Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

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26 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. plane. The plane was pursued. The pursuers saw X pull a lever, and then— the plane absolutely disappeared. It was true! There was a fourth dimension! But who had the secret of it? An insane fool who believed that money was the root of all evil. The whole world was terrified. Everywhere people were withdrawing their money from the banks. Thousands of banks were failing. The police admitted defeat. X had made three more successful raids. Twice he had been seen and chased, but had escaped through the fourth dimension. Every member of the force was on duty night and day. Even Inspector Merriwell, who might very well have directed the campaign from his desk at headquarters, was gone for days at a time in his speedy pursuit plane. Fred Burton was thinking of all this as he sped along through the night on his way from Chicago to Washington. Suddenly he looked around. There was no one in sight, but he could have sworn he heard the sound of propellors. Then, far below him, he saw a vague shape, suspended by its helicoptors, slowly set¬ tling to earth. His heart gave a leap. Now was his chance. X must be trying to steal some of Major Strong’s plans. And how easy it would be. The Major, an eccentric inventor, rarely left his work-room and cared little for what was happening in the world. Quickly Fred glided earthward. As he came nearer he could see that X had not used his fourth-dimension tube, but had evidently entered the house through an unlocked window. “If I could only get into the plane,” he thought, “I would have X trapped.” Landing, he sent a code message to headquarters. Then, taking a heavy wrench from his tool kit, he climbed the long rope ladder to the cabin of the mysterious plane. As he had feared, the entrance was locked, but he climbed to one of the windows and, with all his strength, struck it with the wrench. As he was about to enter, his foot slipped. He grasped the nearest support, the lever of the fourth dimension. It yielded to his pull. As he fell, he saw the plane disappear, and his last thoughts before he struck were that he had sent the mystery plane, unpiloted, where no one could ever reach it again. When Burton became conscious, he saw another plane landing. Out of it sprang three patrolmen. They told him that the Inspector had been out on one of his long scouting trips when the message arrived, but they had all started to come without orders. Fred reported what had happened, and they all started for the house. Once inside, they followed the sound of voices to an upstairs room. There, with his back toward them, sat X. They recognized him by his queer leather jacket. Across the table was Major Strong, while between them lay the stolen gold and securities. “But you promised me twice that amount for the use of the plane!” the Major was complaining. “I’ll pay you after a few more raids,” came X’s reply. “Hands up!” shouted Fred. The Major sank weakly into his chair. X sprang to his feet and whirled to confront the speaker. There was a deathlike silence. The suddenness of his movement had swept the mask from his face. X, the unknown, was not Hilton, the insane inventor, but—Inspector Merriwell! Robert Billings, ’ 28 .

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 25 as though frozen to the spot, then rushed in a body toward a large oaken door at the end of the hall. Tim opened the heavy door slowly. The air that came out was foul, with a peculiar odor, as though the room had been shut up for a long time. With one fearful glance the group took in the blood-stained surroundings and also the stooped, neglected-looking man who was standing in a large open French window. As they started toward him, he gave one backward glance and disappeared from view. There rose to the horrified ears of the group the sound of a dia¬ bolical laugh and a huge splash. Elizabeth Sails, ’28. X THE UNKNOWN. “London Trust Company Looted! Gas Cloud Overcomes Guards. Cypher Message Left in Vaults. Raiders Escape in Mysterious Plane.” Fred Burton was reading the news as it flashed over his television machine. With an exclamation of surprise his usually good-natured face clouded. “Who would have thought it?” he mused. “A plane able to escape the police ships with their 1981 equipment, their Z-ray guns capable of stopping any motor, and their speed. Why, that plane must have been traveling more than 600 miles an hour.” An urgent buzzing on the opposite side of the room interrupted him. Hurriedly he read the message from the instrument, “Ser¬ geant Fred Burton is to report for duty at once at the New York Airport.” A few minutes later Inspector Merriwell was saying to him, “We have solved the cypher message, but the answer seems almost incredible. Here! Read it for yourself.” Fred picked up the typewritten sheet. “You are probably wondering,” he read, “who I am and what my motive is. The first question is immaterial; that I am an inventor is sufficient. My motive is more complex. I have no need of the money, myself, as I am working alone. I am giving time and service for humanity’s sake and am trying to save the world from the curse of wealth. My next move will be at the New York National Bank. This information will be of no use to you, for you can never guard the fourth dimension. Signed X.” “Curse of wealth! Fourth dimension! Why, that’s—but it can’t be! He died escaping from his cell in the asylum.” “So we all thought,” said the Inspector. But no one else could have such ideas. It must be Hilton, the insane inventor.” Monday night was dark and cold. There seemed to be no one around. But inside the vaults of the First National Bank photophones were recording every¬ thing that went on, while ou tside, out of range of the anaesthetic gas, Sergeant Burton, with three police planes, was awaiting the arrival of X. However, all this preparation was in vain. A large gray plane swooped down; a mist of pink gas enveloped the building. A long tube-like projection extended down from the plane and seemed to pass through the roof. The photophones in the vaults showed a man materializing from space; the money-bags were loaded into the

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 27 TREASURE MAD. His lordship, the Earl of Ashton, strode back and forth impatiently in his magnificent and well kept study. Tonight, together with his step-brother, he was to seek his ancestor’s treasure. Confound John, he thought. Why should he, the Earl of Ashton, share the treasure with one that had no real claim to it? He tried to thrust aside the thought that it had been John who had accidentally come upon the documents that had given the clue. An evil thought entered the head of his lordship. Why not? No one would be the wiser. He started guiltily at the sound of a laughing voice. “A penny for your thoughts, old fellow! No, no,” John said still laugh¬ ing, “you don’t have to tell me, I bet you were thinking of the treasure. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I discovered that gold was buried in our cellar, I mean, your cellar,” he hastily corrected. “Oh yes, I own up that I was thinking about it,” said the Earl slowly, sur¬ veying his brother at the same time. Strange, he thought, that he should hate such a cleancut and frank young man. but he knew the reason deep down in his heart. Wasn’t it John who al¬ ways attracted the ladies? Wasn’t it John who was the better horseman? John would look handsome even in a coffin, he thought ironically. “Say, if those documents we found are true,” John was saying, “that an¬ cestor of ours must of been a rummy old fellow. Just think of any one sacking Spanish treasure ships under the very eyes of their protectors!” “Yes, he must have been a remarkable fellow,” put in the other less en¬ thusiastically. “I think we have done enough talking, John. It is time that we go seek it.” “I’m all ready, I have my flashlight. I guess that’s all we’ll need.” “I believe we will need a crow-bar for the night’s work.” “You’re right. Lordy, old boy, it’s just like you not to over-look minor details.” John reappeared a few minutes later with a short crow-bar. “I’m sorry but that’s the best I could find. Since you sent the servants to town, I can’t find a blessed thing in this place.” “I’ll take the crow-bar, John. It will serve the purpose.” “All right, Lordy. I’ll lead the way into the haunted cellar. Make sure you don’t disturb ghosts and goblins,” he said jestingly. Curse the fellow, thought the other, always making light of everything. Why should John share in the treasure? Money meant nothing to him. He would no doubt give his share to some grasping orphan’s home. The evil thought had taken root and would not be shaken. Yes, he would go on with it. All this time they had been slowly traversing the winding and musty cor- riders in the cellar of Ashton Castle. For once John Ashton was awed. “Just think, Lordy, how many were butchered in these walls.” His lordship did not deign a reply. He was too busy with his own thoughts. John came to a stop at the head of a flight of stairs. “According to the documents, the treasure lies buried at the foot of these steps. Give me the crow-bar, Lordy.” “You shall have it, you fool, you shall have it!” came the choked words of the other. Too late the other turned—A crash. A falling body—a clanking sound—a rolling beam of light. Silence.