I
The Phantom
Professor Jerome Mortenson, hunched over the work bench in his private laboratory, looked around suspiciously at the sound of stealthy feet behind him, and found himself looking into the cold, unwavering muzzle of an automatic. The masked, midnight intruder who held the weapon in a steady hand, halted abruptly in his tracks and crouched tensely. He breathed hard, making the only sounds audible in the instrument-filled room.
"Stand up, professor!" the intruder said coldly. "Don't try anything!"
Mortenson eyed the man calmly from head to foot, his gray, penetrating eyes trying hard to see behind the polka-dotted 'kerchief that hid the fellow's features from the bridge of his nose downward. All that he saw, however, were a pair of beady eyes, flashing with deadly earnest, a muscular figure that filled a well-cut brown suit, polished black oxfords and a white flannel cap, the latter pulled rakishly down over the right temple. The man's eyes fascinated him for a moment. A devilish light seemed to radiate from them with almost stunning force. They gave him the aspect of a dangerous man.
"What do you want?" Mortenson grumbled, appraising him.
The intruder chuckled softly, never once removing his steady gaze from the apprehensive features of his victim. He fumbled into a side pocket of his coat and brought out a scrap of wrinkled newspaper which he handed to the scientist with an insolent shrug.
"You should have had better sense, professor," he said coldly, "than to tell the world that you had discovered a way to penetrate and enter the Fifth Dimension!"
Mortenson reached out for the paper, a startled look in his eyes now. His hand trembled suddenly as he unfolded the clipping and glanced over it.
"I presume you refer to my interview with the editor of the Journal?" he inquired, controlling his anger and fear. "What has that to do with you?"
"Plenty!" the fellow snapped, advancing a step. "I want the apparatus you used to enter the Fifth Dimension!"
"You must be crazy," Mortenson gasped weakly. "You could never make use of it!"
The intruder grunted and Mortenson heard the click of the safety catch as the man's thumb slid along the side of his automatic.
"That's where you come in!" he said curtly. "You're going to see that I can make use of it."
"What do you mean?" the scientist asked innocently.
"You know what I mean!" the man hissed sharply. "Don't try to pull that innocent stuff on me. You're going to hand over your Fifth Dimensional apparatus with instructions on how to use it. Now hop!"
"You don't know what you're doing," Mortenson argued desperately. "You must be insane!"
"Don't I?" the man jeered. "What do you think I came here for?"
"The apparatus, of course," said Mortenson, glancing about him furtively in search of a handy hammer or a weapon, "but, good Lord, man, you must be fond of trouble!"
"I'm used to it!" the intruder snarled. "And I'm giving you two minutes to hand it over!"
"That interview did not tell what actually exists in the Fifth Dimension," the scientist said dryly. "It's a terrible, invisible world filled with strange beasts that would tear a man to pieces, should he be caught there."
"You're a calm liar, professor!" the other jeered venomously. "It says plainly that the Fifth Dimension is nothing more than a curtain of invisibility!"
"Of course," Mortenson replied evenly. "I said that, because I did not want to frighten narrow-minded people with the knowledge that on every side lurk weird, ferocious man-beasts that would annihilate them, were it possible for them to emerge from behind the veil that hides the Fifth Dimension from human vision."
The intruder glared at him, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders decisively.
"You've got one more minute to deliver the goods, professor!" he barked. "I want the apparatus and instructions on how to operate it. Now sit down at your typewriter and pound 'em out!"
"It's all right with me, young fellow," said Mortenson resignedly, "if you want to seal your own doom. That's what you are going to do if you do some criminal act and place yourself in the Fifth Dimension to escape apprehension. It's your life, not mine. You won't listen to reason. I hate to see it...."
"Shut up!" the other growled. "Sit down and write fast!"
"If I should refuse?" Mortenson paused at his typewriter.
"Then I'll drill you," the intruder snapped, tensing.
Mortenson hadn't a qualm of doubt but that the fellow would kill him in cold blood if he refused. And Mortenson had a great desire to live. He had just discovered a way to penetrate, neutralize and enter the invisible world of the Fifth Dimension. He was on the verge of doing great things in the world of science, and he had no intentions of removing himself from it by refusing the demands of this daring crook who was, doubtless, as dangerous as he was fearless.
As he sat down at the typewriter he had a sudden feeling that he would be doing the law-abiding citizenry a great favor by meekly writing out instructions as to how to operate the Fifth Dimensional apparatus. The daring crook would undoubtedly meet his just deserts, if he ventured behind the veil into the mysterious world of the Fifth Dimension. The law of man would not be required, he thought, to bring the man to justice. What lay beyond would see to that.
He shivered a trifle as he thought of it. Swiftly his fingers flew over the typewriter. Meanwhile the crook stood over him, glaring hostilely, his gun in readiness to send instant death into the man whose life had been spent delving into the mysteries of the dimensions. The ignorant fellow could not know what was in store for him, and he had refused to listen to cold reason. Mortenson's warning had come from the heart. He had seen what lay behind the veil, and had been so sick and nauseated at what he saw, that he had slept little for some nights thereafter. But let the obstinate fellow go.
Mortenson yanked a sheet of paper from his typewriter, glancing over it quickly and stood erect.
"There you are, my friend," he said with a shrug. "The instructions are full and complete. I'll get the apparatus for you."
"Mortenson," the man snapped coldly. "If you've bunked me I'll come back and blast you into hell! Get that?"
"Never fear, young man," the scientist said, eyeing the fellow squarely. "The instructions are perfect and simple. Follow them to your doom. Now for the apparatus...."
"Just a minute, professor," the crook cut in. "You got any plans for the apparatus?"
Mortenson glanced at him shrewdly, suspiciously. He shook his head.
"No, I have not," he lied glibly. "I have no way of duplicating the apparatus, if that's what you mean."
"That's it exactly," the other sneered. "If you're lying—"
"I'm not!" the scientist grumbled. "I have not yet had time to make plans or illustrations. Not getting cold feet, are you?"
The man laughed peculiarly.
"Do I look yellow?" he grunted.
Mortenson agreed silently that he certainly did not look like a coward. But maybe the yellow streak would show up afterward, when it was too late to save himself. He smiled grimly and turned his back on the man. Quickly he strode to a big steel vault that stood in one corner of the room. The doors hung open. He bent over and removed a strange-looking helmet and an oval apparatus to which was attached a wide metal belt. Wires ran down from the helmet and hung loosely with small plugs dangling at the ends. In front of the helmet were firmly attached two projecting tubes. With the helmet in place on a man's head, these tubes fitted in front of the eyes, like field glasses.
The crook appraised the apparatus calmly. He displayed not a trace of excitement now, but Mortenson's blood pounded at his temples. He did not object to handing over his instruments, if they were to cause justice to place the hand of doom on the man who was robbing him and who had and would rob others. Within ten days he could construct other sets. The plans were in a safe-deposit vault in the bank. Mortenson was nobody's fool, though it had not entered his mind when he gave the Journal editor the interview, that his inventions would ever fall into the hands of the underworld. He was vaguely sorry now that he had allowed the news to be published, but it was too late for regret now. The thing was done.
"There you are, young fellow," he said, placing the apparatus in a heap on the bench. "Take it and be damned to you!"
"I didn't figure to get it so easy," the crook said, advancing toward the bench. "I've got a hunch you're trying to be smart!"
He glared at the scientist evilly, his fiery eyes glittering like the pink orbs of a snake.
"How do you put this stuff on?" he added with a snap.
"Helmet over the head, cylinders in front at the eyes," said Mortenson, hiding a grin. "Belt around the waist with attachment at the back. Plug the wires into the oval unit and send yourself into hell!"
"Funny, aren't you?" the fellow growled. "Is that all?"
"Wait and see!" Mortenson mused.
"If you're pulling a fast one ... here! Take this to remember what'll happen to you if you are!"
The crook stepped forward suddenly. Before Mortenson had time to move the automatic crashed with a thud on his head. He sank to the floor with a groan, a terrible roar in his brain, great, dancing lights spinning before his dazed eyes. The intruder looked at him once, stepped over the still body and picked up the apparatus. With a pleased grin he made for the door and vanished into the night.