of the most expensive. It is called The Sensation Club. Are you listening?”
“What do they do here?”
“Here we worship the cult of the Sensational. Here we drink the heady wine of sheer excitement.”
Milt gulped, and Garman tightened his hold upon his arm.
“Who are these men?” inquired Milt, huskily.
“Their names would astonish you; with that you must be satisfied. Most of them have run the gamut of all the thrills that life offers to the lover of them; and that is why they are here, why they are members of this association whose first duty is to provide breath-stopping, heart-stopping excitement. There is no other club in the world where such fare is to be found.”
“Good Lord!” murmured Milt, rolling dilated eyes.
“You heard the President speak of three new aspirants for membership. Probably not one of them will be successful.”
“Why not?”
“Because he must provide a new Sensation; or, failing that, must submit himself to one. I tell you that this is no place for weak nerves.”
“What have you brought me here for?”
“That you shall know at once. Come forward!”
The President had completed his remarks, and now, for the first time since their entry, all eyes sought Garman and the stranger with him. And the sight of them, glittering behind the slits in the half-masks, boring into him, affected Milt like stabs from an electric needle.
“I have to request that someone will be so good as to keep between my charge here and the door,” commenced Garman, urbanely. He spoke well; he “had the floor,” and it was evident that he meant to make the most of his opportunity.
“Mr. President and gentlemen,” he continued, “it is my good fortune to introduce tonight one of those adventures in pure Sensation which are the essence of this Club. I assume that we have all heard of the crime at Windy Oaks, in which a Mr. Tracer was done to death. Gentlemen, I have no doubt that the criminal is this man whom I have brought here. Of his own free will he comes; and, on his behalf, I claim for him the privileges of The Sensation Club.”
The President rested his finger-ends on the table before him. “That is to be seen,” said he, gravely. “Explain further.”
Garman went on: “This evening I dined at the inn called The Nine Bells, which is two miles north of Windy Oaks. The landlord spoke of the crime, describing the dead man, whom he knew, and that Unknown who is wanted by the police. When I came away it was quite dark. At a lonely spot in the road my car was stopped by our friend here, who implored me, in tones of real fear and distress, to give him a lift along the London road. His manner, and his appearance — which is that of the wanted man — roused my suspicion. When I came to demand of him the truth, he jumped from the car and bolted. But he was held up in a remarkable manner. In the gloom of a sunken road he saw — or shall we say that he fancied that he saw? — the form of his victim. In his agony he described it to me — a man in a blue reefer coat, with gold spectacles; a square-built man with a brown beard changing to yellow. These were the words used by the landlord of the inn, and they were practically repeated by our terrified guest here. More, he declared that he had twice before seen that unsubstantial presence since the act — his act — of foul murder. This we may or may not believe; but in an access of mortal fear, he practically admitted the deed. My first impulse was to place him in the hands of the police; my second, to bring him here. He wishes to know what you will do with him; his plea is for the protection of the Club. That is all, gentlemen. I have played my part. I have brought you a grim guest. Mr. President, you will decide.”
The moment Garman ceased talking an excited babel of voices arose. Milt turned his wild eyes upon the crowd, but he failed to catch what was being said. Twice he looked behind him to the door, but a big man was on guard there.
Suddenly the President made a sign for silence.
“Certainly Professor Hungar’s queer discovery has never been put to a decisive test,” said the President, calmly. “And as it seems to be the most popular suggestion, we will put it to a practical application.”
While speaking he unlocked a drawer in the long table. A moment later a tiny phial of blue glass, octagonal, was in his hand.
“A wine glass,” he requested, “half-filled with pure water.”
He inserted the bare end of a match into the phial, and when he withdrew it there clung to it a drop of liquid. He held this over the wine glass and gently shook off the drop into the water, which slowly changed to the color of grass-green. Milt watched the proceedings with deeply uneasy intentness. The red crept from his cheeks; his eyes were haggard.
“You will drink the contents of that glass.”
“What devil’s game are you playing?” said Milt, huskily.
“Drink!”
“Yes — perhaps — when I know what it is.”
“It is your chance of your life,” said the President, with iron sternness. “It will save you — at a price. What that price is you shall know. The liquid in this phial was sent to us by a member — Professor Hungars. It contains a germ obtained by him from a West Indian swamp. He claims that the effect of this germ in the human system is to produce, with a terrible swiftness, all the signs and appearance of advanced years. The tissues waste, the arteries harden, the eyes lose their lustre, the skin yellows. So he states, and Professor Hungars is one of our foremost bacteriologists. You must now perceive the chance which we extend to you, Milt. The police are looking for a man — a young man — between thirty and forty years of age. It is highly likely that this liquid offers you the power to baffle them.”
“I see,” said Milt, moistening his lips. “If they find an old man — shrunken, white-haired — ah, what ghouls you are! I will not touch it!”
“You will!”
“I swear I won’t!”
“You have two minutes in which to make up your mind.”
“An old man of me?” muttered Milt, huskily. “How old? Fifty? Sixty? More than that?”
“Probably much more. You know as much as we do. But I am not here to answer your questions. One of your two minutes has expired. I warn you that you are in a dangerous position.”
“My soul! I can believe that,” groaned the fugitive, casting a dazed and cowed look at the masked faces.