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BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY JOHN RUSSELL FEARN
1,000-Year Voyage: A Science Fiction Novel
Anjani the Mighty: A Lost Race Novel (Anjani #2)
Black Maria, M.A.: A Classic Crime Novel
The Crimson Rambler: A Crime Novel
Don’t Touch Me: A Crime Novel
Dynasty of the Small: Classic Science Fiction Stories
The Empty Coffins: A Mystery of Horror
The Fourth Door: A Mystery Novel
From Afar: A Science Fiction Mystery
Fugitive of Time: A Classic Science Fiction Novel
The G-Bomb: A Science Fiction Novel
The Gold of Akada: A Jungle Adventure Novel (Anjani #1)
Here and Now: A Science Fiction Novel
Into the Unknown: A Science Fiction Tale
Last Conflict: Classic Science Fiction Stories
Legacy from Sirius: A Classic Science Fiction Novel
The Man from Hell: Classic Science Fiction Stories
The Man Who Was Not: A Crime Novel
One Way Out: A Crime Novel (with Philip Harbottle)
Pattern of Murder: A Classic Crime Novel
Reflected Glory: A Dr. Castle Classic Crime Novel
Robbery Without Violence: Two Science Fiction Crime Stories
Rule of the Brains: Classic Science Fiction Stories
Shattering Glass: A Crime Novel
The Silvered Cage: A Scientific Murder Mystery
Slaves of Ijax: A Science Fiction Novel
Something from Mercury: Classic Science Fiction Stories
The Space Warp: A Science Fiction Novel
The Time Trap: A Science Fiction Novel
Vision Sinister: A Scientific Detective Thriller
What Happened to Hammond? A Scientific Mystery
Within That Room!: A Classic Crime Novel
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1951 by John Russell Fearn
Copyright © 1998 by Philip Harbottle
Originally published under the pen name, Earl Titan.
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
To Peter Ogden
CHAPTER ONE
THE WHITE GIANT
1932
The air was quivering with both the tropical heat of Central Africa and the reverberations of the drums. Drums, echoing through the primeval forest, their exact situation undetectable to the white man who sat flung in his rattan chair, his hand gripping the half-filled glass on the okume-wood table before him.
“Blasted natives,” he whispered. “And out to get us, Ruth. They’ve been trying it ever since we struck this part of the jungle.”
The young woman addressed did not answer. She was half afraid to. As the wife of Mark Hardnell, she was little better than a target for insults and abuse. She sat half-crouched on an upturned crate in a corner of the tent, her dark hair damply untidy on her forehead, her blue eyes darting about her in frightened wonder as the message of the distant drums continued.
Suddenly Mark swung on her, twisting round in his chair. He was a big, powerful man in the early thirties. Even in normal circumstances he was not a pleasant man, overridden as he was by ambition—and just at present he was unbearable.
“For God’s sake, Ruth, stop those kids bleating!” he yelled at her. “We don’t want to give away our position. And put out that damned lamp!”
Ruth began moving, extinguished the oil lamp, and then in the almost total blackness she stooped over the roughly crib in which two infants wailed lustily. They quieted a little under their mother’s touch.
“You would have twins!” Mark’s sour voice came out of the clinging, stifling murk. “It would have been bad enough to have one kid on a trip like this, but you had to have two! Damnit, you knew back in Zanzibar what was going to happen. Why couldn’t you have stayed there until the thing was over?”
“My place is with you, Mark,” Ruth said quietly.
“Don’t hand me that! You hate the living sight of me!”
“I’m still your wife, Mark, and prepared to live up to it. If I hadn’t come out on this ghastly trip, you’d never have ceased to curse me when you got back to civilization. Whatever I do is wrong: I’ve grown accustomed to it!”
“Oh, stop yelping!”
“I’m entitled to,” Ruth continued, her voice low but quite steady. “We wouldn’t be here at all, lost in the jungle, but for your crazy idea of trying to find a lost city. Ivory, jewels, gold—!” Ruth laughed half hysterically. “That was what you said—”
“I was right!” Mark blazed at her. “I’ve got the plan, and I trust the man who gave it to me. There is a city in this region somewhere. The hard part is finding your way, and these damned Bushongo boys are no help, either. Wonder what the devil M’Tani is doing all this time?”
He blundered across the grey darkness to the tent flap and looked outside. There did not appear to be any sign of the carrier boys in the little clearing. There was only the deep tropical night and the eternal message of the drums. Mark swore, then regardless of giving away his position, he yelled harshly:
“M’Tani! M’Tani!”
Something the colour of polished coal tar glided out of the darkness. The only things visible about the head boy were the whites of his eyes and his gleaming teeth.
“Where have you been?” Mark demanded, using the mongrel language M’Tani understood. “Where are the rest of the boys?”
“Gone, bwana. Umango tribe close.”
“Gone, eh?” Mark spat. “Ratted on us, you mean?”
M’Tani did not understand. He was glancing fearfully around him. Only his loyalty to the white boss made him stay at all.
“I
