Old Crompton's Secret
_By Harl Vincent_
Tom's extraordinary machine glowed--and the years were banished from Old Crompton's body. But there still remained, deep-seated in his century-old mind, the memory of his crime.
_Tom tripped on a wire and fell, with his ferociousadversary on top._]
Two miles west of the village of Laketon there lived an aged recluse whowas known only as Old Crompton. As far back as the villagers couldremember he had visited the town regularly twice a month, each timetottering his lonely way homeward with a load of provisions. He appearedto be well supplied with funds, but purchased sparingly as became amiserly hermit. And so vicious was his tongue that few cared to conversewith him, even the young hoodlums of the town hesitating to harass himwith the banter usually accorded the other bizarre characters of thestreets.
The oldest inhabitants knew nothing of his past history, and they hadlong since lost their curiosity in the matter. He was a fixture, as wasthe old town hall with its surrounding park. His lonely cabin wasshunned by all who chanced to pass along the old dirt road that ledthrough the woods to nowhere and was rarely used.
His only extravagance was in the matter of books, and the village bookstore profited considerably by his purchases. But, at the instigation ofCass Harmon, the bookseller, it was whispered about that Old Cromptonwas a believer in the black art--that he had made a pact with the devilhimself and was leagued with him and his imps. For the books he boughtwere strange ones; ancient volumes that Cass must needs order from NewYork or Chicago and that cost as much as ten and even fifteen dollars acopy; translations of the writings of the alchemists and astrologers andphilosophers of the dark ages.
It was no wonder Old Crompton was looked at askance by the simple-livingand deeply religious natives of the small Pennsylvania town.
But there came a day when the hermit was to have a neighbor, and thetown buzzed with excited speculation as to what would happen.
* * * * *
The property across the road from Old Crompton's hut belonged to AltonForsythe, Laketon's wealthiest resident--hundreds of acres of scrubbywoodland that he considered well nigh worthless. But Tom Forsythe, theonly son, had returned from college and his ambitions were of a naturestrange to his townspeople and utterly incomprehensible to his father.Something vague about biology and chemical experiments and the like iswhat he spoke of, and, when his parents objected on the grounds ofpossible explosions and other weird accidents, he prevailed upon hisfather to have a secluded laboratory built for him in the woods.
When the workmen started the small frame structure not a quarter of amile from his own hut, Old Crompton was furious. He raged and stormed,but to no avail. Tom Forsythe had his heart set on the project and hewas somewhat of a successful debater himself. The fire that flashed fromhis cold gray eyes matched that from the pale blue ones of the elderlyanchorite. And the law was on his side.
So the building was completed and Tom Forsythe moved in, bag andbaggage.
For more than a year the hermit studiously avoided his neighbor, though,truth to tell, this required very little effort. For Tom Forsythe becamealmost as much of a recluse as his predecessor, remaining indoors fordays at a time and visiting the home of his people scarcely oftener thanOld Crompton visited the village. He too became the target of villagegossip and his name was ere long linked with that of the old man insimilar animadversion. But he cared naught for the opinions of histownspeople nor for the dark looks of suspicion that greeted him on hisrare appearances in the public places. His chosen work engrossed him sodeeply that all else counted for nothing. His parents remonstrated withhim in vain. Tom laughed away their recriminations and fears, continuingwith his labors more strenuously than ever. He never troubled his mindover the nearness of Old Crompton's hut, the existence of which hehardly noticed or considered.
* * * * *
It so happened one day that the old man's curiosity got the better ofhim and Tom caught him prowling about on his property, peeringwonderingly at the many rabbit hutches, chicken coops, dove cotes andthe like which cluttered the space to the rear of the laboratory.
Seeing that he was discovered, the old man wrinkled his face into atoothless grin of conciliation.
"Just looking over your place, Forsythe," he said. "Sorry about the fussI made when you built the house. But I'm an old man, you know, andchanges are unwelcome. Now I have forgotten my objections and would liketo be friends. Can we?"
Tom peered searchingly into the flinty eyes that were set so deeply inthe wrinkled, leathery countenance. He suspected an ulterior motive, butcould not find it within him to turn the old fellow down.
"Why--I guess so, Crompton," he hesitated: "I have nothing against you,but I came here for seclusion and I'll not have anyone bothering me inmy work."
"I'll not bother you, young man. But I'm fond of pets and I see you havemany of them here; guinea pigs, chickens, pigeons, and rabbits. Wouldyou mind if I make friends with some of them?"
"They're not pets," answered Tom dryly, "they are material for use in myexperiments. But you may amuse yourself with them if you wish."
"You mean that you cut them up--kill them, perhaps?"
"Not that. But I sometimes change them in physical form, sometimes causethem to become of huge size, sometimes produce pigmy offspring of normalanimals."
"Don't they suffer?"
"Very seldom, though occasionally a subject dies. But the benefit thatwill accrue to mankind is well worth the slight inconvenience to thedumb creatures and the infrequent loss of their lives."
* * * * *
Old Crompton regarded him dubiously. "You are trying to find?" heinterrogated.
"The secret of life!" Tom Forsythe's eyes took on the stare offanaticism. "Before I have finished I shall know the nature of the vitalforce--how to produce it. I shall prolong human life indefinitely;create artificial life. And the solution is more closely approached witheach passing day."
The hermit blinked in pretended mystification. But he understoodperfectly, and he bitterly envied the younger man's knowledge andability that enabled him to delve into the mysteries of nature which hadalways been so attractive to his own mind. And somehow, he acquired asudden deep hatred of the coolly confident young man who spoke sopositively of accomplishing the impossible.
During the winter months that followed, the strange acquaintanceprogressed but little. Tom did not invite his neighbor to visit him,nor did Old Crompton go out of his way to impose his presence on theyounger man, though each spoke pleasantly enough to the other on the fewoccasions when they happened to meet.
With the coming of spring they encountered one another more frequently,and Tom found considerable of interest in the quaint, borrowedphilosophy of the gloomy old man. Old Crompton, of course, wasdesperately interested in the things that were hidden in Tom'slaboratory, but he never requested permission to see them. He hid hisreal feelings extremely well and was apparently content to spend as muchtime as possible with the feathered and furred subjects for experiment,being very careful not to incur Tom's displeasure by displaying toogreat interest in the laboratory itself.
* * * * *
Then there came a day in early summer when an accident served to drawthe two men closer together, and Old Crompton's long-sought opportunityfollowed.
He was starting for the village when, from down the road, there came aseries of tremendous squawkings, then a bellow of dismay in the voice ofhis young neighbor. He turned quickly and was astonished at the sight ofa monstrous rooster which had escaped and was headed straight for himwith head down and wings fluttering wildly. Tom followed close behind,but was unable to catch the darting monster. And monster it was, forthis rooster stood no less than three feet in height and appeared moreferocious than a large turkey. Old Crompton had his shopping bag, alarge one of burlap which he always carried to town, and he summone
denough courage to throw it over the head of the screeching, over-sizedfowl. So tangled did the panic-stricken bird become that it was acomparatively simple matter to effect his capture, and the old man roseto his feet triumphant with the bag securely closed over the strugglingcaptive.
"Thanks," panted Tom, when he drew alongside. "I should never havecaught him, and his appearance at large might have caused me a greatdeal of trouble--now of all times."
"It's all right, Forsythe," smirked the old man. "Glad I was able to doit."
Secretly he gloated, for he knew this occurrence would be an open sesameto that laboratory of Tom's. And it proved to be just that.
* * * * *
A few nights later he was awakened by a vigorous thumping at his door,something that had never before occurred during his nearly sixty yearsoccupancy of the tumbledown hut. The moon was high and he cautiouslypeeped from the window and saw that his late visitor was none other thanyoung Forsythe.
"With you in a minute!" he shouted, hastily thrusting his rheumatic oldlimbs into his shabby trousers. "Now to see the inside of thatlaboratory," he chuckled to himself.
It required but a moment to attire himself in the scanty raiment he woreduring the warm months, but he could hear Tom muttering and impatientlypacing the flagstones before his door.
"What is it?" he asked, as he drew the bolt and emerged into thebrilliant light of the moon.
"Success!" breathed Tom excitedly. "I have produced growing, livingmatter synthetically. More than this, I have learned the secret of thevital force--the spark of life. Immortality is within easy reach. Comeand see for yourself."
They quickly traversed the short distance to the two-story buildingwhich comprised Tom's workshop and living quarters. The entire groundfloor was taken up by the laboratory, and Old Crompton stared aghast atthe wealth of equipment it contained. Furnaces there were, and retortsthat reminded him of those pictured in the wood cuts in some of hismusty books. Then there were complicated machines with many levers anddials mounted on their faces, and with huge glass bulbs of peculiarshape with coils of wire connecting to knoblike protuberances of theirtransparent walls. In the exact center of the great single room therewas what appeared to be a dissecting table, with a brilliant lightoverhead and with two of the odd glass bulbs at either end. It was tothis table that Tom led the excited old man.
"This is my perfected apparatus," said Tom proudly, "and by its use Iintend to create a new race of supermen, men and women who will alwaysretain the vigor and strength of their youth and who can not dieexcepting by actual destruction of their bodies. Under the influence ofthe rays all bodily ailments vanish as if by magic, and organic defectsare quickly corrected. Watch this now."
* * * * *
He stepped to one of the many cages at the side of the room and returnedwith a wriggling cottontail in his hands. Old Compton watched anxiouslyas he picked a nickeled instrument from a tray of surgical appliancesand requested his visitor to hold the protesting animal while he coveredits head with a handkerchief.
"Ethyl chloride," explained Tom, noting with amusement the look ofdistaste on the old man's face. "We'll just put him to sleep for aminute while I amputate a leg."
The struggles of the rabbit quickly ceased when the spray soaked thehandkerchief and the anaesthetic took effect. With a shining scalpel anda surgical saw, Tom speedily removed one of the forelegs of the animaland then he placed the limp body in the center of the table, removingthe handkerchief from its head as he did so. At the end of the tablethere was a panel with its glittering array of switches and electricalinstruments, and Old Crompton observed very closely the manipulations ofthe controls as Tom started the mechanism. With the ensuing hum of amotor-generator from a corner of the room, the four bulbs adjacent tothe table sprang into life, each glowing with a different color and eachemitting a different vibratory note as it responded to the energywithin.
"Keep an eye on Mr. Rabbit now," admonished Tom.
From the body of the small animal there emanated an intangible thoughhazily visible aura as the combined effects of the rays grew inintensity. Old Crompton bent over the table and peered amazedly at thestump of the foreleg, from which blood no longer dripped. The stump washealing over! Yes--it seemed to elongate as one watched. A new limb wasgrowing on to replace the old! Then the animal struggled once more, thistime to regain consciousness. In a moment it was fully awake and, with afrightened hop, was off the table and hobbling about in search of ahiding place.
* * * * *
Tom Forsythe laughed. "Never knew what happened," he exulted, "andexcepting for the temporary limp is not inconvenienced at all. Even thatwill be gone in a couple of hours, for the new limb will be completelygrown by that time."
"But--but, Tom," stammered the old man, "this is wonderful. How do youaccomplish it?"
"Ha! Don't think I'll reveal my secret. But this much I will tell you:the life force generated by my apparatus stimulates a certain glandthat's normally inactive in warm blooded animals. This gland, whenactive, possesses the function of growing new members to the body toreplace lost ones in much the same manner as this is done in case of thelobster and certain other crustaceans. Of course, the process isextremely rapid when the gland is stimulated by the vital rays from mytubes. But this is only one of the many wonders of the process. Here issomething far more remarkable."
He took from a large glass jar the body of a guinea pig, a body that wasrigid in death.
"This guinea pig," he explained, "was suffocated twenty-four hours agoand is stone dead."
"Suffocated?"
"Yes. But quite painlessly, I assure you. I merely removed the air fromthe jar with a vacuum pump and the little creature passed out of thepicture very quickly. Now we'll revive it."
Old Crompton stretched forth a skinny hand to touch the dead animal, butwithdrew it hastily when he felt the clammy rigidity of the body. Therewas no doubt as to the lifelessness of this specimen.
* * * * *
Tom placed the dead guinea pig on the spot where the rabbit had beensubjected to the action of the rays. Again his visitor watched carefullyas he manipulated the controls of the apparatus.
With the glow of the tubes and the ensuing haze of eery light thatsurrounded the little body, a marked change was apparent. The inanimateform relaxed suddenly and it seemed that the muscles pulsated with anaccession of energy. Then one leg was stretched forth spasmodically.There was a convulsive heave as the lungs drew in a first long breath,and, with that, an astonished and very much alive rodent scrambled toits feet, blinking wondering eyes in the dazzling light.
"See? See?" shouted Tom, grasping Old Crompton by the arm in a viselikegrip. "It is the secret of life and death! Aristocrats, plutocrats andbeggars will beat a path to my door. But, never fear, I shall choose mysubjects well. The name of Thomas Forsythe will yet be emblazoned in theHall of Fame. I shall be master of the world!"
Old Crompton began to fear the glitter in the eyes of the gaunt youngman who seemed suddenly to have become demented. And his envy and hatredof his talented host blazed anew as Forsythe gloried in the success ofhis efforts. Then he was struck with an idea and he affected his mostingratiating manner.
"It is a marvelous thing, Tom," he said, "and is entirely beyond my poorcomprehension. But I can see that it is all you say and more. Tellme--can you restore the youth of an aged person by these means?"
"Positively!" Tom did not catch the eager note in the old man's voice.Rather he took the question as an inquiry into the further marvels ofhis process. "Here," he continued, enthusiastically, "I'll prove that toyou also. My dog Spot is around the place somewhere. And he is adecrepit old hound, blind, lame and toothless. You've probably seen himwith me."
* * * * *
He rushed to the stairs and whistled. There was an answering yelp fromabove and the pad of uncertain paws on the bare wooden
steps. A dejectedold beagle blundered into the room, dragging a crippled hind leg as hefawned upon his master, who stretched forth a hand to pat the unsteadyhead.
"Guess Spot is old enough for the test," laughed Tom, "and I have beenmeaning to restore him to his youthful vigor, anyway. No time like thepresent."
He led his trembling pet to the table of the remarkable tubes and liftedhim to its surface. The poor old beast lay trustingly where he wasplaced, quiet, save for his husky asthmatic breathing.
"Hold him, Crompton," directed Tom as he pulled the starting lever ofhis apparatus.
And Old Crompton watched in fascinated anticipation as the etherealluminosity bathed the dog's body in response to the action of the fourrays. Somewhat vaguely it came to him that the baggy flesh of his ownwrinkled hands took on a new firmness and color where they reposed onthe animal's back. Young Forsythe grinned triumphantly as Spot'sbreathing became more regular and the rasp gradually left it. Then thedog whined in pleasure and wagged his tail with increasing vigor.Suddenly he raised his head, perked his ears in astonishment and lookedhis master straight in the face with eyes that saw once more. The lowthroat cry rose to a full and joyous bark. He sprang to his feet fromunder the restraining hands and jumped to the floor in a lithe-muscledleap that carried him half way across the room. He capered about withthe abandon of a puppy, making extremely active use of four sound limbs.
"Why--why, Forsythe," stammered the hermit, "it's absolutely incredible.Tell me--tell me--what is this remarkable force?"
* * * * *
His host laughed gleefully. "You probably wouldn't understand it anyway,but I'll tell you. It is as simple as the nose on your face. The sparkof life, the vital force, is merely an extremely complicated electricalmanifestation which I have been able to duplicate artificially. Thisspark or force is all that distinguishes living from inanimate matter,and in living beings the force gradually decreases in power as the yearspass, causing loss of health and strength. The chemical composition ofbones and tissue alters, joints become stiff, muscles atrophied, andbones brittle. By recharging, as it were, with the vital force, thegland action is intensified, youth and strength is renewed. By repeatingthe process every ten or fifteen years the same degree of vigor can bemaintained indefinitely. Mankind will become immortal. That is why I sayI am to be master of the world."
For the moment Old Crompton forgot his jealous hatred in the enthusiasmwith which he was imbued. "Tom--Tom," he pleaded in his excitement, "useme as a subject. Renew my youth. My life has been a sad one and a lonelyone, but I would that I might live it over. I should make of it a fardifferent one--something worth while. See, I am ready."
He sat on the edge of the gleaming table and made as if to lie down onits gleaming surface. But his young host only stared at him in openamusement.
"What? You?" he sneered, unfeelingly. "Why, you old fossil! I told you Iwould choose my subjects carefully. They are to be people of standingand wealth, who can contribute to the fame and fortune of one ThomasForsythe."
"But Tom, I have money," Old Crompton begged. But when he saw the hardmirth in the younger man's eyes, his old animosity flamed anew and hesprang from his position and shook a skinny forefinger in Tom's face.
"Don't do that to me, you old fool!" shouted Tom, "and get out of here.Think I'd waste current on an old cadger like you? I guess not! Now getout. Get out, I say!"
Then the old anchorite saw red. Something seemed to snap in his souredold brain. He found himself kicking and biting and punching at his host,who backed away from the furious onslaught in surprise. Then Tom trippedover a wire and fell to the floor with a force that rattled the windows,his ferocious little adversary on top. The younger man lay still wherehe had fallen, a trickle of blood showing at his temple.
"My God! I've killed him!" gasped the old man.
With trembling fingers he opened Tom's shirt and listened for hisheartbeats. Panic-stricken, he rubbed the young man's wrists, slappedhis cheeks, and ran for water to dash in his face. But all efforts torevive him proved futile, and then, in awful fear, Old Crompton dashedinto the night, the dog Spot snapping at his heels as he ran.
* * * * *
Hours later the stooped figure of a shabby old man might have been seenstealthily re-entering the lonely workshop where the lights still burnedbrightly. Tom Forsythe lay rigid in the position in which Old Cromptonhad left him, and the dog growled menacingly.
Averting his gaze and circling wide of the body, Old Crompton made forthe table of the marvelous rays. In minute detail he recalled every movemade by Tom in starting and adjusting the apparatus to produce theincredible results he had witnessed. Not a moment was to be wasted now.Already he had hesitated too long, for soon would come the dawn andpossible discovery of his crime. But the invention of his victim wouldsave him from the long arm of the law, for, with youth restored, OldCrompton would cease to exist and a new life would open its doors to thestarved soul of the hermit. Hermit, indeed! He would begin life anew, anactive man with youthful vigor and ambition. Under an assumed name hewould travel abroad, would enjoy life, and would later become asuccessful man of affairs. He had enough money, he told himself. And thepolice would never find Old Crompton, the murderer of Tom Forsythe! Hedeposited his small traveling bag on the floor and fingered the controlsof Tom's apparatus.
He threw the starting switch confidently and grinned in satisfaction asthe answering whine of the motor-generator came to his ears. One by onehe carefully made the adjustments in exactly the manner followed by thenow silenced discoverer of the process. Everything operated precisely asit had during the preceding experiments. Odd that he should haveanticipated some such necessity! But something had told him to observeTom's movements carefully, and now he rejoiced in the fact that hisintuition had led him aright. Painfully he climbed to the table top andstretched his aching body in the warm light of the four huge tubes. Hisexertions during the struggle with Tom were beginning to tell on him.But the soreness and stiffness of feeble muscles and stubborn jointswould soon be but a memory. His pulses quickened at the thought and hebreathed deep in a sudden feeling of unaccustomed well-being.
* * * * *
The dog growled continuously from his position at the head of hismaster, but did not move to interfere with the intruder. And OldCrompton, in the excitement of the momentous experience, paid him notthe slightest attention.
His body tingled from head to foot with a not unpleasant sensation thatconveyed the assurance of radical changes taking place under theinfluence of the vital rays. The tingling sensation increased inintensity until it seemed that every corpuscle in his veins danced tothe tune of the vibration from those glowing tubes that bathed him in anever-spreading radiance. Aches and pains vanished from his body, but hesoon experienced a sharp stab of new pain in his lower jaw. With anexperimental forefinger he rubbed the gum. He laughed aloud as therealization came to him that in those gums where there had been no teethfor more than twenty years there was now growing a complete new set. Andthe rapidity of the process amazed him beyond measure. The aching areaspread quickly and was becoming really uncomfortable. But then--and heconsoled himself with the thought--nothing is brought into being withouta certain amount of pain. Besides, he was confident that his discomfortwould soon be over.
He examined his hand, and found that the joints of two fingers longcrippled with rheumatism now moved freely and painlessly. The mistybrilliance surrounding his body was paling and he saw that the flesh wastaking on a faint green fluorescence instead. The rays had completedtheir work and soon the transformation would be fully effected. Heturned on his side and slipped to the floor with the agility of ayoungster. The dog snarled anew, but kept steadfastly to his position.
* * * * *
There was a small mirror over the wash stand at the far end of the roomand Old Crompton made haste to obtain the first view of his reflectedimage. His step was fir
m and springy, his bearing confident, and hefound that his long-stooped shoulders straightened naturally and easily.He felt that he had taken on at least two inches in stature, which wasindeed the case. When he reached the mirror he peered anxiously into itsdingy surface and what he saw there so startled him that he steppedbackward in amazement. This was not Larry Crompton, but an entirely newman. The straggly white hair had given way to soft, healthy waves ofchestnut hue. Gone were the seams from the leathery countenance and theeyes looked out clearly and steadily from under brows as thick and darkas they had been in his youth. The reflected features were those of anentire stranger. They were not even reminiscent of the Larry Crompton offifty years ago, but were the features of a far more vigorous andprepossessing individual than he had ever seemed, even in the best yearsof his life. The jaw was firm, the once sunken cheeks so well filled outthat his high cheek bones were no longer in evidence. It was the face ofa man of not more than thirty-eight years of age, reflecting exceptionalintelligence and strength of character.
"What a disguise!" he exclaimed in delight. And his voice, echoing inthe stillness that followed the switching off of the apparatus, wasdeep-throated and mellow--the voice of a new man.
Now, serenely confident that discovery was impossible, he picked up hissmall but heavy bag and started for the door. Dawn was breaking and hewished to put as many miles between himself and Tom's laboratory ascould be covered in the next few hours. But at the door he hesitated.Then, despite the furious yapping of Spot, he returned to the table ofthe rays and, with deliberate thoroughness smashed the costly tubeswhich had brought about his rehabilitation. With a pinch bar from anearby tool rack, he wrecked the controls and generating mechanismsbeyond recognition. Now he was absolutely secure! No meddling expertscould possibly discover the secret of Tom's invention. All evidencewould show that the young experimenter had met his death at the hands ofOld Crompton, the despised hermit of West Laketon. But none would dreamthat the handsome man of means who was henceforth to be known as GeorgeVoight was that same despised hermit.
He recovered his satchel and left the scene. With long, rapid strides heproceeded down the old dirt road toward the main highway where, insteadof turning east into the village, he would turn west and walk toKernsburg, the neighboring town. There, in not more than two hours time,his new life would really begin!
* * * * *
Had you, a visitor, departed from Laketon when Old Crompton did andreturned twelve years later, you would have noticed very littledifference in the appearance of the village. The old town hall and thelittle park were the same, the dingy brick building among the treesbeing just a little dingier and its wooden steps more worn and sagged.The main street showed evidence of recent repaving, and, in consequenceof the resulting increase in through automobile traffic; there were twonew gasoline filling stations in the heart of the town. Down the roadabout a half mile there was a new building, which, upon inquiring fromone of the natives, would be proudly designated as the new high schoolbuilding. Otherwise there were no changes to be observed.
In his dilapidated chair in the untidy office he had occupied for nearlythirty years, sat Asa Culkin, popularly known as "Judge" Culkin. Justiceof the peace, sheriff, attorney-at-law, and three times Mayor ofLaketon, he was still a controlling factor in local politics andgovernment. And many a knotty legal problem was settled in that gloomylittle office. Many a dispute in the town council was dependent forarbitration upon the keen mind and understanding wit of the old judge.
The four o'clock train had just puffed its labored way from the stationwhen a stranger entered his office, a stranger of uncommonly prosperousair. The keen blue eyes of the old attorney appraised him instantly andclassified him as a successful man of business, not yet forty years ofage, and with a weighty problem on his mind.
"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked, removing his feet from thebattered desk top.
"You may be able to help me a great deal, Judge," was the unexpectedreply. "I came to Laketon to give myself up."
"Give yourself up?" Culkin rose to his feet in surprise andunconsciously straightened his shoulders in the effort to seem lessdwarfed before the tall stranger. "Why, what do you mean?" he inquired.
* * * * *
"I wish to give myself up for murder," answered the amazing visitor,slowly and with decision, "for a murder committed twelve years ago. Ishould like you to listen to my story first, though. It has been kepttoo long."
"But I still do not understand." There was puzzlement in the honest oldface of the attorney. He shook his gray locks in uncertainty. "Whyshould you come here? Why come to me? What possible interest can I havein the matter?"
"Just this, Judge. You do not recognize me now, and you will probablyconsider my story incredible when you hear it. But, when I have givenyou all the evidence, you will know who I am and will be compelled tobelieve. The murder was committed in Laketon. That is why I came toyou."
"A murder in Laketon? Twelve years ago?" Again the aged attorney shookhis head. "But--proceed."
"Yes. I killed Thomas Forsythe."
The stranger looked for an expression of horror in the features of hislistener, but there was none. Instead the benign countenance took on alook of deepening amazement, but the smile wrinkles had somehow vanishedand the old face was grave in its surprised interest.
"You seem astonished," continued the stranger. "Undoubtedly you wereconvinced that the murderer was Larry Crompton--Old Crompton, thehermit. He disappeared the night of the crime and has never been heardfrom since. Am I correct?"
"Yes. He disappeared all right. But continue."
Not by a lift of his eyebrow did Culkin betray his disbelief, but thestranger sensed that his story was somehow not as startling as it shouldhave been.
"You will think me crazy, I presume. But I am Old Crompton. It was myhand that felled the unfortunate young man in his laboratory out therein West Laketon twelve years ago to-night. It was his marvelousinvention that transformed the old hermit into the apparently young manyou see before you. But I swear that I am none other than Larry Cromptonand that I killed young Forsythe. I am ready to pay the penalty. I canbear the flagellation of my own conscience no longer."
* * * * *
The visitor's voice had risen to the point of hysteria. But his listenerremained calm and unmoved.
"Now just let me get this straight," he said quietly. "Do I understandthat you claim to be Old Crompton, rejuvenated in some mysteriousmanner, and that you killed Tom Forsythe on that night twelve years ago?Do I understand that you wish now to go to trial for that crime and topay the penalty?"
"Yes! Yes! And the sooner the better. I can stand it no longer. I am themost miserable man in the world!"
"Hm-m--hm-m," muttered the judge, "this is strange." He spoke soothinglyto his visitor. "Do not upset yourself, I beg of you. I will take careof this thing for you, never fear. Just take a seat, Mister--er--"
"You may call me Voight for the present," said the stranger, in a morecomposed tone of voice, "George Voight. That is the name I have beenusing since the mur--since that fatal night."
"Very well, Mr. Voight," replied the counsellor with an air of thegreatest solicitude, "please have a seat now, while I make a telephonecall."
And George Voight slipped into a stiff-backed chair with a sigh ofrelief. For he knew the judge from the old days and he was now certainthat his case would be disposed of very quickly.
With the telephone receiver pressed to his ear, Culkin repeated anumber. The stranger listened intently during the ensuing silence. Thenthere came a muffled "hello" sounding in impatient response to the call.
"Hello, Alton," spoke the attorney, "this is Asa speaking. A strangerhas just stepped into my office and he claims to be Old Crompton.Remember the hermit across the road from your son's old laboratory?Well, this man, who bears no resemblance whatever to the old man heclaims to be and who seems to be less than half t
he age of Tom's oldneighbor, says that he killed Tom on that night we remember so well."
* * * * *
There were some surprised remarks from the other end of the wire, butVoight was unable to catch them. He was in a cold perspiration at thethought of meeting his victim's father.
"Why, yes, Alton," continued Culkin, "I think there is something in thisstory, although I cannot believe it all. But I wish you would accompanyus and visit the laboratory. Will you?"
"Lord, man, not that!" interrupted the judge's visitor. "I can hardlybear to visit the scene of my crime--and in the company of AltonForsythe. Please, not that!"
"Now you just let me take care of this, young man," replied the judge,testily. Then, once more speaking into the mouthpiece of the telephone,"All right, Alton. We'll pick you up at your office in five minutes."
He replaced the receiver on its hook and turned again to his visitor."Please be so kind as to do exactly as I request," he said. "I want tohelp you, but there is more to this thing than you know and I want youto follow unquestioningly where I lead and ask no questions at all forthe present. Things may turn out differently than you expect."
"All right, Judge." The visitor resigned himself to whatever mighttranspire under the guidance of the man he had called upon to turn himover to the officers of the law.
* * * * *
Seated in the judge's ancient motor car, they stopped at the office ofAlton Forsythe a few minutes later and were joined by that red-faced andpompous old man. Few words were spoken during the short run to thewell-remembered location of Tom's laboratory, and the man who was knownas George Voight caught at his own throat with nervous fingers when theypassed the tumbledown remains of the hut in which Old Crompton had spentso many years. With a screeching of well-worn brakes the car stoppedbefore the laboratory, which was now almost hidden behind a mass ofshrubs and flowers.
"Easy now, young man," cautioned the judge, noting the look of fearwhich had clouded his new client's features. The three men advanced tothe door through which Old Crompton had fled on that night of horror,twelve years before. The elder Forsythe spoke not a word as he turnedthe knob and stepped within. Voight shrank from entering, but soonmastered his feelings and followed the other two. The sight that met hiseyes caused him to cry aloud in awe.
At the dissecting table, which seemed to be exactly as he had seen itlast but with replicas of the tubes he had destroyed once more in place,stood Tom Forsythe! Considerably older and with hair prematurely gray,he was still the young man Old Crompton thought he had killed. TomForsythe was not dead after all! And all of his years of misery had gonefor nothing. He advanced slowly to the side of the wondering young man,Alton Forsythe and Asa Culkin watching silently from just inside thedoor.
"Tom--Tom," spoke the stranger, "you are alive? You were not dead when Ileft you on that terrible night when I smashed your precious tubes?Oh--it is too good to be true! I can scarcely believe my eyes!"
* * * * *
He stretched forth trembling fingers to touch the body of the young manto assure himself that it was not all a dream.
"Why," said Tom Forsythe, in astonishment. "I do not know you, sir.Never saw you in my life. What do you mean by your talk of smashing mytubes, of leaving me for dead?"
"Mean?" The stranger's voice rose now; he was growing excited. "Why,Tom, I am Old Crompton. Remember the struggle, here in this very room?You refused to rejuvenate an unhappy old man with your marvelousapparatus, a temporarily insane old man--Crompton. I was that old manand I fought with you. You fell, striking your head. There was blood.You were unconscious. Yes, for many hours I was sure you were dead andthat I had murdered you. But I had watched your manipulations of theapparatus and I subjected myself to the action of the rays. My youth wasmiraculously restored. I became as you see me now. Detection wasimpossible, for I looked no more like Old Crompton than you do. Ismashed your machinery to avoid suspicion. Then I escaped. And, fortwelve years, I have thought myself a murderer. I have suffered thetortures of the damned!"
Tom Forsythe advanced on this remarkable visitor with clenched fists.Staring him in the eyes with cold appraisal, his wrath was all tooapparent. The dog Spot, young as ever, entered the room and, uponobserving the stranger, set up an ominous growling and snarling. Atleast the dog recognized him!
"What are you trying to do, catechise me? Are you another of thesealienists my father has been bringing around?" The young inventor wasfurious. "If you are," he continued, "you can get out of here--now! I'llhave no more of this meddling with my affairs. I'm as sane as any of youand I refuse to submit to this continual persecution."
The elder Forsythe grunted, and Culkin laid a restraining hand on hisarm. "Just a minute now, Tom," he said soothingly. "This stranger is noalienist. He has a story to tell. Please permit him to finish."
* * * * *
Somewhat mollified, Tom Forsythe shrugged his assent.
"Tom," continued the stranger, more calmly now, "what I have said is thetruth. I shall prove it to you. I'll tell you things no mortals on earthcould know but we two. Remember the day I captured the big rooster foryou--the monster you had created? Remember the night you awakened me andbrought me here in the moonlight? Remember the rabbit whose leg youamputated and re-grew? The poor guinea pig you had suffocated and whoselife you restored? Spot here? Don't you remember rejuvenating him? I washere. And you refused to use your process on me, old man that I was.Then is when I went mad and attacked you. Do you believe me, Tom?"
Then a strange thing happened. While Tom Forsythe gazed in growingbelief, the stranger's shoulders sagged and he trembled as with theague. The two older men who had kept in the background gasped theirastonishment as his hair faded to a sickly gray, then became as white asthe driven snow. Old Crompton was reverting to his previous state!Within five minutes, instead of the handsome young stranger, therestood before them a bent, withered old man--Old Crompton beyond a doubt.The effects of Tom's process were spent.
"Well I'm damned!" ejaculated Alton Forsythe. "You have been right allalong, Asa. And I am mighty glad I did not commit Tom as I intended. Hehas told us the truth all these years and we were not wise enough to seeit."
"We!" exclaimed the judge. "You, Alton Forsythe! I have always upheldhim. You have done your son a grave injustice and you owe him yourapologies if ever a father owed his son anything."
"You are right, Asa." And, his aristocratic pride forgotten, AltonForsythe rushed to the side of his son and embraced him.
The judge turned to Old Crompton pityingly. "Rather a bad ending foryou, Crompton," he said. "Still, it is better by far than being brandedas a murderer."
"Better? Better?" croaked Old Crompton. "It is wonderful, Judge. I havenever been so happy in my life!"
* * * * *
The face of the old man beamed, though scalding tears coursed down thewithered and seamed cheeks. The two Forsythes looked up from theirdemonstrations of peacemaking to listen to the amazing words of the oldhermit.
"Yes, happy for the first time in my life," he continued. "I am onehundred years of age, gentlemen, and I now look it and feel it. That isas it should be. And my experience has taught me a final lasting lesson.None of you know it, but, when I was but a very young man I was bitterlydisappointed in love. Ha! ha! Never think it to look at me now, wouldyou? But I was, and it ruined my entire life. I had a littlemoney--inherited--and I traveled about in the world for a few years,then settled in that old hut across the road where I buried myself forsixty years, becoming crabbed and sour and despicable. Young Tom herewas the first bright spot and, though I admired him, I hated him forhis opportunities, hated him for that which he had that I had not. Withthe promise of his invention I thought I saw happiness, a new life formyself. I got what I wanted, though not in the way I had expected. And Iwant to tell you gentlemen that there is nothing in it. Withdevelopments of modern sc
ience you may be able to restore a man'syouthful vigor of body, but you can't cure his mind with electricity.Though I had a youthful body, my brain was the brain of an oldman--memories were there which could not be suppressed. Even had I nothad the fancied death of young Tom on my conscience I should still havebeen miserable. I worked. God, how I worked--to forget! But I could notforget. I was successful in business and made a lot of money. I am moreindependent--probably wealthier than you, Alton Forsythe, but that didnot bring happiness. I longed to be myself once more, to have the achesand pains which had been taken from me. It is natural to age and to die.Immortality would make of us a people of restless misery. We wouldquarrel and bicker and long for death, which would not come to relieveus. Now it is over for me and I am glad--glad--glad!"
* * * * *
He paused for breath, looking beseechingly at Tom Forsythe. "Tom," hesaid, "I suppose you have nothing for me in your heart but hatred. And Idon't blame you. But I wish--I wish you would try and forgive me. Canyou?"
The years had brought increased understanding and tolerance to youngTom. He stared at Old Crompton and the long-nursed anger over thedestruction of his equipment melted into a strange mixture of pity andadmiration for the courageous old fellow.
"Why, I guess I can, Crompton," he replied. "There was many a day when Istruggled hopelessly to reconstruct my apparatus, cursing you with everybit of energy in my make-up. I could cheerfully have throttled you, hadyou been within reach. For twelve years I have labored incessantly toreproduce the results we obtained on the night of which you speak.People called me insane--even my father wished to have me committed toan asylum. And, until now, I have been unsuccessful. Only to-day has itseemed for the first time that the experiments will again succeed. Butmy ideas have changed with regard to the uses of the process. I was acocksure young pup in the old days, with foolish dreams of fame andinfluence. But I have seen the error of my ways. Your experience, too,convinces me that immortality may not be as desirable as I thought. Butthere are great possibilities in the way of relieving the sufferings ofmankind and in making this a better world in which to live. With youradvice and help I believe I can do great things. I now forgive youfreely and I ask you to remain here with me to assist in the work thatis to come. What do you say to the idea?"
At the reverent thankfulness in the pale eyes of the broken old man whohad so recently been a perfect specimen of vigorous youth, AltonForsythe blew his nose noisily. The little judge smiled benevolently andshook his head as if to say, "I told you so." Tom and Old Cromptongripped hands--mightily.
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_COMING, NEXT MONTH_ BRIGANDS OF THE MOON By RAY CUMMINGS
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