Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

“Listen!” warned Cass.

  Ahead, in the hot darkness, something moved across the deck. There was just a vague impression of a blacker shadow, a form against the dark curtain of the night. There were no stars; just the breathless darkness everywhere, with the sound of the sea rushing past the sides of the freighter.

  Dougherty, rigid, said, “What’s that?”

  Roger Cass tried to penetrate the gloom. “I don’t know. I thought someone moved.”

  The detective called out.

  But there was no reply.

  The running steps that they had heard approached them. Both men turned. A spotlight ray hit their eyes. The man carrying the light was next revealed to them.

  “Irwin!” said Cass.

  The small, alert little man’s gaze traveled from Roger’s free hands to his face. He exclaimed, “You’re free!”

  Cass shook his head grimly. “Not free,” he said. “Just momentarily . . . at leisure. What was that cry, Mark?”

  Mark Irwin, wild animal hunter, looked like an insignificant clerk from a Broadway haberdashery. As a matter of fact, he had probably captured, and brought back, more wild animals to the United States than any man living. He was in charge of the animals aboard this freighter. He was a part of the very party of explorers and scientists returning to New York aboard this ship.

  Cass was tense as Mark Irwin said, “There’s something out there, moving, on the deck!”

  Dougherty exclaimed, “You’re tellin’ me!”

  But it was the little animal collector who moved forward, the light in one hand, something else in the other. Cass saw what it was.

  A long pole, it was, with a thonglike loop at one end. Irwin pushed the pole ahead of him, moved cautiously forward. “We’ll see,” he said confidently.

  Dougherty let out a soft whistle. “That guy sure has what it takes!” he remarked softly.

  But Roger Cass had paused. Some slight sound held him back. It could have been a moan . . .

  NEAR him was a ladder that led to a small deck above. He climbed it swiftly, located the source of the throaty sound. He almost stumbled over the figure near his feet. A dim stanchion light revealed the girl’s limp form, the tumbled red-gold hair, the features that were as smooth and as fine as carved ivory.

  “Katherine!” Roger gasped. He was swiftly on one knee, lifting the girl’s head gently, rubbing a wrist that was damp and chill.

  The girl’s eyelids flickered. Long lashes framed eyes that were deep blue and fear-filled. For a long instant she stared in abject horror.

  Then understanding came to her and her slim hands grasped his arm. “Roger! I thought—”

  He shrugged resignedly. “I’m just free for the moment. I talked Dougherty into taking off the handcuffs.”

  “He still thinks—” the girl’s breathless voice did not finish the statement.

  But Cass nodded. “That I murdered Williams? Yes. Or, at least, that’s what I’m in custody for. Perhaps, when we get to New York—But tell me, what happened?”

  The girl’s grip tightened on his arm.

  “Roger. A little while ago . . . I couldn’t sleep because of the heat . . . I was walking along this deck when something . . .”

  “Yes?” he waited, feeling the trembling of Katherine’s trimly slender body against him. He had helped her to her feet now, and she stood there in the dark night, leaning against him, clinging to him.

  “Something brushed against me. It touched me, Roger!”

  “But—”

  “I spoke. I thought it was someone I had bumped into in the gloom. But . . . there was no answer. And, Roger, I had the distinct feeling of something hairy, of . . . of . . .”

  The girl shuddered, gave a little moan as she swayed more closely against him.

  He thought of the vague shadow he had seen on the forecastle deck. He tried to put the thought from his mind, but it persisted, and he suddenly felt his own blood pounding through his veins.

  He said reassuringly, “You’re upset. It’s the heat. Perhaps your imagination . . .”

  Katherine’s head jerked from side to side. Her lovely eyes were again wide with fear.

  “No! I knew what I was doing. It wasn’t because of the heat. I . . .”

  Something stopped her. Roger Case saw that she was listening. And then he heard voices, excited voices from the deck close below. He held the girl’s arm, suggested, “Come on.”

  THEY descended the ladder to the next deck, found three men talking excitedly.

  One was Captain Briggs, the skipper of this freighter. He was a stocky, stout man with the stamp of the sea on his features. He quickly gave Cass an inquiring look.

  Briefly, Roger explained his temporary release. All aboard knew that he was being held for murder; all knew that, for days now, he had been confined to the cabin with Dougherty.

  Roger looked around, queried, “Where’s Dougherty and Irwin?

  He noted the glances that swiftly passed between the three men. Cass knew the others well.

  One was tall, spare Professor Owen, former Doctor of Pathology at a well-known western university. Owen was a specialist on tropical fevers. It was with him and his daughter that Roger had journeyed to the tropics. Katherine herself was an expert cytologist—she could do more with glass slides and bugs than a lot of doctors Cass knew in New York.

  The other man had a spade beard and thick glasses. He had a shrill, high voice and nervous manners. Danton Collins, Professor Owen’s assistant, had always got on Roger’s nerves. He had never cared for the fellow.

  But until two weeks ago, all had been friends. Now, with this murder charge on his head, the two looked at him suspiciously, especially since Owen’s daughter was still clinging to Roger’s arm.

  It was tall, thin-looking Owen who demanded, “Why aren’t you with Dougherty and Irwin?”

  Quickly, Roger explained about hearing Katherine’s cry, of finding her on the deck above.

  Owen moved forward, took his daughter’s arm. Roger Cass abruptly saw that there was a gun held steady in the scientist’s hand.

  Anger brought a flush to Roger’s cheeks. He snapped, “Listen, you can put away that gun! If you think—” Professor Owen looked at the gun, appeared confused, then turned its snout away from the young doctor’s slender form. He murmured quickly, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to point it at you. There’s something else—

  Again there was that guarded look that passed between the men. Then the tall professor’s gaze veered to his daughter. He started to say, “Katherine, go to your cabin. Captain Briggs, here, will accompany you—” Something in her father’s tone made the girl’s chin snap up. She demanded, “There’s something wrong! Tell me . . . what’s happened?”

  It was small, spade-bearded Danton Collins who suddenly blurted: “That Goliath, that gorilla . . . he’s escaped from his cage!”

  CHAPTER III

  Death Ship

  ROGER CASS immediately relieved the assistant scientist of his flashlight. He swung across the deck, calling back, “That can’t possibly be!” He passed row after row of stout cages. A panther snarled defiance. He saw a wild hyena stalking restlessly in its confine, back and forth . . . back and forth . . .

  There were leopards, a half-grown tiger, some weird-looking creatures that were a breed of cougar.

  And at the end of the line was the massive structure made of stout poles and heavy metal braces. The front of the cage looked as though a pile driver had been rammed through it. It was ripped wide asunder. And was empty!

  Roger’s light beam swung across the deck, touched the monkey cages stored there. Immediately the little fellows started chattering excitedly. He quickly swung back to the others. All faces were taut, strained.

  Captain Briggs explained, “Dougherty and that animal-hunter fellow discovered it. They’ve started a search. Part of the crew is with them.”

  Roger Cass stared at the others. He looked at the girl.

  “Katherine, you’d better do like your fathe
r said,” he advised. “Go back to your cabin until—”

  But the girl shuddered. “No. I’m staying with all of you. I’d be too terrified there, alone . . .”

  Tall Professor Owen took his daughter’s arm.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed. “It would be better if we all stayed together.”

  Out of the gloom appeared two sailors with heavy clubs. They hurried up to the group.

  The stocky skipper demanded, “They find anything?”

  One of the seamen shook his head. “They’re searching one of the holds. They found the hatch cover loose. They think . . .”

  “Where?” Captain Briggs rapped.

  “No. 4, sir. But—”

  The skipper led the way, Roger Cass beside him. Ever since he’d been brought aboard, a prisoner, the ship captain had been pretty decent toward him. As a matter of fact, it was Briggs himself who had exclaimed, “Doc, I don’t believe it. You a killer! Why, they’re crazy!”

  It was this same skipper who had brought them all to the tropics. He had known Roger Cass well. And he still was not convinced, he had told all aboard ship, that Doctor Cass was the murderer of a man who had accompanied that party to the tropics.

  But the evidence stood. Clark Benedict, at the moment ill with fever in his cabin aboard this very ship, had sworn that it was Doctor Cass leaving the hut of the murdered explorer on the night he had been found stabbed to death. Benedict’s testimony had been substantiated by his partner’s, Walter Mitchell. Mitchell was still down there somewhere in the jungle, but he had sent his statement along with Benedict. The facts had been cabled to New York, at the nearest coastal port. And now Roger Cass had been ordered brought to New York. It was at Rio that the New York detective had met him . . .

  ROGER looked at the skipper now, said quietly, “I suppose there’s no chance of a man obtaining a gun, under the circumstances?”

  Briggs shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. “Hardly. They’d all yell murder.”

  “I guess so,” agreed Cass. They continued down deck, each man tense, each with his eyes sharply alert for any suspicious movement.

  A gorilla loose aboard, on a tramp freighter hundreds of miles at sea. Cass had a faint idea of the creature’s size. It weighed close to two hundred pounds, was half full grown. What a wild thing like that could do to a man . . . or a girl . . .

  He glanced worriedly behind him. Katherine was close to her father. Owen held the gun ready. And Cass saw now that little, nervous Danton Collins carried a weapon too. He looked jittery enough to yank the trigger at any second.

  They reached the hatch opening. The skipper ordered the two men below, saying, “Find out what they’ve located down there!”

  The men disappeared.

  All waited, nerves at the snapping point, each listening and waiting for an attack that might come ruthlessly and without warning.

  Somehow, Roger thought, the creaking of the bulkheads, the deep and steady throbbing of the engines was more ominous than ever. He moved over beside the girl.

  He said, “I’ll bet that gorilla is more scared then we are.” He wished he could believe his own words. But he had to keep up her courage.

  Her reply came tremulously, “Roger! What will we do?”

  “If they’d only let me have a gun,” he said.

  She touched his arm. Her words were for him alone. She murmured softly, “Roger, I’ve been thinking of you every day, every moment. If there was something I could do to make them believe you didn’t murder . . .”

  The sailors reappeared from the hold.

  One spoke nervously. “Sir, there . . . there’s no one down there at all!” Captain Briggs looked incredulous. “No one down there?”

  “They must have come up, sir, while we were forward.”

  Roger Cass pushed forward. “We’d better start a search.”

  For just a moment, he sensed the hesitation that gripped the men present. They didn’t like the idea of allowing him to lead the way! In that brief instant he thought of how fickle a person’s regard can be. A week, two weeks ago, Doctor Roger Cass had been highly respected by his fellow men. He was an expert on blood pathology. He had joined the expeditionary party in order to journey to the tropics and further his studies. There, he had grown fond of Katherine Owen.

  But now . . .

  Captain Briggs said sharply, “Cass, here, is right. Perhaps something’s happened to Dougherty and that other fellow. We’d better split up and cover the ship!”

  He turned to one of the seamen, snapped orders. All sailors who could be spared were to join the search. There ought to be three or four men available, the skipper figured, from the crew. Most of her cargo was well-packed in the holds, requiring no attention until they docked at New York. As for passengers, there were only the handful of scientists, doctors and explorers returning from the tropics. These . . . and the wild animals.

  Roger Cass looked at the others, suggested, “If someone would like to go with me, we can start aft.”

  Tall Professor Owen was at his side. “I’ll go.” He looked at lovely, goldenhaired Katherine. “You’d better stick with us.”

  Captain Briggs and little Danton Collins formed another pair. The sailors were assigned to another deck.

  JUST as they started to move forward into the surrounding gloom, the stocky skipper stepped close to Roger, pressed something cool and solid into his hand.

  “Here,” he whispered, “you’d better carry this.”

  Cass slipped the gun into his pocket. Thinking of that escaped monster, he felt somewhat better.

  With the girl between them, they started toward the stern of the freighter. All fell silent as the somberness of the black night gripped them. Over their heads, on the bridge, a first mate walked slowly back and forth, watching the blackness ahead.

  They passed the rows of animal cages again. The creatures moved restlessly as the flashlight ray touched them. The monkeys started their senseless chatter . . .

  They continued on, eyes alert, ears sharp for the slightest guarded movement.

  They had circled the entire deck, and seen—nothing.

  Professor Owen said, “We’ll try the deck below. Perhaps, in an empty cabin—”

  Roger Cass caught the idea. He nodded.

  They descended a ladder, moved cautiously through a narrow passageway that contained only dim lights at either end. The cabins aboard ship numbered only a dozen or so. Doors were closed. They still saw nothing.

  Roger Cass reached a cross passage that led to the outside deck. He pushed ahead. He started to comment, “The others should be down here some place—”

  The peculiar, drumlike sound came from somewhere behind them, in the darkness that lay beyond their gaze. It reminded Cass of someone pounding on the taut skin of a kettle drum. It was a rapid, quick sound, like hands beating . . .

  In the vague light from over their heads, Katherine’s smooth features turned ashen. She was suddenly clutching his arm, as she half sobbed, “Roger! That beating sound! I heard it before, just before that . . . that thing brushed up against me!

  He remembered now! A weird sound like drums beating! The kind of a sound a powerful gorilla would make pounding its chest with its hands!

  He snapped, “Wait! Wait right here!” and left them, the girl and her father, standing there horrified. He passed Owen the light.

  He raced back around the angle in the narrow passageway, sped down the length ahead. And suddenly drew up short.

  For the one dim light at the farther end was out. Complete darkness engulfed him. Momentarily, he was confused.

  But he caught the other sound, the cry that replaced the drum-beating. A man’s cry, sort of strangled. It seemed to come from one of the nearby cabins. The cry was sort of deep, throaty.

  Strangely, he suddenly thought of big Dougherty. The thick-chested detective would be the sort of a man to make a sound like that, if he was strangled . . .

  HIS blood running cold, Cass whirled around
in the darkness. He tried to locate the nearest cabin door. He had the feeling that he was very close to Dougherty’s room, to his very own cabin.

  Something banged in the darkness just behind him. Cass whirled around as though released by a spring.

  And something smashed into him, hurling him backward against a bulkhead, almost knocking the breath from his lungs. His hand shot into his pocket, came out with the automatic that the skipper had given him.

  And yet he dared not fire. He did not know who . . .

  Something breathed heavily close by. The sound faded. There was momentary silence.

  Lithely, as silent as a wraith, Roger Cass pressed forward, his left hand outstretched, the gun held level in his right fist. He touched the bulkhead wall across from him, let his fingers seek for a door opening. They found it, dropped to the knob.

  Holding his breath, expecting he knew not what, he gave a lunge as he turned the doorknob.

  But the door was merely on the latch. It swung open abruptly. Cass almost went into a headlong sprawl as he tripped over the two-inch-high step.

  But he caught his balance, his hand shooting out to find a light switch. However, no light was needed.

  Professor Owen and some of the others were now behind him, pressing into the room. They held lights in their hands. The white beams of the lights touched the still, bulky form on the floor.

  Eyes swung from that gruesome sight to Roger Cass’s face. There was stark, strained silence that smashed against the ear-drums.

  But Cass did not return those accusing stares. He continued to look at the figure on the floor.

  It was Dougherty, the detective, and the man must have died horribly.

  CHAPTER IV

  Shadow in the Night

  SOMEONE had switched on the room light.

  Cass heard the girl’s rasping intake of breath beside him. Slender hands covering her pretty face, she half reeled, half stumbled from the cabin.

  Roger Cass did not turn. He heard Katherine’s terrified exclamation, he sensed the eyes that were upon him He continued to study the dead man a moment longer.