CHAPTER I
_The Hand of Moyen._
"Who is that man?" asked a young lady passenger of the steward, with theimperious inflection which tells of riches able to force obedience frommenials who labor for hire.
She pointed a bejeweled finger at the slender, soldierly figure whichstood in the prow of the liner, like a figurehead, peering into thestorm under the vessel's forefoot.
"That gentleman, milady?" repeated the steward obsequiously. "That isPrester Kleig, head of the Secret Agents, Master of the Secret Room,just now returning from Madagascar, via Europe, after a visit to therealm of Moyen."
A gasp of terror burst from the lips of the woman. Her cheeks blanched.
"Moyen!" She almost whispered it. "Moyen! The half-god of Asia, whom mencall mad!"
"Not mad, milady. No, Moyen is not mad, save with a lust for power. Heis the conqueror of the ages, already ruling more of the earth'spopulation than any man has ever done before him--even Alexander!"
But the young lady was not listening to stewards. Wealthy young ladiesdid not, save when asked questions dealing with personal service tothemselves. Her eyes devoured the slender man who stood in the prow ofthe _Stellar_, while her lips shaped, over and over again, the dreadname which was on the lips of the people of the world:
"Moyen! Moyen!"
* * * * *
Up in the prow, if Prester Kleig, who carried a dread secret in hisbreast, knew of the young lady's regard, he gave no sign. There weretouches of gray at his temples, though he was still under forty. He hadseen more of life, knew more of its terrors, than most men twice hisage--because he had lived harshly in service to his country.
He was thinking of Moyen, the genius of the misshapen body, the paleeyes which reflected the fires of a Satanic soul, set deeply in themidst of the face of an angel; and wondering if he would be able toarrive in time, sorry that he had not returned home by airplane.
He had taken the _Stellar_ only because the peacefulness of ocean linertravel would aid his thoughts, and he required time to marshal them.Liner travel was now a luxury, as all save the immensely wealthytraveled by plane across the oceans. Now Prester Kleig was sorry, forany moment, he felt, Moyen might strike.
He turned and looked back along the deck of the _Stellar_. His eyesplayed over the trimly gowned figure of the woman who questioned thesteward, but did not really see her. And then....
"Great God!" The words were a prayer, and they burst from the lips ofPrester Kleig like an explosion. Passengers appeared from the lee oflifeboats. Officers on the bridge whirled to look at the man whoshouted. Seamen paused in their labors to stare. Aloft in thecrow's-nest the lookout lowered his eyes from scouring the horizon tostare at Prester Kleig--who was pointing.
All eyes turned in the direction indicated.
* * * * *
Climbing into the sky, a mile off the starboard beam, was an airplanewith a bulbous body and queerly slanted wings. It had neither wheels norpontoons, and it traveled with unbelievable speed. It came onbullet-fast, headed directly for the side of the _Stellar_.
"Lower the boats!" yelled Kleig. "Lower the boats! For God's sake lowerthe boats!"
For Prester Kleig, in that casual turning, had seen what none aboard the_Stellar_, even the lookout above, had seen. The airplane, which hadneither wheels nor pontoons, had risen, as Aphrodite is said to haverisen, out of the waves! He had seen the wings come out of the bulbousbody, snap backward into place, and the plane was in full flight theinstant it appeared.
Prester Kleig had no hope that his warning would be in time, but hewould always feel better for having given it. As the captain debatedwith himself as to whether this lunatic should be confined as dangerous,the strange airplane nosed over and dived down to the sea, a hundredyards from the side of the _Stellar_. Just before it struck the water,its wings snapped forward and became part of the bulbous body of thething, the whole of which shot like a bullet into the sea.
* * * * *
Prester Kleig stood at the rail, peering out at the spot where the planehad plunged in with scarcely a splash, and his right hand was raised asthough he gave a final, despairing signal.
Of all aboard the _Stellar_, he only saw that black streak which, tenfeet under water, raced like a bolt of lightning from the nose of thesubmerged but visible plane, straight as a die for the side of the_Stellar_. Just a black streak, no bigger than a small man's arm, fromthe nose of the plane to the side of the _Stellar_.
From the crow's-nest came the startled, terrific voice of the lookout,in the beginning of a cry that must remain forever inarticulate.
The world, in that blinding moment, seemed to rock on its foundations;to shatter itself to bits in a chaotic jumble of sound and of movement,shot through and through with lurid flames. Kleig felt himself hurledupward and outward, turned over and over endlessly....
He felt the storm-tossed waters close over him, and knew he had struck.In the moment he knew--oblivion, deep, ebon and impenetrable, blottedout knowledge.