The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

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The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™ Page 22

by Robert Reed


  slope of her shoulders . The gleam of her rich brown hair made a

  jewel-like setting for the perfect oval of her face .

  The luxurious dining room was muted by the depression, its usu-

  ally crowded tables half empty, but not a man who passed but felt

  his pulse swiften, felt the dread curse of the plague lift a little for

  having glimpsed her and paid the tribute of admiring eyes .

  But her gaze was solely upon Wentworth . Her eyes hovered now

  half between puzzlement and raillery . Well as she knew her Dick,

  she did not quite understand this new mood .

  “But this is silly, Dick,” she said .

  Wentworth leaned forward across the spotless white and crystal

  of the table . “You have the dearest chin in the world,” he said .

  “Be serious, Dick,” she urged .

  “Oh, I really mean it,” he said . She placed her small white hand

  upon his . “Dick, you’re maddening sometimes,” she said . “Tell me

  about this spat you had with Kirkpatrick .”

  “Spat?” Wentworth’s eyebrows lifted, the hint of raillery that al-

  ways lurked there emphasized . He laughed . He placed his other hand

  upon hers and leaned forward again . “Nita,” he said, “I’m bored

  with the city . I think I shall go to the country for the weekend .”

  The girl looked at him with a faint frown disturbing her forehead .

  She did not speak .

  “We have an invitation,” he went on, “from MacDonald Pugh . A

  charming fellow, don’t you think? And this constant business of the

  Black Death, this pursuit of shadows, grows irksome .”

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 172

  “Stop fooling, Dick,” the girl pleaded, the frown deepening be-

  tween her eyes . She smiled uncertainly . “What’s the matter, boy?”

  “I’m bored,” he repeated .

  She was completely serious now . “What are you trying to do?”

  she asked in level tones . “This isn’t like you, Dick .”

  Wentworth’s smile was crooked . “Can’t I pick a quarrel with my

  only sweetheart?” he demanded .

  “What are you up to, Dick?” she demanded again .

  “Just this,” he said in swift undertones . “I want everyone to be-

  lieve that I have left the city . I wanted you to believe it too . You

  are too honest, too lovely to be able to dissemble successfully . And

  everyone — absolutely everyone — must think that I have left.”

  “And so you tried to pick a quarrel with me?” the girl asked

  softly, reproachfully .

  Wentworth’s eyes kissed her .

  “It was foolish, darling,” he said, and abruptly his face went seri-

  ous again . “Now, beautiful, get angry with me . Make a scene . Stand

  up and call me a coward . Say you don’t see how I can leave the city

  when Kirkpatrick needs every man he has, and many more than he

  has, to track down the Black Death . Go on!”

  “Is it really necessary?” the girl asked . Wentworth’s nod was

  slow and completely serious .

  “Very well,” she mocked him, “but remember, I am too honest,

  too lovely, to be able to dissemble!”

  She slapped her hand upon the table and her blue eyes suddenly

  clouded . “I don’t believe it,” she said, and her tones were loud . Dick

  mumbled some words in a low voice .

  Nita’s tones rose even higher . “You couldn’t do such a thing,

  Dick Wentworth,” she said .

  Faces turned at other tables . Startled eyes watched them . “You

  can’t leave the city,” she said vehemently in the same loud tone .

  “You can’t . Commissioner Kirkpatrick is your friend . You can’t des-

  ert him in his greatest need .”

  Wentworth leaned across the table as if urging her to speak in a

  lower tone of voice . Audibly he said, “For God’s sake, Nita, don’t

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 173

  make a scene .” But under his breath he whispered, “You’re doing

  splendidly! Keep it up .”

  Now the girl’s voice turned pleading . “But Dick, you must stay,

  and help Kirkpatrick catch the man behind this dreadful plague .

  Surely,” she jeered at him now, “surely you are not afraid of the

  Black Death .”

  Absolute silence fell over the dining-room Her words “the Black

  Death” rang out stridently . They seemed to strike the room to silent

  terror . Not a person stirred . The girl was on her feet now, her chair

  thrust back so violently that it slammed to the floor.

  Wentworth was on his feet too . He moved around the table with

  imploring hands .

  “Don’t touch me, you coward!” Nita cried . She looked him

  contemptuously up and down . “To think that Dick Wentworth is a

  coward!”

  She stooped and snatched her fur-edged cloak from the floor,

  flung it over her arm and half ran, half stumbled down the aisle

  among the crowded tables, among the staring faces, among the jab-

  bering gossip, her face buried on her forearm as if she were too

  broken by tears to watch where she went . And as she went she heard

  the murmured names:

  “Dick Wentworth — Nita van Sloan. Dick Wentworth — Nita van

  Sloan — Nita van Sloan — ”

  At his table, Wentworth stared like a stricken man after the girl’s

  retreating figure, then sank into his chair, head hanging, one arm

  sprawled across the table .

  For long minutes Wentworth sat staring fixedly at the table cloth.

  He too heard the excited jabbering about him, and behind his mask-

  ing lids his eyes were amused . Mentally he cried, “Brava!” And I

  said she couldn’t act, he thought . Be damned if I don’t write a play

  for her — and he laughed at the conceit. As if Nita would ever desert

  her aristocratic solitude for the public spotlight of the stage!

  Wentworth himself was no mean actor . When he got up from the

  table he was a grief-crazed man . His stumbling feet found no even

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 174

  path, and his head hung, and his shoulders drooped . But once in the

  street, away from curious eyes, his alertness returned .

  He strode briskly along . Swiftly he returned to his apartment,

  donned the Spider’s dark tweeds, drew a black fedora down over

  his eyes, and with tool kit beneath his arm, automatic beneath his

  hand in his pocket, slipped out the servant’s entrance and left by the

  servant’s automatic elevator .

  The Spider had work to do…

  He rode the subway to Wall Street, and the Spider was but an-

  other moving shadow among shadows as he slipped into the build-

  ing where Pugh & Works had offices. The watchman nodded in his

  chair, and so silent was the invader’s tread, so inconspicuous his

  passage, that even had the man been awake he scarcely would have

  noticed .

  Swiftly then the Spider stole up the stairway, picked the lock of

  the office door, and fastening it behind him, hurried into the private

  office of the partners, smelling strongly of disinfectant, and germi-

  cides which had been spread to wipe out the threat of the Black

  Death in the ro
om where Works had died .

  The modern safe there resisted his skilled fingers and sensitive

  ear scarcely longer than had the old tin box in the pawnbroker’s

  office. And in a few moments he had spread before him the firm’s

  books, was skimming rapidly over double-entry bookkeeping and

  an auditor’s report with the skilled ease of a practiced accountant .

  His concentration was intense . So engrossed did he become in

  the frail thread that he followed, the key which involving Jimmy

  Handley, might bring him to the identity of the Black Death, that

  he did not hear the opening of the outer door, did not look up until

  lights flashed on in the main office.

  Like a flash then he extinguished his own minute gleaming flash-

  light by which he had examined the work . Like a shadow he moved

  across the room, crouched behind a door . And now a black mask

  concealed his features .

  Slow and ponderous footsteps crossed the floor. A hand touched

  the knob and the door swung open, concealing Wentworth behind

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 175

  it . But the door had been thrust strongly; it struck Wentworth’s feet,

  and, shaking, bounded back. The indistinct figure in the doorway

  whirled suddenly in alarm . A hand darted up, and at almost point

  blank range a pistol spurted its spear of powder flame at the crouch-

  ing Spider!

  Only Wentworth’s split-second coordination of mind and muscle

  saved him then . He had seen the jerk of the man’s hand and thrown

  himself to the floor so nearly in timing with the gun’s discharge that

  it seemed he had been hurled there by the bullet .

  He let the breath hiss from lungs in a half moan, and the crouch-

  ing figure of the man who had fired straightened slowly. Went-

  worth’s own gun was ready to his hand, but this was no battle with

  the underworld . In this case he was the interloper; the other man was

  in the right .

  And the Spider never killed an innocent person .

  On the other hand, in addition to Pugh, he knew a number of

  other members of the firm personally, and to be discovered in his

  present role with a black mask over his face, would have spelled his

  doom .

  He moaned again, his left hand pressed to his chest as if it covered

  a wound, and abruptly a white light glared into his masked face . The

  man with the gun moved cautiously nearer . Wentworth tossed on the

  floor as if in mortal pain, flung out his right arm convulsively.

  The man came a step closer, gun ready, and Wentworth’s outflung

  hand found his heel and jerked suddenly. The flashlight flung up-

  ward . The man cursed, fell heavily, and his gun blazed .

  Glass crashed as a bullet screamed off into the darkness . Went-

  worth bounded from the floor, flung himself upon the man, and his

  right fist crashed home twice. The man jerked beneath him, straight-

  ened and went limp .

  The Spider heard hoarse shouts, the first shrill blasts of a watch-

  man’s police whistle . He must make good his escape at once, or it

  would be too late . Already guards within the building must be rush-

  ing to the succor of the man he had knocked out .

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 176

  Swiftly the Spider ripped out of his coat, flung it and his hat across the room. In them would be found no mark of identification.

  Swiftly he stooped over the unconscious man, tugged the coat from

  his body, flapped the other man’s hat upon his head, and struggling

  into the coat, ran toward the outer door, ripping the mask from his

  face and thrusting it into his pocket as he sped across the room . He

  jerked open the door, as the first of the watchmen plunged up the

  stairs, gun up and ready .

  Chapter 14

  Wholesale Death

  The Spider turned his head, staring back over his shoulder at the

  room he had just left, shouting hoarsely, “In there! He’s in there!”

  “Jeez, it’s you, sir!” cried the watchman . “And I nearly shot you!”

  “For God’s sake hurry,” gasped the Spider hoarsely, and the man

  plunged past him with drawn gun . Wentworth hastened down the

  stairs . Behind him, he heard the guard shout a warning to his com-

  panions below . “Be careful, Bill . Mr . Robertson is coming down .”

  And in the darkness another guard brushed past him, with a mut-

  tered, “Pardon me, sir .”

  The Spider continued his dash to the front doors . But once there

  he cut his speed to a quiet stroll, left the building and walked briskly,

  but with no appearance of flight, through streets that shrieked now

  with the bedlam of approaching police sirens .

  A subway entrance was near, and Wentworth descended un-

  hurriedly, dropped a nickel into the clanking turnstile and walked

  slowly up the platform . A bum without hat or coat was stretched out

  sleeping heavily upon a bench . Grim humor twitched Wentworth’s

  lips . What an evil trick he could play this derelict by the gift of a hat

  and coat!

  He strode into the men’s washroom and with powerful fingers

  shredded the coat he wore . With a knife blade he ripped the hat to

  fragments and flushed them into the sewer of the city.

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 177

  After them he sent tie and collar, and slouched again out onto

  the platform with rumpled hair, a dissolute, half-starved bum . He

  smeared dirt from the platform upon his cheeks, beneath his eyes,

  so that they seemed sunken; rubbed his eyes violently so that they

  became bloodshot . And then it was that his genius for disguise be-

  came apparent .

  The Spider was gone . Gone, too, was Richard Wentworth, the

  wealthy young club-man; and in their place, slack-jawed and slouch-

  shouldered, there lolled upon the bench beside that other slumbering

  bum, another member of the vast army of the unemployed .

  But before police could come pounding, searching down the

  subway stairs, the rumble of a train filled the hot place. Wentworth

  shambled aboard and slumped into a corner seat, to all appearances

  a weary, homeless man .

  It was with difficulty that he entered his apartment house again,

  finally managing to slip into the rear entrance when for a moment

  the watchman walked away .

  And in the morning, as if to mock him, the papers blazed forth

  with a new horror that transcended all previous perpetrations of that

  monstrous criminal, the Black Death . For the man had sent letters

  to every newspaper in town, stating demands that the banks of the

  city lend a billion dollars to the city government in cash . And that

  huge sum was to be paid to him! The club this super blackmailer

  held over the cringing multitude was the threat of the plague spread

  wholesale through the city!

  The letter said:

  If the city’s millions knew me better, they would realize

  that I am no man of idle threats . But since it is unfortunately

  necessary that I conceal my identity, I shall deliver a free

  sample of my thoroughness . Even as you in the city read

  these lines, the Blac
k Death will be among you . Oh, nothing

  to be alarmed about, for today I shall kill only a few hundred

  of your millions . Take heed, as these hundreds choke and

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 178

  die with the Black Death, that you do not provoke me by

  unnecessary delay, lest the next blow wipe out thousands .

  And even as newsboys shouted the fearsome headlines the plague

  had lifted its evil head . Ambulances gonged their way through the

  streets to the Lower East Side area, where the Black Death had cho-

  sen first to strike. And people died in the streets. Thousands fled.

  The news that the Black Death had fulfilled his warning threw

  the city into complete panic . Its people went absolutely mad with

  terror. Thousands fled. Trains and roads were jammed. It was like a

  wartime evacuation .

  Wentworth, roaming the fringes of the area where the Black

  Death had struck, barred from nearer approach by a double ring of

  police who, with surgical masks upon their faces braved the plague,

  found the city about him dead . The usually crowded benches of Bat-

  tery Park at the tip end of Lower Manhattan were deserted . Even the

  birds of the air seemed to have fled the Black Death. For the flock of

  pigeons that usually settled before the Custom House was missing .

  And Wentworth, plodding through deserted streets, past the

  closed doors of shops, of business offices, even of restaurants, saw

  their bodies in the streets . Good God, even the pigeons had fallen

  prey to the dread plague .

  Wentworth did not approach the stilled birds, but went swiftly

  to a subway, and riding uptown until he reached a newspaper office

  went in to insert a small ad .

  The place was a hive of industry . Boys darted back and forth with

  bundles of paper under their arms . Trucks roared off with loads of

  the latest editions, their headlines still wet with ink, for the thou-

  sands who, unable to leave the city, remained behind locked doors

  or crept furtively through the streets with backward flung glances

  that seemed to fear the Black Death would spring upon them in the

  guise of a ravening beast .

  A business-like young woman took his ad crisply . It read:

  WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 179

  Pigeons for sale . A large number of all varieties, fancy

  and homing .

  And it gave an address on the upper West Side .

 

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