The Adventure Novella MEGAPACK®

by Wildside Press

  Catlin pulled in at the curb and stopped the car. “I’m trusting you,” the girl said, as he got out.

  “You may, Miss Randolph.”

  “Then you take the pigeon. It will be safer with you. And, remember, if you lose it to them you are making it possible for a scoundrel to gain unlimited power for evil.”

  He put the pigeon beneath his coat again, and she sat low in her seat as he turned to hurry to the hotel. The theater doors had been thrown open, and the audience was beginning to pour out.

  “Look!” she cried. An automobile slipped along the street within twenty feet of them. At the wheel was Hargrove and in the other seat a man whose face Catlin could not see. Hargrove was driving toward the hotel. “They’ll see you,” she said.

  “I’ll watch them, and slip in the side entrance. Don’t worry!”

  “I’m trusting you,” she said again. Their hands clasped, and then Catlin was hurrying up the street.

  CHAPTER IV.

  MEPHISTO REPEATS HIMSELF.

  Catlin hurried up to Fourth Street and to the hotel’s side entrance. At the corner he noticed that Hargrove had stopped his machine and, with his companion, stood on the sidewalk beside it, as if waiting for some one. As he hurried through the hall to the elevator, Catlin caught himself wondering whether Donald McHugh would put in an appearance before he could get away. He remembered suddenly how Myra Randolph had spoken of McHugh, and found himself wondering just how his friend was concerned in this business. Perhaps, he thought, he was making a fool of himself to help the girl. He couldn’t convince himself, however, that the girl was in the wrong. Her manner was too sincere.

  The elevator stopped, and he got out and hurried down the hall. He put the key in the lock, but it would not turn. The door already was unlocked. That was peculiar, since he had got the key at the desk, but he supposed that McHugh, in his hurry, had neglected to lock the door.

  He threw it open and entered, and reached for the light button. As he pressed it and the lights flashed on, some one crashed against him. He knew instinctively that some man in the room had been waiting to make the assault. He threw his assailant to one side and whirled toward him, retaining his grip on the iron pigeon.

  Before him was a man about his size, and dressed exactly as he was dressed—in a Mephistopheles costume. The man was a stranger. “You—you’re not McHugh!” the other gasped.

  “And neither are you, so what are you doing in this room?” Catlin demanded.

  “You know McHugh, do you?”

  “I happen to be his friend.”

  “Then you know why I’m here,” replied the other. “McHugh’s friend, eh? He was afraid to play the game himself, was he?”

  “That’s the first time I ever heard Donald McHugh was afraid of anything. Come—tell me what you are doing here in my friend’s apartment!”

  “You know! And, since you’re here, and doing his work, hand it over!”

  “Hand what over?”

  “The iron pigeon. Hand it over!”

  “I’ll hand you over to the police for a burglar and a thief!” Catlin stepped toward the telephone on the wall.

  The other man sprang toward him. “Then I’ll take it!” he cried.

  Catlin stopped his first rush with a blow, but here was an adversary worthy of attention. There was no time to stop and reason things out. Here was another man after the iron pigeon, and evidently a foe of the girl. That was enough.

  The other man rushed again. Catlin stepped to one side and used the method the girl had used on Hargrove. The iron pigeon crashed against the man’s head, not once, but twice, and the second Mephistopheles crashed to the floor.

  There was no time to waste. Catlin sprang to the bed and tore off the covers. He ripped a sheet into strips. Working swiftly, he bound and gagged his fallen adversary, carried him to the bathroom, put him on the floor, and closed the door behind him. Then he began taking off his costume to put on his proper clothes.

  He dressed quickly. Groans from the bathroom told him that the man had regained consciousness. The groans ceased in time, and Catlin looked in upon him. The man’s eyes blazed into Catlin’s. “I’ll leave you here for McHugh, my friend,” said the latter. “I haven’t time to deal with you now. Learn never to antagonize me when I’m helping a woman.” The man on the floor moaned, and tried to turn, lifted his head once or twice, then let it fall back. “Want to talk to me, eh?”

  The man nodded.

  “Sorry I haven’t time to accommodate you. I have important business elsewhere. If you’re still here when I return, there’ll be plenty of talking to do.”

  Catlin went out and shut the door, and hurried across to the closet for his hat. He picked up the iron pigeon from the bed and started toward the door that opened into the hall. The man in the bathroom groaned again, and Catlin stopped to go back and speak to him. “I fancy you’d better keep quiet,” he said. “If your groans attract the attention of some of the hotel employees, they may investigate and ask questions about how you happened to be here. It’ll be better for you to wait and deal with McHugh. Never mind shaking your head—I haven’t time to talk to you.”

  He went out and shut the door again. He felt that he didn’t have time to write a note for McHugh, explaining things. Once more he started across the room. The door was flung open.

  McHugh stood before him—McHugh, dressed in a Mephistopheles costume.

  “Great Scott! Three of us!” gasped Roger Catlin.

  CHAPTER V

  BY RIGHT OF MIGHT.

  “Catlin! So you didn’t go to the ball?” The third Mephistopheles spoke in a tone of consternation.

  “Oh; I went to the ball, all right, and had a lovely time. Yes, as the country editors have it, a lovely time was had. I was mistaken for somebody else, tried to help a young girl, fought a duel with—”

  “You—you?”

  “Even so—and now—”

  “Wait! Was it you fought Hargrove?”

  “Guilty!”

  “And—” He saw the iron pigeon in Catlin’s hand. “And you got that! Thank Heaven! We thought—”

  “Just a moment. When I returned here there was a gentleman waiting for me. He is in the bathroom.”

  McHugh shut the door and hurried across the room to throw open the other. “Scott, eh?” he said. “You did him up?”

  “Brown,” said Catlin.

  McHugh stopped before him, hands on hips, and his face assumed a serious expression. “Do you know what you’ve been mixing in?” he asked.

  “I do not. And, pardon me, but there is a young woman waiting—”

  “She must wait for a few minutes, then. Catlin, take it from an old friend that this is a serious business. I’m sorry I cannot explain it to you. Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, I didn’t find you at the ball. A couple of girls spoke to me peculiarly. I thought it was one of your confounded jokes. Then a girl in Spanish costume came up to me, told me to dance with her, and asked me to go up the stairs and help her to get ‘it.’ Of course, I didn’t know what ‘it’ was, and I still thought some one was playing a joke. I thought she was taking me to you. So we went to Hargrove’s rooms. She showed me the iron pigeon in the curio case and told me to steal it, and said that then we’d cut and run to an auto and drive away. I still thought it a joke—and took the pigeon. Hargrove came in and caught us. He handled the girl roughly, tore a rapier off the wall, and went for me. I defended myself with my Mephistopheles sword. The girl’s manner impressed me, and Hargrove admitted that he had stolen the pigeon in the first place. He broke my sword and was going to run me through when the girl struck him down.”

  “I know about that. Then—”

  “On the way around the bay, the girl discovered I was not the man she thought. She threw herself on my merc
y and I promised to help her. That’s all.”

  “Thank Heaven you stopped to change your clothes, and the pigeon is here—safe! I cannot explain much of this, Catlin. I’ll say, however, that there are two factions in a certain organization, and each wants what that pigeon contains. Hargrove had it. He did steal it from the other faction, but he had the right to do that. It is a business deal, in a way. The other faction have been trying to get it back for weeks. Tonight was about their last chance. They were searching for it in Hargrove’s rooms—women doing the work. We discovered what they were doing. One of their men was to be at the ball dressed as Mephistopheles. If the girls found that for which they were looking, he was to help them to get away with it.”

  “The young woman explained that much,” said Catlin.

  “I, of the other faction, dressed up as Mephisto, hoping that some of them would speak to me and give me a clew as to what they were doing. I was upstairs most of the time, and that’s why I didn’t meet you. This fellow in the bathroom was there, and I was there, both of us dressed alike. You, by accident, got a similar costume. They took you for this fellow on the floor. Understand?”

  “I get that part of it, all right.”

  “It was fortunate. Here we have the pigeon, and Hargrove and I feared they’d gotten away with it. Hargrove thought you were this chap when he fought you. He’ll forgive that bump on the head readily enough when he learns that the girl trusted my friend, and we have the pigeon safe. Now we’ll attend to this chap.”

  Catlin did some tall thinking as McHugh unbound the man on the floor and helped him to his feet.

  “You see, Scott,” said McHugh, “you’ve lost. I’m not denying you made a good attempt. Where is that girl, Catlin?”

  “In her auto in front of the theater.”

  “You’ll find her there, Scott. My compliments to her, and say to her it is the fortunes of war. Now—get out!”

  “I came here for that pigeon,” said Scott stubbornly.

  “And you got it—on the head,” replied Catlin. “But wait a moment. You’ve been my friend for years, McHugh, and I don’t understand this business. I hate to disappoint the young girl. Am I doing right in handing the pigeon over to you?”

  “On my word of honor, Catlin.”

  “Then, Scott,” said Catlin, turning to the other, man, “you may explain to Miss Randolph for me that I am sorry, but that I must take the word of my friend. The entire thing is an awful mess, and it’s too mysterious to suit me. I wash my hands of it—you people fight it out!”

  “So it was Miss Randolph?” asked McHugh. “She’s got nerve, that girl. Tell her I’m sorry she lost, Scott, but it is the fortune of war.”

  “She hasn’t lost—yet!”

  The voice came from the door. It had been opened softly. Myra Randolph stood just inside it. With one hand she was closing the door behind her, and in the other she held an automatic pistol. The expression in her face was one of determination. “You—who gave me your word to help me!” she said, looking toward Catlin. “This man has but to speak, and you take his word before mine.”

  “He has been my friend for years, Miss Randolph.”

  “But he is in the wrong now. Hargrove has deluded him. If Donald McHugh knew the truth, he’d be the first to help me.”

  “I know what has been said about Hargrove and this business,” responded McHugh, “and I do not believe it. His motives are not what some people think.

  “He is protecting himself—”

  “I know better; I know the truth,” the girl interrupted. “I appeal to you again, Mr. Catlin, as a man of honor. Hand me the iron pigeon.”

  “I have washed my hands of the entire business.”

  “Then hand me the pigeon, and I’ll fight it out without you.”

  “Give the pigeon to me!” cried McHugh. “We’ve got it again, and this time we’ll keep it!”

  “Wait!” Something in the girl’s voice caused Catlin and the others to look at her quickly. “I do not intend to lose now,” she went on. “I’m ready to wound—to kill, if necessary! Scott, we missed you tonight; we played into the hands of another man. You failed us once—don’t fail us now. Bind Donald McHugh, and gag him. Keep him prisoner here. Turn out the lights, and do not answer the door or telephone. Keep Hargrove from joining him.”

  “But you—”

  “Don’t ask questions! Be quick! There is no time to lose—it’s almost midnight. And you, Donald McHugh, and you, Mr. Catlin, don’t move! I’ll fire at the first move either of you makes!”

  She meant it. Catlin could tell that by looking at her. He began wondering if McHugh was wrong; surely a girl like this would not be so determined, could not be, unless fighting for the right. But perhaps she had been deluded by others, as she said McHugh had been.

  Scott picked up the strips from the floor, and advanced toward McHugh. The girl, standing before the door, her weapon raised, her eyes glittering, presented an ominous aspect. Both Catlin and McHugh watched her like hawks. But there was no wavering. Once McHugh took a step forward, and her eyes narrowed.

  “She’d shoot! I know the breed!” Catlin warned.

  Scott bent McHugh’s arms behind him, lashed them together, then pushed him toward the bed, and forced him to lie down upon it, moving in such manner that Catlin could not get between the bed and the girl. He bound McHugh’s feet, and started to make a gag. McHugh opened his mouth, but before he could cry out, Scott choked the cry back in his throat. The gagging process was accomplished, and McHugh was helpless.

  “Now—” Scott questioned.

  “Take the pigeon from Mr. Catlin, and hand it to me.” Scott did it. Catlin was powerless to prevent him. He never took his eyes from the girl, always waited for her to relax vigilance, when he might make a spring. It might all seem absurd on the face of it, but Catlin, who had had experiences in many strange lands, knew it was not. The girl took the pigeon and put it under the cloak she wore.

  “Shall I bind and gag him, too?” asked Scott, pointing to Catlin.

  “No, I need him.”

  “What you going to do, Miss Randolph?” the man asked.

  “You remain here and do as I said. Put out the lights and don’t answer the door or telephone. I don’t want Hargrove to join Donald McHugh. Hargrove is waiting below for McHugh to change his clothes. I saw McHugh enter the hotel, and I followed. I remembered that, over at Coronado, Mr. Catlin had spoken of his friend. I feared something like this. You keep McHugh here, quiet, for an hour. See that he doesn’t slip off his bonds. At the end of an hour, you may go home, if our plans have not miscarried.”

  “But you—”

  “I’ll finish the journey with the pigeon.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. Mr. Catlin will drive the car.”

  “What? You’ll trust him?” Scott asked.

  “Certainly I’ll not trust him,” she said; “but I’ll make use of him. I must have some one along to drive the car. There may be pursuit, there may be a struggle. I can’t drive the car and fight, too.”

  “Don’t try it, Miss Randolph. He’ll get the pigeon—”

  “He’ll sit in the driver’s seat. I’ll be behind him, with my weapon ready. He’ll carry out my orders—drive where I say—”

  “Don’t do it, Miss Randolph; don’t, risk it! Let me bind and gag him and leave him here. Let me drive your car.”

  “I have decided, Scott. Please do as I direct. Mr. Catlin, you have heard. We’ll leave this room now, and walk to the elevator, go down to the first floor, and pass out to the auto. You’ll walk a pace ahead of me. I put my hand, holding the pistol, in my cloak pocket—so. I can fire through cloth, you understand.”

  “Suppose I stopped in the lobby and refused to take another step?” asked Catlin, smiling in spite of the situatio
n. “What would you do then?”

  “I don’t know—shoot you, perhaps. Mr. Catlin, I told you before that in helping me you would be righting a wrong. In spite of what Donald McHugh has said, I still tell you the same.”

  “The whole thing is silly! I’ve washed my hands of it!”

  “Silly! If you only knew!”

  “Tell me, and if I decide you’re in the right, I’m with you, McHugh or no McHugh.”

  “I can tell you nothing.”

  “Perhaps it would help more than you think, if you did.”

  “I cannot tell you. Ready, Mr. Catlin? No tricks, mind, for we are at the crisis!”

  Scott held open the door, Catlin stepped out, smiling now at the absurdity of it, and Miss Myra Randolph followed one pace behind him.

  CHAPTER VI

  HE MIGHT HAVE STOPPED.

  The man and the girl stepped from the elevator, and Catlin led the way across the wide lobby, Miss Randolph at his heels. As he had said, he might have stopped and refused to take another step, and it is doubtful whether the girl would have had the courage to attack him. But he did not. He didn’t want to create a scene, in the first place, for the press wires are long, and he was well known in New York and other cities of the East. Again, he half wanted to see the thing through, for it promised more adventure, and already he had experienced enough to acquire a taste for it.

  The lobby was filled with after-the-theater hungry folk and hotel guests. Catlin made his way slowly through the crowd, and Myra kept pace with him. He turned to look at her once, and found that she was watching him carefully. “The side entrance,” she said, and he turned off into the hall.

  Here they were almost alone, and Catlin walked faster. He held the door open, but she motioned for him to step out first, then followed him, and they hurried to the corner.

  There they came face to face with Hargrove and another man. Hargrove never had seen Catlin’s face before, but he knew Myra Randolph. Because of the cloak which covered her Spanish costume, he could not tell whether she was the girl who had helped to take the pigeon from his rooms; but he knew that she was identified with his opponents, and he saw her coat bulging on one side, as if she carried something beneath it—and he guessed the rest. He turned quickly and spoke to the other man, who ran to the main entrance of the hotel and dashed inside.