CHAPTER II
A light gleamed feebly through a small window. Closer approach revealed that it was set in a wall which formed the front of a dwelling partly extending back into the cliff.
They pressed their faces against the dripping pane. Beside a fireplace in which a few dying embers glowed faintly, a robust man with a flowing beard was nodding over a book. A kerosene lamp flickered on the table beside him.
They felt along the wall for a door and rapped. After a moment, it opened. The beard was thrust forward and the man behind it stood regarding them from beneath bushy eyebrows.
"We're lost," began Marlin. "What's the chance—?"
"Eh?" the bearded man craned his neck, peering beyond them. "So you're the ones we've been waiting for. Where's the other?"
"There's only the three of us."
With a slightly puzzled manner, he allowed them to enter. Marlin crossed to the fireplace. "Mind if I build this up?"
Not waiting for a reply, he heaped on chunks of pine log from the half-filled woodbox and soon had a rousing fire. McGruder and the girl knelt gratefully in front of the blaze—the girl shivering. Not bad, Marlin decided, at his first sidelong glimpse of her face—or wouldn't be, when her wet hair was fixed up. Then he growled at himself and abruptly turned away.
Their host stood with folded arms, surveying the mud-smeared trio with evident distaste. Experiencing a vague sense of alien presences, Marlin suddenly whirled, his hand clutching at the pocket in which McGruder's automatic reposed.
A door, apparently leading to the interior of the mountain, was partly open. Peering from the narrow aperture were three curiously repellent faces and one of singular beauty.
Sally and the detective, crouching before the fire, turned at his smothered exclamation. The three faced the barrage of eyes in silence until the bearded man gestured peremptorily.
"Shut the door," he ordered.
"Come in if you must."
As they trooped into the room, Marlin caught a glimpse of a dark passageway. The unmistakable earthy smell of a mine shaft or tunnel reached his nostrils.
They were a nondescript group. At first glance, three of the newcomers had appeared to be men. Marlin saw now that one was a woman. She had a bulbous nose, bleary red eyes, and a scar that twisted one corner of her mouth into the semblance of a grin. Her gaunt figure was swathed in a dingy robe.
One of the men was powerful and well-knit—he looked to be a match for Marlin himself. The other was wizened and under-sized, with a shrewd, weasel face. Strands of greasy hair overhung his eyes, forcing him to cock his head like a poodle in order to see. Both men had made shift to pull their trousers over their underwear before putting in an appearance.
In contrast to these was the fourth—a girl of perhaps eighteen with a sweetly innocent face framed in a shimmering halo of golden hair. In her long white robe she was a vision of ethereal loveliness. The eyes of Marlin and McGruder instinctively fastened upon her.
The woman with the twisted grin cackled. "Look your fill, smarties, for that's all you'll get. Pearl ain't for the likes of you, so don't get ideas."
The weasel-faced man sidled forward, extending a clammy hand. "Wukkum to our dump," he said ingratiatingly. "Meet the gang. My name's Link—Percival B. Link for the blotter, Slinky Link to my frien's." He jerked a thumb toward the woman. "Maw Barstow. This overgrown hunk of meat is Bart DuChane, alias Chaney the Great. Just finished doing a stretch for manslaughter. Oughta stuck to his crystal gazing."
The eyes of the man thus introduced glittered venomously, but his lips forced a smile. He spoke in a controlled voice.
"I might suggest that people who discuss others too freely sometimes meet with accidents."
Marlin studied him with a sense of taking the measure of an adversary. "My name is Dave Marlin," he acknowledged.
"Who's your frien's?" demanded Link.
The detective replied, nodding toward the girl who had worn the handcuffs. "Sally Camino—slickest floozie in the con-game racket. My name's McGruder. D. A.'s office," he added significantly.
Link peered through his thatch of hair. "McGruder," he said reflectively. "Ain't you the Len McGruder that was kicked off the force in Columbus for hijacking? Sure! I know you!"
Marlin swung on the detective. "You're no law officer," he said. "Let's see that badge."
"Keep your hands offa me!" the detective snarled, clutching his coat.
Sally Camino faced him in sudden fury. "You rat!" she spat at him. "You're an even bigger phony than I guessed. Taking me across the state line so's you could put the screws on the gang. Well, let me tell you, fake copper, when Briscoe hears of this—"
"You one of the Briscoe mob?" demanded Link. "Why I was practic'ly lined up with Briscoe—before I got sent up the last time. It's a small world, ain't it?"
The girl glanced at him with repugnance. "Yeah? That just about makes us pals, don't it?"
The irony was wasted. "Sure does," he grinned.
"How about her?" McGruder indicated the golden-haired girl.
"That's Pearl," explained Link. "She ain't all there."
"A lot you know about it!" retorted Maw Barstow. "Pearlie's brighter than you think. Is these the ones that was comin', dearie?" she demanded.
The girl's lips parted in a beatific smile.
"Has vishuns," explained Link. He tapped his forehead to indicate a mysterious form of mental activity. "The old guy—he's nuts too."
This confidence was imparted in a lowered voice, but hardly low enough to avoid being overheard.
"Who is he?" demanded McGruder.
"The name," responded the vibrant voice of the bearded man, "is Elias Thornboldt. And your informant is perfectly correct when he assures you that I am crazy."
The newcomers stared.
"What of it!" Thornboldt demanded, his voice rising in pitch. "I have brains, even if they are addled. I have respectability. I should associate with scientists—decent citizens—instead of scum. Thieves, murderers, pickpockets, harlots—you are not nice people, not any of you!"
He glared at the group as if challenging denial.
"With my brains," he went on, breathing heavily, "I should create a wonderful space ship—instead of a monstrosity that was never intended on heaven or earth. Fortunately, I know I am mad. The rest of you do not know what vermin you are!"
Marlin felt a hand plucking at his sleeve. He glanced down to meet the eyes of Link peering through strands of dank hair.
"We better ooze out," the creature said. "When the old gink gets started like that he'll keep it up all night."
The passage, as Marlin had surmised, was a tunnel through the rock. Bart DuChane led the way with a flashlight. A narrow plank walk marked its length for something like a hundred feet. They emerged on what seemed to be a ledge of the open mountainside. The rain was still pouring, but an outcropping overhead partly protected the ledge. Across the way, a rim of tall pines could be discerned against the murky sky.
"It's the hollow of an ancient crater," DuChane volunteered. "That dark mass in the pit below—but why spoil your anticipation? Tomorrow you'll see for yourselves." He laughed unpleasantly. "These are the bunkhouses—ladies to the left, men to the right. Maw is a stickler for the proprieties."
They entered a narrow shack—apparently one of several along the ledge. There were two lower and two upper bunks. Since the lower had been appropriated by DuChane and Link, the late comers climbed into the upper tier.
"Looks almost as if they was expecting us—or somebody," commented McGruder. "The old goof sorta hinted—"
"They were," chuckled DuChane. "You'd be surprised."