The Heads of Apex by George Henry Weiss
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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Stories October 1931. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
I looked into the face of a girl about to be bled.]
The Heads of Apex
By Francis Flagg
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Far under the sea-floor Solino's submarine carries two Americansoldiers of fortune to startling adventure among the Vampire Heads ofApex.]
Justus Miles was sitting on a bench in the park, down at the heels,hungry, desperate, when a gust of wind whirled a paper to his feet. Itwas the advertising section of the _New York Times_. Apathetically, hepicked it up, knowing from the past weeks' experience that few or nojobs were being advertised. Then with a start he sat up, for in thecenter of the page, encased in a small box and printed in slightlylarger type than the ordinary advertisement, he read the followingwords: "Wanted: Soldier of Fortune, young, healthy; must have goodcredentials. Apply 222 Reuter Place, between two and four." It wasto-day's advertising section he was scanning, and the hour not yetone.
Reuter Place was some distance away, he knew, a good hour's walk onhard pavement and through considerable heat. But he had made forcedmarches in Sonora as badly shod and on even an emptier stomach. ForJustus Miles, though he might not have looked it, was a bona fidesoldier of fortune, stranded in New York. Five feet eight in height,he was, loose and rangy in build, and with deceptively mild blue eyes.He had fought through the World War, served under Kemal Pasha inTurkey, helped the Riffs in Morocco, filibustered in South America andhandled a machine-gun for revolutionary forces in Mexico. Surely, hethought grimly, if anyone could fill the bill for a soldier of fortuneit was himself.
222 Reuter Place proved to be a large residence in a shabbyneighborhood. On the sidewalk, a queue of men was being held in lineby a burly cop. The door of the house opened, and an individual,broad-shouldered and with flaming red hair, looked over the crowd.Instantly Justus Miles let out a yell, "Rusty! By God, Rusty!" andwaved his hands.
"Hey, feller, who do you think you're shovin'?" growled a hard-lookingfellow at the head of the line, but Justus Miles paid no attention tohim. The man in the doorway also let out an excited yell.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Kid! Hey, Officer, let that fellowthrough: I want to speak to him."
* * * * *
With the door shut on the blasphemous mob, the two men wrung eachother's hands. Ex-Sergeant Harry Ward, known to his intimates as"Rusty," led Justus Miles into a large office and shoved him into achair.
"I didn't know you were in New York, kid. The last I saw of you waswhen we quit Sandino."
"And I never suspected that 222 Reuter Place would be you, Rusty.What's the lay, old man, and is there any chance to connect?"
"You bet your life there's a chance. Three hundred a month and found.But the boss has the final say-so, though I'm sure he'll take you onmy recommendation."
He opened a door, led Justus Miles through an inner room, knocked at afar door and ushered him into the presence of a man who sat behind aroll-topped desk. There was something odd about this old man, andafter a moment's inspection Justus Miles saw what it was. He wasevidently a cripple, propped up in a strange wheelchair. He had anabnormally large and hairless head, and his body was muffled to thethroat in a voluminous cloak, the folds of which fell over andenveloped most of the wheelchair itself. The face of this oldgentleman--though the features were finely molded--was swarthy: itscolor was almost that of a negro--or an Egyptian. He regarded the twomen with large and peculiarly colored eyes--eyes that probed themsharply.
"Well, Ward, what is it?"
"The man you advertised for, Mr. Solino."
* * * * *
Solino regarded Justus Miles critically.
"You have been a soldier of fortune?" he asked. He spoke English withthe preciseness of an educated foreigner.
"Yes, sir. Rusty--that is, Mr. Ward knows my record."
"I was his sergeant in France, sir; saw fighting with him in Morocco,Turkey, Nicaragua--"
"You can vouch for him, then; his character, courage--"
"You couldn't get a better man, sir. If I had known he was in town Iwould have sent for him."
"Very well; that is sufficient. But Mr.--Miles did yousay?--understands he is embarking on a dangerous adventure with gravechances of losing his life?"
"I have faced danger and risked my life before this," said JustusMiles quietly.
The other nodded. "Then that is all I am prepared to tell you at thistime."
Justus Miles accompanied Ward to his room where the latter laid outfor him a change of clothing. It was luxurious to splash in warm waterand bath-salts after the enforced griminess of weeks. The clothesfitted him fairly well, the two men being of a size. Lounging in hisfriend's room after a substantial meal, and smoking a Turkishcigarette, he questioned Ward more closely.
"Who is the old fellow?"
"I don't know. He hired me through an advertisement and then set me toemploying others."
"But surely you know where we are going?"
"Hardly more than you do. Solino did say there was a country, a cityto be invaded. Whereabouts is a secret. I can't say I care for goingit blind, but neither do I like starving to death. I was in about thesame shape you were when you applied. Desperate."
Justus Miles stretched himself comfortably.
"A spiggoty by the looks of him," he said; "negro blood, no doubt.Well, fighting's my trade. I'd rather cash in fighting than sit on apark bench. I suppose the old boy will tell us more in good time, anduntil then we're sitting pretty, with good eats to be had; so whyworry?"
And yet if Justus Miles had been able to look ahead he might not havetalked so blithely.
* * * * *
During the week that followed his employment, he saw nothing ofSolino, though Ward met the old man for a few moments every day toreceive his instructions. "It puzzles me," he confessed to Miles,"how the old chap lives. There's a private exit to the street from hisrooms, but I could swear he never goes out. How could he in thatwheelchair--no attendant. And yet he must. How would he get food?"
Justus Miles smiled lazily. "No mystery at all, Rusty. We're gone forhours at a time. What's to prevent him from phoning to have his mealsbrought in?"
"But I've questioned them at the restaurant and they say--"
"Good Lord!--is there only one restaurant in Manhattan?"
Yet Justus Miles himself could not help feeling there was somethingmysterious about Solino, but just how mysterious he did notrealize--until, one evening, he stood with a half dozen of his fellowadventurers in a lonely spot on the Long Island coast and watched thedarkness deepen around them. "We shall wait," said Solino presently,"until the moon comes up."
The moon rose at about nine o'clock, flooding the beach and theheaving expanse of water with a ghostly light. From the folds ofSolino's cloak, close about his muffled throat, a peculiar ray ofgreen light flashed out over the water. In answer, a green lightflashed back, and presently, something low and black, like the body ofa whale half submerged, stole towards the beach. Scarcely a ripplemarked its progress, and the nose of it slid up on the sand. "GoodLord!" whispered Miles, grasping Ward by the arm: "it's a submarine!"
But the craft on which the surprised soldiers of fortune gazed was notan ordinary submarine. In the first place, there was no conning tower;and, in the second, from the
* * * * *
The adventurers accomplished the loading in a few minutes. "Now," camethe voice of their employer, "stand on the gangway yourselves. Steady;don't move."
Under their feet they felt the gangway vibrate and withdraw from theland. For a moment they were in utter darkness; then a light flashedup and revealed a long, box-like room. The opening through