Death in the Stars
Maxwell Grant
CHAPTER I. DEATH RIDES THE AIR.
The silvery plane hung high above the Sierras, like a hovering dragonfly. It always seemed to poise above the mountain tops during this stage of the trip from Los Angeles to Lake Calada. Drury, the pilot, was picking up altitude before beginning his glide to the sparkling bowl of water that nestled amid the summits.
There were three passengers in the plane. Like most visitors to Lake Calada, they had chosen the air taxi in preference to a day's trip of climbing roads that snaked through mountain passes. In fact, the air taxi was the one inducement that had made Lake Calada a popular resort.
By air, the lake was within an hour's reach of Los Angeles; and the perpetual sunshine of California, plus the skill of Drury, assured a safe and comfortable journey.
One of the passengers was a girl; the initials, "L. M.," on her handbag stood for Lois Melvin. At present, the handbag was open, and the mirror that Lois brought from it showed a very attractive face, which scarcely needed the make-up that the girl applied.
Limpid brown eyes beneath thin-penciled brows; lips that had a natural ruddiness, along with their tantalizing smile; a background of jet-black hair-such were the features of Lois Melvin. They combined to form a face that most men admired; but, so far, the girl's charm had not dented the reserve of the other persons in the plane.
Lois wasn't vain, but she was accustomed to admirers. She was puzzled, rather than angry, as she glanced toward the other passengers. Thinking it over, Lois was rather glad that the man across the aisle had not noticed her.
Lois knew his name: Edward Barcla. He wasn't much liked at Lake Calada. Barcla was one of the interlopers who had somehow managed to buy a piece of property on a back lot near the exclusive Calada Colony. But Lois did not dislike him on that account. She wasn't a member of the wealthy set; her natural sympathies veered toward Barcla's group. But Barcla, as an individual, was another matter.
He had a weasel face, with sharply sloping brow, scheming eyes, a mouth that showed oversized ugly teeth when he drew back his lips. Barcla's pasty complexion increased the unlovely picture. Lois had always disliked his looks; but on this trip, he had seemed uglier than ever.
The reason was, that Barcla had spent the hour muttering to himself and indulging in grins that were very much like leers. If he had known how his facial contortions worked against him, he might have been more careful.
His hands, too, were an index to a nasty character. The twitching of his ill-formed, sharp-nailed fingers reminded Lois of evil claws clutching at the throat of an imaginary victim.
Yes, Lois was glad that Barcla had not tried to further an acquaintance during this air trip. But she would have liked much to talk with the passenger who sat one seat ahead.
He was a man of dignity; his face, of hawkish contour, was so calm that it seemed almost mask-like. His eyes, when Lois glimpsed them, were steady, and she could fancy a piercing power behind their mildness. The hawk-faced man was a stranger; but Lois had learned his name when Drury addressed him, at the start of the trip.
His name was Lamont Cranston; he had come in from Honolulu on the Clipper. He was visiting Lake Calada to be the guest of Henry Denwood, one of the wealthy residents.
An odd contrast: Barcla, grimacing like an ape; Cranston, as immobile as a stone idol-yet each man wrapped in his own thoughts. Ignoring the two, Lois looked toward the front of the compact plane, saw Drury busy at the controls. The pilot's back was turned, but his actions indicated that they were near the landing field.
Lois gazed from the cabin window. They were beyond the mountains. Below, the girl saw the sheen of Lake Calada, set like a sapphire in the wooded slopes. The center of the lake made a long, clear stretch, for it was very deep; but there were capes and islands at the fringes that produced coves and bays.
It was difficult, from this altitude, to realize that the lake was several miles in length. But Lois had traveled it often, with Niles Rundon in his speedboat. The lake seemed to swing upward lazily as Drury banked the plane, and Lois viewed many landmarks.
She saw the Lodi Lodge, which looked like a Mexican hacienda transferred to a woodland setting. Other places were visible, including Rundon's, which was farther up the lake. Lois recognized Indian Rock, which made a shelving bulwark at the inner end of Indian Cove. She spied the ruins of the Pioneer Mine along the shore of another bay.
At the far end of the lake were the white buildings of the Community Center, where the landing field was located. It was fortunate that the shore had one stretch of flat ground; otherwise, it would be difficult to reach Lake Calada by air, since the altitude hampered seaplanes.
Then, as the ship thrummed across the center of the lake, Lois smiled at sight of a stone-walled building resembling a medieval tower.
People called the place the "Castle," and it was the residence of Professor Scorpio. Lois dipped her fingers into the handbag, brought out a folded sheet of paper. It was one of Scorpio's horoscopes, that he had given her before she left Lake Calada. She hadn't bothered to read it; perhaps a perusal would while away the last few minutes before Drury made his landing.
Lois opened the paper. Her forehead wrinkled, as her eyes widened. She was scanning printed statements that actually astonished her. The chart said that her favorite color was olive-green, which happened to be true; that her lucky number was six, which also was correct, when she considered occurrences in which that number had figured.
Then, in larger type, Lois read:
"Be careful of your actions on the eleventh day of each month. On those days, make no hazardous journeys."
A thought struck home to Lois. Today was the eleventh. A trip by plane could be regarded as a hazardous journey. Lois was actually worried, as she looked toward Drury; then her anxiety faded.
About ready for his landing, the pilot had calmly taken a cigarette from a fresh pack he had just opened.
Drury inserted the cigarette between his lips, ready to light it the moment the plane grounded and came to a stop. It was a daily ritual with him, this getting ready for a smoke.
Drury certainly was not worried over the routine maneuver that was about to come. There was no reason for Lois to be alarmed.
Again, the girl glanced from the window. She could see the landing field almost below, with little dots, representing people, near the veranda of the main community house.
There were boats, toylike in size, drawn up at the dock. Again, the whole scene lifted, as the plane banked. Lois watched for it to straighten.
Instead, came a sight that the girl had never before observed. The landscape took a sudden whirl. Hills, woods, lake, became a revolving jumble that made a daytime nightmare. Out of that blur of blue and green Lois could glimpse the jagged points of mountain tops and white streaks, as the buildings of the Community Center flashed before her vision.
The truth seemed to shout itself at Lois. Instead of swooping down to a landing, the plane had gone into a spin. Drury, the ever-reliable pilot, had lost control of the ship!
CLUTCHING the seat, Lois looked ahead. She saw Drury crouched over the controls. Whether or not his hand was frozen to the stick, she couldn't tell, for another man blocked full view. That man was Cranston; the hawk-faced passenger had lunged forward from his seat to grab Drury by the shoulders.
Lois screamed. As if in answer to her call, another figure leaped toward the pilot's seat. It was Barcla; despite the ferocious snarl that the fellow gave. Lois was all in his favor. If Barcla could only get Cranston away from Drury and let the pilot land the ship!
Lake, land and sky were still engaged in their madcap whirl, as the spinning plane plummeted groundward. Half from the seat, Lois tumbled forward of her own weight, as Barcla locked with Cranston. With a fury that matched his apish manner, Barcla yanked Cranston away from Drury; but his success was short-lived. Lois, reeling in upon the pair, saw a fist jab with the force of a pile driver.