Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 37: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DIRTY WEATHER. ““ There is one thing about this design on the lid.” Hendriks tapped it with his fin- ger. ‘These places that look like—well —sandpaper. I think they are hundreds of little holes pierced in the metal—air holes.”’ Rutledge, fast overcoming his original qualms, was examining the lid with a brave show of interest. “How does she open up? It’s not held down by screw things, like coffins I’ve seen,” Rutledge said, having seen precisely one at the shore funeral of a shipmate. “I think it’s hinged, like a box.” “ Try it.” Rutledge swallowed a gasp. This was a horse of a different color. It wasn’t so bad just examining the thing, even patting it, but to open it up— However, he couldn’t let the old man see that his simple “ try it” had knocked him one amidships. Furthermore, there was that Harris up | there, sticking his head over the edge of the hatch. He took hold of the lid of the coffin and tugged upon it gently. Nothing happened. Greatly relieved, he tugged again, this time harder. He wrenched it, worried it, grew positively insulting to it. Nothing still continued to happen. The lid remained fast, a solid sheet of bronze. ‘““Some job to force that!” Hopper looked the lid over judiciously. ‘“ Might never be able to with the tools we’ve got aboard. Certainly make an awful mess of it.” F “We mustn’t do that!” Hendriks, ob- viously worried, stared at them, baffled. “Just think if there shouldn’t be anything wrong in there. If there should be just the body of this Chinaman, as White said; if we broke the coffin open, smashed it in any way—they’ve probably used all sorts of preservatives, liquid maybe. I know of a body that was shipped in alcohol. It leaked out somehow, the alcohol. It was terrible. They—they had to throw the whole thing over the side—nauseating!”’ ‘“‘ Maybe there’s a trick about it,’’ Hop- per suggested. Rutledge hoped there was. And a good one at that. ° “It’s evidently Chinese make,’’ Hopper 183 continued. “ They do things like that, you know. All we may have to do is to press a knob or something. Let’s get some of this packing out of the way. No harm in looking, is there?” Hendriks became decisive. He shook off, with a finite gesture, the cloak of doubts and imaginings that had cluttered about him “There is no harm in looking.” Hen- driks struck the edge of the box with a clenched fist. ‘“ And harm or not, that cof- fin is going to be opened up!” They took out excelsior until about six inches of the sides of the coffin stood ex- posed below the lid. They saw nothing more than smooth strips of metal, unbroken sheets of polished bronze. ‘So much for knobs.” Hopper showed his disappointment. ‘‘ How about the lid itself? Let’s press those designs there.” ~ It would have been laughable under other circumstances. To Harris, peering down, entranced, over the edge of the hatch it seemed as if they must have suddenly gone mad. They might have been playing .@ plano; striving to awaken some strain of unearthly melodies to accompany their ac- tions, weird and uncanny actions as they were to Harris, viewing the scene from above—an indelible scene on concentrated light splotched with shadows that streaked off into Cimmerian blackness; three idiotic figures beating out a devil’s tattoo upon the flashing, brazen lid of what certainly ap- peared to be a coffin. Suddenly the movement stopped. The three were struck rigid, congealed by the thing that had just happened. “Are you lifting ite’? Hendriks broke the spell. Each one of them on the spot received an introduction to a cold, icy chill. They took their hands from the lid. The lid, raised by the released power of concealed springs, stood open. Lying upon the cushions of black velvet, the lights from the cargo cluster playing full upon her, was an extremely pale-faced and distressed-looking white girl. At that moment the ship was plunged in darkness. TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK comiclbooolx C©