The Dark Frontier Read Online Free PDF Page B

the engine and the beating of his heart. Then they came again, only this time, amid the hellish maelstrom of sound that battered at his brain, he heard a voice, Groom’s voice, speaking slowly as if from a great distance.
    “
Should you change your mind
 …”
    With a sob he drove his foot down on the accelerator.
    “
Should you change your mind … should you change your mind … should you change your mind
.…” The words had fastened on to the rhythm of the engine. He could not escape them, could not shake them off. “
Should you change your mind
 …” His grip on the steering-wheel tightened until the knuckles were white. The sweat ran into his eyes. “
Should you change your mind
 …” The repetition was maddening. Then, gradually at first, but with ever-gathering momentum, another sentence took up the rhythm.
    But now it was the voice of Conway Carruthers, a stronger, more compelling voice that seemed to overwhelm the other.
    “
I leave for Zovgorod tonight. I leave for Zovgorod tonight. I leave for Zovgorod tonight
.”
    With a cry, the Professor flung up his hands to his head.
    The car hit the embankment at the side of the road with a grinding crash. The Professor, opening his eyes a fraction of a second later, saw the radiator rising and twisting in the air before him. Then he felt himself sinking, sinking.
    It was dark and the moon had risen when the Professor opened his eyes.
    He was lying on the side of the embankment. He sat up with an effort. He could see the outline of his car where it lay overturned by the side of the road. His head ached abominably. He put his hand to it. The hand came away black with blood in the moonlight. He rose to his feet unsteadily.
    A stream ran by the foot of the embankment. He clambered down to it painfully and bathed his head. The water was ice cold and revived him a little. He crawled back to the car.
    It lay almost completely upside-down and wedged between the slope of the embankment and the road. He knew that it was useless to attempt to right it. The rear end, however, was relatively undamaged and the Professor managed to retrieve his suitcase from the trunk. Then he returned to the road.
    For a moment he paused undecided as to which way to go. To the left of the road the moor gleamed like silver before him. Suddenly he spoke. He seemed to be repeating a lesson learnt by heart.
    “And so,” he said slowly, “we are to save civilisation.” He paused. When he went on, his voice was stronger. “The first thing is to forestall Cator & Bliss—I leave for Zovgorod tonight.”
    He buttoned up his coat collar, then, with a resolute step, he left the road and trudged off southward across the moor.
    On the evening of the day following that on which Professor Barstow lunched at Launceston a man carrying a suitcase walked into the Imperial Hotel at Plymouth and asked for a room.
    Two things about him impressed the reception clerk. One was a dried trickle of blood on the man’s temple. The other was the cold, unwavering stare of his steel-grey eyes.
    “Number three-five-six, sir,” said the reception clerk. “Do you mind signing the register?”
    He handed him a pen.
    The man took it and signed without hesitation.
    The clerk gave the name no more than a passing glance.
    He signalled to the hall porter.
    “Send Mr. Carruthers’ luggage up to three-five-six,” he said.

3
April 19th and 20th
    H is scarf adjusted to conceal the lower half of his face, his hat pulled down well over his eyes, the man who called himself Conway Carruthers boarded the train for Paris at Havre.
    There were few passengers that day and he had no difficulty in securing a compartment to himself. Concealment, he told himself, was important at that stage for it was possible that he might be recognised. Still, thanks to the faultless organisation of Department “Y,” he had a convincing
alias
. As Professor Barstow, the eminent physicist, his presence would excite no suspicion, where the