The thought was gruesome. Sayre thought of the human automata who paraded the gloom of this horrible house. The young surgeon faltered at the idea of reducing other human beings to that mechanical state; but more terrible was the alternative of becoming one himself!
“I await your decision,” came the discordant voice of the skeleton.
“There is only one possible choice,” remarked Rupert Sayre. “That is to perform as operating surgeon. After all, these men are criminals. I ask only that you provide me with subjects of that type.”
A laugh came from the living skull. Eric Veldon had evidently expected this answer. He was pleased by Rupert Sayre’s attitude. He did not know that young surgeon was working for a delay. Sayre was discreet enough to feign indifference to the fate of the subjects whom Veldon might provide.
“Your request will be granted,” announced the skeleton. “I choose criminals only. They are easy to obtain. Their minds are better suited to my needs.
“You, Doctor Sayre, shall provide me with a host of mechanical men. All will be factors in my schemes. At my beck, they will aid me in whatever purpose I may choose. They will not turn from crime. They will commit new crimes in obedience to my mandates. Deprived of past memory, free from their individual initiative, they will do as I command!”
With these words, the skeleton began to disappear. The bony form was wiped out by degrees, darkness moving upward until the entire figure was gone. A few minutes passed; dim lights glowed within the room.
The man who had spoken with Doctor Rupert Sayre was no longer present.
THE physician realized what had caused this evanishment. The panel in the wall, just beyond the screen, must be capable of sliding up and down. The X-ray machine was behind it. The panel, probably coated with lead on its farther side, could stop the revealing rays.
Eric Veldon had come into the darkened room through some secret entrance. He had taken a chair beyond the table. He had dropped the panel to come within the focus of the rays. Another operation had raised the panel slowly, to end the interview. Veldon had departed.
With Merle Clussig’s powerful X-ray machine; with the improved screening that the inventor had devised to prevent injurious effects, Eric Veldon had accomplished the seemingly miraculous.
Even to Doctor Rupert Sayre, whose knowledge of X-rays gave him an inkling to the method employed, the appearance of the living skeleton had resembled a fantastic nightmare.
The slide panel of the room came open. A new worry swept through Rupert Sayre’s brain. There, at the opening, was Alpha. The servant had come to summon him to a new adventure. The odd, mechanical creature was beckoning.
“Come!” was the word that Alpha uttered.
Rupert Sayre arose, trying to repress the feeling that he could not overcome. He knew that he had made an agreement with Eric Veldon. He sensed that the fiend was ready to put him to the test!
CHAPTER XVIII. THE COUNTERPLOT
RUPERT SAYRE was not mistaken in his apprehensions. Alpha, the taciturn servant, was leading him to another portion of the building. Instead of starting back by the corridor through which Sayre had come, Alpha, with a beckoning motion, drew the physician toward the farther end of the long corridor.
Alpha opened a door. Sayre entered. The servant closed the door. Sayre stood alone in a little anteroom. Beyond this, a door stood ajar. It was obvious that the physician was to advance alone.
The moment that he pushed open the door, Sayre stopped short. He had not expected the scene that lay before him, even though Doctor Barratini’s account had forewarned him of what might be seen here.
Sayre was at the threshold of a brightly lighted operating room. Two figures garbed in white were standing on either side of a wheeled table. The physician recognized them as a pair of Veldon’s stolid, mechanical-moving men. Upon the table was the prostrate form of a young man.
This was the result of Sayre’s pact with the living skeleton! The surgeon had expressed his willingness to operate upon criminals. One had already been provided! The recollection of the returning car and the rhythmic pound of feet flashed through Rupert Sayre’s mind. Eric Veldon’s minions had been returning with another victim!
The situation was grotesque. Former criminals, reduced to primitive, steady-moving machines, served Eric Veldon as their master. With their intelligence brought to a mere instinctive level, they went forth to bring in others of their ilk that the fiendish controller might have new servants in his retinue.
The two minions stepped aside as Rupert Sayre approached the table. The physician bent above the outstretched man. He gained a puzzled frown as he surveyed the face of Clifford Marsland.
Cliff was still under the influence of the anesthetic which Veldon’s henchmen had used to stifle his outcry.
In repose, Cliff’s face had lost some of the harshness which it usually displayed. When dealing with mobsters, pretending to be one of their ilk, Cliff always played a hard-boiled part.
Rupert Sayre had felt a keen reluctance even in faking consent to perform an operation under Eric Veldon’s auspices. Had the surgeon found a tough-faced crook awaiting him, he might have fought against his inner feelings, knowing that his own future welfare would be at stake. When he viewed Cliff Marsland’s clean-cut countenance, Rupert Sayre experienced a surging antagonism toward Eric Veldon.
The physician became set in his determination to cause a definite delay.
THE sound of a ticker attracted Sayre’s attention. Turning, the physician saw a pedestal close by. It resembled the teletype apparatus in the room where Sayre had been kept a prisoner. Going to the pedestal, Sayre saw letters forming on the tape.
“PROCEED WITH THE OPERATION,” were the words he read. “I AM WATCHING YOU.”
In response, Sayre boldly stretched out his hands to the little typewriter and printed his objection to the order of the fiend.
“THIS MAN,” the physician typed, “DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE A CRIMINAL. HIS CASE IS NOT IN OUR AGREEMENT.”
“YOU ARE MISTAKEN,” came the ticker reply. “I KNOW THE MAN’S HISTORY. HE IS A CROOK WHO DOUBLE-CROSSED HIS PALS. PROCEED.”
Sayre walked back to the operating table. He made a brief examination. He solemnly returned to the typewriter.
“THE MAN HAS SLIGHT INJURIES,” was the message he dispatched. “HE HAS BEEN GIVEN TOO MUCH ANESTHETIC. AN OPERATION MAY CAUSE HIS DEATH.”
“PROCEED,” came the words on the tape. “REGARD THIS CASE AS AN EXPERIMENT. OTHER SUBJECTS ARE AVAILABLE.”
In the face of this order, Rupert Sayre gained a sudden inspiration. He knew that Eric Veldon, whom he had seen as a living skeleton, was a man who had small regard for human life. At the same time, Sayre also knew that Veldon was anxious to assemble the most capable of human machines. The physician resolved to make an appeal along this line — following a course that would make him appear to be in harmony with Veldon’s wishes.
“THE MAN IS AN EXCELLENT SUBJECT,” typed Sayre. “HE IS MORE SUITABLE THAN ANY WHOM YOU NOW HAVE. IT WOULD BE UNWISE TO RISK HIS LIFE WHEN A DELAYED OPERATION WOULD MEAN SUCCESS. HE IS TOO GOOD A SUBJECT TO LOSE.”
There was a pause; then came methodical words from Veldon — statements that made Rupert Sayre smile inwardly.
“YOUR ADVICE SHOWS FORESIGHT,” printed the ticker. “I COMPLIMENT YOU UPON IT. HOW LONG A DELAY DO YOU CONSIDER NECESSARY?”
Sayre pondered. He wanted to make the time as long as possible, yet he did not care to arouse Veldon’s suspicion. After a thoughtful pause, he typed out: