The Red Gem of Mercury Read Online Free PDF

tingled with expectation of the searing pain of sharp steel. His body … tingled …
    Yes. It felt like—like pins-and-needles, the prickling sensation in a limb when circulation is restored to it after a long time. A pulsating, faint stir, too brief to be called a movement, came …
    His heart! It was beginning to beat again! But already the coroner was placing the point of his scalpel below Vane’s sternum, preparing for the incision. Vane tried desperately to move. He managed to make one eyelid quiver. Neither the medico nor Lankershim noticed. The lawyer threw all his will into a silent, frantic command.
    The coroner hesitated, bent again to his task. Suddenly he threw his arm out in a convulsive gesture. The scalpel flew from his hand and rebounded off the wall, to clatter upon the floor. Lankershim said, “What the hell—”
    â€œI—funny! I couldn’t help it! Some reflex—”
    It was no reflex. As life returned to Vane, the power of the Stone from the Stars waxed strong. His heartbeat was distinctly detectable now. The coroner recovered the scalpel, stared at it, and thrust it into a sterilizer. He donned another pair of rubber gloves, and, with a different scalpel, advanced again upon the corpse.
    Then he stopped. His eyes and mouth expanded to their ultimate limits of flexibility. He gurgled inarticulately.
    Behind him, Lankershim gasped, “My God! Look at that!” The corpse sat up.
    Vane winced, stretched out his arms, and yawned. He swung his feet from the table and sat eyeing the two astounded men.
    The coroner whispered, “You’re dead! You’re dead!”
    Lankershim came out of his trance. He sprang forward.
    Vane frowned and said, “Don’t move, either of you.” His voice was harsh, husky. His throat felt tight and dry.
    Water. He needed that, first. Clutching the sheet about him, he went to a cooler in the corner and drank nearly a quart of icy liquid. After that he felt better.
    He turned to stare at the two men, who were immobile statues. A warm stickiness on his arm drew his gaze. The incision to coroner had made was beginning to bleed as blood flowed again through Vane’s arteries. Luckily, the wound was not deep, and there was adhesive tape in a glass cabinet nearby. Gingerly he fingered the jewel on his forehead. It was still there, chill, glassy, alien.
    He thought swiftly. Pasqual was a shrewd, ruthless antagonist, and he himself was not as powerful as he had imagined. These trances might overtake him at any time. Again he felt the tug of painful hunger. Food was the immediate necessity. He was weak as a cat.
    Food—and clothing. Neither the coroner nor Lankershim wore garments large enough to fit Vane’s big-boned frame. The lawyer hesitated and finally said, “You’ll both wake up in half an hour. Lankershim, I’m going to have a show-down with Pasqual tomorrow morning. At six A. M. I’m going to his office on the East Side. I want you to be there, and I want you to see that Pasqual’s there, too. I don’t care how you do it, but that’s an order. Understand?”
    â€œI understand,” Lankershim said dully.
    â€œSwell. Now—I’ll need some decent clothes…” Gray dawn broke over the East Side. Smoke rose greasily from the chimneys. People rose early in the slums; they had to. Garbage trucks, milk wagons rattled past. Pushcarts were loaded for the day’s trade.
    In the back of Uncle Tobe’s grocery, Steve Vane stood up from the table. Mickey was watching him with awed eyes. The lawyer smiled at the boy.
    â€œGosh, you can sure stow it away! I never seen a guy eat so much.”
    Vane pulled the hat lower over his eyes. “I was hungry. Don’t wake Uncle Tobe. I’ll be seeing you.”
    He pushed through the curtains, went through the shop, unlocked the front door. He stepped out in the street, and, with a quick glance around, began to walk