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The Heads of Apex

Weiss, George Henry

Published: 1931

Type(s): Short Fiction, Science Fiction, Horror

Source: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/29046

Life+70 .

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Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from Astounding Stories October 1931. Ex-

tensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on

this publication was renewed.

Justus Miles was sitting on a bench in the park, down at the heels,

hungry, desperate, when a gust of wind whirled a paper to his feet. It

was the advertising section of the New York Times . Apathetically, he

picked it up, knowing from the past weeks' experience that few or no

jobs were being advertised. Then with a start he sat up, for in the center

of the page, encased in a small box and printed in slightly larger type

than the ordinary advertisement, he read the following words: "Wanted:

Soldier of Fortune, young, healthy; must have good credentials. Apply

222 Reuter Place, between two and four." It was to-day's advertising sec-

tion he was scanning, and the hour not yet one.

Reuter Place was some distance away, he knew, a good hour's walk on

hard pavement and through considerable heat. But he had made forced

marches in Sonora as badly shod and on even an emptier stomach. For

Justus Miles, though he might not have looked it, was a bona fide soldier

of fortune, stranded in New York. Five feet eight in height, he was, loose

and rangy in build, and with deceptively mild blue eyes. He had fought

through the World War, served under Kemal Pasha in Turkey, helped

the Riffs in Morocco, filibustered in South America and handled a

machine-gun for revolutionary forces in Mexico. Surely, he thought

grimly, if anyone could fill the bill for a soldier of fortune it was himself.

222 Reuter Place proved to be a large residence in a shabby neighbor-

hood. On the sidewalk, a queue of men was being held in line by a burly

cop. The door of the house opened, and an individual, broad-shouldered

and with flaming red hair, looked over the crowd. Instantly Justus Miles

let out a yell, "Rusty! By God, Rusty!" and waved his hands.

"Hey, feller, who do you think you're shovin'?" growled a hard-look-

ing fellow at the head of the line, but Justus Miles paid no attention to

him. The man in the doorway also let out an excited yell.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Kid! Hey, Officer, let that fellow through: I

want to speak to him."

With the door shut on the blasphemous mob, the two men wrung each

other's hands. Ex-Sergeant Harry Ward, known to his intimates as

"Rusty," led Justus Miles into a large office and shoved him into a chair.

"I didn't know you were in New York, kid. The last I saw of you was

when we quit Sandino."

"And I never suspected that 222 Reuter Place would be you, Rusty.

What's the lay, old man, and is there any chance to connect?"

"You bet your life there's a chance. Three hundred a month and found.

But the boss has the final say-so, though I'm sure he'll take you on my

recommendation."

He opened a door, led Justus Miles through an inner room, knocked at

a far door and ushered him into the presence of a man who sat behind a

roll-topped desk. There was something odd about this old man, and after

a moment's inspection Justus Miles saw what it was. He was evidently a

cripple, propped up in a strange wheelchair. He had an abnormally large

and hairless head, and his body was muffled to the throat in a volumin-

ous cloak, the folds of which fell over and enveloped most of the wheel-

chair itself. The face of this old gentleman—though the features were

finely molded—was swarthy: its color was almost that of a negro—or an

Egyptian. He regarded the two men with large and peculiarly colored

eyes—eyes that probed them sharply.

"Well, Ward, what is it?"

"The man you advertised for, Mr. Solino."

Solino regarded Justus Miles critically.

"You have been a soldier of fortune?" he asked. He spoke English with

the preciseness of an educated foreigner.

"Yes, sir. Rusty—that is, Mr. Ward knows my record."

"I was his sergeant in France, sir; saw fighting with him in Morocco,

Turkey, Nicaragua—"

"You can vouch for him, then; his character, courage—"

"You couldn't get a better man, sir. If I had known he was in town I

would have sent for him."

"Very well; that is sufficient. But Mr.—Miles did you

say?—understands he is embarking on a dangerous adventure with

grave chances of losing his life?"

"I have faced danger and risked my life before this," said Justus Miles

quietly.

The other nodded. "Then that is all I am prepared to tell you at this

time."

Justus Miles accompanied Ward to his room where the latter laid out

for him a change of clothing. It was luxurious to splash in warm water

and bath-salts after the enforced griminess of weeks. The clothes fitted

him fairly well, the two men being of a size. Lounging in his friend's

George Henry Weiss - The Heads of Apex.pdf

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