The Lost World MEGAPACK®. Lin Carter

man who would play his own game, given the chance.

      Ignoring the words, Hugh Crane addressed the girl in the side seat. “Where to, Miss Damon?”

      She did not reply at once.

      Dawn’s glowing red arc brightened in the east, revealing the girl more clearly. Crane’s brief glance formed a staccato impression. Figure tall, slender. Features regular except for a slight upturned nose. Type, titian blond. Clothing mannish for roughing it—boots, leather breeches, suede jacket, tam o’shanter. Total effect, not bad!

      “You will fly due northwest,” the girl directed. Her tone was preoccupied.

      “To what, or where?”

      “Our destination is near Great Bear Lake, Canada.”

      “Which side of it?” Crane pursued. A frosty stare accompanied the girl’s response.

      “As I told the airport officials, that’s my business. I paid for the privilege of having an uninquisitive pilot!”

      “Ouch!” Crane said mentally. What kind of trip was this? Why all the secrecy? He took a longer look at the girl. No, she wasn’t just a wealthy madcap, out for a lark. There was quiet purpose in her hazel-brown eyes. Almost grimness.

      “I can’t go by those general directions,” Crane ventured. “Not all the way. A plane isn’t something you can amble around in aimlessly. After all, Miss Damon—”

      Jondra Damon interrupted with a toss of her head.

      “You’re being difficult. When we reach Great Bear Lake, I’ll give you more specific instructions. If that doesn’t satisfy you, turn back! I’ll get another pilot.”

      For a moment they glared at each other. Then Crane shrugged and turned eyes front. The girl was within her rights. He had been instructed to fly where she wished, within the range of risk to life and ship. Beyond that, the officials had said—or known—nothing of the eccentric arrangement.

      What was it all about? Crane began to feel he was flying in some sort of mystery. To Crane it wasn’t exactly an unpleasant thought.

      The girl’s hand touched his shoulder. She was suddenly smiling.

      “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. But I really can’t explain much more at present. My father is up there—Dr. Sewell Damon. He’s conducting experiments. Mr. Paul Harlan, who answered my ad last week for an experienced chemist, is to assist him. The exact destination is being kept secret as long as possible at my father’s request.”

      She added, after a moment’s hesitation, “I think he fears—well, spies.”

      “Spies!” Crane echoed the word with a start. “What sort of experimenting is he doing?”

      The girl shook her head, but not angrily. Her eyes suddenly gleamed with worry. She spoke in a low murmur. “I think he may be in danger!”

      She arose, as though to pace the narrow cabin floor.

      “Sit down!” Crane snapped. Hastily he added, “Sorry, but it’s the best thing to do while flying.”

      But before the girl could obey, the ship lurched through an air pocket. The girl seemed about to stumble and fall backward. But miraculously she didn’t, as if a hand had caught her arm just in time.

      “Thanks!” she smiled at Harlan, gaining her seat.

      Harlan stared at her blankly. He had had no chance to help her, half sliding out of his seat himself.

      “What—” he began, but then shrugged. It was hard to talk above the drone of the propeller.

      Crane’s quick glance behind him had taken in the episode. Again things seemed verging on the mysterious. First the plane, apparently overloaded. Then the queer mission they were on. Now the girl, acting as though an unseen passenger had assisted her.

      But there was no such passenger. She had imagined that someone had helped her keep her balance.

      * * * *

      The plane drummed northwest. The countryside below became steadily more bleak and rugged with each degree of northern latitude.

      Ten hours later, Hugh Crane turned to Jondra Damon, dozing in her seat. He hated to disturb her, but now was the time for directions. She looked like she hadn’t had proper sleep for a week, in preparation for this strange venture.

      “We’re within a hundred miles of Great Bear Lake. Might tell me now exactly where you want to go.”

      Jondra Damon rubbed her eyes. “Fifty miles east of Great Bear, directly on the Arctic Circle.”

      Minutes later, a snow squall came up, chilling the heated cabin.

      Crane pondered. “If the snow gets thicker,” he said, “I’ll have to land on the first level stretch. But maybe we can make it to your destination. What are we looking for? Any landmark you can name?”

      “It’s a valley,” the girl responded shortly, lighting a cigarette.

      Crane looked helplessly at Harlan.

      Harlan shrugged. “I know as little about it as you do,” he grunted.

      At the same time he eyed the girl as though he, too, resented being kept so much in the dark.

      Jondra Damon blew out a cloud of smoke imperturbably.

      “I thought it was women who were always curious. Now look, you’re both paid to do as you’re told, and paid well. You, Mr. Harlan, were hired at ten dollars a day to help my father when we arrive. You, Mr. Crane, were engaged to land the plane where I state, help unload the supplies, and then leave. It’s simple enough, isn’t it?”

      “But the valley!” Crane said patiently. “I presume there’s a big sign somewhere saying valley in big red letters?”

      The girl flushed. “Oh! Well, it’s a sunken valley. Father informed me that it should stand out from the air by itself.”

      Crane shook his head, but went back to his controls.

      Reaching Great Bear Lake, he cruised over its eastern shore, and swung gradually away in a wide circle. The snow thickened, making a landing imperative within an hour. Crane swept his eyes from horizon to horizon for the valley. A sunken valley. What in the world would it look like?

      A hand gripped his shoulder suddenly, turning him slightly. Then Crane saw it himself—a dark gash in the general whiteness of snow-tufted land.

      “Yes, that must be it!” Crane said, wondering why Harlan was so mysterious, grasping his shoulder and not saying a word. He looked around, but Harlan was now beside the girl, peering down.

      What was the man’s game? Crane thought fleetingly. Had he known how the valley would look, despite his pretended ignorance of the whole thing? Was he keeping things from the girl, as well as the other way around? What was in that valley—gold, radium?

      He’d soon find out. Crane zoomed for the spot. Circling and lowering, he made out the barren floor of the valley, with only an evergreen here and there. A landing could easily be made in the valley itself. It was sunken, all right, at least three hundred feet below general level, with sheer cliffs at every side.

      “How queer it looks!” Jondra Damon was murmuring at his side, peering through the windshield. “Watch out for the snow…”

      It struck Crane too. Swirls of snowflakes dropped into the valley and seemed to hang. Momentarily, they seemed to form the ghost-shapes of tall trees. Crane felt a qualm of uneasiness, but quickly killed it. One could see anything in clouds or snowstorms, with a dash of imagination.

      “No time to waste,” he warned. “We’re going down. Hold on!” Heading into the wind, Crane slanted down for the broad, smooth area at one end of the valley. There should be no trouble.

      Suddenly a tiny figure emerged from some hidden shelter below,