OUT of the corner of his eye he saw something strange. The table where Koople and company was sitting moved slowly across the floor toward the exit. By this time, Dopey Fooz was getting to be a man of few words and much action. He grabbed a handful of clams in the shell, and a bowl of hot chowder. To the top of the table he went in a great leap. Underneath, the crooks stuck their heads out to see what was the matter, and got a bath of hot chowder. Like a flash they lit out for the door, but Dopey loosed a barrage of clam shells that knocked them kicking. The cops took care of the rest.
Somehow Stephen Smirch got wind of the goings on and dashed down to Tony’s place. He stood there glaring at Dopey.
“Fooz, you did a fine job, and all that on the crooks, but if you didn’t find out what happened to those spoons — off with the head!”
“Now, you know I would not besmirch the fair name of the S.D.S. by not solving the case! I saw where they went when I picked up the clams from that guy’s table!”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, where did they go? Where?!!!”
“In the coffee! Tony’s coffee is so strong that they just dissolve when you stick them in!”
***
Creature of the Deep
“THERE she blows!”
The cry from the crow’s nest sent the men on the deck scurrying to their places. The old square-rigged whaler, “Capital City,” changed course slightly and headed for the whistling spout of foam that meant a whale. Captain Ludlow took the glass from his eye and called to the mate.
“Better send out the longboat with the other two; he looks like a humdinger, from here. You can never tell about the big fellows, they dive deep, and we may need more line!”
The order was relayed swiftly and the longboat went over the side. The other two were already approaching the monstrous bulk that idled in the sea, never suspecting the approaching doom.
Dickie Nelson, in the bow of the longboat, coiling the line in the bucket, was tense with excitement. As the Capital City’s cabin boy, he rarely had any fun, except when the eighteen-foot dory went over, and that wasn’t often. Many times he had pleaded for a chance in the one or two boats, but they could only use men, he was told. No room for a fifteen-year old. He fixed the harpoon in place, adjusted the razor-sharp barb, then crouched to watch the chase.
The number one boat eased alongside slowly. It was up to this crew to make the first play. The monster was the dirty, dark color of a sperm whale at his peak, and beside him the boat looked like a peanut shell against a half-submerged log. “Blackie” Cole stood with the harpoon posed for the strike.
For a moment he was doubtful, for the creature was tremendous, by far the largest he had ever seen. Clearly visible in the wrinkles of the thick hide were the shafts of four other harpoons! This fellow had gotten away from that many boats, and probably killed some of the occupants with his mighty flukes, or dragged the boats under in his mad dive. For a moment, Blackie hesitated, then the barb flashed, and sunk deep into the body of the sperm! The next second the sea was a mass of foam. A pair of flukes threshed the water as the whale shot ahead. Twisting and turning to get rid of the stinger in his back, he rose porpoise-fashion from the deep.
Blackie played the rope out carefully; the dory was dragged swiftly through the waves! Then the monster dove! Straight down into the black abyss of the ocean. The rope was uncoiling swiftly. In a moment it would play to its end, and the boat would go under. Just in time Blackie snatched up an ax and severed the line with a single stroke. Everyone breathed easier after that.
They rowed up to the number two boat and exchanged a few words. The crews knew that the whale would reappear soon to blow, and they tried to determine where. So engrossed were they, they failed to notice a “shadow” on the surface. Suddenly the “shadow” raised, and both boats were tossed in the air. The great whale, angered by the harpoon, had come back to kill!
DICKIE let out a shout. Everyone in the longboat turned to see the sea giant crushing the smaller boats to splinters. The water was dotted with men swimming desperately. Their heads were much too small for the whale to spot, so he charged the boats. Time after time his nose rose in air, to come down on the wreckage. His flukes pounded the planking to matchsticks. The gaping maw of a mouth opened and closed on what was left of the boats. Then, with the suddenness of his coming, he slid under.
The longboat was busy picking up the survivors. Dickie fished them out with a boat hook and they headed back to the Capital City. Lines came down the side and the injured were hauled aboard. The uninjured went up the rope ladders to the deck. Dickie was left alone in the longboat to attach the block and tackle to the bow and stern hooks. Then, from the lookout came a warning shout.
“She’s coming this way. Looks like she’s gonna ram us! You, in the longboat-push away, fast’.” Dickie lost no time in getting away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the great monster hurtling though the waves, intent upon ramming.
Quickly, Dickie jumped to the oars. He pulled with all his strength to get out of the path of the enraged mammal. The men on the deck milled about waiting for the impact.
It came with a thundering crash. The masts quivered, and the planking splintered under the onslaught. The sea churned from the powerful flukes. The whale backed off, and for a minute it seemed that his rage was over, but it had only begun!
ON he came, again! His charge was even more furious than before! He raced through the wave-tops and bore down on the ship. Head on, the whale crashed against the side, this time springing the beams and opening the seams of the vessel. The waves from the monster’s mad rush almost swamped the longboat. The men on the whaler were afraid to take to the life rafts for fear of being attacked, but, if they stayed on board they were in danger of being drowned if the ship sank. For the third time the whale backed off, even further than before. The barb in his back was still infuriating him. Here was an enemy that must be destroyed! He crashed into the stern this time, sending the ship about in a circle, and more seams opened.
In the longboat, Dickie was almost beside himself with anxiety. His pals, on board, were in danger, and he could do nothing about it. This third attack seemed to stun the monster and he withdrew, lay on the surface a short distance from the boat. “It’s now or never,” Dickie thought. “We have to do something!”
If the whale charged again it would mean certain destruction for the Capital City and her crew. Already she was beginning to list. He knew that there were no other dories on board, and the men were not in position to cast harpoons from the deck. So, he decided to act.
The oars of the longboat dipped into the water, and the boat slid along silently. The least noise would probably arouse the giant creature. On the Capital City the men were strangely silent, sensing what Dick was about to attempt.
“Get on him from behind, kid,” one called guardedly.
“Don’t bump him before you get the barb in him or he’ll get you!” called another. Dick waved to let them know that he’d heard them, and pulled at the oars. The whale was blowing now, a stream of spray shooting skyward. Fortunately, the sea was choppy enough to conceal the longboat. The little pig-eyes of the whale were submerged just below the wave crests. Looking back, Dick could see that the men on the ship had already shifted the ballast to keep the leaks in the side above water. A battle to the death was imminent. It was either the whale, or the men of the Capital City, that would survive.
Before he knew it, the shadow of the monster was on his bow. Dick slipped past the flukes and followed the curve of its side until he was directly aft of its head. Here was a vital spot. If he could drive the harpoon into this spot the whale would be finished! But, other men had tried it, and weren’t successful. Could a fifteen-year-old boy finish this gigantic killer?
DICK hefted the harpoon, straightening the lines. He planted his feet firmly, then let the spear fly. It whipped through the air, and struck home. Startled, and mortally hurt, the whale threshed about then flashed ahead. The line at Dickie’s feet
squirmed shake-like as it followed the harpoon. Dick tightened up, and the longboat moved in the wake, gathering speed with each stroke of the great fins. He fastened the rope, then crawled to the rudder oar. If the whale should dive now it would be all over.
They made huge circles in the sea, the whale trying to get away, from his tormentor, and Dick hanging on for dear life. The oar twisted under his hands, but he dared not let go. The least side motion would turn him over, and the killer would charge! But, if he could stay directly behind, he could see it to the end! The water sprayed from the bow, the stinging stream nearly blinding him. The boat was bouncing and pitching like a thing alive. The two of them, boy and monster, raced about. In one desperate attempt the whale dove for the bottom!
But it was his last dive, for the final spark of life left him, and he floated to the surface. The longboat coasted to a stop. Dick sat motionless for a minute or two because of sheer nervous exhaustion.
THAT night Dick was the hero. He sat next to the captain at dinner with the eyes of the men on him. Captain Ludlow stood up and addressed him.
“Dickie, today you saved this ship and gave us a full hold of oil. The pumps will hold back the water from the leaky seams until we make port and I just want to tell you that from now on, when the hunt starts you’ll be in the number one boat!”
Dickie’s eyes filled, and the cheers of the men left him speechless as he realized his ambition was fulfilled!
***
Fresh Meat For a Raider
THE ocean was slick as a lake, and the tiny time-rusted tramp steamer, plugging westward, was the only thing to be seen on the huge bowl of blue. To all appearances, the “Elsie K” was one of the many vessels steaming to England with the fruits of American labor. The crew was in dirty whites and dungarees, and while some slept on the hatch covers, others worked listlessly about their tasks.
It was a strange sight, for in these waters operated the new giant submarine, the U-900, pride of the Nazi underwater fleet. Repeatedly she had attacked convoys and lone steamers, bagging an ever-increasing number of boats. She was such that she could come to the surface and fight it out with a destroyer, and this she had done, her two six-inch guns saving her from many an armed surface raider out to sink her. So, for the sloppy “Elsie K” to sail along unconcerned was indeed odd. True, on the stern deck was mounted a gun, but it was so small that it could hardly be of any use at all.
The sun was setting when the lookout on the tramp shouted a warning. On the port side was a white ripple, and coming up slowly, the black eye of a periscope. “Submarine to port!” There was a wild scramble as the “black gang” at the furnaces rushed to the deck to be free of a torpedo burst. Those on deck rushed to the rail.
No one even bothered to man the gun. Evidently the U-boat didn’t think the “Elsie K” worth a torpedo, and started to come to the surface to sink her with shell fire. Slowly the submarine rose out of the sea, until those on the ship’s rail gave a shout. Clearly marked on the conning tower was “U-900.” Men poured out, stood by the huge six-inchers. A warning shot across the bow and the “Elsie K’s” engines stopped. The captain of the sub shouted through a megaphone.
His guttural tone came to the steamer, “What is your cargo?”
MacDonald, skipper of the tramp smiled grimly. He’d waited many months for this moment, and now it was here!
“Butter, eggs and meat,” MacDonald shouted back, “but you’ll not get a bit of it.”
A yell went up from the U-boat when they heard this for they had been at sea nearly nine weeks, eating out of cans, and they howled in anticipation of a feast.
The U-900’s commander lifted his megaphone to his lips. “If you scuttle your ship, I’ll gun every man of you. Stand by for a boarding party.”
Over the side of the sub went a rubber boat, and the men paddled to the “Elsie K.” The crew, looking glum, said nothing but threw a ladder over the side, and the sub men climbed aboard. Captain MacDonald stepped forward.
“You dirty Huns —” But that was as far as he got, for one of the boche slammed him with a rifle butt. He turned to the crew.
“SHOW me your hold.” Under threat of the guns, they led the way down the ladder to the hold, with its precious contents. The Germans came back grinning. They could hardly wait to sink their teeth in the stolen meat after so long a diet of beans, fish, and tinned beef. The sailor in charge signaled to the U-boat, and slowly that great monster of modern warfare swung about and came along side the steamer. The crew of the “Elsie K” gasped when they saw it up close. It was bigger than the tramp by fifteen feet at both ends, and the conning tower was flush with her deck! The two guns were snouts of destruction, and a catapult meant they must even have a small scouting plane inside that fish hull! The U-900’s commander came up the ladder and laughed at MacDonald, sprawled on the deck, and bleeding from the head.
The skipper looked up, his eyes flashing fire. “He laughs best who laughs last.”
“Not this time, Captain,” he said curling his lip. “Tell your crew to take to the boats. My men will unload your cargo.”
“I hope you choke on it!”
The sub’s officer kicked MacDonald viciously in the ribs.
“Hurry,” he roared, “I do not like it to be kept waiting!”
THE skipper climbed painfully to his feet. His crew was mad and the sub men sensed it. Then the commander looked at them. “I don’t advise anything rash, pigs — I would gladly shoot you all, but since you are making me a present of such a fine dinner, Von Hultner is feeling very merciful. Take to your boats, dogs! I give you three minutes to be away!”
The crew looked at MacDonald. The wiry Scotchman seemed beaten. He nodded to his men, and they jumped into action, began lowering the lifeboats away. As the boats rode away, the skipper raised his fist. From the deck the Germans could not see his smile.
“You’ll regret this, Nazi scum.”
But no one on board heard him, so concerned were they with getting the cargo of the “Elsie K” on the submarine. Had anyone noticed them, it would have seemed peculiar, for the sailors in the boats, 2000 miles from land in a hopeless position, were pulling hard on the oars, rowing as fast as they could with no place to go-and the skipper glancing at his watch so often.
Then it came — an ear-bursting blast of fire and smoke! Debris rained down in fine powdered pieces, so terrific was the explosion. The sea was churned into a frenzy of foam! From a mile off the skipper and crew of the “Elsie K” watched and laughed.
They pulled back to where the steamer and sub were, but once more the ocean was calm, and except for a great oil slick and some scattered life preservers, there was no sign of the U-900.
About four hours later they were picked up by a convoy and when news got around that the undersea devil was no more, there were shouts of joy on all the Navy ships.
“How did you manage it?” someone asked MacDonald.
“Easy,” he smiled, “easy. We knew he’d come along side for the supply of fresh food, and we had the ‘Elsie K’ loaded with explosives and a time mechanism to blow her to bits when she did. Funny part of it was … our cargo was bricks, with only a few crates of grub to fool them with!”
***
The Curse of Tut Ken Amen
“HE WHO VIOLATES MY TOMB WILL DIE!”
So read the ancient tablet set in the brown stone above the sand-swept doorway of the age-old crypt. Pete Venner regarded it soberly then turned to the little old man at his side. “Well, Prof, this is it! We spent a lot of time searching for the old boy’s grave, but … now I don’t like the idea of going much further!”
Professor Hamilton grinned a little. “Don’t tell me that, young feller! You’re as anxious as I am to break through! Get the natives and we’ll start working. What lays before us is history, my boy, the history of Egypt long dead, and the written word of it is in the hand of the mummy of Tut Ken Amen! Let’s go!”
Pete ran up the loose incline to the level of the dese
rt. His eyes swept the camp site, but not a living creature moved among the tents that were idly flapping in the hot breeze. For a moment his breath caught in his throat. True, there was a curse on the persons who opened the tomb, but it was pure nonsense, any educated person knew that!
Ever since the directions on the time-worn papyrus led the party to this desolate spot they worked under a continual strain. The natives were a superstitious bunch, ready to flee at the slightest thing. And this was it. The day before, the brown-skinned men dug through the sand until the flat sands of the desert held a wound twenty feet deep, and it was then that the shovel of one of them hit the stone door that had held behind it centuries of mysteries!
Like ants they had poured out of the excavation! One look at that inscription was all they needed. He and Hamilton went down at once, and decided to wait for a new day before going any further … And now, the instant they were out of sight, the workers took to the hills in the distance.
Pete leaned over the hole and called to the professor. “We’re out of luck, Professor, the boys are gone. From here on we’re on our own!”
“I should have expected that, but it’s too late now. Grab a pick ax and we’ll do the honors ourselves.”
Pete gathered up the tool and slid down the slope. Professor Hamilton took the pick and together they torn into the stone. Hours passed; the sun rose high in the heavens. Great beads of perspiration stood out on their foreheads as they battered without stop at the last barrier to their long quest.
Then, a mighty stroke of Pete’s ax tore through the stone and completely dislodged it! Quick as cats they leaped back from the tons of stone that rained down.
Primal Spillane Page 3