The Edmond Hamilton Megapack: 16 Classic Science Fiction Tales Read Free

talking wheedlingly to him.
    They came into a more populous section of the evil old waterfront street, and passed fried-fish shops giving off the strong smell of hot fat, and the dirty, lighted windows of a half-dozen waterfront saloons, loud with sordid argument or merriment.
    Campbell led past them until they reached one built upon an abandoned, moldering pier, a ramshackle frame structure extending some distance back out on the pier. Its window was curtained, but dull red light glowed through the glass window of the door.
    A few shabby men were lounging in front of the place but Campbell paid them no attention, tugging Ennis inside by the arm.
    “Carm on in!” he wheedled shrilly. “The night ain’t ’alf over yet—we’ll ’ave just one more.”
    “Don’t want any more,” muttered Ennis drunkenly, swaying on his feet inside. “Get away, you damned old shark.”
    Yet he suffered himself to be led by Campbell to a table, where he slumped heavily into a chair. His stare swung vacantly.
    The café of Chandra Dass was a red-lit, smoke-filled cave with cheap black curtains on the walls and windows, and other curtains cutting off the back part of the building from view. The dim room was jammed with tables crowded with patrons whose babel of tongues made an unceasing din, to which a three-string guitar somewhere added a wailing undertone. The waiters were dark-skinned and tiger-footed Malays, while the patrons seemed drawn from every nation east and west.
    Ennis’ glazed eyes saw dandified Chinese from Limehouse and Pennyfields, dark little Levantins from Soho, rough-looking Cockneys in shabby caps, a few crazily laughing blacks. From sly white faces, taut brown ones and impassive yellow ones came a dozen different languages. The air was thick with queer food-smells and the acrid smoke.
    Campbell had selected a table near the back curtain, and now stridently ordered one of the Malay waiters to bring gin. He leaned forward with an oily smile to the drunken-looking Ennis, and spoke to him in a wheedling undertone.
    “Don’t look for a minute, but that’s Chandra Dass over in the corner, and he’s watching us,” he said.
    Ennis shook his clutching hand away. “Damned old shark!” he muttered again.
    He turned his swaying head slowly, letting his eyes rest a moment on the man in the corner. That man was looking straight at him.
    Chandra Dass was tall, dressed in spotless white from his shoes to the turban on his head. The white made his dark, impassive, aquiline face stand out in chiseled relief. His eyes were coal-black, large, coldly searching, as they met Ennis’ bleared gaze.
    Ennis felt a strange chill as he met those eyes. There was something alien and unhuman, something uncannily disturbing, behind the Hindoo’s stare. He turned his gaze vacantly from Chandra Dass to the black curtains at the rear, and then back to his companion.
    The silent Malay waiter had brought the liquor, and Campbell pressed a glass toward his companion. “’Ere, matey, take this.”
    “Don’t want it,” muttered Ennis, pushing it away. Still in the same mutter, he added, “If Ruth’s here, she’s somewhere in the back there. I’m going back and find out.”
    “Don’t try it that way, for God’s sake!” said Campbell in the wheedling undertone. “Chandra Dass is still watching, and those Malays would be on you in a minute. Wait until I give the word.
    “All right, then,” Campbell added in a louder, injured tone. “If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it myself.”
    He tossed off the glass of gin and set the glass down on the table, looking at his drunken companion with righteous indignation.
    “Think I’m tryin’ to bilk yer, eh?” he added. “That’s a fine way to treat a pal!”
    He added in the coaxing lower tone, “All right, I’m going to try it. Be ready to move when I light my cigarette.”
    He fished a soiled package of Gold Flakes from his pocket and put one in his mouth. Ennis waited, every muscle