Claimed (Sci-Fi Classic). Francis Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ uncle wouldn’t like us to do that, unless he directed it.” Seeing his involuntary look of surprise, she added with a faint smile: “My uncle is an old man, and you know old people are allowed their peculiarities. He may even be displeased because I called you in, Dr. — I beg your pardon, but I really don’t know your name.”

      “I am Dr. Vanaman,” he said slowly, “but how did you —”

      “I asked central to give me some doctor in this neighborhood, but I only received your phone number, not your name. Our regular physician, Dr. Bruce, was called out of town for an operation early in the evening.”

      Vanaman was young, but by no means a fool. Inwardly he laughed at himself for the wild dream that had pictured him chosen as elect by a millionaire patient. Bruce stood at the head of his profession, at least in Tremont. He was substituting for Bruce. He turned back to the patient.

      “Heart’s better,” he approved, finger on pulse. “He can be carried up-stairs soon and put to bed.”

      “This box —” The young woman had moved over to the table, and indicated by a gesture — not touching it — an oblong, polished, bluish-green object which lay there. “This box,” she said again. “Do you notice anything — peculiar about it?”

      Rather wonderingly, Vanaman came to her side and inspected the object at close range. It was about a dozen inches long by six wide and some five in thickness. It had neither hasp nor visible hinges, and a thin hairline around the exact center of the sides was the only sign by which it could be known as a box and not an oblong block of either colored porcelain or some semiprecious stone like the green onyx quarried at La Redrara, in Mexico. The top was a highly polished surface without ornament of any kind.

      Not onyx, though, thought Vanaman. Instead of the regularly banded variation of hue peculiar to that stone, this had a curious, unevenly clouded effect; and if one looked long at any part of it the bluegreen color of that part seemed to deepen, grow greener, and at the same time more transparent, so that presently one’s vision penetrated far — far and deep. But, great God, how deep! Down — down — through miles of transparent green.

      At a touch on his arm, Vanaman started violently. He blinked his: eyes like a man dazzled, then laughed with a note of apology.

      “The stone this is made of does affect one’s vision peculiarly, doesn’t it?”

      Miss Robinson was frowning slightly.

      “Perhaps. I haven’t noticed. That was not what I meant. I— would you mind turning the box over, doctor?”

      More puzzled than ever, Vanaman nevertheless complied. Then he realized that the plain, polished surface which had affected his eyes so strangely must be the bottom of the box, and that it had been lying with the top, or cover, underneath. Across the surface now brought to light was a brief inscription done in blood-red enamel.

      “What do those characters mean?” demanded Miss Robinson, and now the strained tension in her voice was unmistakable.

      It struck Vanaman that this first nightcall of his had brought him into touch with some situation which he did not understand, and which had some possibly very queer angles.

      “I don’t know what they mean,” he said gently, almost soothingly. “I have seen an inscription in hieratic Egyptian which somewhat resembled this. But I am no palaeographist, Miss Robinson. If you wish the inscription translated, I’d suggest that you take the box to some expert in these things.”

      The young woman seemed actually to shudder.

      “I don’t wish to take it anywhere!” she said hastily. “I don’t wish even to touch it. Not ever again!”

      Before Vanaman had time to reply or question further, a sudden sound from the lounge made them both turn. Old Robinson was sitting up. From under knotted, hawklike brows his eyes stared fiercely and he was stretching toward them two yellow claws that opened and closed with grasping motion.

      “Give it!” he croaked hoarsely. “Give it — quick.”

      The doctor, who had not expected his patient to rouse for some hours at least, was considerably startled. Miss Robinson, however, displayed a comprehension of her uncle’s meaning so instant as to be almost uncanny. Snatching up the box which she had just expressed her disinclination to touch, she ran and fairly thrust it into his hands. They closed on it greedily. Then he sank back, clasping the thing tight to his breast.

      “I got it!” he croaked. “What I want I get, and — what I get I keep! They can’t take it away from-old Jesse Robinson! Nobody — can take it! You — hear me?” His voice rose to a kind of discordant shriek, hoarse and dreadful with effort. “Nobody can take it! Nobody! Not even — him!”

      Chapter III.

      The Green Invasion

       Table of Contents

      Two A. M. that morning found Dr. John Vanaman in a place where yesterday he would have least expected to spend half the night. That is, he was ensconced in a large comfortable chair in the richly furnished bedchamber of old Jesse Robinson, the wealthiest — also some said the meanest — man in Tremont.

      But if Robinson were mean, the meanness did not apply to expenditures on himself or his house. The mellow light of a shaded night lamp showed his lean, yellow, sleeping face pillowed in a bed, the cost of which would have paid Vanaman’s house rent and all other expenses for some years. The elaborate brocaded silk of the curtains, the bizarre splendor of the Chinese robe flung over a chair by the bedside, were like all else in the room: very beautiful and in almost distressing contrast with the lean, ravenous hawkishness of their owner.

      Dr. Vanaman sighed and stirred uneasily.

      He was not altogether pleased with his position. He had suggested that a nurse be sent for; and had immediately begun to learn why Miss Robinson had not called in the police without her uncle’s authorization, and also a possible reason for that slightly bored weariness which seemed to be her habitual manner.

      Mr. Robinson, in fact, was “difficult.” Very soon after recovering consciousness he had demanded the reason for Vanaman’s presence, been surprisingly disagreeable over his niece’s act in sending for a doctor at all, and then abruptly reversed his faultfinding to all but literally hurl curses at Vanaman because the young man proposed to leave him and go home.

      A nurse? Never! No she-cat, whisky-guzzling nurse was going to watch over him. His niece? No, indeed! Leilah must go straight to bed; just a little night-watching made any woman as ugly as an owl. He hated ugly people, and he would not have them around when he was sick. As for the servants, they were a stupid, addleheaded lot whom no man with the brains of a mouse would rely on.

      He wanted Vanaman with him the rest of the night, and Vanaman he would have. A doctor was supposed to have some sense. Vanaman probably hadn’t much, but at least he was better than the others. And there were reasons — yes, there were very good reasons indeed why he wanted somebody with sense beside him the rest of that night.

      Vanaman had yielded finally, and stayed, although it was not for the amiable Jesse J. Robinson’s sake. Rather, it was for Leilah’s.

      “You will stay, won’t СКАЧАТЬ