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The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

Page 16

by Robert Reed


  walked into the trap; for he knew of no other way to trace the man,

  and find him he must.

  Otherwise the dread plague would stalk the streets; would lay

  its grisly hands upon man, woman and child — and the screams and

  meanings of the sufferers would rise to heaven like an unanswered

  prayer .

  Wentworth felt the white thin scar upon his temple throbbing

  angrily . He knew sudden fury at the thought that this man, or his

  master, was responsible for the death of that curly haired boy he had

  snatched too late from his play with a plague-infested puppy . But the

  Spider forced himself to calmness, studied the girl narrowly .

  She was standing tensely beside the bed, her hands clasped be-

  fore her, shoulders hunched . Her red hair seemed to have drained all

  the color from her face . If she was actually in league with the Black

  Death and had deliberately betrayed Wentworth so that this man

  might trap him, she was as clever an actress as ever tricked a man .

  Wentworth turned from her to the masked man again . The other’s

  movements were wary, as he came forward toward the middle of the

  room now . The gun in his hand never wavered .

  “Face the wall,” he ordered Wentworth, “hoist your hands .”

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 125

  The Spider shrugged his shoulders slightly beneath the smooth

  fit of his dark tweeds, turned slowly and elevated his arms. A sharp

  cry from the girl, the sound of a blow whirled him about . But he was

  helpless . He only looked once more into the black muzzle of death .

  The man bit out words, “I said ‘Face the wall’!”

  The girl was sprawled unconscious across the bed . From the

  man’s left wrist dangled a blackjack .

  “You filthy animal,” the Spider rasped . “Why was that neces-

  sary?”

  “Face the wall!” snarled the man, and the gun inched forward

  like the head of a poisonous viper .

  The Spider hesitated . But once more he controlled himself, his

  muscles taut with anger . He longed to crush this beast, as he knew

  he could any moment he chose . But it was more important that he

  obtain a definite clue to the Black Death than that the injury to this

  girl be immediately avenged . He was convinced now that this man

  was not the arch criminal himself . Slowly he obeyed the order and

  faced the wall .

  “Put your hands behind you,” the man snapped and that, too, the

  Spider did . If he was to be bound, then at least his death was not

  intended now. He heard the man’s heavy feet approach, and — lights

  blazed suddenly in his brain as a blow crashed against his skull . The

  Spider reeled against the wall, slid along it and slipped to the floor.

  The man’s knees gouged into his back . His wrists were jerked

  together and ropes bit into them . Wentworth felt the pain of the

  bonds . The blow had been no more than a tap behind the ear with

  the blackjack . He felt dizzy and sick, but rapidly recovered . Swiftly

  then he forced himself back to full control of his senses, for the man

  raised a slow hand and jerked the mask from the Spider’s face!

  Then jarring laughter rang in the room . “So Richard Wentworth

  is the Spider!” his captor jeered .

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  Chapter 7

  Through the Flames

  Wentworth’s eyes held an ugly light . But he smiled coldly into

  the slitted eyes of his captor, and his voice was silky .

  “It was unfortunate that you did that,” he said gently . “Now I

  must kill you .”

  The man started to laugh, but his mirth choked and died . He

  cursed and struck the Spider heavily in the face . A stiff smile twisted

  Wentworth’s lips . His eyes did not falter .

  He knew now that his suspicions were correct, that this fellow

  was merely a muscle-man of the Black Death . He knew, too, that he

  had been ordered not to kill the Spider, but to bring him alive before

  the Master of the Plague himself . Wentworth veiled his eyes with

  his lids lest they show his satisfaction . He would permit his captor

  to take him to the criminal’s lair, and then — Wentworth’s eyes grew

  bleak .…

  Somewhere in the darkness of the halls Ram Singh lurked . He

  would follow as Wentworth had ordered, and together they would

  bring this Black Death to account . If Only Ram Singh did not inter-

  fere too soon. Wentworth flicked a glance to the door.

  The masked man took Wentworth’s gun, crossed the room and

  crumpled some newspapers on the floor. He laid a chair across them,

  thrust the entire mass into a wooden,

  clothes-crowded closet and touched a match to the pile in a half

  dozen places .

  Eager flames licked the paper, wrapped around the varnished

  wood of the chair; flimsy clothing in the closet caught up the sparks

  hungrily . Wentworth jerked to a sitting position, his head throbbing

  wildly . The man was calmly binding the girl’s hands and feet with

  the obvious intention of leaving her to burn to death!

  Wentworth’s mouth closed in a tight, hard line . Even if it meant

  losing contact with the Black Death, he must save the girl . He got

  laboriously to his feet and inched forward .

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  The masked man spun with a curse, the blackjack ready . The Spi-

  der pretended to be dazed, wavering on his feet. The man struck — but

  the Spider was not there . Wentworth kicked out, caught the man in

  the abdomen and spilled him, writhing in pain, to the floor.

  The Spider circled him, tugged open the door . “Ram Singh!” he

  called softly into the darkness .

  No answer .

  Once more Wentworth called his faithful servant, raising his

  voice . But his shout was absorbed into the blackness that gave forth

  no reply. The lurid glare of the flames tinted the shadows, revealed

  no sign of the Hindu . The masked man struggled to his knees, begin-

  ning to recover from the blow Wentworth had struck . The Spider

  could have run down the stairs and gained safety in flight. Instead,

  he stared past the man to the girl. The hungry flames ate nearer,

  towered until the electric light was dimmed, clawed at the ceiling .

  Wentworth sprang toward it, launching a kick at the man’s jaw .

  The muscle-man blocked it fumblingly, snatched at the Spider’s

  foot . The grab missed . Wentworth skipped past him, turned his back

  to the fire and thrust his bound hands into a spire of flames!

  His flesh scorched but he did not falter, did not flinch from the

  bite of the heat . Not until he felt the ropes give as they began to burn

  did he flinch away. His shoulders bulged as he strained against his

  bonds .

  The masked man got laboriously to his feet, the black silk that

  covered his face gleaming redly from the flames. He reeled, recov-

  ered, roared an obscenity and charged . The Spider ducked under a

  slashing blow, and the man let out a shout of pain as he blundered

  too close to the fire and felt its singeing heat.

&
nbsp; He whirled, checked a rush at its start and began to weave in

  more cautiously, wary on wide-placed feet . Outlined against the

  leaping, smoke-thick flame, his hunched shoulders were like a giant

  ape’s. Wentworth retreated before his advance, fighting the ropes

  until they tore the flesh of his wrists.

  Black smoke drifted like fog between them, blew its hot breath

  in Wentworth’s face, stung his nostrils . He coughed wrackingly,

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 128

  sprang backward as a blow glanced at his face . Still the ropes would

  not yield . Desperately, he fumbled in his hip pocket, dragged out

  a cigarette case. He dropped it to the floor, set his heel upon it and

  crushed down heavily . The case shattered . Gray tear gas rose in a

  little cloud, scarcely visible amid the fire glare and smoke.

  The other man’s outstretched arms reached out to seize him, but

  the Spider ducked them, plunged across the room toward the cleared

  air near the window. An entire corner of the room was in flames now,

  and despite their leaping light the place was dark, blurred by smoke .

  Behind him the muscle-man coughed and choked . Suddenly he

  tore off his mask and daubed at streaming eyes . But the tear gas

  Wentworth had released was not in sufficient quantity to put the man

  out of the fight entirely. The Spider had intended that cigarette case

  for use close to a man’s face .

  Shaking his head like a bedeviled dog, the other groped through

  the smoke toward where Wentworth crouched . His face was heavy,

  bestial, painted a lobster red by the flapping tongues of flame. Wa-

  ter streamed from his eyes . He blinked, gouging at them with his

  knuckles, finally spotted the Spider .

  The man threw caution aside and charged, swinging the black-

  jack. Wentworth strained a final time at the ropes and a hand ripped

  loose with a tearing of flesh. He slashed out with his fist, burying

  it to the wrist in his adversary’s stomach . It turned the blow of the

  bludgeon from his head, but the weapon crashed down upon his

  shoulder . Wentworth’s lips tightened with pain, and his arm dropped

  limp and useless to his side!

  With a lumbering charge, the man was upon Wentworth again .

  The Spider smashed a fist into his face, leaped aside. With a bellow

  of rage the crook whirled and lunged again .

  It was a one-sided battle, and only Wentworth’s quick feet saved

  him from being instantly overpowered . The other was rapidly re-

  covering from the small dose of tear gas, and all Wentworth’s tricks

  could not overcome the handicap of that numbed left arm and shoul-

  der . He could not block blows, could not feint . Instead he must re-

  treat, duck and dodge, and get in a swift blow when he could .

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 129

  Dense smoke and vagrant tear gas fumes smarted in his eyes,

  blurred his vision . The heat seemed to sear his lungs at every gasp-

  ing breath . Good Lord! The girl! The Spider flung a quick glance

  toward the bed . A corner of the coverlet already smoldered, its slow

  fire creeping toward the helpless girl.

  Abruptly, the muscle-man let out a shout of triumph . Wentworth’s

  glance at the girl had cost him heavily . He was cornered! Fire licked

  out savage tongues to one side . Behind him, and to his right, walls

  hemmed him in .

  Mouthing venomous curses, the man sprung forward and struck

  with the blackjack . No room to dodge . The Spider dropped to his

  knees . His right hand closed on something silken and hard in the

  corner . Gripping it, he lunged to his feet again, dived beneath an-

  other blow aimed at his head . He glanced down at the thing he had

  seized . Through smoke bleared eyes he caught the gleam of crimson

  silk . A woman’s parasol! Despite the shallow gasping of his breath,

  the menace of the flames, and the crouching menace of the Black

  Death’s hireling, Wentworth smiled — and it was a smile of triumph!

  He now had a weapon . To any other man it would have been

  futile; to Wentworth it was perfect . He turned half to the left and

  faced his enemy along the line of his right shoulder . His feet were at

  right angles, the right pointed toward the crook, and his knees were

  flexed. He held the straight handle of the parasol across his palm like

  a sword, the ferrule raised slightly, pointed toward his enemy’s eyes .

  As the man charged in, the Spider thrust the parasol forward in

  a fencer’s lunge, all his body thrown into the blow, his arm locked

  straight . The ferrule slid under the crook’s chin, caught him squarely

  on the throat . The parasol doubled, snapped, but the charge was

  checked .

  The weight of his own plunge hurled him backwards . He threw

  up his hands, staggered and thumped to the floor. The Spider sprang

  upon him, slammed home his fist. The head rolled limply over. Wen-

  tworth’s hand went swiftly to the man’s throat . The larynx had been

  crushed in, closing the windpipe and killing him instantly .

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 130

  The flames’ heat was fierce now. Long tongues of it crept across

  the floor. Smoke seeped up through the seams.

  Wentworth sprang erect . Protecting his face with his arm, he

  plunged to the girl’s side, slapped out the sparks that already had

  reached her negligee . He caught her up from the smoldering bed,

  put her by the window .

  Back across the room he reeled, caught the dead gangster by the

  collar and dragged him to the sill . He balanced the body, then al-

  lowed it to topple to the ground, a cushion for the girl . From the kit

  beneath his arm then, he drew a thin cord of silk . Padding this, he

  knotted it about the girl’s body and, snubbing it around a bed post

  to ease the strain on his one good hand, lowered her slowly to the

  ground . He tossed the line after her .

  Smoke streaked with flame billowed around him, but Wentworth,

  instead of climbing out, groped across the room and yanked open

  the door. In the street fire sirens wailed, men raised excited cries.

  Somewhere an axe thudded on metal . The Spider ran through the

  halls looking for Ram Singh, who, he felt sure had been overcome

  on his post of duty . Dark rooms and passageways yielded no trace

  of the Hindu .

  Wentworth could wait no longer . At any instant now, police or

  firemen might crash into the building, find upon him the marks of

  battle and connect that with the man who lay dead in the yard . Kirk-

  patrick was sufficiently suspicious now. The Spider would do well

  not to direct the finger of guilt toward himself needlessly.

  Wentworth darted to the back of the house, peered out . The girl

  was gone, but the crook’s body still lay below . The Spider threw up

  the window, climbed out on the sill . Flame and smoke belched from

  the window directly overhead where he and the man had battled .

  Feeling was slowly returning now to his left hand and arm . He

  still did not have full use of it, but he could steady himself as he

  reached out and caught hol
d with his right hand of a drain pipe . He

  stepped across the void and, taking a desperate chance, threw all his

  weight for an instant upon the grip of that one hand .

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 131

  It was a terrific strain, but that hand had been strengthened by

  long hours with the foils . His hold slipped an inch but held until he

  could grip the pipe with his knees, then he let himself slide down,

  using his knees and his one good hand alternately .

  When he reached the bottom, he leaned for an instant against the

  house, panting . But there was not time to rest . He crossed swiftly to

  the body on the ground and printed on its forehead the red seal of the

  Spider — a warning to the Black Death — and slipped away through

  the night .

  He climbed a fence laboriously and, straddling it, suddenly was

  outlined in the bright beam of a flashlight. A gruff voice demanded,

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  Wentworth started to drop into the yard behind, but saw a second

  policeman bending over the corpse of the crook. The officer jerked

  erect, peered about . He spotted the Spider and a whistle shrilled be-

  tween the man’s lips . He grabbed for his gun .

  Wentworth teetered to his feet atop the fence, crouched and

  sprang . Lead whistled through the air hungrily, but when it reached

  the spot, the Spider was gone . He had leaped high and wide and

  landed in the yard of the house next door . Another fence, running

  the length of the block, cut him off from the policeman whose light

  had found him .

  Behind him a man’s voice cried hoarsely into the night:

  “It’s the Spider! The Spider! Get him! Death to the Spider!”

  Heavy hands hit the fence, boots clawed at it . Wentworth ran at

  top speed . Necessity lent him new strength now . He swarmed over

  another fence, raced into a lodging house . In the street beyond more

  police whistles shrieked, and, “The Spider! The Spider! Death to the

  Spider!” men cried .

  No escape that way; no escape the way he had come . The roofs?

  That was too obvious . Already blue-coated men undoubtedly were

  scaling upward to snare him there . He might battle his way clear, but

  the Spider would not fight the forces of the law.

  He raced up the stairs, ripping off coat and vest. On the top floor

 

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