Part 24

“Ah, _did_ he?” said Needham, with interest. “He’s pretty strong, I take it?”

“You can bet your sweet life he is!” the man called back over his shoulder. “We take no chances with him.”

“By Jove!” said Needham, gazing at the baboon. “He’s mighty like the old fellow in the fight I told you about, now that I look at him closely.”

The three walked away from the spot at Meldrum’s suggestion, but, looking back every now and then, the teacher noted, with some uneasiness, that the creature still retained its position and still followed Needham’s figure with attentive eyes. There were a few other cages in the tent containing smaller monkeys and other animals and, having strolled past these, they soon found themselves once more opposite the baboons.

The place was now clearer than before, and Needham, glancing around to see that he was not observed, made a swift cross-wise motion with his hand and emitted the peculiar noise that Meldrum had heard him make on the night of their visit. Its effect was electrical. The two younger baboons, who had seat themselves near their older companion, ran at once to the back of the cage, where they cowered, whimpering and exhibiting every indication of alarm.

But the old baboon acted differently. The tension, which had up to this point kept its figure severely rigid, now relaxed. It squatted down on the floor of the cage and commenced nodding its head briskly up and down, its features distorted by what, to Meldrum’s fancy, looked extraordinarily like a grin. Needham smiled, too, and, glancing from one to the other, Meldrum felt his flesh creep slightly.

“Let us go,” he said hastily. “We have seen enough of these brutes.”

Needham acquiesced, and they made their way to the exit.

_V._

“Beastly clever things, though,” said Needham, as they passed out into the clear night air. “And strong as the very devil. I think myself there is something in the old idea of the African natives that apes pretend not to understand speech for fear they should be made to work.” He laughed his unpleasant laugh, and again Meldrum felt squeamish.

“You seem to have given them some study,” said Meldrum, as they made their way toward the main tent.

“I have seen a good deal of them one way and another,” said Needham carelessly, “and read a little, too. A curious thing I discovered was that when under the influence of liquor (and it’s some sight to see, believe me!) they are peculiarly receptive to autosuggestion. I believe a fortune could be made by putting them through tricks in this way--if the authorities allowed it. As for thieving, they would ‘steal the milk out of your tea’ as the old song says.”

In the excitement of the extensive and elaborate circus performance provided by Tasker’s Needham and Meldrum soon forgot about the baboons, and it was late in the evening when the three made their way back to Burlington. Emerging from Church Street, Norton and Meldrum turned up toward the University, while Needham strode off in the direction of the lake.

“Better lay aside your prejudice and think the best of the man,” said Meldrum to Norton as they parted. “He is a mighty interesting fellow, and has a fund of knowledge that is remarkable.”

Two days later found all Burlington in a state of excitement. Through a piece of carelessness the door of the baboon’s cage had been left unlocked and the old gray baboon had made a successful dash for liberty and got clear away. It happened in the evening, and the fading light hampered pursuit. When last seen, the brute was heading away from Winooski toward the lake shore.

Search was kept up throughout the night without result, and then, next day, word came that the creature had been seen in a tree near the entrance to Ethan Allen Park. As soon as possible the entire park was surrounded, and a contracting circle of hunters and curious people scoured the woods and shrubbery, but apparently the animal had moved on again to fresh quarters.

Word was sent all over the surrounding countryside, and no effort was spared to locate the missing animal, but several days passed without result. Numerous stories got into circulation regarding supposed escapades on the part of the missing baboon, and there were no end of rumors as to its being seen--at one time on the railway near the freight yard, at another waving from the tower in the park; and, again, far along the lake shore. Nervous persons kept to busy thoroughfares after dark. But the actual whereabouts of the creature remained a mystery.

Fresh stories went around of stealthy prowlings round houses and mysterious rattling of doors in the small hours of the morning. Chancing to see some of this in one of the evening papers, Meldrum’s attention was again drawn to the subject, and there returned to his mind his encounter with Needham at the circus. Obeying a sudden impulse, he set off in the direction of Needham’s dwelling in North Avenue. He had not been near it for some time, but he found himself possessed of a curious desire to see whether the little monkey still sat looking out of the front window.

Walking sharply, Meldrum soon came in view of the quaint wooden house with its trees and grass plots. The sun had not yet set, and in the clear evening light Meldrum could see the small crouching figure sitting in its accustomed place. He stopped, as he reached the house, and stood watching a moment, and then, suddenly became petrified with astonishment.

For there came all at once into view, over and beyond the head of the small monkey, the great gray face of the old baboon with its long lips curled back and its doglike tusks displayed!

It gazed forth for an instant, seeming to hold back with one hand the lace curtain that overhung the window, and then disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Meldrum rubbed his eyes, then continued staring stupidly. The little monkey made no sign.

Thinking that perhaps the baboon had found its way into the house through an open window during Needham’s absence, Meldrum felt that he ought to warn the South African, without delay, of his unpleasant visitor. He went up the path to the house and rang the bell. He thought that at the sound he detected a far off scampering, but no one came in answer to his summons. He tried the door and found it locked.

In some perplexity, Meldrum came down the garden path to the sidewalk, wondering exactly what course to pursue. He looked again at the window. The little monkey still sat gazing intently at the street. Of the baboon there was no sign.

“It may have been imagination,” mused Meldrum. “But it looked uncommonly real.”

He had turned his steps back in the direction of the town, and was meditating whether or not to communicate his fears to the authorities, when to his relief he saw the tall figure of Needham striding toward him. They stopped to greet one another, and Meldrum hastened to tell the other what he had seen.

“Oh, nonsense!” said Needham, his moustache twitching. “They don’t come around houses like that--not in the day time, anyway. The place was all right at midday and has been locked up tight ever since. No; you must have imagined it.”

He laughed lightly, and in a subconscious kind of way Meldrum seemed to get the impression that the tall man was more anxious to laugh the story off than to continue to discuss it. However, he offered to accompany Needham home and help search the house.

“Just wait there for a moment if you don’t mind,” said Needham (again with nervous haste, it seemed to Meldrum) “and I’ll walk around and have a look at the windows. If they are all right I’ll give you a wave.”

He hastened off, and after a short interval again made his appearance at the front of the house and waved his hand. Meldrum waved back.

“Everything O. K.?” he asked.

“Quite O. K.,” called Needham. “So long, old man. See you later.”

Somewhat puzzled, Meldrum set off in the direction of the town.

On the evening of the next day the telephone in Meldrum’s sitting room tinkled briskly and Norton’s voice came over the line.

“Needham has just ’phoned down,” he said, “and has asked me to go round to his place tonight to get some old African stamps he has hunted out for me. I once asked him if he had any and he promised to get me some. I wish now that I hadn’t asked him.”

He laughed rather nervously, and then added:

“I wish I’d just said ‘no,’ for I don’t much want to go. However I promised to look in for a few minutes. Would you care to come along if I come round for you?”

“Too busy with examination papers just at the moment,” said Meldrum, “and it would bring you out of your way to come over here. It’s after eight o’clock now. I might be free about ten and pick you up when I take my usual stroll. How would that do?”

Norton said, “All right,” and Meldrum hung up the receiver.

As he did so, a strange sense of foreboding came upon him and the vision of the baboon rushed back to his mind. He shook himself in annoyance and resumed his work.

But he could not regain his ease of mind, and after spending nearly an hour in a vain attempt to concentrate on some problems in algebra he closed up his books impatiently and sought his hat and coat.

He stood irresolutely in the hallway for some moments, and then, with a laugh, opened a drawer and drew forth a revolver, which he slipped into his overcoat pocket, after seeing that all its chambers were filled. He laughed again as he descended to the street, but drew some comfort, nevertheless, from the touch of the cold steel upon his hand.

_VI._

The night was dark, but the air was clear and invigorating. Meldrum walked smartly in a direction away from Needham’s residence, since he was earlier than usual and had but plenty of time to meet Norton. Finding that he could not free his mind from an unaccountable anxiety, he swung round presently and made his way to North Avenue.

It did not take him long to reach the house, and as he drew near he observed, with a slight feeling of surprise, that one of the downstairs rooms was illuminated--a room he had never yet seen lighted. It lay toward the rear of the house, its windows facing a broad gallery.

Obeying a sudden impulse, Meldrum, instead of going to the front door, walked quietly along the gallery and peeped through a corner of the blind into the room. What he saw there made his blood run cold.

The room was about fifteen feet square, with blue paper on the walls and plain oak furniture. A square table stood in the center at which several figures were seated. Needham sat with his back to the window, and in the chair on his left sat Norton, a pile of postage stamps on the table before him, and over opposite Needham, directly facing the window, sat, or rather sprawled, the figure of the gray baboon!

On the table was a decanter of whisky, and all three had tumblers. Norton’s glass was half empty, standing beside the postage stamps, but Needham and the creature were both drinking, the animal seemingly following the movements of the man, lifting the tumbler to its lips and setting it down again as Needham did, as far as Meldrum could judge by the movements of his right arm, which was visible. The brute’s eyes were fixed upon the man across the table, and from its appearance and the limpness of its figure Meldrum decided it was in an advanced state of intoxication.

Norton seemed to be spellbound, staring fixedly at the scene before him. Occasionally he passed his hand in a bewildered way over his forehead, or looked stupidly at the half empty tumbler before him. But he seemed incapable of either speech or action.

In horror and indignation, Meldrum continued to gaze. As fast as the baboon’s whisky was gulped down Needham filled its glass again. From the fact that he did not fill his own very frequently, Meldrum concluded that he did not drink every time he pretended to do so--apparently deceiving the befuddled creature.

Like a flash, Meldrum remembered Needham’s remark about the intoxicated baboon and autosuggestion. And with a fast beating heart he gripped his revolver and waited.

From being limp and sluggish, the ape now began to show signs of animation. It sat more erect, its eyes began to glitter, and occasionally it turned its head and gazed at Norton who still sat in apparent stupefaction. Every time it did this it seemed to grin at Needham with frightful suggestiveness, nodding its head as it had done when in the cage at the menagerie.

Fearing he knew not what mischief, Meldrum went quietly and hurriedly to the front door, opened it with extreme caution, and managed to make his way undetected to the door of the room in which the trio sat. Through the half open doorway, he could now get a view of Needham’s face, and its diabolical contortions were dreadful to behold. It was apparent that he was working the animal up to something, but what that something was the creature apparently did not quite seem to grasp.

Presently Needham made the strange clucking noise in his throat, at the same time stretching out his arms toward Norton. That gave the brute its clue. It rose unsteadily to its feet, and turning its evil eyes toward the recumbent figure of Norton, seemed about to spring at his throat.

With a crash, Meldrum kicked open the door and entered the room, covering Needham with his revolver. The baboon, its attention distracted by the noise of Meldrum’s entry and apparently finding Needham’s influence withdrawn, now appeared to feel the full effect of the whisky fumes once more, and sank back into the armchair more fuddled than ever. Norton had by this time fallen back in his seat, his head tilted toward the ceiling. Needham, however, has his wits about him, and his ghastly yellow face, convulsed with fury, attempted to force a sickly smile.

“Needham,” said Meldrum sternly, “I don’t know what abominable deviltry you are up to, but it must stop here and now. If you can right things here go ahead. If not, I shoot--either you or the brute, I am not particular which.”

Although outwardly calm, Meldrum’s heart was beating furiously and he was hunting desperately in his mind for the proper way to handle the situation. It was not clear to him as yet.

“Why, Meldrum!” said Needham in a thick voice, cunningly feigning drunkenness, although he was perfectly sober. “What’s all this? Revolvers? We are all friends. Norton had a drop too much--old man baboon dropped in and joined the party--I was going to get him to do some tricks....”

“That’s quite enough,” said Meldrum sharply. “You are no more drunk than I am. Open that window and let Norton have some air. Loosen his collar--”

A sudden chattering caused him to pause and drew his attention for a moment to the mantel over the fireplace, on to which the little monkey had suddenly jumped from some nearby corner.

“Ha, Fifi!” said Needham quickly. “Lights!” The switch was within easy reach of the creature’s hand, and in an instant the room was plunged in darkness.

The hallway being also without illumination, the blackness was profound. Utterly unable to tell what might happen, and fearing the baboon to be the principal danger point, Meldrum came to a swift decision and fired in the direction of the creature’s chair. A frightful scream broke the silence followed by a wild gibbering, punctuated at times by what appeared to be Needham’s voice shouting commands.

Then there came a loud crash of glass, as the table was overturned, followed by snarling, cursing and pandemonium. Stumbling blindly in the darkness, Meldrum endeavored, without success, to locate the switch in the hallway, but finally a faint glimmer showed him the outline of the front door, and he dashed forth into the street.

Several people had collected on hearing the shot, and aid was quickly forthcoming. Together with several neighbors and others, Meldrum again entered the house, and the light in the hall was turned on. The door of the occupied room had been swung shut and the dreadful snarling din still continued.

“The baboon must have broken in and attacked my friends,” was Meldrum’s hurried explanation, as they forced open the room door and finally got the lights turned on.

A hideous litter of broken furniture, pieces of glass, liquor, and bloodstains were everywhere revealed. Needham and the baboon, locked in a death grapple, were rolling among the ruins. By a curious chance, Norton’s chair had been left standing, and he still sat there, limp and motionless, unaffected by all the noise.

With difficulty, the baboon was overpowered and secured. It was still bleeding copiously from the bullet wound in its shoulder, but it gnashed and tore at its captors with undiminished fury. Needham was bleeding from many wounds and presented a dreadful spectacle, much of his clothing being torn to shreds. In addition to receiving many cuts, he had been badly mauled by the infuriated animal, whose wrath, by some strange combination of circumstances, had been turned against himself. He sat breathing heavily, too exhausted to talk to those around him.

The removal of the animal drew off most of the curious and some sort of order was restored. Realizing that Norton had apparently been drugged, but not wishing just then to say anything of what he had seen, Meldrum made the plea that his friend had evidently been overcome as a result of the terrible scene he had just witnessed, and, procuring a cab, took him first to his own chambers and then to his home, where he was prostrated for some weeks as the result of the shock.

Needham disappeared almost immediately, and Norton’s relatives did not deem it expedient to search for him. He was never heard of again in that city, and later it transpired that he had returned to Africa.

The baboon lived for some years after its strange adventure, but on dying it made no confession. And such mysteries as to how long it had been the guest of the South African, whether or not it was the same creature that he had once betrayed into captivity, to what extent the two understood one another, and whether or not it was incited to murder on that dreadful evening, were never solved.

And, indeed, nobody had any great desire that they should be.

The Eyrie

WEIRD TALES is not merely “another new magazine.” It’s a brand new type of new magazine--a sensational variation from the established rules that are supposed to govern magazine publishing.

WEIRD TALES, in a word, is unique. In no other publication will you find the sort of stories that WEIRD TALES offers in this issue--and will continue to offer in the issues to come. Such stories are tabooed elsewhere. We do not know why. People like to read this kind of fiction. There’s no gainsaying that. Nor does the moral question of “good taste” present an obstacle. At any rate, the stories in this issue of WEIRD TALES will not offend one’s moral sense, nor will the stories we’ve booked for subsequent issues. Some of them may horrify you: and others, perhaps, will make you gasp at their outlandish imagery: but none, we think, will leave you any the worse for having read it.

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We got “A Square of Canvas” and promptly read it--and it will appear in the next issue of WEIRD TALES. Don’t miss it! It’s all that Mr. Rud says it is, and more besides! It’s a terrifying, hair-raising tale, and no mistake! It’s a bear! You can read it in twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes will fairly bristle!

Of “The Dead Man’s Tale,” which opens this issue, Willard E. Hawkins wrote us:

“...The idea for that story came to me in a flash one evening when my wife and I were returning from the theatre. I outlined the whole thing to her, and followed that outline without deviation in writing the story later. It struck me that I had never seen the Dr.-Jekyll-and-Mr.-Hyde type of situation developed from the point of the obsessing entity, and I was fascinated by the attempt to do it.”

And we think you’ll agree that Mr. Hawkins did a mighty fine job.

We assume you’ve read the stories in this, our first issue, before arriving upon this page back here, and we are eager to know what you think of them. Why not write and tell us? Mention the stories you liked, and those you didn’t like, and tell us what you think of our attempt to do something new and different in the magazine field. We shall be delighted to hear from you; and we will print your letters on this page--unless you decree otherwise.

If you get the next issue of WEIRD TALES--as we hope you will--you’ll read some strange and remarkable stories. Elsewhere in this number we’ve told you something about these stories, and we need only add here that each is a striking example of unusual fiction. Whatever effect they may have upon you--whether they make you shudder or set your nerves tingling pleasurably--we can emphatically promise you this:

You will not be bored!

THE EDITOR.

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