Produced by Greg Weeks, Dan Horwood and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from "Astounding Stories" January and February, 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
The original "What has gone before" recap section from the second part (February edition) has been removed from this combined version.
Author's archaic and variable spelling is preserved. Author's punctuation style is preserved. Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. Passages in bold indicated by =equal signs=.
Typographical problems have been changed and are listed at the end of the text.]
* * * * *
Front cover of "Amazing Stories"]
The Mind Master
_Beginning a Two-Part Novel_
By Arthur J. Burks
_A sequel to "Manape the Mighty"_]
CHAPTER I
_The Tuft of Hair_
"Let's hope the horrible nightmare is over, dearest," whispered EllenEstabrook to Lee Bentley as their liner came crawling up through theNarrows and the Statue of Liberty greeted the two with uplifted torchbeyond Staten Island. New York's skyline was beautiful through themist and smoke which always seemed to mask it. It was good to be homeagain.
[Sidenote: Once more Lee Bentley is caught up in the marvelousmachinations of the mad genius Barter.]
Certainly it was a far cry from the African jungles where, for thespace of a ghastly nightmare, Ellen had been a captive of the apesand Bentley himself had had a horrible adventure. Caleb Barter, a madscientist, had drugged him and exchanged his brain with that of anape, and for hours Bentley had roamed the jungles hidden in the greathairy body, the only part of him remaining "Bentley" being the Bentleybrain which Barter had placed in the ape's skull-pan. Bentley wouldnever forget the horror of that grim awakening, in which he had foundhimself walking on bent knuckles, his voice the fighting bellow of agiant anthropoid.
_A bullet ploughed through the top of the ape'shead._]
Yes, it was a far cry from the African jungles to populous Manhattan.
As soon as Ellen and Lee considered themselves recovered from theshock of the experience they would be married. They had already spenttwo months of absolute rest in England after their escape from Africa,but they found it had not been enough. Their story had been told inthe press of the world and they had been constantly besieged by thecurious, which of course had not helped them to forget.
- - -
"Lee," whispered Ellen, "I'll never feel sure that Caleb Barter isdead. We should have gone out that morning when he forgot to take hiswhip and we thought the vengeful apes had slain him. We should haveproved it to our own satisfaction. It would be an ironic jest,characteristic of Barter, to allow us to think him dead."
"He's dead all right, dear," replied Bentley, his nostrils quiveringwith pleasure as he looked ahead at New York, while the breeze alongthe Hudson pushed his hair back from his forehead. "He had abused thegreat anthropoids for too many years. They seized their opportunity,don't mistake that."
"Still, he was a genius in his way, a mad, frightful genius. It hardlyseems possible to me that he would allow himself to be so easilytrapped. It's a reflection on his great mentality, twisted though itwas."
"Forget it, dear," replied Bentley, putting his arm around hershoulders. "We'll both try to forget. After our nerves have returnedto normal we'll be married. Then nothing can trouble us."
The vessel docked and later Lee and Ellen entered a taxicab near thepier.
"I'll take you to your home, Ellen," said Bentley. "Then I'll lookafter my own affairs for the next couple of days, which includesmaking peace with my father, then we'll go on from here."
They looked through the windows of the cab as they rolled into lowerFifth Avenue and headed uptown. Newsies were screaming an extra fromthe sidewalks.
"Excitement!" said Bentley enthusiastically. "It's certainly good tobe home and hear a newsboy's unintelligible screaming of an extra,isn't it?"
On an impulse he ordered the cabbie to draw up to the curb andpurchased a newspaper.
"Do you mind if I glance through the headlines?" Bentley asked Ellen."I haven't looked at an American paper for ever so long."
- - -
The cab started again and Bentley folded the paper, falling easilyinto the habit of New Yorkers who are accustomed to reading onsubways where there isn't room for elbows, to say nothing of broadnewspapers.
His eyes caught a headline. He started, frowning, but was instantlymindful of Ellen. He mustn't show any signs that would excite her,especially when he didn't yet understand what had caused his owninstant perturbation.
Had Ellen looked at him she might have seen merely the calm face of aman mildly interested in the news of the day, but she was looking outat the Fifth Avenue shops.
Bentley was staring again at the newspaper story:
"An evil genius signing his 'manifestoes' with the strange cognomen of 'Mind Master' gives the authorities of New York City twelve hours in which to take precautions. To prove that he is able to make good his mad threats he states that at noon exactly, to-day, he will cause the death of the chief executive of a great insurance company whose offices are in the Flatiron Building. After that, at regular stated periods, warnings to be issued in each case ten hours in advance, he will steal the brains of the twenty men whose names are hereto appended:" (There followed then a list of names, all of which were known to Bentley.)
He understood why the story had startled him, too. "Mind Master!"Anything that had to do with the human brain interested him mightilynow, for he knew to what grim uses it could be put at the hands of amaster scientist. Around his own head, safely covered by his hairunless someone looked closely, and even then they must needs know whatthey sought, was a thin white line. It marked the line of CalebBarter's operation on him that terrible night in the African jungles,when his brain had been transferred to the skull-pan of an ape, andthe ape's brain to his own cranium. Any mention of the brain,therefore, recalled to him a very harrowing experience.
It was little wonder that he shuddered.
Ellen noticed his agitation.
"What is it, dearest?" she asked softly, placing her hand in the crookof his arm.
- - -
He was about to answer her, desperately trying to think of somethingto say that would not alarm her, when their taxicab, with a suddenapplication of the brakes, came to a sharp stop. Bentley noticed thatthey were at the intersection of Twenty-second Street and FifthAvenue. The lights were still green, but nevertheless all traffic washalted.
And for a strange reason.
From the west door of the Flatiron Building emerged a grim apparitionof a man. His body was scored by countless bleeding wounds whichlooked as though they had been made by the fingernails of a giant. Theman wore no article of clothing except his shoes. Apparently, hisclothing had been ripped from his body by the same instrument whichhad turned his body into a raw, dripping horror.
The man staggered, half-running, at times all but falling, toward thetraffic officer at the intersection.
As he ran he screamed, horrible, babbling screams. His lips workedcrazily, his eyes rolled. He was frightened beyond the comprehensionof ordinary mortals. His screams began and ended on the high shrillnotes of utter dementia, and as he ran he pawed the air with hisbleeding hands as though he fought out on all sides against invisibledemons seeking to drag him down.
"Oh, my God!" said Ellen. "Even here!"
What had caused her to speak the last two words? Did she also have apremonition of grim disa
ster? Did she also feel, deep down inside her,as Bentley did, that the nightmare through which they had passed wasnot yet ended?
Bentley now sat unmoving, his eyes unblinking, as he saw the naked manstagger over to the traffic officer. The color drained from his face.
He looked at his watch. It was exactly noon.
Even without further consideration Bentley knew that this gruesomeapparition had some direct connection with the newspaper story he hadjust read.
- - -
Unobtrusively, trying to make it seem a preoccupied action, he foldedthe newspaper again and thrust it down at the end of the seat cushion.But Ellen was watching him, a haunting fear gradually coming into hereyes.
She quickly reached past him and snatched the paper before he realizedher intent. The item he had read came instantly under her eyes becauseof the way he had automatically folded the paper. She read it withstaring eyes.
"So, Lee," she said, "you think there's a connection with--with--well,with _us_?"
"Absurd!" he said heartily, too heartily. "Caleb Barter is dead."
"But I have never been sure," insisted Ellen. "Oh, Lee, let's get awayfrom here! Let's take the first boat for Bermuda--anywhere to escapethis terrible fear."
"No!" he retorted harshly. "If our suspicions are correct, and I thinkwe're unwarrantedly keyed up because of our recent experiences, theofficials of New York may need my help."
"Your help? Why?"
"I know more about Caleb Barter than any other living man, perhaps."
"Then you _do_ have doubts that he is dead!"
Bentley shrugged his shoulders.
"Ellen," he said, "drive on home without me. I'm going to drop off andfind out all I can. If we're in for it in any way it's just as well toknow it at once."
"You'll come right along?"
"Just as soon as I can make it. And I hope I'll be able to report ourfears groundless."
Bentley stepped from the cab. He ordered the chauffeur to turn rightinto Twenty-second Street and to proceed until Ellen gave him furtherdirections.
Then Bentley hurried through the congestion of automobiles toward thetraffic officer who was fighting with the naked man, trying to subduehim. Other men were running to the officer's assistance, for it couldbe seen that he alone was no match for the lunatic. Bentley, however,was first to arrive.
"Give me a hand!" gasped the officer. "I can't handle 'im withoutusin' my club and I don't wanna do that. The poor fella don't knowwhat he's a-doin'."
- - -
Bentley quickly sprang to the patrolman's assistance. Between themthey soon reduced the stranger to a squirming bundle and dragged himto the sidewalk; another officer was phoning for an ambulance. Thestricken man was now mumbling, babbling insanely. Blood trickled fromthe corners of his lips. The sight of one eye had been destroyed.
Bentley watched him, sprawled now on the sidewalk, surrounded by agroup of men. The man was dying, no question about that. The talons,which had scored him, had bitten deeply and he was destined to bleedto death soon even if the wounds were not otherwise mortal.
Bentley noticed something clutched tightly in the man's righthand--something that sent a chill through his body despite the heat ofa mid-July noon. The officer, apparently, had not noticed it.
Soon a clanging bell announced the arrival of an ambulance, and as thecrowd stepped aside to clear the way, Bentley bent over the dying man.The man's lips were parted and he was trying with a mighty effort ofwill to speak.
Bentley put his ear close to the bleeding lips through which wordsstrove to bubble. He heard parts of two words:
"...ind ...aster...."
Bentley suddenly knew what the man was trying to say. The half-utteredwords could mean only--"Mind Master."
Bentley suppressed a shudder and extended his hands to the closedright hand of the dying man. Carefully he removed from between thefingers three tufts of thick brown hair, coarse and crude of texture.There was a rattle in the naked man's throat.
Five minutes later the ambulance intern hastily scribbled in hisrecord the entry, "Dead on Arrival."
Bentley, more frightened than he had ever been before, entered ataxicab as soon as the body had been removed and the streets cleared.He stared closely at the tufts of hair in his hand. Maybe he had beenwrong in taking them before detectives arrived on the scene, but hehad to know, and he felt that these hairs proved his mad suspicions.
Caleb Barter was alive!
The hairs came from the shaggy coat of a giant anthropoid ape or agorilla.