E-text prepared by Greg Weeks, Tamise Totterdell, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 20838-h.htm or 20838-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/8/1/20838/20838-h/20838-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/8/1/20838/20838-h.zip) Transcriber's note: This etext was produced from "Astounding Stories" December 1931. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. THE INFRA-MEDIANS by SEWELL PEASLEE WRIGHT [Illustration: _The others fell back instantly._] +-----------------------------------+ | Into a land of shadows and lost | | souls goes Pete Grahame in search | | of his hapless friends. | +-----------------------------------+ There was no sense to the note. There was no sense to anything that Vic Butler did, for that matter. Where he hid away his vast scientific knowledge in that rattle-brained, red-haired head of his has always been a mystery to me. The note read: Dear Pete: If you get this, I'm in a jam that promises some action. Drive out, if plane-peddling is palling on you, and bust into the lab. I'm leaving another note there for you, old son, and after you read it you can let your conscience be your guide. Bring a gat along, and plenty of ammo. Hope's away, at Aunt Cleo's, so don't get in touch with her and spoil her visit. Vic I had a hot prospect lined up for a demonstration that morning, but I didn't even stop to give him a ring. Vic and I had been buddies ever since we were kids--and, besides, he was Hope's brother. Vic's place was out on the river, about ten miles from town, and that little tan roadster of mine made it in just about ten minutes. The traffic in the business district slowed me up a bit. There was nothing at all pretentious about the place; it was a rambling, lazy-looking house built largely of native stone, stretching its length comfortably in the shade of the big maples. Perrin, Vic's man-of-all-work, came hurrying out of the house to greet me as I locked my wheels on the drive before the door. "I'm glad you're here, sir!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "I was just about to phone for the police; I was for certain, sir. Such goings on, I don't know what to think!" "What's the matter, Perrin? Where's Mr. Butler?" "That's it, sir! That's exactly it. Where's Mr. Butler? And--" "Just a moment, please! Cut it short, Perrin. What's happened?" * * * * * "I don't know. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Butler leaves a letter for me, which I'm to mail early this morning, special delivery. It's to you. I reckon you got it, sir?" "That's why I'm here. Go on."