by John Blaine
He ran to the far end of the platform, looking up the tracks anxiously for a sign of a train. The tracks were gleaming, empty ribbons of steel.
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There was none! This was a local station with only one platform. He had trapped himself!
He was at the southern end of the platform. He put his back against the tiled wall and waited, hoping. If a train came before Lewis did, he would be all right. Perhaps Lewis had lost him. He might not have seen
. . .
Lewis pushed through the turnstile.
Rick could only wait. He couldn’t even seem to turn away. The unhurrying air of the man with the white face hadan inevitability to it, as though he knew that the end was near.
Lewis surveyed the platform. He looked north, taking his time. He looked at the people close to him. He looked south. His piercing dark eyes met Rick’s anguished ones.
The white face seemed to blur before Rick’s eyes. He saw it move toward him, slowly, inevitably. He saw Lewis rub his hands in satisfaction. There was only fifty feet between them . . . forty . . . thirty . . .
With a strangled yell Rick threw off the hypnosis that had gripped him. He jumped from the platform, fell,narrowly missed the lethal third rail. Ho scrambled to his feet and ran downtown along the tracks.
And, as he ran, he sensed the thrumming of the rails, heard sudden sound fill the tunnel. A train was coming!
CHAPTER XIII
Scotty Takes a Hand
Scotty was sparring with his fisherman opponent when the explosion came. Instantly, their private war forgotten, they were racing side by side toward the noise.
“Grenade!”Scotty yelled. There was no mistaking the sound; he had heard it often enough during the war. He had thrown plenty of them himself.
The fisherman racing at his side gasped, “We had nothing to do with this, honest!”
Scotty saw Rick running, too, then the second explosion came and he lost sight of him.
The grenades had landed in two of the big sediment tanks, leaving them torn, twisted, and shrouded in smoke. He had a moment’s thought that this would be the finish of the sea mine plant, then that was forgotten as a workman staggered out of the smoke and fell.
Scotty raced to his side and turned him over. A wet red stain was spreading on the man’s shoulder. He ripped the shirt away and called to the fisherman who had been his opponent. “There’s a first-aid kit in the Quonset hut. Get it!Lively, now. And have someone call a doctor.”
He bent to the work of stanching the wound and examining the man for further damage. The shrapnel hole in his shoulder seemed to be all, but it was enough. Scotty’s expert fingers probed until he was Page 73
satisfied that no bones had been broken.
The fisherman arrived with the kit and the othersbe gan to crowd around. Doug pushed through and asked, “How bad is it?”
“He’ll be all right,” Scotty said. He selected tincture of merthiolate and swabbed the wound area, then he applied a compress and bandaged it into place. The doctor would have to probe for the shrapnel. “Go to the Quonset hut and bring one of the cots out here,” he directed. “We’ll use it as a stretcher.”
“We had nothing to do with this,” one of the fishermen proclaimed. “We want you guys to know that.
We found the beds poisoned, and we were sore, but we wouldn’t do anything like this.”
The other fishermen nodded their agreement.
“I’m sure of it,” Doug said.
“You were misinformed,” Tom told them. “Gunner Stoles lied. There will be no poisonous wastes from this plant.”
There was a yell from down near the water front, but at that moment the wounded man groaned with returning consciousness and Scotty didn’t look up.
“You’ll be all right,” he assured him. “It’s just a little hole in your shoulder.”
Two workmen arrived with a cot and Scotty directed three others to kneel, showing them how to lift the wounded man. In a moment he was comfortably settled on the cot and beginning to take an interest in his surroundings.
“What happened?” he asked.
Tom started to tell him. Just then Scotty heard the Cub engine catch. Rick! What was he doing in the Cub? He moved to the outer circle of men, listening. Something was up, that was sure. Then the plane shot into sight and he gasped. Rick was in a hurry, to make a take-off like that! He ran out into the open and waved, but the plane shot overhead in the direction of Crayville.
“That was Rick,” he said worriedly as Doug joined him. “What do you suppose he’s up to?”
“I don’t know,” Doug replied. “But don’t worry about him; he knows what he’s doing.”
“I hope,” Scotty said.
Tom came up. “Who threw those bombs?” he asked.
None of them knew. They asked the question again, of the workmen. One thought he had seen two men in the field next to the plant, but in the confusion and noise he couldn’t be sure.
“It wasn’t any of us.” a fisherman said.
“No,” Doug replied grimly. “I’m sure of that. But you men have been used as dupes. This fight was staged just to give the bomb throwers a chance. I’m certain of it!”
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The words made good sense to Scotty. “Then Gunner can give us some information,” he said quickly.
“He started the fight, remember?” He ran toward the road where he had seen Gunner fall after Mike Kozac hit him. The pudgy fisherman had vanished.
“He’s gone,” Scotty said, disappointed. “He must have come to and beat it.” He looked at the mixed group of workers and fishermen who had followed him, and he missed a familiar face. “Hey, where’s Mike Kozac?”
No one knew. Scotty scratched his head.First Rick, now Mike. Had they gone together?
“They may have seen who threw the grenades,” Tom speculated. “Maybe they went after them.”
The whine of sirens sounded down the road toward Crayville, and in a moment two cruisers loaded with State Police screamed to a stop before the plant. The officers piled out, and a sergeant demanded, “Who phoned there was a riot starting here?”
“I did.” Doug stepped forward. “It’s over,” he said. “You’re a little late.”
“We came as fast as we could,” the sergeant said curtly.
The doctor arrived from Crayville, and was directed to the wounded man. Not until he was attended and taken away in the doctor’s car did they settle down to talk to the police sergeant.
Tom told the story from beginning to end while the sergeant took notes. Then the officer asked questions, piecing out the story. Doug advanced his theory that the fight had been a cover-up for the men who had thrown the bombs.
“Got any proof?” the officer asked. “Or are you just speculating?”
“It’s only a theory,” Doug admitted, “but it fits the facts.”
“I think it’s enough to start on. Where can I find this Gunner Stoles?”
“He hangs out at Zukky’s Restaurant on the water front,” Scotty supplied quickly.
Tom leafed through the phone book. “His address is15 Whaler Street .”
“Okay. Now, I think we’ll want a talk with this foreman of yours.”
Tom supplied the address Tony had used.
“What about the poison?” Scotty asked.
“We’ll notify the Coast Guard. They’ll take samples and have them analyzed. Now, if you want to press charges against these fishermen, you have a right to.”
“Forget it,” Tom said. “They’re plenty sorry for what happened.”
“All right.We’ll keep you posted if we find anything.”
The officer rose and went out to the cruisers. The fishermen had gathered in a group by themselves and Page 75
were watching the troopers nervously.
Doug went over to them.
“It’s okay. We’re not pressing charges.”
There was a mass sigh of relief.
“And you needn’t worry any
more about this plant,” Doug added bitterly. “It’s going out of business before it even gets started.” He turned and strode back to the Quonset hut.
One more item, Tom had said, and they would be finished. Scotty knew that the tanks were damaged beyond repair, the special chrome alloy finish torn and twisted. He followed the partners into the hut, his shoulders sagging.Too bad for it to end this way.
“I wish I knew where Rick went,” he said.
“Probably for help,” Tom guessed. “He’ll be back before long.”
“This washes us up,” Doug said. “There’s no point in keeping the workmen on. Tom, will you and Scotty take them back toBridgeport ? I’ll make an estimate of the damage.”
“Okay.”
The workmen were waiting outside. Tom addressed them. “I’msorry, fellows, but that bombing just blasted us out of business. If you’ll gather round as I call out your names, we’ll pay you for the day’s work, with a little extra bonus for loyalty. Then we’ll take you back.”
Scotty went over to the truck Tony had driven and climbed into the driver’s seat. Rick would be back by the time he returned fromBridgeport . Then they might just as well go home to Spindrift.
“The police won’t find out much,” he voiced his thoughts aloud. “There’s no proof against anyone, not even Gunner.”
Presently the men climbed aboard and he headed the truck forBridgeport , following Tom’s truck. It was afterfour o’clock when the two trucks pulled into the plant yard again.
Doug was sitting on the Quonset hut steps. He called a greeting and gestured toward two large packing boxes. “Company came while you were gone.”
Scotty read the labels. They were from the Carstairs Manufacturing Company. “The fractionator units,”
he said.
“Yes. And a lot of good they’ll do now,” Tom murmured.
“Did Rick come back?” Scotty asked.
“Not yet. And I haven’t heard from him,” Doug replied.
“That’s funny,” Scotty said.
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He had been positive that Rick would be waiting at the plant. He sat down and thought it over. The Cub wouldn’t still be in the air after so many hours. But where had it landed?Spindrift? He rejected the idea that Rick had gone home.
Maybe Steve Hollis had seen him. Scotty went into the hut and called the airport. He waited, fidgeting, while Steve came to the phone.
“This is Don Scott,” he said. “I was with Rick Brant the other day. Have you seen him?”
“Seen him? And how! He landed here like a visiting hurricane. I didn’t have a chance to talk with him.
He said he was following someone and needed a car, so I lent him mine. What’s it all about, anyway?”
“Search me,” Scotty said. “Which way did he go?”
“Last I saw, he was heading for the parkway.”
“Thanks,” Scotty said, and rang off.
He went back to where the partners were sitting in silent gloom, and he was very thoughtful. Following someone? It had to be one of the bomb throwers, or both, if there had been two. Steve hadn’t mentioned Mike Kozac. If someone had been with Rick, he would have mentioned it.
“Rick went after the bomb throwers,” he told the partners, and gave them the details of the conversation.
“I hope he doesn’t catch up with them!” Tom exclaimed.
“I hope,” Scotty echoed. He had to assume that the man or men who had thrown the bombs were the same ones who had sealed them in the fractionator . It offered unpleasant possibilities. If they got their hands on Rick . . . “He wouldn’t do anything without me,” Scotty said, with more assurance than he felt.
“Helltrack them to where they’re going, then he’ll phone.
Wait and see. And where do you suppose Mike Kozac went?”
The partners didn’t have even the glimmer of an idea.
Scotty got up and wandered down to the sediment tanks, too upset to keep still. The tanks were a mess.
They might be straightened, the shrapnel holes welded, but that wouldn’t do much good so far as the chrome finish was concerned.
By five Scotty was so jittery he couldn’t stay still for more than a minute.
At six, he had Doug report Rick’s disappearance to the State Police.
“They’ll send out a description,” Doug reported. “They can’t do much else for the time being.”
Byseven o’clock , Scotty was certain that the bomb throwers had Rick, had undoubtedly murdered him, and were disposing of the body. He racked his brains for a clue. Where had Rick gone? Who knew where he had gone?
Gunner Stoles!
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On the instant he was legging it toward town. He’d find Gunner if he had to take the town apart, then he’d choke the information out of him. He barged in through the door of Zukky’s and found the place deserted. The fishermen evidently had no desire to congregate in their favorite spot after the day’s events.
The counterman was polishing the counter with what seemed to be the same dirty towel, the same toothpick in his mouth.
“Where’s Gunner?”
The counterman glanced up quickly,then dropped his eyes again.
“Ain’t seen him.”
“Where’s Gunner?”
The counterman threw down the towel. “I told you I don’t know! Why’nt you ask the cops? They came lookin ’ for him, too. How do I know? Do I keep track of the bum?”
It didn’t ring true. Old Bill Shakespeare had written something about people who protested too much.
Scotty leaned across the counter. One tanned fist grabbed the lapels of the dirty jacket and jerked forward. The counterman turned white.
“Where’s Gunner?”
“I told you I don’t know.” The words were a whine.
Scotty’s fist tightened the lapels. The man’s face turned red and he choked.
“Where’s Gunner?”
He cocked a fist back and stared into the counterman’s eyes. The eyes shifted, fell. “You won’t hit me if I tell?”
“Give,and quick!”
“He got a phone call, maybe five minutes ago. He was hidin ’ in the back room. He went out like a shot, headin ’ for his boat. That’s all I know, mister.”
Scotty was gone on the echo. He sprinted along the boardwalk and turned down the pier, not stopping until he reached the berth where Gunner’s boat had been tied.
It was gone!
For a moment he knew dark despair, then he heard the engine, and he saw the low lines of the dragger.
It was standing off the plant, heading south!
Scotty didn’t bother using the road. He went along the water front, dodging buildings, piles of lobster pots, leaping over smaller obstacles. At last he gained the open beach and ran all out until he came to the plant. There were no keys to the plant motorboat; the ignition was turned on by connecting two wires.
He twisted them together and punched the starter. The engine roared into life and he cast off, heading after Gunner.
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Not until he was well away from the pier did it occur to him that he should have told the partners. Well, it was too late now; he couldn’t take time to go back. He opened the throttle wide and went after the dragger.
The spray in his face and the wind across the bow cooled his temper somewhat and he began to think.
After all, Gunner wouldn’t know where Rick had gone. But he might know where to locate Tony, or Lewis. That phone call had probably been from one of them. Why else would he be taking his boat out at this time of night, especially when the police were looking for him?
Scotty had a hunch. Rick would call it a subconscious decision based on facts, but to Scotty it was simply a hunch. The hunch said that Gunner’s trip might well have something to do with Rick. He throttled down and swung in toward shore. Nouse of letting Gunner know he was being followed.
By hugging the shore, ducking in and out of coves, using his superior speed to keep cover
, he could trail Gunner. And Gunner wouldn’t know,if he stayed far enough back to cover up his engine noise.
Scotty settled down for the chase.
CHAPTER XIV
Fred Lewis’s Secret
The subway train roared into the station Rick had just left and ground to a stop. He looked back, and his heart jumped into his throat and stayed there.
Lewis had jumped down to the track after him!
Rick ran. His only thought was to put as much distance as possible between himself and the nemesis that followed. He ran until he felt the thrumming of the tracks again, then he stepped into one of the niches that had been cut into the concrete of the tunnel wall. He saw Lewis duck into a similar niche,then he flattened out as the train roared past, so close he could have touched it. As the last car passed he jumped out on the tracks again and continued his flight.
There must be openings leading to the street somewhere. It was hard running on the ties. Once he glanced back, and saw that he was gaming a little. Another train roared down on him and he leaped between two pillars to the next track.
Ahead of him he saw lights, and realized that he had run almost to the next station, theTimes Square platform. Actually, he had run about seven blocks.
If a train came now he could leap to the platform and board it, and Lewis would have to stand in a niche until the train left.
But luck was not with him. He climbed up on the platform and ran toward the crowd gathered a little distance down. Some of them looked at him curiously, but it is a peculiarity of New Yorkers that the unusual causes little disturbance. They are too intent on their own business. No one attempted to interfere Page 79
with the wild-eyed boy, nor with the man with the peculiar white face who climbed to the platform after him.
Rick reached the momentary safety of the crowd and sized up his situation. He was on the platform between the downtown local and express tracks. There were stairways here and there, but he didn’t know where they led. He started running down the platform, pushing through the subway riders who waited. And then an express pulled into the station.