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    The Murder Machine
    The Murder Machine
    The Murder Machine
    Ebook31 pages2 hours

    The Murder Machine

    By Hugh B. Cave

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Four lives lay helpless before the murder machine, the uncanny device by which hypnotic thought-waves are filtered through men's minds to mold them into murdering tools!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXinXii
    Release dateNov 12, 2015
    ISBN9780982933046
    The Murder Machine

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      Book preview

      The Murder Machine - Hugh B. Cave

      Cave

      Chapter 1

      It was dusk, on the evening of December 7, 1906, when I first encountered Sir John Harmon. At the moment of his entrance I was standing over the table in my study, a lighted match in my cupped hands and a pipe between my teeth. The pipe was never lit.

      I heard the lower door slam shut with a violent clatter. The stairs resounded to a series of unsteady foot beats, and the door of my study was flung back. In the opening, staring at me with quiet dignity, stood a young, careless fellow, about five feet ten in height and decidedly dark of complexion. The swagger of his entrance branded him as an adventurer. The ghastly pallor of his face, which was almost colorless, branded him as a man who has found something more than mere adventure.

      Doctor Dale? he demanded.

      I am Doctor Dale.

      He closed the door of the room deliberately, advancing toward me with slow steps.

      My name is John Harmon—Sir John Harmon. It is unusual, I suppose, he said quietly, with a slight shrug, coming at this late hour. I won't keep you long.

      He faced me silently. A single glance at those strained features convinced me of the reason for his coming. Only one thing can bring such a furtive, restless stare to a man's eyes. Only one thing—fear.

      I've come to you. Dale, because— Sir John's fingers closed heavily over the edge of the table—because I am on the verge of going mad.

      From fear?

      From fear, yes. I suppose it is easy to discover. A single look at me....

      A single look at you, I said simply, would convince any man that you are deadly afraid of something. Do you mind telling me just what it is?

      He shook his head slowly. The swagger of the poise was gone; he stood upright now with a positive effort, as if the realization of his position had suddenly surged over him.

      I do not know, he said quietly. It is a childish fear—fear of the dark, you may call it. The cause does not matter; but if something does not take this unholy terror away, the effect will be madness.

      I watched him in silence for a moment, studying the

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