THE SPIDER-City of Doom

by Norvell W. Page

  Tracers streaked from the multiple muzzles of the ship's machine guns, and down those illuminated corridors through the air, screaming, piercing steel was poured! The motor vomited black smoke. The propeller became visible, an eccentric, wavering wreck. That was all Wentworth saw, for once more the stick was back in his lap and the powerful engine was clawing toward the moon-silvered vault of the heavens!

  He felt his speedy plane shudder this time to the beat of machine gun bullets punching into it. A strip of aluminum covering fluttered from the wing and was ripped off by the speed of his dive. But once more, his sights were centered on the second port motor. The tracers performed their deathly dance against the blackness, and as he lifted, the second motor was spurting black smoke.

  The clipper would have no choice now. It must land!

  Wentworth pulled up and circled warily. The clipper's two right hand motors pulled awkwardly about so that it skidded across the sky. Its rudder was cocked over at an extreme angle. Even as Wentworth peered toward the ship, the clipper began to settle. Its other two remaining motors were idling now.

  He cut the motor. His voice sounded dull and muted. "Bill, I'm going to land on top that plane. Get hold of the seat cushion. It's a life preserver. When I put the wheels down, get on our wing. Drop off as soon as we've slowed enough."

  Bill twisted about. His eyes were strained wide, but with excitement, not fear! "Boy, did you get them!" he caroled. "Did you get them!"

  Wentworth smiled slightly. "Once you've done your job, lie flat and grab at the torn metal of a port nacelle. There'll be shooting!"

  Bill nodded. He shook a small automatic in the air. "Miss van Sloan gave me this!" he said. "You'll have help!"

  Wentworth had to gun his motor again, to pace the gliding clipper. The top hatch was open again. He saw the machine-gunner stick up his head; he plucked out his automatic and fired in one swift movement. The man was driven backward against the forward edge of the hatch. He writhed there for a moment, then dropped from sight. His machine-gun skittered across the whale back and plunged downward toward the sea.

  It was only then that Wentworth realized he had drawn and fired with his old swift movement!

  An exultant shout lifted to his lips, then the clipper hit the water. It bounced once, then its hull caught solidly . . . and Wentworth tipped his ship's nose down. The clipper was still taxiing through the water at better than sixty miles an hour. His plane's landing speed was seventy miles . . . . Wentworth touched his wheels to the plane's back so gently there was scarcely a jar. Bill, clinging to the cushion with one hand, was already on the low wing of the army plane. The fighter ship ceased rolling and Bill dropped off, scrambling for a motor housing.

  Wentworth's left wheel dug into the clipper's back, flipping the tail into the air. Wentworth was pitched out, but he landed flat on his stomach atop the clipper's hull. The pursuit tilted sideways and slipped into the sea. Billy was clinging nearby . . . and the Spider's guns were in his own fists!

  The mutter of the motors had died. The clipper was still slapping along through the waves, but its momentum was dying. The heave of the ocean swells was more noticeable. No sound save that. Bill began to crawl toward him, but Wentworth motioned him to be still. His two guns centered on the lighted square of the open hatch.

  Then he heard a woman's clear voice call. It was Nita!

  "Come ahead, Spider!" she said. "I've got them under my gun!"

  Wentworth's lips smiled thinly.

  He turned his head, "Crawl slowly toward the hatchway, but don't go in or show yourself!" he whispered.

  Then, as the big ship slowed to a halt, Wentworth let go and dropped feet-first into the water beside it! He was up in an instant, and within moments was aboard the stub-wing that served as a hydro-stabilizer.

  In two lithe strides, he had reached the companionway that led upward. He was smiling thinly. The effects of the drug had at last worn off! His guns were in his fists. The wet, slow drip of water from his clothing was the only sound. He went up the companionway quickly. The door at the top stood open. Whenever Nita called him Spider, it was a warning of danger!

  He could hear now the dull slow steps of Bill walking along the cabin roof. He eased up another step, another. He could see the whole cabin now. The blonde nurse stood behind Nita, with a gun against her spine! Grouped tautly below that trapdoor hatch, automatics and machine guns in their fists, were five men. Bennington, with his benign wrinkled smile; the wily Flash Cassin; Big Gannuck, massive head thrown back while he held his machine gun carelessly; the pompous Dan Flagg, his thick lips loosened by fear . . . and Mark Towan!

  Towan had an automatic in each fist, and his glittering, bitter eyes were focused upward. His back was toward the companionway that Wentworth climbed.

  "Freeze, gentlemen!" Wentworth snapped. "The Spider is behind you!"

  Big Gannuck roared an oath and whipped his machine gun around. Wentworth cleared the last steps in a leap. His left gun reached out and slapped the blonde across the skull. She went down in a heap, and Nita grabbed her gun in the same instant. Wentworth's other automatic jammed hard against Towan's spine!

  Only one man made an effort to shoot. That was Flash Cassin. He stood well back against the wall, clear of the obstacle offered by Towan's body. As he swung his revolver around, Wentworth's left gun blasted.

  Cassin took the slug through his breastbone. It hurled him back in a convulsed knot against the cabin bulkhead. He fell that way, and his head struck first.

  Wentworth laughed, softly. "Excellent, gentlemen!" he said. "Kindly deposit your weapons on the floor! Just drop them. Gannuck!" Steel rang under his pronunciation of that name. Gannuck started and hurriedly dropped the machine gun. After that, Flagg and Bennington did not hesitate. Their weapons dropped.

  The Spider stood in his old, battling crouch behind Towan, and his guns were big and formidable. But more menacing even than those sure weapons was the cold stab of his eyes!

  "Nita," he said softly, "collect those guns. Then take Mildred into the cockpit. There is no one else aboard?"

  "No one," Nita whispered. "Bennington was the pilot."

  "Bill!" Wentworth lifted his voice. "You can come down now . . . Nice work, Bill."

  The boy dropped down through the hatch without touching a step. He stood staring in wonder at the men around him, then his eyes fell on Nita. His eyes grew even wider, and a slight flush touched his cheeks.

  "Get the guns, Bill," Nita said softly.

  Bill stooped to pick up the weapons, sliding skilfully in behind the crooks. Wentworth sent Towan reeling across the room with a hard thrust so that he stood with the other four.

  "Revive that girl," Wentworth whispered to Nita. "I did not hit her hard . . . and watch her reaction. She, and she alone, knows Moulin!"

  * * *

  He was silent then while Nita and Bill carried the sagging blonde girl into the cockpit. Even after that, he waited with his narrowed, cold eyes surveying the four who lined the cabin. The water dripped with the slow emphasis of clock ticks upon the deck. Only Flagg and Towan seemed out of countenance. There was a sneer on Big Gannuck's face. Bennington had the benign attitude of a martyred saint.

  But Wentworth's eyes roamed over them ceaselessly. His guns were ready in his fists . . . and the water continued to drip, drip, drip.

  Flagg broke the silence! "Damn you!" he whined. "This ship is going to sink! Why are you keeping us here like this?"

  Wentworth made no answer and presently Bill strolled into the main cabin with his hands in his pockets. He leaned a shoulder against the side wall, and there was a happy grin on his face.

  Bennington smiled his slow, lovely smile, and spoke with his orator's voice. "When you are pleased to begin," he said gently, "would you mind shooting me through the heart? I rather fancy my forehead."

  Wentworth laughed on a low flat note. "Only one of you will die by my hand," he said coldly. "The man who posed as Moulin!"

  Gannuck's sneer inc
reased. "Don't hand us that, Spider. Ain't none of us Moulin. Look, you cracked in on one of our meetings. You saw all of us, and that mug's face at the same time. He's meeting us somewhere along the line, only he didn't say where. And we didn't care!"

  Wentworth shook his head, smiling. "What you saw in the glass screen was a projected image of a disguised man, made up to represent Moulin," he said. "The camera was placed behind the glass. It's an old trick, used in motion picture studios to build an artificial background."

  Towan said nervously, "Look, I heard him talk. I heard Moulin before. It was Moulin."

  Wentworth's lips smiled faintly. He stepped backward and holstered one gun. From beside the radio transmitter, over which Moulin had spoken to him a short while before, he picked up two wires which ended in flat pads. He tucked these inside his collar, threw a switch. Then his lips moved . . . and the voice of Moulin came from his throat!

  "You fools!" he said. "Do you think you can trick the Spider with anything as simple as the motion picture Sono-vox!"

  There was amazement in the faces of the four men who faced Wentworth. He snapped the wires from contact with his throat, tossed them back upon the radio.

  The Spider slowly surveyed the men. "I will give you two minutes to tell me," he said slowly, "which one of you is Moulin!"

  Bennington shook his head in a frenzy. Gannuck's face grew pale. But Flagg fell upon his knees and Towan cowered and covered his eyes with his hand. The Spider's gun muzzle had lifted in menace!

  "Moulin should be bullet-marked," Wentworth continued softly. "Except for the thick covering he wore to increase the size of his cranium, he would be dead! My bullet did not cut deeply enough into that covering. I am sorry, gentlemen. It will be necessary for me to shoot all of you, in turn, should you refuse to talk. Bennington!"

  Bennington drew himself up tremblingly. "I swear to you, Spider," he said harshly, "I do not know. That Sono-vox device fooled me completely!"

  "Let me assist you," the Spider said softly. "You will see plainly that it is some one familiar with motion picture technique, a disguise artist, a man who could be in two places at once by that device, who could argue with himself. In fact, the only man among you who had the courage to argue with Moulin!"

  Bennington's brows lifted slowly. He turned his head stiffly.

  "Talk, Bennington!" Wentworth snapped.

  Bennington opened his lips, snapped them shut again. He shrugged and faced Wentworth. "Hell, I don't know," he said.

  Wentworth pulled the trigger of his right hand gun. He was very sure of his aim. His bullet just grazed the temple of Bennington, but it slammed him to the floor. It put blood on his temple. It looked as if he were dead.

  "It's too bad he was stubborn," the Spider's cold voice said softly . . . but loudly enough to be heard in the pilot's cabin where Nita held the blonde captive. "It looks as if I shall have to shoot each of you in turn. You're next in line Towan!"

  Towan had a cringing, whining voice. "Why are you picking on me, Spider?" he said. He clasped his trembling hands together and Wentworth watched him closely. "You got nothing on me!"

  Wentworth laughed metallically, ominously. "Everything I have laid down as a characteristic of Moulin fits you perfectly, Towan," he said. "And you have a brown spot on your right shoe . . . . But I'll pardon you, if you'll name for me this Moulin!"

  Towan turned and pointed a shaking hand at Flagg.

  "There he is!" he cried. "He's Moulin!"

  Flagg threw himself down on his knees. "No, no!" he screamed.

  Every man in that room looked toward Flagg, even the Spider. It was natural. Flagg was on his knees, pleading. Towan's trembling left hand pointed toward him . . . but it was his left hand. And Towan was right handed!

  At the same moment, there was a gasp and stamp of feet in the pilot's cabin. The blonde bolted to the doorway . . . but Nita was right behind her, with a gun.

  Double distraction . . . nicely planned.

  Under cover of that movement, Towan's hand blurred with speed as he snapped out a hidden gun!

  Nita screamed. Bill cried out as his head whipped around . . . but the Spider laughed!

  As Towan's gun jerked into line, the Spider fired! His bullet caught Towan dead center between the eyes. It jerked his whole body into a rigid line and slammed him backward against the wall of the cabin. He folded in the middle, sat down, pitched sideways. The blonde screamed. She screamed and ran toward Towan. She dropped down on her knees beside the crumpled body.

  Wentworth said softly, "Thank you, Nita. That was well timed."

  "She was trembling from the moment you mentioned Towan," Nita said quietly.

  Wentworth nodded. "She was the voice of Moulin. Her lips moved but it was apparently because she was phrasing what she wrote down in her book. Actually, she was reading, not writing. You will remember, you other fools, that she was always present when Moulin spoke!" He peered toward the slain Towan. "I'm afraid I won't be able to put the seal on his forehead," he said. "He hasn't any . . . now."

  He turned to Nita. "Hold them under your gun, my dear, while I tie them up. The police or the army will be after them very soon. We will leave them, with the looted gold. It will be enough to condemn them. I noticed in the cabin below that they brought along a small motorboat. It will just accommodate the three of us, you and me . . . and Bill!"

  It was ten minutes later that they launched the small boat. Wentworth turned its nose toward shore, and through the darkness of the night that had fallen when the moon drifted into a high bank of clouds, they sped to safety. Airplane motors were muttering faintly overhead, and presently with the dawn they would spot the clipper and her guilty crew.

  Wentworth sat very erectly in the sternsheets, his hand on the tiller, with Nita beside him. On the midthwart, Bill Sanders sat with his chin on his fists. There was worship on his face.

  Wentworth smiled at him, "My friend, Wentworth, will want to do something for you, Bill, to repay you for helping to save his fiancée, Nita. I would suggest that you let him finance your education."

  Bill grinned eagerly. "I don't want nobody to give me anything," he said, "but I would like to study up on how to help you, Spider!"

  Wentworth's smile faded. He shook his head slowly. "No, Bill," he said quietly. "You do not want to be the Spider," he said. He was quiet for a moment, and the high whine of diving airplane motors came to his ears. "If those men could see me now," he said, "they would use their machine guns. And I am a lonely man, Bill. There can be no life for me save this life of ceaseless battle. No home. No . . . love."

  Nita's head was bowed. She drew in a slow, long breath, and there was a glisten in her eyes. But she lifted her head again and smiled straight before her, and there was pride in her smile.

  "There can be only one Spider, Bill," Wentworth said, "and he must walk always alone!"

  Bill's face showed his sombre grief. A plane swooped low, and his white face turned up fearfully.

  "Cover your face!" Wentworth snapped. "They can see it! That's all they need . . . as a target!"

  Bill shuddered and looked down.

  "It is always like that," Wentworth said softly, "for the Spider! There are those who chant my praises, and even while they eulogize me . . . others are seeking my life. No, Bill, you do not want to be the Spider! But you shall lead a life of service, if that is what you want. You have served me greatly this night!"

  Nita sensed that Wentworth wanted the subject changed, for there was heaviness and grief in his voice when he spoke of the life that lay ahead of the Spider . . . the lonely struggle, without reward, other than the knowledge of a task well done, of a pledge of service fulfilled. A thankless task, but noble! He would not desert it, or change . . . not even for her love!

  Nita's voice was tender, though her words were merely curious. "Dick, you knew Towan was guilty in there," she said. "Your logic proved it. You only wanted him to make a break so that you could . . . eliminate him once and for all."

 
; Wentworth said, quietly, "Yes, Nita."

  Nita nodded. "I knew . . . because you mentioned a brown mark on his shoe. But what did you mean?"

  Wentworth laughed. "Bill did that for me," he said. "Towan was lying on the ground, feigning death, in order to ambush me. Bill was hidden nearby and he forced Towan to betray himself, and miss his aim . . . and at the same time, he marked him for future identification!"

  Bill said, "Golly, did I do all that?"

  Wentworth nodded gravely.

  "But how?" Nita insisted.

  Wentworth grinned slowly. "He stuck two matches into the welt of Towan's shoe . . . and touched them off."

  Nita said "You mean that Bill . . . ."

  "Bill," said Wentworth solemnly, "gave a murderer, with a gun in his hand—the hot-foot!"

  Nita's silvery laughter pealed into the night. Her hand was warm in the clasp of the man she loved. To her, in that moment, even the swooping roar of the hunting planes overhead seemed remote and harmless. But the planes were there; those who hunted the Spider would always be there! And his only reward would be in the worshipping eyes of such boys as Bill Sanders.

  Nita's laughter broke on a gasp that was half a sob. Humbly, she thought, "That is all his reward, but . . . for him . . . it is enough!"

  AFTERWORD

  One Lonely Knight

  by Joel Frieman

  Research. That's what Norvell W. Page was doing that night a week after the incident at Gavagan's. Being in a good mood after Carroll John Daly had filled him in during lunch at Scoop's on East 43rd Street, Page decided to accept Daly's invitation. After all, she knew who was trying to kill him and why.

  It was all very simple. Susan Fleming works for "The Office," a new agency headed by "Wild Bill" Donovan, an old friend of Daly's. She got to the bottom of it by, among other things, interviewing Harry Donenfeld, who was partial to lanky blue-eyed blondes.