“The Gorgon”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 75, Issue 152, 30 June 1932, Page 10

“The Gorgon”

Ij SERIAL STORY

BY - -

J. LINDSAY HAMILTON.

SYNOPSIS. Colonel Dainton is concerned about the disappearance of his brother-in-law, Jim Rowson, the vagabond millionaire. He consults Dr. Farrar, an eminent nerve specialist who describes how Rowson called on him six weeks ago in a state ol nervous collapse, leaving in his care a remarkably hideous mummy. Colonel Dainton confides in his daughter Helen and her friend Peter Southwark, and tells them his fear that Rowson has met with foul play, as it is known that he drew from the bank £BOO,OOO prior to his disappearance. I During the night, the Colonel s manI servant, Jenkins, is found brutally murdered. Andrew Eden, of the Foreign OfI flee, is secretly working to destroy a 1 criminal organisation ruled by a I mysterious being known as “The | Gorgon.’’ He believes the latter to be responsible for Rowson’s disappearance and the murder of Jenkins. A cable advises the Colonel that Celia, Rowson’s daughter, is on her way from America. Eden insists on the importance of meeting her at Southampton. While waiting at the landing-stage, the Colonel’s attention is drawn to a nervous little man. CHAPTER XVIII. — (Continued.) “NoI No! I don’t think I shall be molested again to-night. For that matter 1 have Abdul. I can hardly find words to express my—but there. How could I have foreseen such a terrible sequel? It will serve at least to prove something of my claims. We have had a practical demonstration of the Gorgon’s fearful powers.” “Beyond the shadow of a doubt,” said Eden gravely. “And what is more certain still,’ he added with deadly earnestness, “when we meet, as meet we shall, I shall shoot him down as you would Kill a poisonous snake, without pause and without mercy. Good-night, Doctor. I hope you’ll be none the worse for the night’s little excitement. As he passed out he heard Peter giving instructions for Roberts to bring round his car. A wonderful recovery—a puzzling recovery. It needed some explanation. Celia he found lying back in the car, a gentle smile on her lips, her eyes closed. She opened them as he got in beside her but remained silent. As the car swept out from the drive gate she was thrown against him. Apparently she was still a little dazed for she made no effort to draw back and Eden’s arm whicn had been thrown out to steady her, remained where it was around her shoulders. Like a tired child she leaned her head against him. Her fine silky hair caressed his face. He murmured to her soothingly as a woman would soothe a troubled child. She sighed drowsily. A sense of utter content pervaded her being. He thought she was asleep. But when the car came to a halt at length, she stirred slightly and opened her eyes. “Home,” said Eden gently. “Yes, I know,” she answered. For a full minute she did not move and Eden would not disturb her. When she did at last speak, her words and the low tremor in her voice startled him. “I thought they had killed you.” His arm tightened around her for an instant, but he managed to say light-heartedly enough: “Skinned one ear that’s all. I dodged in time.”

There was admiration and perhaps something else in her candid smiling eyes as she looked up at him. “At lunch to-day—it seems ages a B° —you remarked that time is a wonderful healer. I’m glad you are still in Time and not Eternity.”

For once Eden had nothing to say. He remembered the occasion of the remark; a light jest with perhaps an underlying significance. ’Time he had claimed was to turn her tolerance of him into something deeper. Could it be possible that she meant him to know that she was willing and glad to give Time its chance? Or was it the sort of thing anyone might say under such circumstances?

That she had lain contentedly in his arms was nothing. The shock, reaction, her dazed condition, anything in fact might well account for that trusting acceptance of his very natural assistance. But with the memory of her nearness tingling his senses, he was still wondering when Smith opened the door of the flat to them.

Helen and Peter arrived a few minutes later and over a cup of coffee the talk turned at once to the bewildering events of the evening.

“What happened?” asked Helen fearfully. “1 was an awful coward, I know. Dr. Farrar's talk of Ko’s and mummies was enough to make one’s flesh creep. And then when Peter was uh! it was too 1 horrible for words. His awful cries. What was it? The shots too and everything that followed?” “I think I can tell you,” said Eden quietly. “But what amazes me is that Peter seems the least affected by it.” “I know. it is queer,” said Peter quickly. "I knew all that was going on and didn’t seem to care a straw. How shall 1 put it? H was as though 1 stood outside it all and watched myself writhing. 1 seemed to watch quite unmoved, without any sensation whatsoever. 1 saw my own hands strangling the life out of my body and didn’t feel any interest in it. Weird isn't a strong enough word for it.” “Did you see the mummy?’’ asked Eden with keen interest. “I heard Hie cry, but I saw no mummy.” “Oh! I think the doctor’s claim stands proved,” said Ed*m softly. “There seems to be no doubt that by a process of hypnotism your spirit ceased for a lime Io occupy its body. Let me quote you the commentary to a very ancient Sanscript aphorism by Patanjali: ‘When the cords of bondage have been loosened by the right knowledge, Hie Yogi can temporarily leave his own body and talk and act through that of another man.’ That and that alone could account for your unconsciousness of suffering and your prompt recovery. The moment the influence which was operating your brain ceased, probably during the turmoil following on the shots, you were free lo return to your normal i>Lala.

“But don't you remember,” put in Helen, “Dr. Farrar lost control? What was Peter fighting against and why did he cry out about the Mummy?”

“The Gorgon,” said Eden bluntly, “If you like lo call him the Prince of the Devils 1 shan't disagree with you. Dr. Farrar’s experiment was his opportunity for a clean sweep and he nearly succeeded. Sljall we put it in this way. The Gorgon look command. Peter was nearly strangled. His body and brain obeyed the command of the power that had obtained mastery over it. Miss Rowson was partially hypnotised. You know whal followed, a shot to clear me out ol' the way; the Doctor was struck down and Miss Rowson was almost in his hands. The shot fortunately missed. I made for the door when the lights were shot out and I was just in nice time to crack the man on the head as he came out.” “Who was the man?” asked Celia suddenly. “He got away. It was—not the Gorgon.”

She had the impression that he had been about to say something quite (different. “Why did you go to the door and not the window?” she asked anxiously. “Instinct,” said Eden shortly. “Did he come in by the window?” she persisted. “No I by the door, just before 1 reached it.” She was silent for a moment. “Here's another question,” *she said with a laugh of apology. “Supposing you had not been there to rescue me, how could he have got away with me? You had your man in the road and Stevens at the back ol the house.” ‘Even so, I think he would have succeeded.” He paused and then added deliberately. “In spile of the fact that there was no car visible on the road; in spite of the fact also that Stevens was just in time*to see the gun-man disappearing over the wall.” Celia looked hard at him for a moment and then smiled with frank friendliness. “To-night,” she said, “you may be as aggravating as you like. You are a privileged person. Perhaps Time may cure you—who knows?” CHAPTER XIX. Diamond Cut Diamond.

John Steele was far from happy. He had of late years developed a strong leaning towards respectable stagnation. The contrast between his earlier life of unsavoury crime, with its insecurity, and his mode of semirespectable existence over the past ten years, must no doubt have had a good deal to do with it.

He was not of the true breed of criminal whose work is his object in life—his art. Steele had only turned criminal to save his own skin. His skin was perhaps the one thing he really valued. A trifling embezzlement such as anyone might commit and never be found out had given him no alternative but to join the great throng of social outcasts among whom he had been deliberately thrust by an unkind world. Such at least was his own way of looking at it. For the one unthinkable thing was poverty.

But now for ten years he had worked in security, safeguarded by the reputation and skill of a cleverer man than himself. Almost he had begun to regard himself as a thoroughly respectable citizen, for the absence of that fear of detection had robbed crime of its moral significance. His conscience was clear.

Now all this was changed. The fear that had lain so long dormant woke with renewed vigour. To lose now when so near the goal was unthinkable. His mild desire to be out of it all, to vegetate or perhaps travel, became a single frenzied passion. It must be either Eden or the Gorgon. Gold-bloodedly he thought it out.

It was no use trying to run for it. He had made an attempt and failed. For the present, while Eden knew so much and the Gorgon as yet had no reason to suspect him, Eden might well be considered the more dangerous. But the thing was, how long could he keep Bromilow in ignorance? Well, he must take his chance about that—find out all that he could and do what he had to do in one quick stroke. Once the Gorgon was down John Steele would be safe. True, there was a little matter of embezzlement of £2OOO that might still come up against him. There was nothing for it—he must make it good out of his own pocket—a hateful thought, but once

committed to a policy of saving his skin he must be prepared to sacrifice a little.

The idea of bribing Sandy had occurred to him as a possible scheme, but Sandy could be very unimpressionable when he liked. He had tried, but Sandy seemed only interested in poultry.

“"You know Eden,” Steele had challenged. “You needn’t deny it; and don’t tell me you didn’t crack my safe last night, because I know. See!”

Sandy puckered his brow. “Eden! I seem to know the name. Why, yes. There’s a poultry dealer of that name Peckham way. Fancy me forgetting!”

“Poultry be damned!” .Steele snapped. “You know who I mean well enough. Listen to me. You did a job for him. I bear you no ill-will. You were well paid for it, 1 expect. Well, you can do one for me and get better paid, see? I want those papers.”

Sandy fingered a pile of periodicals absent-mindedly.

“Didn’t know you were one of us,” he remarked genially. “Nothing like reading to improve the mind. Here’s ‘Feathered Fowl.’ You can take it with you. I've read it from cover to back. There's some real useful information in it, too—tells you how to tell a cock from a hen the minute it lays its first egg.” Steele was on his feel, glaring angrily. “So you won't, won’t you? You're a d—d fool to lose the chance of five hundred of the best for a soft job like that.” Sandy yawned. (To be continued.)