Northern Expedition was, from the layman's point of view, extraordinary; when we set off four out of five did not know exactly where we were going, except that it was opposite to north. And until now Scarsdale, though he had given many hints and spoken to me personally of shifting lights and writing on stones, had only spoken practically of rubber boats, tractors and of the importance of having some people of physical strength along.
But my mind thrives on enigmas and if the truth were told most of my adventurings had been along these lines; I neither knew nor cared where my journeyings took me, providing that I could be free to take pictures and that I had agreeable companions with whom to share the journey. And this great enterprise promised abundance of both. Pondering on this and various other things I fell into a broken sleep.
I woke round about three a.m.; though we had the tractor shutters closed I knew that it was before dawn. I lay awake for several minutes before checking the time by my illuminated wristlet watch. What had aroused me was a minute, metallic noise; a noise which was presently, and furtively repeated.
I opened my eyes fully at this point and by slightly turning my head I was able to bring the Professor's bunk into focus; his large bulk was impassive beneath the blankets, the faint respiration of his breathing clearly audible. He was fast asleep. I turned my head slowly away from him when I became aware of a blurred shape sliding across my field of vision. A minute breeze blew into the closely regulated temperature of the tractor interior; someone had opened the outer door of the command tractor. A moment later it shut with a click which was the replica of the one which had originally awakened me.
It sounded once again as someone tested the handle from outside. I was up and groping for my trousers by this time; I swiftly put them on over my pyjamas and put my bare feet into my slippers. I saw a shadow pass across the windscreen of the tractor as I was doing this. It had gone to the left so I waited a few seconds before I myself opened the door and slipped quietly out into the night.
We had parked the machines in a small cul-de-sac by some metal-beaters' workshops just off the main square of the town, so I knew my quarry could only have gone into the square. I felt fairly confident of picking him up again. I was fairly certain also that I knew who he was. None of our colleagues were likely to visit the command tractor at night and leave again in such a furtive manner. I had picked up a strong leather camel whip, a gift from the Mir of Zak to Scarsdale, from the chart-table and I flexed it meaningfully as I crouched for a moment, adjusting my eyes to the light.
When I gained the edge of the square I found I could see some distance ahead and I had no difficulty in making out the hunched figure of the dwarf Zalor which flitted ahead of me over the atrocious surface of the rutted plaza. I knew his destination now and I slackened my pace and skirted round the edge of the square, keeping watch from a sort of arcade of roughly fashioned stone which fronted some craftsmen's stalls.
Earlier that evening Scarsdale had decided to overhaul our equipment before we set out for the last stage of our journey to the Black Mountains. For this purpose he felt it would be an easier proposition if we dismantled as much material as possible that night in preparation for the work the following day. Accordingly, we had taken motor drive units, radio sets and many of the working parts which made the tractors operational out of the machines and placed them in a storeroom which the people of Nylstrom had made available to us.
The headman or whatever he called himself had secured the whole place with a wooden bar and Scarsdale himself had sealed the room with a chain and padlock out of the expedition's stores. I now knew why Zalor had paid us a visit; he was after Scarsdale's keys. The store, which normally housed vegetables and dried herbs grown by the people of Nylstrom was only in a small court giving off the other side of the square, so there was no need for me to hurry, as I was certain of Zalor's destination.
I kept watch, therefore, until he had disappeared in the misty light and followed on at my leisure, giving him a minute or two to release the padlock from the rough wooden door. I wanted to be certain of his malignant intent before apprising Scarsdale of the dwarfs perfidy. I stopped again when I reached the opening through which my quarry had disappeared and waited. It was a fine, dry night, though quite cold and I shivered a little as the wind probed at the thin material of my pyjama jacket. The night invested the humble buildings of Nylstrom with a majesty they notably lacked by day and from far off, though it could not be all that far, owing to the town's geographical compactness, a stray dog howled in a hungry fashion. I could now hear a furtive chinking up ahead and once a small electric torch flashed; I smiled to myself in the gloom. No doubt Zalor had been at the expedition's stores too. He had been carrying on his shoulder what looked like a canvas bag, when I had last sighted him in the square, and I felt certain he contemplated flight after some mischief against us. There was nothing moving in all the night and no-one stirring in any of the dingy buildings in the locality but I felt somewhere out there the brooding presence of the Black Mountains, which were almost a palpable reality, even in the darkness.
There was a grating noise as I still hesitated and then a muffled thump. That would be the lowering of the bar from the door. I crouched low and eased myself round the corner, careful not to make my presence known. I still wanted to give Zalor a last chance to prove his innocence of motive and if I revealed myself beforehand, he would be able to fabricate some quite innocuous reason for his presence in that place and at that time of the morning.
The grating noise continued and then the dim light of the torch disappeared within the vegetable store. I crept noiselessly towards the light and after a few moments found myself in front of the building. Zalor had drawn back only one half of the double portal, no doubt to shield the light from the outside, and I stood behind it to conceal myself. I need not have worried about such precautions; the man inside the store was far too preoccupied with his own affairs to have any time for further concealment.
He was now acting with a reckless disregard for noise and I could hear the swishing sound of straw being raked about; I peered round the edge of the rough timber door. Zalor had placed his torch on one of our generator casings so that its light shone on the floor and walls before him. All our equipment was stacked around in preparation for tomorrow's work; as I watched, Zalor completed piling the straw around it and scuttled to the far corner. He came back with a squat green can, which I recognised. It contained paraffin, of which we had quite a store in case of emergency, or for use in lamps if we were operating away from the tractors.
I did not need to wait any longer. The matchbox fell from Zalor's hand as I sent him sprawling in the fury of my first rush. He was up again quickly though, hissing something in that abominable language of his. I got in two good blows across his shoulders with the leather camel whip I had brought with me, I am glad to say, and the pig- like screams with which he greeted my ministrations were extremely satisfactory to me. He was a powerful fellow, though, despite his small stature and he closed with me fiercely, clutching at a curved-bladed knife he plucked from his belt.
I had dropped the whip in my anxiety to hold his knife- hand off and he got his boot up into my groin while I was doing this; a stabbing pain lanced through me, the room grew dim and I fell back against some boxes. He rushed at me again with the knife but cracked his knees against some low piece of metal equipment chance had left in that spot and collapsed with a howl. By this time I had got to my feet and who knows what would have happened had I not heard Scarsdale's welcome voice shouting from the square.
The dwarf hesitated, thrust his knife back into his belt with a garbled cry of hatred and was then gone through the door and into the night. I got to my feet and half-dragged myself to the door before I collapsed again. I must have presented a sorry sight, panting, covered with dirt and straw and gasping out an incoherent story as the gigantic form of the Professor loomed up in the dim glow of the torch.
He gripped me by the hand, his jaw tightening as he looked around the room. He led me to sit on one of the upturned crates and stopped my broken flow of words.
'On the contrary, my dear Plowright, you did extremely well,' he said. 'If these had been burned the Great Northern Expedition would have been finished. The fault is mine. I should have foreseen something like this and mounted a guard.'
The occasion was so unusual and the friendship between the Professor and myself so close at this moment that I told him about the stone tablet I had seen the dwarf drop. He was silent for a long moment.
'It makes no matter, Plowright,' he said. 'We have both perhaps been a little remiss but the major responsibility must be mine.'
'But what does all this mean?' I asked him.
'I should have mounted a guard,' Scarsdale said softly, as though he had not heard my question. 'Can you walk all right? We must tell the others and make sure there are no further interruptions tonight.'
He had locked up again and we were halfway across the square before I was able to repeat my question.
'There are those who do not wish us to find the resting place of the Old Ones,' Scarsdale said sombrely.
