The Monster Men by Edgar Rice Burroughs (cheapest way to read ebooks TXT) 📕

When von Horn returned to the court of mystery, he narrated to Professor Maxon the gist of his conversation with Virginia, wishing to forestall anything which the girl might say to her father that would give him an impression that von Horn had been talking more than he should. Professor Maxon listened to the narration in silence. When von Horn had finished, he cautioned him against divulging to Virginia anything that took place within the inner campong.

“She is only a child,” he said, “and would not understand the importance of the work we are doing. All that she would be able to see is the immediate moral effect of these experiments upon the subjects themselves—she would not look into the future and appreciate the immense advantage to mankind that must accrue from a successful termination of our research. The future of the world will be assured when once we have demonstrated the possibility of the chemical production of a perfect race.”

“Number One, for example,” suggested von Horn.

Professor Maxon glanced at him sharply.

“Levity, Doctor, is entirely out of place in the contemplation of the magnificent work I have already accomplished,” said the professor tartly. “I admit that Number One leaves much to be desired—much to be desired; but Number Two shows a marked advance along certain lines, and I am sure that tomorrow will divulge in experiment Number Three such strides as will forever silence any propensity toward scoffing which you may now entertain.”

“Forgive me, Professor,” von Horn hastened to urge. “I did not intend to deride the wonderful discoveries which you have made, but it is only natural that we should both realize that Number One is not beautiful. To one another we may say what we would not think of suggesting to outsiders.”

Professor Maxon was mollified by this apology, and turned to resume his watch beside a large, coffin-shaped vat. For a while von Horn was silent. There was that upon his mind which he had wished to discuss with his employer since months ago, but the moment had never arrived which seemed at all propitious, nor did it appear likely ever to arrive. So the doctor decided to broach the subject now, as being psychologically as favorable a time as any.

“Your daughter is far from happy, Professor,” he said, “nor do I feel that, surrounded as we are by semi-savage men, she is entirely safe.”

Professor Maxon looked up from his vigil by the vat, eyeing von Horn closely.

“Well?” he asked.

“It seemed to me that had I a closer relationship I might better assist in adding to her happiness and safety—in short, Professor, I should like your permission to ask Virginia to marry me.”

There had been no indication in von Horn’s attitude toward the girl that he loved her. That she was beautiful and intelligent could not be denied, and so it was small wonder that she might appeal strongly to any man, but von Horn was quite evidently not of the marrying type. For years he had roved the world in search of adventure and excitement. Just why he had left America and his high place in the navy he never had divulged; nor why it was that for seven years he had not set his foot upon ground which lay beneath the authority of Uncle Sam.

Sing Lee who stood just without the trap door through which he was about to pass Professor Maxon’s evening meal to him could not be blamed for overhearing the conversation, though it may have been culpable in him in making no effort to divulge his presence, and possibly equally unpraiseworthy, as well as lacking in romance, to attribute the doctor’s avowal to his knowledge of the heavy chest.

As Professor Maxon eyed the man before replying to his abrupt request, von Horn noted a strange and sudden light in the older man’s eyes—a something which he never before had seen there and which caused an uncomfortable sensation to creep over him—a manner of bristling that was akin either to fear or horror, von Horn could not tell which.

Then the professor arose from his seat and came very close to the younger man, until his face was only a few inches from von Horn’s.

“Doctor,” he whispered in a strange, tense voice, “you are mad. You do not know what you ask. Virginia is not for such as you. Tell me that she does not know of your feelings toward her. Tell me that she does not reciprocate your love. Tell me the truth, man.” Professor Maxon seized von Horn roughly by both shoulders, his glittering eyes glaring terribly into the other’s.

“I have never spoken to her of love, Professor,” replied von Horn quietly, “nor do I know what her sentiments toward me may be. Nor do I understand, sir, what objections you may have to me—I am of a very old and noble family.” His tone was haughty but respectful.

Professor Maxon released his hold upon his assistant, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I am glad,” he said, “that it has gone no further, for it must not be. I have other, nobler aspirations for my daughter. She must wed a perfect man—none such now exists. It remains for me to bring forth the ideal mate for her— nor is the time far distant. A few more weeks and we shall see such a being as I have long dreamed.” Again the queer light flickered for a moment in the once kindly and jovial eyes of the scientist.

Von Horn was horrified. He was a man of little sentiment. He could in cold blood have married this girl for the wealth he knew that she would inherit; but the thought that she was to be united with such a THING— “Lord! It is horrible,” and his mind pictured the fearful atrocity which was known as Number One.

Without a word he turned and left the campong. A moment later Sing’s knock aroused Professor Maxon from the reverie into which he had fallen, and he stepped to the trap door to receive his evening meal.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

One day, about two weeks later, von Horn and the professor were occupied closely with their work in the court of mystery. Developments were coming in riotous confusion. A recent startling discovery bade fare to simplify and expedite the work far beyond the fondest dreams of the scientist.

Von Horn’s interest in the marvellous results that had been obtained was little short of the professor’s— but he foresaw a very different outcome of it all, and by day never moved without a gun at either hip, and by night both of them were beside him.

Sing Lee, the noonday meal having been disposed of, set forth with rod, string and bait to snare gulls upon the beach. He moved quietly through the jungle, his sharp eyes and ears always alert for anything that might savor of the unusual, and so it was that he saw the two men upon the beach, while they did not see him at all.

They were Bududreen and the same tall Malay whom Sing had seen twice before—once in splendid raiment and commanding the pirate prahu, and again as a simple boatman come to the Ithaca to trade, but without the goods to carry out his professed intentions.

The two squatted on the beach at the edge of the jungle a short distance above the point at which Sing had been about to emerge when he discovered them, so that it was but the work of a moment or two for the Chinaman to creep stealthily through the dense underbrush to a point directly above them and not three yards from where they conversed in low tones—yet sufficiently loud that Sing missed not a word.

“I tell you, Bududreen, that it will be quite safe,” the tall Malay was saying. “You yourself tell me that none knows of the whereabouts of these white men, and if they do not return your word will be accepted as to their fate. Your reward will be great if you bring the girl to me, and if you doubt the loyalty of any of your own people a kris will silence them as effectually as it will silence the white men.”

“It is not fear of the white men, oh, Rajah Muda Saffir, that deters me,” said Bududreen, “but how shall I know that after I have come to your country with the girl I shall not myself be set upon and silenced with a golden kris—there be many that will be jealous of the great service I have done for the mighty rajah.”

Muda Saffir knew perfectly well that Bududreen had but diplomatically expressed a fear as to his own royal trustworthiness, but it did not anger him, since the charge was not a direct one; but what he did not know was of the heavy chest and Bududreen’s desire to win the price of the girl and yet be able to save for himself a chance at the far greater fortune which he knew lay beneath that heavy oaken lid.

Both men had arisen now and were walking across the beach toward a small, native canoe in which Muda Saffir had come to the meeting place. They were out of earshot before either spoke again, so that what further passed between them Sing could not even guess, but he had heard enough to confirm the suspicions he had entertained for a long while.

He did not fish for gulls that day. Bududreen and Muda Saffir stood talking upon the beach, and the Chinaman did not dare venture forth for fear they might suspect that he had overheard them. If old Sing Lee knew his Malays, he was also wise enough to give them credit for knowing their Chinamen, so he waited quietly in hiding until Muda Saffir had left, and Bududreen returned to camp.

Professor Maxon and von Horn were standing over one of the six vats that were arranged in two rows down the center of the laboratory. The professor had been more communicative and agreeable today than for some time past, and their conversation had assumed more of the familiarity that had marked it during the first month of their acquaintance at Singapore.

“And what of these first who are so imperfect?” asked von Horn. “You cannot take them into civilization, nor would it be right to leave them here upon this island. What will you do with them?”

Professor Maxon pondered the question for a moment.

“I have given the matter but little thought,” he said at length. “They are but the accidents of my great work. It is unfortunate that they are as they are, but without them I could have never reached the perfection that I am sure we are to find here,” and he tapped lovingly upon the heavy glass cover of the vat before which he stood. “And this is but the beginning. There can be no more mistakes now, though I doubt if we can ever improve upon that which is so rapidly developing here.” Again he passed his long, slender hand caressingly over the coffin-like vat at the head of which was a placard bearing the words, NUMBER THIRTEEN.

“But the others, Professor!” insisted von Horn. “We must decide. Already they have become a problem of no small dimensions. Yesterday Number Five desired some plantains that I had given to Number Seven. I tried to reason with him, but, as you know, he is mentally defective, and for answer he rushed at Number Seven to tear the coveted morsel from him. The result was a battle royal that might have put to shame two Bengal tigers. Twelve is tractable and intelligent. With his assistance and my bull whip