shredded strands of garments trailing behind them. They were men! Men—bloodless, lifeless corpses circling about him! A triumphal procession of the dead, waiting for others to join them.
Larry struck out with all his strength, tearing himself from the grip of that icy undercurrent. His lungs seemed on the point of bursting. His heart hammered audibly in his ears. Lips, long locked between his teeth, broke open, drinking in a choking, gurgling combination of water and air. He spat strangling water, tried to take calm, even strokes. Twenty feet from the shore…now ten…now eight. His hand clutched an overhanging branch. He dragged himself to the shore, then lay there, completely exhausted, half in half out of the water. He felt very, very sleepy.…
Whether or not he became completely unconscious, he never knew. However, it must have been twenty minutes before his mind regained its normal function. His left leg was numb and almost lifeless. He crawled slowly up the bank, hobbled toward the house.
Ivan Stern saw him coming across the lawn and ran to help him. “Thank God you’re safe, Larry! I thought it had you. Mathew Ince has disappeared! Something broke through the window of his room and must have forced him down to the pool and thrown him to the monster.”
“Are all the others there?” Larry asked.
“All in the living room. Perry has an idea that quicksand at the bottom of the pool might have done for the bodies. He’s planning to bomb the pool and try to raise either bodies or monster.”
“He’s wrong about the quicksand,” declared Larry. “I’ve met the monster face to face. I know what becomes of the bodies! Still”—he added after a moment’s thought—”a bomb isn’t a bad idea.”
* * * *
When Larry struggled into the living room, Bernice Wile sprang from her chair. “Mr.
Corrin, you’re hurt!”
Larry glanced carelessly down at his leg. The cloth of his trousers had been ripped and there was a deep gash in his leg. “Got some bandage?” he inquired.
“Of course,” replied Bernice. “Perry, get the bandage. I’ll have some hot water in a moment.”
Perry Wile handed a queer looking contraption to his brother. “You have a good arm, Dean. Toss this at your dinosaur out there in the pond. I’ll help Bernice get things ready to dress Larry’s wound.” And he left the room hurriedly after Bernice.
Across the room, Dean Wile reflectively examined the homemade bomb. “Wonder if this will raise the bodies to the surface?”
“Try it,” Larry urged.
Dean Wile approached one of the casement windows and flung it wide. He hefted the bomb, took a step back, and pulled the primer pin.
The room was suddenly filled with the roar and smoke of the explosion. Larry’s chair was hurled over backwards as if by an invisible hand.
He rolled over, picked himself up. Ivan Stern was flattened against the wall, right arm extended, jaw sagging, eyes wide with horror.
Larry’s gaze followed that pointing hand, and saw, sprawled on the center of the floor, Dean Wile. His shirt front was blackened by the premature explosion of the bomb. But two feet from him was something else—a stiff, starkly naked body. The abdomen was bloated from internal decomposition. The face was a hideous thing—nostrils and ears plugged with plaster; tongue lolling, dry and white with plaster dust; hair a discolored blond shade.
Larry’s eyes traveled up toward the ceiling. The explosion had caused the plaster to give way, revealing the ghastly secret that had been hidden behind it.
Ivan Stern’s lax lips moved, “That is the body of Dan Palmer who disappeared a week ago!”
Clues flashed across Larry’s brain, linked, forming a chain of events that pointed unmistakably to the killer. He sprang over to Ivan Stern, seized his arm, shook him. “Snap out of that! You’ve got to take care of Dean Wile. See if he’s dead. Do something for him. This time, I’ll nail the monster!”
Larry crossed to the gun rack, picked up a shotgun, and ran through the door. He encircled the house, and came abruptly upon a milk-cellar that had been dug in the side of a little mound. A line of yellow light crept beneath the door. He could hear voices coming from the cellar. Bernice Wile was saying, “It’s all over now. We can go—together!”
As the cellar door swung open, Larry leaped. He drove the gun muzzle into Perry Wile’s ribs. “Got you! That bomb was to be a lot faster than dragging men down in the Black Pool, wasn’t it? That bomb was set to explode prematurely. As it happened, only the priming charge went off, otherwise every member of the Jordan Institute would have been wiped out, and you would have had the entire Jordan estate in your care. And you, Mrs. Dean Wile, were clever enough to lure the men out on Black Pool when the monster lurked below. And you locked Mathew Ince’s door tonight so that there could be no interference when the monster dragged Ince through the window!”
“That’s all a damned lie!” Perry Wile insisted. “You’re crazy!”
Larry turned as he heard footsteps outside the door. Ivan Stern stood there, looking from one to the other. Larry thrust the shotgun into Stern’s hand. “Cover these two. I want to have a look around here”
He walked over to a large wooden chest and threw back the lid. Inside was a long burlap bag stuffed with sand. He lifted it out and threw it on the floor. “That’s the tail of the dinosaur!” Again he thrust his hands into the chest and this time brought out a pair of shoes with a peculiar, three-pointed affair fastened to the soles. “Used for making dinosaur tracks,” he explained. “Perry wore these shoes with the reconstructed feet of the monster on the soles and dragged the weighted sack between his legs. I thought your dinosaur walked a little bow-legged when I saw the tracks! And here is the monster itself!” He pointed to what lay upon the bottom of the chest. A complete diver’s uniform, round metal helmet, rubber suit, weighted shoes, and oxygen tank! A curved pipe was attached to the helmet. It would have looked very much like a watersnake when partly submerged. This, no doubt was some sort of a periscope through which the killer could watch his victims. And beside the suit was an iron grapple with three bloodstained tines—the “monster’s claw!”
Larry turned. Ivan Stern was bending eagerly over the chest. But where was Perry and Bernice?
“Damn it, Stern, you’ve let them go!” Larry jumped through the cellar door. Running down toward the pool was a shadowy form that he recognized as Perry. Larry broke into a run and Stern was close behind, waving the shotgun and shouting.
At the little landing, they came upon Perry. He was trying to get one of the canoes untied, but as Stern and Larry appeared not ten feet from him, he leaped to his feet. Stern raised the gun, shouted a warning. Perhaps he pulled the trigger accidentally. Both barrels of the shotgun roared at once. Perry uttered a cry like an injured animal, staggered and pitched back into the black waters.
Another wail broke out of the night. A white, wraith-like figure came running toward the spot where Perry had vanished. Bernice! Quickly comprehending her intention, Larry leaped for her and fell sprawling, feet caught by a tangle of vine.
Bernice Wile sprang into the water. For a moment her white, upturned face lingered near the surface, gleaming like an ivory cameo modeled after the face of some Grecian fury. Suddenly, an unseen hand seized her, dragging her down… down.… Black waters bubbled above.
“Good
