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Read books online » Fiction » The White Invaders by Ray Cummings (popular books of all time TXT) 📖

Book online «The White Invaders by Ray Cummings (popular books of all time TXT) 📖». Author Ray Cummings



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Eunice Arton was missing; and by noon of May 15th it was apparent that several other white girls had also vanished. All of them were under twenty, all of prominent Bermuda families, and all of exceptional beauty.

By this time the little government was in chaos. The newspapers, by government order, were suppressed. The cable station voluntarily refused to send press dispatches to the outside world. Don, Jane and I, through Mr. Dorrance’s prominence, had all the reports; but to the public it was only known by whispered, garbled rumor. A panic was impending. The New York liner, that morning of May 15th, was booked beyond capacity. An English ship, anchored out in the open channel outside Hamilton harbor, received passengers up to its limit and sailed.

The shops of St. Georges and Hamilton did not open that morning of May 15th. People gathered in the streets—groups of whites and blacks—trying to learn what they could, and each adding his own real or fancied narrative to the chaos.

Although there had seemed so far no aggression from the ghosts—our own encounter with the apparition being typical of them all—shortly after noon of the 15th we learned of an event which changed the whole aspect of the affair; an event sinister beyond any which had gone before. It had occurred in one of the hotels near Hamilton the previous night and had been suppressed until now.

A young woman tourist, living alone in the hotel, had occupied a bedroom on the lower floor. The storm blinds and windows were open. During the night she had screamed. Guests in nearby rooms heard her cries, and they were also conscious of a turmoil in the woman’s room. Her door was locked on the inside, and when the night clerk finally arrived with a pass-key and they entered, they found the room disordered, a wicker chair and table overturned, and the young woman gone, presumably out of the window. She had been a woman of about twenty-five, a widow, exceptionally attractive.

STOLEN by the ghosts? We could think of nothing else. Was that what had happened to Eunice Arton? Did that explain the reported disappearances of the several other girls? Did this ghostly activity have some rational purpose—the stealing of young white women, all of them of unusual beauty? The conclusion was forced upon us, and with it the whole affair took on a complexion shudderingly sinister. It was not a mere panic of the people with which Bermuda now had to cope—not merely an unexplainable supernatural visitation, harmless enough, save that it was terrorizing. This was a menace. Something which had to be met with action.

It would be futile for me to attempt detailing the events of that chaotic day. We had all ridden over to Hamilton and spent the day there, with the little town in a turmoil and events seething around us—a seemingly endless stream of reports of what had happened the night before. By daylight no apparitions were seen. But another night was coming. I recall with an inward sinking of heart I saw the afternoon sun lowering, the sky-blue waters of the bay deepening into purple and the chalk-white little stone houses taking on the gray cast of twilight. Another night was coming.

The government was making the best preparations it could. Every policeman of the island force was armed and ready to patrol through the night. The few soldiers of the garrisons at St. Georges and Hamilton were armed and ready. The police with bicycles were ready to ride all the roads. The half dozen garbage trucks—low-geared motor trucks—were given over to the soldiers for patrol use. The only other automobiles on the islands were those few permitted for the use of the physicians, and there were a few ambulance cars. All of these were turned over to the troops and the police for patrol.

IN the late afternoon an American newspaper hydroplane arrived from New York. It landed in the waters of Hamilton harbor and prepared to encircle the islands throughout the night. And the three or four steamship tenders and the little duty boat which supplied the government dockyards with daily provisions all had steam up, ready to patrol the island waters.

Yet it all seemed so futile against this unknown enemy. Ghosts? We could hardly think of them now as that. Throughout the chaotic day I recall so many wild things I had heard others say, and had myself thought. The dead come to life as living wraiths? A ghost could not materialize and kidnap a girl of flesh and blood. Or could it? Hysterical speculation! Or were these invaders from another planet?

Whatever their nature, they were enemies. That much we knew.

Night fell upon the crowded turmoil of the little city of Hamilton. The streets were thronged with excited, frightened people. The public park was jammed. The hotels and the restaurants were crowded. Groups of soldiers and police on bicycles with electric torches fastened to their handlebars were passing at intervals. Overhead the airplane, flying low, roared past every twenty minutes or so.

The night promised to be clear. The moon would rise, just beyond the full, a few hours after sunset. It was a warm and breathless night, with less wind than usual. Most of the people crowding the streets and the restaurants were in white linen—themselves suggesting the white and ghostly enemy.

MR. DORRANCE was occupied at the Government House. Jane, Don and I had supper in a restaurant on Queen Street. It was nearly eight o’clock and the crowd in the restaurant was thinning out. We were seated near the street entrance where large plate-glass windows displayed a variety of bakery products and confections. Jane had her back to the street, but Don and I were facing it. Crowds were constantly passing. It was near the end of our meal. I was gazing idly through one of the windows, watching the passing people when suddenly I became aware of a man standing out there gazing in at me. I think I have never had so startling a realization. It was a man in white doeskin trousers and blue blazer jacket, with a jaunty linen cap on his head. An abnormally tall, muscular man. And his smooth-shaven, black-browed face with the reflection from the restaurant window lights upon it, reminded me of the apparition we had seen the night before!

“Don! Don’t look up! Don’t move! Jane, don’t look around!” I whispered, almost frantically.

I must have gone white for Don and Jane gaped at me in astonishment.

“Don’t do that!” I murmured. “Someone outside, watching us!” I tried to smile. “Hot night, isn’t it? Did you get a check, Don?” I looked around vaguely for the waitress, but out of the tail of my eyes I could see the fellow out there still peering in and staring intently at us.

“What is it?” Don whispered.

“Man watching us! See him out there—the right-hand window! Jane, don’t look around!”

“Good Lord!” murmured Don.

“Looks like him, doesn’t it?”

“Good Lord! But I say—”

“What is it?” murmured Jane. “What is it?”

“Waitress!” I called. “Check, please. There’s a man out there, Jane—we’re crazy, but he does look like that ghost we saw on the Fort Beach.”

If the fellow knew that we had spotted him he gave no sign. He was still apparently regarding the bakery display in the window, but watching us nevertheless. I was sure of that.

The waitress gave us our check. “Nine and six,” Don smiled. “Thank you. But didn’t you forget that last coffee?”

The colored girl added the extra sixpence, and left us.

“You think that’s the same—I say, good Lord—”

DON was speechless. Jane had gone white. The fellow moved to the other window, and Jane had a swift look at him. We all recognized him, or thought we did. What necromancy was this? Had one of the apparitions materialized? Was that ghost we saw, this gigantic fellow in doeskins and blazer who looked like a tourist standing out there at the window? Were these ghosts merely human enemies after all?

The idea was at once terrifying, and yet reassuring. This was a man with whom we could cope with normal tactics. My hand went to the pocket of my blazer where I had a little revolver. Both Don and I were armed—permits for the carrying of concealed weapons had been issued to us this same day.

I murmured, “Jane! There are the Blakinsons over there. Go join them. We’ll be back presently.”

“What are you going to do?” Don demanded.

“Go out and tackle him—shall we? Have a talk. Find out who he is.”

“No!” Jane protested.

“Why not? Don’t you worry, Jane. Right here in the public street—and we’re both armed. He’s only a man.”

But was he only a man?

“We’ll have a go at it,” said Don abruptly. He rose from his seat. “Come on, Jane, I’ll take you to the Blakinsons.”

“Hurry it up!” I said. “He’s leaving! We’ll lose him!”

The fellow seemed about to wander on along the street. Don brought Jane over to the Blakinsons’ table which was at the back of the restaurant. We left our check with her and dashed for the street.

“Where is he? Do you see him?” Don demanded.

He had gone. But in a moment we saw him, his white cap towering above the crowd down by the drugstore at the corner.

“Come on, Don! There he is!”

We half ran through the crowd. We caught the fellow as he was diagonally crossing the street. We rushed up, one on each side of him, and seized him by the arms.

CHAPTER III

Tako, the Mysterious

THE fellow towered head and shoulders over Don, and almost that over me. He stared down at us, his jaw dropping with surprise. My heart was pounding; to me there was no doubt about it now; this heavy-featured handsome, but evil face was the face of the apparition at whom Don had fired as it hung in the air over the Fort Beach path. But this was a man. His arm, as I clutched it, was muscularly solid beneath the sleeve of his flannel jacket.

“I say,” Don panted. “Just a minute.”

With a sweep of his arms the stranger angrily flung off our hold.

“What do you want?”

I saw, within twenty feet of us, a policeman standing in the street intersection.

“I beg your pardon,” Don stammered. We had had no time to plan anything. I put in:

“We thought you were a friend of ours. This night—so much excitement—let’s get back to the curb.”

We drew the man to the sidewalk as a physician’s little automobile with two soldiers in it waded its way slowly through the crowd.

The man laughed. “It is an exciting night. I never have seen Bermuda like this before.”

Swift impressions flooded me. The fellow surely must recognize us as we did him. He was pretending friendliness. I noticed that though he seemed not over forty, his close-clipped hair beneath the white linen cap was silver white. His face had a strange pallor, not the pallor of ill health, but seemingly a natural lack of color. And his voice, speaking good English, nevertheless marked him for a foreigner—though of what nation certainly I could not say.

“We’re mistaken,” said Don. “But you look like someone we know.”

“Do I, indeed? That is interesting.”

“Only you’re taller,” I said. “You’re not a Bermudian, are you?”

His eyes, beneath the heavy black brows shot me a look. “No. I am a stranger; a visitor. My name——”

HE hesitated briefly; then he smiled with what seemed an amused irony. “My name is Tako. Robert Tako. I am living at the Hamiltonia Hotel. Does that satisfy you?”

I could think of nothing to say. Nor could Don. The fellow added, “Bermuda is like a little ship. I understand your inquisitiveness—one must know everyone else. And who are you?”

Don told him.

“Ah, yes,” he smiled. “And so you are a native Bermudian?”

“Yes.”

“And you,” he said to me, “you are American?”

“From New York, yes.”

“That is more interesting. Never have I known an American. You are familiar with New York City?”

“Of course. I was born there.”

His contemplative gaze made me shiver. I wondered what Don was planning as an outcome to this. The fellow seemed wholly at ease now. He was lounging against the drug store window with us before him. My eyes were level with the negligee collar of his blue linen shirt, and abruptly I was galvanized into alertness. Just above the soft collar where his movements had crushed it down I saw unmistakably the loop of a tiny black thread of wire projecting upward! Conclusive proof! This was one of the mysterious enemies! One of the apparitions which had thrown all Bermuda into a turmoil stood materialized here before us.

I think that Don had already seen the wire. The fellow was saying nonchalantly,

“And you, Mr. Livingston—are you also familiar with New York City?”

“Yes,” said Don. He had gone pale and tight-lipped. I

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