Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Weird Tales August-September 1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
In the Dark
By RONAL KAYSER
It was a tale of sheer horror that old Asa Gregg pouredinto the dictaphone
he watchman's flashlight printed a white circle on the frosted-glass,black-lettered door:
GREGG CHEMICAL CO., MFRS.
ASA GREGG, PRES.
PRIVATE
The watchman's hand closed on the knob, rattled the door in its frame.Queer, but tonight the sound had seemed to come from in there.... Butthat couldn't be. He knew that Mr. Gregg and Miss Carruthers carriedthe only keys to the office, so any intruder would have been forced tosmash the lock.
Maybe the sound came from the storage room. The watchman clumped alongthe rubber-matted corridor, flung his weight against that door. Itopened hard, being of ponderous metal fitted into a cork casing. Theroom was an air-tight, fire-proof vault, really. His shoes gritted onthe concrete floor as he prowled among the big porcelain vats. Theflashlight bored through bluish haze to the concrete walls. Acid fumesescaping under the vat lids made the haze and seared the man's throat.
He hurried out, coughing and wiping his eyes. It was damn funny. Everynight lately he heard the same peculiar noise somewhere in this wingof the building.... Like a body groaning and turning in restlesssleep, it was. It scared him. He didn't mention the mystery to anyone,though. He was an old man, and he didn't want Mr. Gregg to think hewas getting too old for the job.
"Asa 'd think I was crazy, if I told him about it," he mumbled.
nside the office, Asa Gregg heard the muttered words plainly. He satvery still in the big, leather-cushioned chair, hardly breathing untilthe scrape of the watchman's feet had thinned away down the hall.There was no light in the room to betray him; only the cherry-coloredtip of his cigar, which couldn't be visible through the frosted glassdoor. Anyway, it'd be an hour before the watchman's round brought himpast the office again. Asa Gregg had that hour, if he could screw uphis nerve to use it....
He took the frayed end of the cigar from his mouth. His hand, whichhad wasted to mere skin and bone these past few months, groped throughthe darkness, slid over the polished coolness of the dictaphone hood,and snapped the switch. Machinery faintly whirred. His fingers foundthe tube, lifted it.
"Miss Carruthers!" he snapped. Then he hesitated. Surely, he couldtrust Mary Carruthers! He'd never wondered about her before. She'dbeen his secretary for a dozen years—lately, since he couldn't lookafter affairs himself as he used to, she had practically run thebusiness. She was forty, sensible, unbeautiful, and tight-lipped.Hell, he had to trust her!
His voice plunged into the darkness.
"What I have to say now is intended for Mrs. Gregg's ears only. Shewill take the first boat home, of course. Meet that boat and bring herto the office. Since my wife knows nothing about a di