Читать книгу Quorne Returns - John Russell Fearn - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

PLAN IS EXPOSED

The young woman who made her way up the driveway of the huge modern residence in outer Lon­don was obviously nervous, be­having very much like a trespasser in forbidden territory. And with good reason. The London home of the Golden Amazon had all the appearance of a scientific house of mysteries, from the strange aerials atop the lofty roof to the many laboratory annexes attached to the house. Even along the driveway there were curious instruments em­bedded in metal pillars, some of them emanating strange but harmless rays of pink and blue light. Not being a scien­tist, the young woman could not guess the reason for such apparatus; and she certainly did not realize that her movement up the drive was being reproduced on a screen in the Golden Amazon’s laboratory, and that the sound of her timid footsteps was audible in loudspeakers.

The young woman reached the massive metal front door, but before she had a chance to ring the curiously fashioned bell, the door opened silently and revealed an expanse of tastefully furnished hall illumined with the beams of the March evening sunlight.

“Please go into the lounge on your right,” a voice said from a concealed loudspeaker. “I will be with you in a moment.”

The girl gave an awed glance about her and then resumed her uncertain advance. Entering the huge lounge she surveyed its opulence and magnificent modern appointments—then cold-light globes glowed into being.

The young woman sank into an armchair, gazing at an astonishing clock high in the wall that registered even days, months, and years and made no sound. She was thankful to have got this far without mishap. Her friends had warned her that to try to invade the home of the Golden Amazon was to risk death.

“Good evening.”

The girl jumped out of her chair, suddenly aware of the tall, supple woman who had entered the room. She moved with the grace of a tigress and the poise of an empress, clad in a sweeping blue gown, which, falling from her smooth shoulders, revealed the deep satin gold of her skin and the steel-hard muscles that rolled softly with every movement she made.

“I’m Elsa Vincent, a machine-operator in the city,” the girl said. “I know I have no right to question such a woman as you, Miss Brant, but— You are Miss Brant, of course? The Golden Amazon?”

“Yes.” The Golden Amazon inclined her head and waited.

The young woman sat down again, staring. She had to admit the incredible beauty of the woman facing her. Proud arrogance and high intelligence were moulded into those perfect features and violet eyes. And there was nowhere a line or crease of age, even though it was generally conceded that Violet Ray Brant, the Golden Amazon, must be well over sixty years of age. Here was eternal youth and magical loveliness, crowned with a wealth of rippling golden hair that set off the enormous rubies holding it back from her high, wide forehead.

“You said your name is Elsa Vincent,” the Amazon prompted. “Can I help you in some way?”

“Yes, but—I haven’t much money Miss Brant, to pay for your advice and—”

“Money does not concern me, Miss Vincent, if the problem is scientific. What is the trouble?”

“Do you believe the dead can return?” the girl asked surprisingly.

The Amazon seated herself, studying the city girl curiously.

“Scientifically, yes,” she replied. “In the normal course of events—definitely no.”

Elsa Vincent hurried on. “Three days ago my young man, chosen for me by the Eugenics Bureau, was killed in a machine accident. I went with his family to the funeral. But tonight he walked into the house as though nothing had happened and suggested we go out for the evening. He made no reference to his death, or anything. I simply pan­icked for a while and rushed to tell his family. They couldn’t understand it, either, so I said I’d see you. They warned me that a woman so high in affairs as you would never bother with me, but I risked it.”

“It is certainly unique,” the Amazon mused. “And what has this young man to say about it?”

“He seemed taken aback when I told him he had been killed and buried; then he laughed it off and said it must have been a case of mistaken identity.”

“Obviously, then,” the Amazon said, “the thing to do is have the corpse which was buried exhumed and examined.”

Elsa Vincent said uneasily: “Yes, I suppose so, but I hardly think the authorities would believe such a story.”

“Tell me,” the Amazon said, “are you convinced this young man is the young man you have always known? He is not different in any way?”

“Not physically. But his memory seems a bit hazy. I referred to one or two matters when he came to my home, but he seemed to have to struggle to remember them.”

The Amazon said: “For every scientific problem there is always a solution. What is this young man’s registration number?”

“78965 LH.”

The Amazon registered it in her mind and then nodded. “Thank you, Miss Vincent. I would suggest you carry on, if you can, as though nothing had hap­pened and leave the rest of the details to me. I’ll discover the explanation.”

Elsa Vincent smiled in relief as she rose. “Yes, I believe you, Miss Brant, but I’m going to find it hard to carry on as though nothing had happened.”

To this the Amazon made no comment. She saw the girl to the outdoors again, then she turned and hurried through to the main laboratory. A gigantic, blond-headed man in protective suiting glanced up inquiringly as she appeared and stopped the electronic machine he was experimentally operating. A slim girl, likewise in protective suit­ing with copper-gold hair and bright blue eyes, emerged from the midst of an electrical apparatus.

“Well?” asked Abna, unfastening his suiting. “What did she want?”

“An explanation as to why her dead fiancé should suddenly walk into the house as though nothing had happened.”

“That all?” Viona asked, with her bright smile. “I am surprised you took up time bothering with her, mother—especially while this atomic experiment is on hand.”

“The scientific mystery to which I will not pay attention has yet to appear,” the Amazon replied, and gave the details of the interview. When she had finished, Abna and Viona were obviously puzzled.

“It must be mistaken identity,” Viona declared. “It can’t be anything else.”

“I hope it isn’t,” the Amazon answered ambiguously, and turned to the visi­phone. In a moment or so she had been automatically contacted by the private beam with government headquarters. The moment she appeared on the screen at the other end respect came into the speaker’s voice.

“Yes, Miss Brant? At your service.”

“Three days ago,” the Amazon said, “a worker with registration number 78965 LH was buried, following his death in a machine room. I require the corpse exhumed and its image televised to me. The matter is urgent.”

There was no suggestion of argument since the word of the Golden Amazon was law. “Very well, Miss Brant; we’ll attend to it immediately. Do you wish to add details as to why you have made this request?”

“Not yet, but I may do so later. Thank you.”

The Amazon switched off and stood thinking. Vaguely surprised at her preoccupation Abna strolled over to her.

“I’m puzzled, Vi,” he confessed. “I don’t want to take the effort to read your thoughts, so why not tell me why such a trifling problem as this interests you?”

“I, too, would like to know,” Viona put in.

“It interests me because of its implications,” the Amazon replied. “If what I am thinking proves correct, it will be found that there is no corpse in the grave.”

“What!” Viona exclaimed, startled. “Then he has genuinely come back from the dead?”

“No; not quite that.” The Amazon turned away, obviously unwilling to dis­cuss the matter further until she had all the facts. “Let us see what develops first. In the meantime we have routine science to attend to.”

Viona glanced at her father, then shrugged. Had he wished, he could quite easily have read the Amazon’s mind, but unless extreme emergency de­manded otherwise, he always respected her privacy.

For perhaps an hour, normal laboratory work—research into atomic laws—continued, then came the call for which the Amazon was waiting. She picked up the visiphone as it buzzed and the face of the government official ap­peared on the scanner.

“Examination of the coffin of Worker 78965 LH reveals the coffin to be empty, Miss Brant.” There was a wondering look in the man’s eyes. “How this comes to be the case it is hard to understand, for the screws on the coffin lid were still in place.”

“Thank you,” the Amazon said, a gleam in her violet eyes. “That is all I wished to know.”

“It is? But is it the correct answer?”

“As far as I am concerned it is, yes. I am much obliged.”

The Amazon switched off and found Abna and Viona gazing at her. They had heard the official’s voice in the receiver.

“Any suggestions?” Abna asked.

“Yes.” The Amazon tightened her mouth. “Just one—Neptune!”

Abna looked puzzled and then sighed. “Well, I suppose I ought to see the con­nection, Vi, but I don’t.”

“Purely because you’re not exerting yourself,” she replied sharply. “Think, Abna! You have the powers of a god when you care to use them—but how rarely you do!”

“What’s all this about Neptune?”

“Well, you surely haven’t forgotten that we discovered Neptune, or at least part of it, to be a duplicate of Earth? Even to containing people who look like Earthlings?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten, but— Wait!” Suddenly Abna got a grip on the situa­tion. “Are you suggesting that this worker is a Neptunian?”

“I am. The whole business seems pretty plain to me. The Neptunians—or rather the Uranians, since they have migrated from Uranus—have started sending their doubles here, at the same time removing the originals.”

“What!” Viona exclaimed. “But—but at that rate what’s going to happen? Nobody’s going to know who is genuine and who isn’t.”

“Exactly. It is also perfectly logical, from this premise, that the Neptunians are bent on conquest. Plainly they must use an atomic dissembler to accomplish their purpose. A counterfeit Earthling is sent there, garbed exactly like the Earth original, and the Earth original is switched back to Neptune. But in this one instance there has been a mistake.”

“And a big one—for them,” Abma said grimly. “They were not aware that this worker had died in the inter­val since they took his original pattern—but they will be now, because the exchange will hand them a corpse. Pos­sibly they will even realize that they have unwittingly exposed their hand.”

“Possibly,” the Amazon admitted.

“The lapses of memory are plainly accounted for then,” Viona commented. “A Neptunian, sent here, would be versed in the life of his original counterpart, of course, but there might be some things he wouldn’t know, things which even radio waves and television cannot tell to the watchers of Neptune.”