E-text prepared by Greg Weeks, Tamise Totterdell,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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Transcriber’s Note:
This etext was produced from “AstoundingStories” December 1931. Extensive research did not uncover anyevidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication wasrenewed.
The others fell back instantly.
The Infra-Medians
By Sewell Peaslee Wright
Into a land of shadows and lost
souls goes Pete Grahame in search
of his hapless friends.
There was no sense to the note. There was no sense to anything that VicButler did, for that matter. Where he hid away his vast scientificknowledge in that rattle-brained, red-haired head of his has always beena mystery to me. The note read:
Dear Pete:
If you get this, I’m in a jam that promises some action.
Drive out, if plane-peddling is palling on you, and bust into thelab. I’m leaving another note there for you, old son, and after youread it you can let your conscience be your guide.
Bring a gat along, and plenty of ammo. Hope’s away, at Aunt Cleo’s,so don’t get in touch with her and spoil her visit.
Vic
I had a hot prospect lined up for a demonstration that morning, but Ididn’t even stop to give him a ring. Vic and I had been buddies eversince we were kids—and, besides, he was Hope’s brother.
Vic’s place was out on the river, about ten miles from town, and thatlittle tan roadster of mine made it in just about ten minutes. Thetraffic in the business district slowed me up a bit.
There was nothing at all pretentious about the place; it was a rambling,lazy-looking house built largely of native stone, stretching its lengthcomfortably in the shade of the big maples. Perrin, Vic’sman-of-all-work, came hurrying out of the house to greet me as I lockedmy wheels on the drive before the door.
“I’m glad you’re here, sir!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “I was justabout to phone for the police; I was for certain, sir. Such goings on, Idon’t know what to think!”
“What’s the matter, Perrin? Where’s Mr. Butler?”
“That’s it, sir! That’s exactly it. Where’s Mr. Butler? And—”
“Just a moment, please! Cut it short, Perrin. What’s happened?”
“I don’t know. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Butler leaves a letter for me,which I’m to mail early this morning, special delivery. It’s to you. Ireckon you got it, sir?”
“That’s why I’m here. Go on.”
“Well, after that, he locks himself up in his workroom, so Mrs. Perrinsays, she being housekeeper, as you know, sir, leaving word not todisturb him for dinner.
“We don’t think so much of that, Mr. Butler being took with streaks ofworking at all hours, as you know. But when Miss Hope came homeunexpected this morning—”
“What?”
“She cut her visit a few days short, her aunt having other house gueststurn up unexpected like, and Miss Hope arrives first thing this morning,being here when I return from town after mailing the letter to you, sir.
“Mrs. Perrin had just told her about the master, and Miss Hope looksinto his room. He isn’t there, and the bed hasn’t been slept in. ‘Thepoor dear,’ she says, ‘he’s worked himself half to death, and droppedoff on that horrible cot he keeps in his laboratory,’ says Miss Hope.‘I’ll let him sleep.’
“But just a few minutes ago, just before you arrived, sir, she becamenervous l