Carol stepped aside while Miller unlocked the door again. She gave him a curt nod, walked out and hurried down the street to where her car was parked.
Miller watched her stride away, and a nasty grin spread over his wide face. He locked up, hurried to the telephone and dialed a number.
“This,” he announced excitedly, “is Kurt Miller. A young woman was here—who said she was from the Patriot. That is a laugh. A spy—she was. It is a plan to have me lead the way and betray all of you. But I am too clever.”
“What did the girl look like?” the man at the other end queried.
Miller gave a very good description and heard the other man curse.
“Yeah—I know her all right. Smart as a whip, too. Listen, Miller, here is what you do. They’ll expect you to go somewhere and contact us. Go out in a big rush, walk directly to the small park half a dozen blocks north of your home. It’s dark there. When you reach a pitch black spot, duck aside and leave the rest to me. She’ll follow and it’ll be the last time she works against us.”
Miller agreed, hung up and hurried out of the house. Butch took up the chase, hanging way back, but keeping Miller in sight every moment. Miller made no attempt to see whether or not he was trailed, but just went briskly straight toward the park.
* * * *
As the German passed through a particularly dark portion, he heard a sibilant hiss and ducked behind a bush. Butch kept on coming, peering through the darkness for a glimpse of Miller.
Then two men hurtled out of the light toward him. Both held guns clubbed. Butch didn’t move a muscle until the guns came up to finish him off. Then both his hands flew out, and when they fanned back in again each was grasping a thug. Their heads came together with a resounding crack and both dropped heavily.
But Butch, occupied with these two, was in no position to ward off the second attack from behind. Another pair leaped at him. Guns slashed down and Butch faltered under the impact. Still another man—suave, debonair Gus—stepped in close with a blackjack upraised. This blow was effective. Butch sprawled on the grass.
The two thugs he’d knocked half senseless were helped to their feet. One looked down at the huge bulk of a man.
“I thought it was gonna be a dame,” he grumbled. “That guy ain’t human. I never felt fingers so strong—thought they was gonna bust my neck right in two.”
“Yeah,” the other victim of Butch’s tactics stepped closer. His gun centered down at Butch’s head. “And the best thing to do with an elephant like him is blast his brains out.”
Gus knocked the gun aside. “You nit-wit. How do we know who he is? Cop, G-Man, or maybe a guy who worked for the Black Bat. We’ve got to find out. The way you mugs act shows why you’re always going to be just mugs. There isn’t a thimbleful of brains between you. Now get the car over here and toss this man mountain inside. We’re going to the seashore.”
“Okay,” one of the thugs growled. “Plenty of water there to drown a gorilla like him. I’ll get the car.”
CHAPTER XIII
Hideout
Silk Kirby’s task proved much simpler. He went directly to Jim Halton’s home, found it dark and used a picklock on the back door. Inside, h e refrained from turning on any light and used a flash with tape across the lens. Only a narrow ray of light showed.
Halton’s big desk seemed the most likely place to begin work and Silk picked the locks. They presented him with a mass of evidence—most of it rather astounding. First of all, Halton wasn’t the wealthy man his reputation indicated.
In fact, he was all but penniless through some foolish investments. Lockwood really had bought out his brokerage agency and the money he’d paid also was gone. If finances meant anything, Halton was by far the most logical man to suspect.
Silk checked further, finding that Halton had disposed of several pieces of property. But the one easiest to sell, and for which he could have received the best price, was still in his name. A twenty thousand dollar home at the shore near Pelham. Its acreage and assessment indicated just how easily this could have been disposed of. Why? Silk wondered if the answer concerned a likely spot where the Patriot’s men could hide and where that lethal instrument could be safely kept. At any rate the place warranted a visit.
Silk replaced everything exactly as he found it, gave the rest of the house a hasty examination and then returned to where his car was parked. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, reflecting just what the Black Bat would have done under the circumstances. His usual policy had been—when in doubt—attack. The answer to the problem would come much more swiftly then. Silk started driving toward the city line and Pelham, a few miles beyond it.
He knew that this would probably be the last case he or the others ever would handle. Without the Black Bat at the helm, continued fight against crime was hopeless. But—those who were responsible for the Black Bat’s death were going to pay. Silk’s mind was grimly made up on that score and he was sure Carol and Butch felt the same way.
Some of the details concerning the case had been locked up in the Black Bat’s mind. To Silk, Jim Halton seemed the most logical man to suspect. He needed money, he knew about the invention of Joel King, he was a congressman and in a position to press for payment of that huge sum of cash to the Patriot.
Lockwood’s continued presence around the different scenes of the case also intrigued Silk. Lockwood was a pleasant gent—almost too genial and willing. Then Kurt Miller—Silk put him out of it. Miller’s ambition was to acquire the lethal machine for himself. True, he’d probably go to any steps to insure getting the machine, but so far only the fine hand of the Patriot had shown in the crimes.
With a full description of the house and a mental picture of just where it was located, Silk had little trouble in finding Halton’s big summer home. It had a private beach, fenced in, a big sprawling porch and many rooms. At least fifteen men could hide out here. On either side of it were two estates, much like Halton’s; but both were closed because the weather would be unseasonable for weeks.
* * * *
There were lights in Halton’s house. Silk left the car, wished that he possessed the eyes through which the Black Bat had penetrated darkness so readily, and doggedly moved forward. He slipped a gun into his side coat pocket and kept his hand wrapped around the butt.
So far as Silk knew, Butch was trailing the spy and Carol was investigating Viola King further. He’d get no help from them if things went sour. Without the Black Bat it was clear that the whole business had been placed on a touch-and-go basis. Mistakes meant death.
Silk squatted behind the big garage and studied the house intently. The back door was closed and more than likely locked. All windows were down and so far as he could see, not an avenue for quiet entrance to the place existed. The best move was to lure one or more of the occupants out so they’d create an entrance for Silk. His brain clicked smoothly.
If lights should suddenly appear in either of the next door houses and the Patriot’s gang was holed up in Halton’s place—certainly someone would be sent to investigate. The presence of neighbors might interfere badly with their plans.
Silk cut across the estates, climbed the high wire fence and forced open the back door of the house to the south of Halton’s place. In these big houses electricity was kept in service the year around so when he flicked a light switch, the room became bright. Silk lit the lights all over the first floor.
Then he hurried out of the place, went back over the fence and waited, his eyes glued on the back door of Halton’s summer home. As he expected, the lights next door did arouse the curiosity of whoever lived at Halton’s. The back door opened and a man came out. For a moment or two he stood revealed in the yellow light from the kitchen and Silk barely checked a sharp whistle of amazement.
This was Mike, whom Silk had last seen guarding Carol at the golf course clubhouse. It flatly confirmed his theory that the Patriot’s gang did maintain their hideout here.
Mike was cautious but clumsy. He pas
sed close by the spot where Silk was hidden and heard nothing until the butt end of a gun slammed against his skull. He went down without a murmur and Silk hurriedly divested the man of his tie, belt and shoe laces. He used these to bind him.
He put on Mike’s coat, which was several sizes too big for Silk’s slim frame and yet, in the darkness, lent the illusion that here was a big man. Mike’s floppy brimmed felt hat went on Silk’s head and he hoped that he could pass for Mike until he was close enough to silence anyone who might challenge his identity.
Head down, Silk moved back toward the house. Concealed under the copious folds of his borrowed coat, was a gun ready for action. The door opened as Silk stepped up on the porch and to his vast relief, only one man waited for him.
“Who was it, Mike?” this man asked. “You sure it ain’t Cops or G-Men…?”
The door guard’s speaking facilities were abruptly cut off by a short, hard punch flush on the jaw. As he fell, Silk caught him, eased the man’s bulk into a chair and slugged him once more.
* * * *
Gun exposed in his hand now, Silk moved softly toward a butler’s pantry, stepped into it and peered through a circular window set in the door. The dining room just beyond was empty, but he could hear voices, apparently issuing from a room across the reception hall.
Silk pushed the swinging door open, slid through and with his back against the wall, sidestepped toward the hall. Those voices were plain now—and angry. Then Silk’s heart gave a jump because a sudden bellow of mixed rage and pain made the dishes in a china closet beside him rattle.
Only one man could roar like that—Butch!
Someone else said, “Hey Gus, I been watching the house next door every second. The lights are on, but I ain’t seen nobody moving around. I ain’t even noticed Mike casing the place. Maybe it is cops over there.”
“Mike should have been back by now,” the man called Gus snapped. “Three of you stay with this gorilla and the rest cover this whole house. Block the doors, search the rooms. Find out why we haven’t heard from that half-wit we left at the back door to keep an eye on Mike. This smells like a trick to me; and we can’t take chances now.”
Silk glided into a small study, slipped around behind a door and waited, hardly daring to breathe. He’d walked straight into a hornet’s nest all right. They’d find the door guard unconscious, Mike tied up in the yard and then—Silk shuddered—he’d join Butch in whatever kind of a devil’s party he was undergoing.
To just stand there and wait for certain capture didn’t appeal to Silk. He missed the Black Bat more than ever, but his one hope was to avenge the Black Bat’s memory by taking a few of these thugs with him when he died.
Silk returned to the hallway cautiously, saw no one about, but heard the men searching upstairs and then a yell of surprise from the pair who had gone into the kitchen. Gus came rushing from the living room, tugging at his hip pocketed gun as he did so. The moment Gus vanished through the dining room door, Silk ran forward, turned into the living room and saw three startled thugs standings near a davenport on which Butch was firmly tied.
“Lift ‘em!” Silk hissed. “Make it fast.”
The three men raised their hands high. Silk moved forward a couple of more steps until he was within three feet of the trio. He made them turn around and then quickly disarmed them. He was fumbling in his pocket for a knife to cut Butch loose when a voice, high pitched with excitement, called a warning.
“Don’t move, pal. I haven’t got you covered, but there’s a gun pushed right against your friend’s skull. If you turn and try to shoot it out, he gets a slug first. Drop your gun and maybe we can talk things over.”
Silk didn’t move. “You’re lying,” he retorted. “If it’s a duel you want—you’ll get it. I’m going to turn around and when I do—start shooting because that’s what I’ll be doing.”
“You crackpot,” the same voice rasped. “Look in the mirror across the room. See if I’m lying.”
Silk raised his eyes and groaned. The leader of these thugs stood beside the davenport and his gun rested squarely in the middle of Butch’s forehead. Silk lowered his automatic slowly. His fingers relaxed their grip and it fell to the rug.
Instantly the trio he’d held up, swung into action. One of them kicked the automatic away and the other two pounced on him. Silk was groggy and bleeding from several open cuts when they finally threw him into a chair. Butch, his eyes blazing wrath, said nothing, but Silk could see how the giant strained against the ropes that held him down.
Gus stepped up to Silk. “So you know this big lug, do you? That’s great because we’ve been trying to make him talk ever since we got him, but the guy has a hide like an elephant’s and half as many brains. Now—who is he and who are you? How’d you get wise to this hideout? Who do you work for?”
Silk had a nimble brain, but he couldn’t think his way out of this mess. Playing for time wouldn’t do him any good either because there was no help forthcoming anywhere. Carol couldn’t do much. The police and G-Men were as ignorant of this hideout as they were of the Patriot’s identity.
Mike came in, a lump on his forehead growing in size and color. He reached into his pocket and drew out a knife. The blade opened by touching a spring on the handle. It was a venomous looking piece of steel.
“I’ll make him talk,” Mike vowed. “I’ll start slitting his throat inch by inch. Knock me out, will he?”
Other men entered. They reported that the house next door was empty and they’d extinguished the lights.
Gus said, “This bird turned on the lights to draw us out. We’re safe! Mike—put that knife away. What difference does it make who these two guys are? Nobody else knows we’re here or they’d be trying to crash the joint by now. So all we have to do is make sure these two never talk and—that’s that.”
Mike didn’t put his knife away as ordered. He brought the razor-like edge within a hair’s breadth of Silk’s throat.
Gus snapped a command. “Either you stow the knife or I’ll send a bullet through your thick head. I don’t want any more marks on these two. The big guy is plenty bruised and the little one looks like he’d been put through a wringer too, but that won’t matter because the sea does things like that to bodies that stay in the water a few hours.”
“What’s the gag?” Mike barked. “If they gotta be knocked off, let me do it. We’ll weight them down…listen—a car!”
Gus cocked his head and turned slightly pale. Then a horn rapped out a peculiar signal and he relaxed.
“It’s the boss. Douse all lights except that floor lamp. Turn the shade so the light is thrown into the faces of these two guys. The boss will want to see them. The rest of you guys beat it upstairs and don’t come down until I call. Remember—anybody who lays eyes on the man who pays us off—gets his payoff in lead. Scram!”
Two minutes later only Gus remained in the room and he held a gun in his hand to keep Silk quiet. The front door lock clicked open, firm steps sounded across the floor and then there was a pause.
“What have you got here?” someone asked in a low, hollow voice that obviously was disguised for the benefit of the prisoners.
Gus explained. “The girl we captured and who got clear at the golf course house, went to see Kurt Miller. Miller phoned me because he knew she was a plant. We set a trap, figuring the girl would follow him if he went out, but instead we got this big guy. Next—the one in the chair sneaked in here—cleverly, too—but I nailed him. They won’t talk so what’s the use wasting time? I know a way that we can get rid of them.”
“Good,” the man in the darkness answered. “Tell me exactly how you propose to do it and hurry. I have a phone call to make. It is very important and these men must be out of here when I speak.”
“It’s easy. We’ve got bathing suits here—one that will even fit the gorilla. We strip both of them, put ‘em in bathing trunks and keep ‘em tied up, of course. The boys can take them down to the water, hold them under until they dro
wn and then cut them loose. A row boat can take the bodies way out, dump ‘em and they’ll be washed ashore in a day or two. It’ll look as though they fell out of a boat or swam beyond their limit and went under. Nothing to show it was murder.”
“Excellent. I did well to select a man like you to guide the necessary brute strength we have had to employ. Do that—just as you described it to me. I am of the opinion that both these men worked for the Black Bat and are trying to carry out his plans. Later we shall see about the girl.”
“Just step into the study and close the door,” Gus said. “I’ll get the boys down here and in fifteen minutes they’ll have our prisoners in the water.”
CHAPTER XIV
The Avenger in Black
Gus gave the orders and Silk was disrobed and bathing trunks put on him. Butch was cut loose by degrees and then retied before he could do any damage. With four men assigned to each doomed prisoner, they were carried out bodily.
As the door closed, Silk heard the low, satisfied laughter of the Patriot. Silk was positive this newcomer was the brains behind the crime wave. He had tried to see beyond the halo of bright light thrown into his eyes for a look at the Patriot, but that had been impossible. The Patriot’s voice meant nothing—even if he’d spoken in his natural tones—for Silk hadn’t come into contact with any of the suspects and never heard them speak.
They were carried across the sand until water lapped at the feet of the eight murderers. Silk was dropped onto the wet sand and felt the surf wash lightly over him. He pulled with all his strength on those ropes. Even if they didn’t break he hoped to leave marks that would remain after death and cause a medical examiner to have his suspicions about the manner of death.
One of the men said, “Mike—you get down there and bring back the dory. We’ll do this fast.”
Someone prodded Silk until he rolled over, closer and closer to the deep water. They kept this up until the sea filled Silk’s mouth and nostrils. Butch was being similarly treated and his great body was performing violent twists and heaves to break the ropes.
Adventure Tales, Volume 6 Page 32