Part 10 (2/2)

”Professor Hedwin believes in a cult of Xitli,” Salter told the group. ”In my opinion, such a theory was more than unproven; it was preposterous. Such, I say, was my opinion. I have modified it within the past few days. When Aztecs were reported in New Orleans I began to wonder.

”Hedwin laid great stress upon the throne room of Xitli. He claimed that the basalt block which he brought back from Cuicuilco was the throne seat of Xitli. But, mind you, in all his talk of Xitli rituals involving a living fire G.o.d, Hedwin never declared that a real Xitli existed.

”He made it plain that someone, masked as Xitli, could control the cult. It would be possible, by Hedwin's own a.n.a.lysis, for a clever man to a.s.semble Aztecs in the top floor of this museum and there give them orders which they would accept as law.”

Opening a cabinet, Salter produced a phonograph record. Moving a screen from a corner, he revealed a recording machine. Running his fingers along a crack, he drew a thin, green wire into sight.

”I stayed in the museum purposely,” declared Salter, ”and on certain evenings I was sure of two things: that persons were moving about, and that someone was using the elevator. So I installed a microphone in Xitli's throne room and carried the wiring down here.

”Last night I not only heard all that happened in the throne room, but I recorded it. Unfortunately, my knowledge of spoken Mayan is limited. I was forced to play the record over and over to make sure of all that Xitli had said to his Aztecs. It would have been no use to call the police until my work was finished.

”By then the thing had happened. The Aztecs had done what Xitli told them. They had gone to the waterfront and murdered Pierre Laboutard. Fortunately” - Salter showed a relieved smile - ”the loss of Laboutard was not serious.”

”But they killed Talborn, too!” exclaimed Brendle. ”If you had notified the police in time, you might have saved him, Salter!”

”Not at all,” insisted Salter. ”There was no mention of Talborn, or the Monseca crypt, in the recording.

Xitli must have learned about the place where the treasure was hidden through Laboutard. This translation” - he placed typewritten papers on the desk - ”proves that he told his Aztecs not to harm Laboutard until Xitli gave the word.”

THE detectives were picking up the sheets, but Brendle was more interested in the phonograph record.

He asked Salter to run it through, but the curator shook his head.

”Not yet,” he said. ”I have a new disk on the machine in case the cult meets again tonight. Though the Aztecs apparently can go in and out at will, I purposely left the museum open to encourage them if theycame here. I was gone myself for a matter of fifteen minutes.”

That statement was the one that should have impressed Andy. It meant that Yvonne could have come to the museum and entered un.o.bserved. But Andy was thinking in terms of Professor Hedwin, who had stayed inside the museum after leaving Salter's office.

At this moment the professor could be up in the throne room, garbed as Xitli, ready to receive the killers who formed the Aztec cult!

Startling though the thought was, its realization was far more sensational. Almost in response to Andy's thoughts, a crackling came from the loud-speaker above Salter's recording machine.

Excitedly, the curator sprang to the corner and started the blank disk that promised to receive again the words of Xitli, to keep them as permanent evidence.

From out of the crackling came the voice of the masquerader; a m.u.f.fled tone, yet startling. It was fluent, proving the speaker's knowledge of the strange tongue that he spoke. Salter, motioning for silence, was listening intently.

As the voice paused to receive a return babble from Aztec throats, Salter whispered excitedly: ”I can understand it! His words are more coherent since I improved the reception -”

The voice of Xitli interrupted. Salter was nodding, at moments excitedly, at others solemnly. He kept pus.h.i.+ng back the persons who asked him to translate the things he heard. There were intervals when Xitli let the Aztecs reply, but Salter managed only to wedge in a few remarks.

”This is their last meeting,” said the curator. ”Xitli is telling them that their work is done. They are to disband and return to Mexico.”

Again, after a necessary pause while Xitli spoke, Salter relayed the words of the fire G.o.d.

”He is speaking of a sacrifice,” declared Salter. ”The Aztecs are clamoring for one. He is telling them to wait until the time when -”

Xitli's voice had begun again, rising above the clamor of the Aztecs. Before Salter could say another word, a low chant began. Strange, discordant, it became a terrifying thing; into its weird cadence came the beat of drums.

At every break there was a word from Xitli, as though the fire G.o.d had picked up the burden of the chant and reduced the others to a mere accompaniment.

Turning from his corner, Salter started toward the door, moving mechanically, like a man in a strange dream. He was reaching in his pocket for a revolver. Moving after him, the detectives did the same.

At the door, Salter paused, listening to the swelling of the chant, which had reached a hideous, outlandish pitch punctuated by the sharp articulations of Xitli.

”Come,” spoke Salter. ”A few of you - no more. It would not be safe for many. But if we watch -”

At that instant the chant was broken; not by the voice of Xitli, nor the hammering of drums, but a shriek so ardent that it seemed the only human thing in all that vocal horror. To most who heard it, the scream was an appeal for help from some unknown person whose distress was so packed in the cry that words would have been superfluous. To one, the shriek signified more. Andy Ames realized that only one person could have uttered it: Yvonne Carland. His worst fears had been realized. Yvonne had fallen into the power of the Aztec cult.

She was the sacrifice that the fiends demanded from their monstrous leader, Xitli!

ONE man stood in Andy's path; that man was Fitzhugh Salter. He had sprung about, was waving his arms, apparently to tell his numbed companions that a mere venture to the throne room of Xitli would mean their doom. But Andy wasn't one to be convinced by Salter, though the detectives were willing to take the curator's advice.

Shoulder first, Andy bowled Salter from the doorway, sent him sprawling across the corridor. Andy had the gun that he had used in Mexico, and he tugged it from his pocket as he sped for the elevator.

His boldness influenced the rest. Brendle came from the curator's office with a flood of detectives that nearly trampled Salter in the rush.

As he ran, Andy could still hear the chant of Xitli coming from the loud-speaker in the office, above the surge of many feet. It was loud, discordant, still carrying a note of frenzy; but there was no repet.i.tion of Yvonne's scream.

All was a blur to Andy as he reached the elevator. Rescue was his motive, but over him had come the appalling thought that he might be too late to save Yvonne. Yet Andy's ardor did not fade. If he could not save Yvonne, another motive would inspire him; that of revenge upon Xitli, G.o.d of fire!

CHAPTER XIX. XITLI SPEAKS.

THEY dashed into the throne room in the same positions as when they had left the curator's office, Andy ahead of the detectives. But in the race along the corridor of the top floor, Andy doubled his lead on his companions. He had one thought: to reach the throne room in the least time possible and consider consequences later.

So ardent was Andy's dash that he lunged into the fateful room before he could stop himself. A fire was burning in the center of the floor; beyond it, Andy saw Yvonne, attired in Aztec costume, senseless on a slab in front of Xitli's throne.

In the throne itself was the green-masked, feathered fire G.o.d, his flame-hued costume blending with the flickering of the flames. Poised between the palms of Xitli's gauntlets was a stone knife, its handle against one hand, its point against the other.

The knife of sacrifice!

Too well did Andy know the practices of the ancient Mayas and their successors, the Aztecs; their way of sacrificing maidens to appease their mythical G.o.ds. But all that was summed in Andy's one desire - death to Xitli!

Rescue or revenge. It would be one or the other, dependent upon whether or not Yvonne still lived. By downing Xitli, Andy could end the curse of the fire G.o.d and the power that went with it. But Andy found no time to aim his gun, let alone pull the trigger.

He had precipitated himself into the midst of the Xitli cult, and Aztecs were upon him in a wave.

Floundering, his revolver spinning from his hand, Andy saw the cleaving edges of hatchets brandished above him, ready to descend in time to the still persisting chant and the beat of the drums.

The thing that saved Andy was the voice of Xitli. At the fire G.o.d's harsh command, the Aztecs restrainedtheir weapons. Then Andy found himself faced about, his arms pinned behind him. They had dragged him to the throne at Xitli's order Other Aztecs had covered the doorway. They were flanking it, their stone hatchets at their fingertips.

Stopped almost under the blades were a pair of detectives who were motioning back to others, telling the rest to wait. They had fallen into a trap almost as bad as Andy's.

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