Quorne Returns. John Russell Fearn

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ