Page:Weird Tales volume 33 number 04.djvu/126

 By VINCENT GADDIS

A short weird tale of radio and a passenger air-liner

OCTOR EDWARD CRANDON stepped from the taxi. Lightning flashed. A gust of rain swept through the night.

"To Chicago, sir?"

"Yes." The doctor surrendered his suitcase to the airport attendant. The huge ship loomed into view. Its motors were roaring. The hangar lights were dim eyes in the mist, but the cabin windows gleamed cheerfully.

"Bad night, sir."

"It certainly is!"

The attendant handed the suitcase to the smiling hostess. Doctor Crandon stepped aboard and followed the hostess to his seat. A bad night. His first trip in the air. But the convention was only a few hours away, and his nervousness would vanish.

He settled back against the cushions and glanced at the other passengers: a middle-aged man reading a newspaper—a laughing couple, talking softly—a lady, rather old, wiping her eyes—a young man writing on the back of an envelope—a girl using her compact.

The lights flashed out. The ship moved. Drops of water struck the window-pane, forming miniature rivers. Doctor Crandon pulled the blind down. They were in the air.

The plane lurched wildly. A sinking sensation, an instant of animal fear and panic, and then the plane was again roaring steadily through the night. The lights flashed on. Doctor Crandon smiled. Air-pocket.

The hostess appeared, smiling at the passengers. She calmed the old lady, adjusted a pillow, brought a glass of water to the middle-aged man. Doctor Crandon glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty. Time for the news broadcast. As if reading his thoughts, the hostess stopped at his seat.

"Would you care to listen to the radio, sir? There's a small set at each seat with earphones attached instead of a loudspeaker."

"Thank you. I believe I will." Doctor Crandon slipped the phones over his head, and the hostess passed on. He spun the dial. A voice.

"At this time we bring you the news dispatches received over our special leased wires."

"Right on time," the doctor murmured.

The voice continued: "The Hindenburg, famous German dirigible, crashed in flames at Lakehurst, New Jersey, late today. The great ship, while attempting to land, and only several hundred feet in the air"

Doctor Crandon sat upright, his face frowning. Strange! The Hindenburg had crashed months ago. He remembered listening to these very words the night of the tragedy. Perhaps the news report was being repeated for some reason. He moved the dial. Lightning flashed. Thunder echoed through the cabin. Static—the soft, haunting murmur of an orchestra—another voice.

"We interrupt this program to bring 138