Page:Weird Tales v33n05 (1939-05).djvu/67
"What about these bearer bonds they talk about here?" I asked.
Milton stared at me with that fishy eye of his.
"Oh, Stevenson gave me them as my bonus, of course.:
People were passing along the corridor of the train, and I remembered I'd put myself down for a seat in the restaurant car. I got up, expecting Milton to follow, but he sat tight. "I'm not taking dinner on the train," he said.
I left him sitting there, but when I came back after dinner, he was gone. The train stopped at Rugby and he must have got out there.
I feel I'm in an awkward position. On the face of it, the man in the street would say that Milton probably murdered Stevenson for the sake of those bearer bonds, and that I ought to lodge information with the police. On the other hand, the whole thing may be imagination on Milton's part: one of his delirium's nightmare dreams which has become real to him. And, finally, there's nothing impossible in his tale. A machine of that sort could be made, improbable as it sounds. Science is full of queer things. It's as well to keep an open mind. But if anyone discovers that sea-cave, I should keep out of it, if I were in his shoes. If there’s anything in the story, that machine will still be waiting, for tidal power doesn't run down.
The
Plumed Serpent
What surging hordes have swept before your face
Of cold blue stone! What caravans of slaves
And golden idols have rolled past this place
Of death! And loose-frocked priests, within huge caves
That loom below your horrid skull have read
From bibles older than sage Egypt's lore;
And drums beat far below your chiseled head
While maidens swayed upon the painted floor.
Your once translucent eyes of rough-hewn jade
Which gazed upon the holy Aztec kings,
The centuries of dust have overlaid,
And caked upon those orbs two crumbling rings.
Where once great Montezuma bowed in fear,
The visages of jungle beasts now leer.