The Power and the Glory
By HENRY KUTTNER
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories, December 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
CHAPTER I
Transmutation
Carrying the coffee-pot, the Belgianshuffled out of the room. The doorthumped behind him. Miller metSlade’s inquiring stare and shrugged.
“So he’s crazy,” Miller said.
Slade drew down the corners of his thinmouth. “Maybe he is. But I’ve got othersources of information, remember. I’m surethere’s—something—up on Peak Seven Hundred.Something plenty valuable. You’regoing to find it for me.” His teeth clicked onthe last word.
“Am I?” Miller said sourly.
“Suit yourself. Anytime you feel like ityou can go back to the States.” There was athreat in the way he said it.
Miller said, “Sure. And then you send afew telegrams . . . It was a sweet littleframe you fixed up on me. A murder rap—”
“Well,” Slade interrupted, “that happenedto be a frame. I’ve got to protect myself,though, in case you ever want to turn State’sevidence.”
“I’ve done your dirty work for ten years,”Miller growled. “It’s too late now to trycrossing you up. But we’re both guilty ofone particular murder, Slade. A guy namedMiller who was an honest lawyer, ten yearsago. I feel sorry for the poor sucker.”
Slade’s strong, implacable face turnedaway from him.
“The man with the gun has the advantage.Up on Peak Seven Hundred there’s the biggestgun in the world—I think. Something’ssending out terrific power-radiations. I’mno scientist, but I’ve got men working forme who are. If I can get that—weapon—fromthe Peak, I can write my own ticket.”
Miller looked at him curiously. He had toadmit Slade’s strength, his powerful will.Head of a slightly criminal and completelyunscrupulous political empire for a decadenow, Slade was growing restive, reachingout for new worlds to conquer.
Word of this power-source on the peak inAlaska had sounded fantastic even back inthe States but it seemed to fascinate Slade,who could afford to indulge his whims. Andhe could afford to trust Miller—to a certainextent. Miller was in Slade’s hands and knewit.
They both looked up as the Belgian cameback into the room, carrying a fresh bottleof whiskey. Van Hornung was drunk andwell aware of his own drunkenness. Hepeered at them from under the huge furcap he wore even indoors.
“Could man be drunk forever with liquor,love and fights—” he murmured, hookingout a chair with his foot. “Ah well, it doesn’tmatter now. Have another drink, gentlemen.”
Miller glanced at Slade, then leaned forwardacross the table.
“About Peak Seven Hundred, now,” hesaid. “I wish you’d—”
The Belgian slapped a fat hand on thetable. “You ask me about Seven Hundred.Very well, then—listen. I would not tellyou before—I did not wish you to die. NowI am drunker and, I think, w