In the Grip of the Griffin: The Complete Battles of Gordon Manning & The Griffin, Volume 3

by J. Allan Dunn

  “Time enough,” said the commissioner calmly, though a nerve ticked on his forehead, “if the Griffin works on schedule. You and I will be either side of Osgood when that moon goes down.”

  Manning made a little gesture, not quite one of impatience. He knew that he alone realized the Griffin might kill, even if his victim were surrounded by a vigilant regiment. He had once held up an ocean liner to get his man, challenging and threatening from the air.

  But they had found their clew. Manning had worked it out. He had used the Griffin’s own tactics. The Griffin had boasted, more than once, and proved his point, that he could easily kill anyone after a study of his habits.

  And Manning’s knowledge of that part of the Griffin’s madness that made the monster consult the stars, and consider himself the Appointed Dispenser of Destinies, seemed to lead them directly to Osgood. The others were still being guarded. The Griffin, for all his cunning, could hardly have foreseen Manning’s move.

  But he might. The odds were still three to one.

  They would still have to outguess the Griffin’s own subtle move at the last second. And that might be a move like Harland’s sudden castling of his king, his seeming sacrifice in his chess game with Manning.

  Because Osgood seemed the most likely prey, the madman might well think that Manning would consider him otherwise. An error would be fatal. By concentrating at Syosset they might miss the actual attack at Astoria, Forest Hills, or New York City.

  But the horoscope appeared to Manning more than a hunch. For once he was inclined to believe in the stars. At least this gave them basis for definite action, released them from the devilish uncertainty the Griffin had planned. There was the chance that the Griffin’s horoscope-casting might vary from that of Ali Abdullah; but Manning considered that a possibility that could be waived, and was not a great risk.

  As he and the commissioner drove once again to Long Island, they saw the pale wafer of the moon, barely visible in the blue sky. It looked like a broken disk of ice, dissolving and melting. The life of Osgood might be also declining to a final dissolution as that moon vanished in the sunset, and Saturn shone malignantly below the horizon.

  VI

  The Guarded Villa

  It was early fall on Long Island, the most beautiful month of the year, September; when the faint tints of orange and crimson in the oaks and maples, the warm gray of clustering bayberries, the touches of vermilion in the brush, seemed a culmination of the splendor of summer, rather than a hint of decay.

  Now, with the prospect of action, both Manning and the commissioner were as fresh as if they had been rested with long hours of sleep.

  It seemed utterly unnatural that on such a day a fiend should be chuckling in anticipation of a murder, that could only be conceived in a brain inflamed by disease. Some day the cells would break down utterly and paranoia destroy the intellect that now was merely stimulated by the first stages of cerebral fever, its delusions fantastic horrors the Griffin was still capable of carrying out.

  In default of capture or death, the best weapon to use against the maniac was the frustration of his designs. Rage at defeat seemed to at least threaten to destroy his coördination. Once he had broken down, and Manning had captured him. Then the state had ministered to the diseased mind and it had recovered sufficient balance to set the Griffin free again to carry on his reign of terror and horror.

  His deeds had affected social, civic and financial circles. They had temporarily paralyzed industry, and now he had run amuck, like a juramentado Filipino; like a mad dog—save that there was ever method in his madness. In the death of Harland he had scored over Manning, and such a victory would prove a stimulus.

  “If he doesn’t pull anything off, or try to pull something off, at Syosset before sunset,” said the commissioner, “that should eliminate Osgood as a victim, I suppose. But the idea is not much of a consolation. I have had extra men sent on, but I suppose there is little doubt that the Griffin is pretty well informed as to the disposition of those already on the spot, and may find out what we do with the extras. A cordon of dicks is likely to be entirely too obvious, more so in the country than in the city.”

  He glanced at the sky. Manning was intent upon his driving. He felt in his bones that there was no time to lose. Ali Abdullah had been pretty vague about the hour of attack. It would be before sunset, some time that afternoon when the danger would culminate. And the afternoon was halfway gone. The sun would set in three hours. They might already be too late.

  “That devil may be aloft in that plane, or another one,” grumbled the commissioner. “So many are flying over Long Island these days there’s no controlling them. He may have his spies in the air. They could fly low over a place and spot every move we were making.”

  Manning made no immediate comment. The Griffin had used exactly such methods.

  “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he said at last. “The Griffin knows we have always guarded the men he has named. No doubt he is keeping tabs on all four places. If he spots your extra men, he may get the idea that we think Osgood in special danger. And that idea may merely spur him on. In any event I believe he has his method of attack already figured out and will not depart from it. It is something based on Osgood’s movements, customary or otherwise.

  “Osgood is game. We might leave some loophole open for the Griffin to utilize and set a trap in it. But I don’t think we could set any trap he would not smell out. I see only one thing to do. To keep Osgood where we can have our eyes on him until sunset, to have the men ready to close in on our signal or the suggestion of anything suspicious. You and I will have to be the best judges of that. A dick might think too quickly, or not quickly enough. There is only one entrance to Osgood’s place—the gates in the high wall. Have those watched, but not closed. Let visitors and tradesmen come and go. He will have someone who can vouch for them. There’s a little lodge just inside. Then it’s up to the two of us, commissioner.”

  The commissioner gave a grunt that was almost a groan.

  “I’m an amateur, with authority, Manning. It’s up to you. I don’t doubt your idea is the best. To have Osgood where we can watch him every second we would have to keep him in the open. That sounds pretty risky, to me.”

  “Remember that the Griffin never repeats his methods exactly,” said Manning. “He has used bombs, death-rays; once, explosive golf-balls. Poison of several kinds. This, if the attempt is made, will be some unique variation. If we cannot forestall it, discover it before it is put into execution, Osgood is doomed. We’ll do our best. Have your extra men patrol outside the grounds. We’ll see what we can do inside. Here is where we turn off.”

  The commissioner roused himself from a feeling of hopelessness that seemed premonitory. He had been elated at first over Manning’s stroke of genius in uncovering what appeared to be the identity of the appointed victim, the approximate time of the attack. It had seemed brilliant, but now it looked to him more like a flash in the pan.

  They came to the high brick wall that ran along the front of Osgood’s estate. It was not a very large acreage. Sides and back were fenced with galvanized steel wire of the type used by factories, heavily meshed, five feet in height, topped by a series of slanting angle-irons, strung with barbed wire.

  It was a formidable obstacle to any trespasser. With men patrolling it, it was a virtually impassable barrier. Osgood had erected it more from regard for his valuable dwarf fruit trees than with any idea of personal safety. It was a comforting thing to see on an occasion like this.

  The house, of the Italian villa type, sat well back. In front of it the land sloped, and had been terraced, down to a lawn shaded by a few beautiful trees landscaped with well-ended shrubbery.

  There was a pool with a carved stone fountain rising in the center, casting a rainbow spray in the afternoon sunshine. Goldfish swam about beneath the lily pads and water hyacinths.

  About the pool four semicircular benches of marble were arranged, the backs and sea
ts made easy by cushions. There were lounging chairs, and two enormous umbrellas of vivid pattern.

  The iron gates by the little lodge were not in the middle of the brick wall, but well to one side, so that the house and grounds might not be seen directly from the road. The drive led along an avenue of Carolina poplars. It ran about the house, with a right-hand fork for deliveries.

  The gates were closed. Manning’s car was challenged, not because of lack of recognition, but to show efficiency. The men saluted, reported all well.

  “How do you know?” snapped the commissioner. “Where is Mr. Osgood?”

  They pointed to the lawn, where Osgood sat reading in one of the marble benches, his back to the drive. Alone.

  “He insisted on staying alone, that is, away from the rest of the family, ever since your message came, commissioner,” said the homicide-squad sergeant in charge of the detail. “Of course we are watching him. There are six men within thirty yards of him now.”

  “Seen any planes flying low?”

  “None you would call low, sir. Two or three have passed over since noon, but that’s common enough.”

  “Ah! Manning, what are your moves?”

  “Find out from Mrs. Osgood and the housekeeper what deliveries may be made between now and sunset, what visitors are expected. If any telephone calls are made, and Mrs. Osgood decides to receive, word must come to the lodge. Those gates were open the last time we came. Open them up again, but have men ready to close them, to stop anybody, on foot, horseback or in a car, who is not vouched for by Mrs. Osgood. I want her to look over the housekeeper’s list. Put your new men outside, to help patrol the fence and the wall. Then you and I, commissioner, will go and sit with Osgood until the sun goes down.”

  “Going to tell him about Ali Abdullah?”

  “I would. He is a brave and intelligent man. He has the right to know everything we know, what we intend doing. You know his reputation. He has never feared to speak out. He has just shown his determination by keeping his family out of danger. It’s hard for them, but it is hard for him. A fine gesture of protection and manhood.”

  Osgood greeted them with perfect composure as Manning and the commissioner came towards him, after Manning’s suggestions had been followed out. Still the sun shone, the fountain played, the light wind waved the leaves, and brought the perfumes of the flowers. Once a plane soared out above the Sound. It was high up, but not too high for powerful glasses.

  Osgood listened to Manning’s recapitulation with calm interest.

  “Most ingenious,” he said. “I never dreamed my fate might depend upon the stars, the malignant influence of Saturn. That was brilliant reasoning, Manning.” He glanced at his watch. “Three-thirty, leaving about a hundred and fifty minutes of, let us say, uncertainty. Whatever happens—and I am not in the least degree ready or reconciled to death—I have completed one task. It took a good deal of tilling. This afternoon I shall see the first fruit. Thinking of fruit, will you gentlemen have some refreshments?”

  Manning shook his head. “Nothing for any of us, meat or drink, until after sunset. Just what is this fruit you are talking about, Mr. Osgood?”

  “The first copy of my book exposing the fallacies of medical jurisprudence as now practiced in the United States, with different practice in every confounded state, gentlemen. Some of our codes, the decisions handed down, smack more of witchcraft than of science. The abuse of alienists as contradictory witnesses, the arbitrary assumption of courts as to what constitutes rational responsibility in criminal procedure. It is high time that the law was changed to conform with the discoveries of science.”

  Manning nodded. “The case of the madman we are here about is strongly in point,” he said. “You are expecting this book? By special messenger? Mrs. Osgood did not mention it.”

  Osgood smiled. “She does not know about it, yet. I intended it as more or less of a surprise. My publisher is sending half a dozen complimentary copies. They will come by the usual delivery. I mean the Universal Delivery Service. It is used by many of the big stores. My publishers wrote me they would see the books got here today. I was a bit eager about it, I must admit. I telephoned them this morning.”

  He went on, presenting and discussing the high lights of his important opinion on the subject. It was, thought Manning, a somewhat macabre subject in connection with the threat of a madman who had been favored by the present laws; a threat that, to Manning, did not lessen with the passing of time, but became concentrated.

  The Griffin had never failed to strike. But this time he had not mentioned an hour or a definite name. He might even now be delivering his blow elsewhere. Manning went to the gate to add the service delivery van to the list. There would be some household supplies from the village. No callers were expected, so far, but these were always possible. Known friends would drop in without warning.

  VII

  The Moon Sets

  It was a little after half past four when the Universal Service’s light truck drove through the gates. He excused himself abruptly and went swiftly towards the gate.

  “Did any of you notice the tires on that car?” he snapped. Osgood’s servant shook his head. So did one of the detectives, but the other spoke up.

  “Yes, sir. The van had Fairgood tires, almost brand new. That’s a Forge car and the tires are regular equipment.”

  Manning’s eyes narrowed. At the end of the avenue he could see the van turning in after making the circuit of the house.

  He saw a manservant coming across the garden towards Osgood with a package in his hand.

  “Close that gate,” Manning ordered. “Stop that car. Hold the men. They may show fight. Be ready.”

  “You think it’s a phony, sir?” asked the man who had recognized the car.

  “I know it is. I know the tires on all delivery-company cars of any importance. The Universal has a special contract for their rubber. They use nothing but Cupleys, even on new cars. Hold ’em.”

  He turned as the men came into the open, and the gates were closed. He saw Osgood beckoning to the servant, who began to hurry with the expected package.

  Manning began to run, shouting to Osgood, the servant and, more specially, to the commissioner.

  “Don’t open that package! Don’t drop it, man! Get rid of it, safely—quick!”

  The servant stopped, startled, alarmed.

  He almost let the package fall. Osgood stood stock still. Manning was still twenty feet away. The commissioner barked at the man:

  “Hang on to it! I’ll take it! It’s dangerous.”

  The servant’s eyes bulged. He came to a sudden decision, and dodged the commissioner, taking a few rapid steps. For a moment Manning thought him an agent of the Griffin. To kill the man might be fatal. He was passing too close to Osgood.

  Then the man, with a manifest air of triumph, tossed the parcel into the pool. He turned, looking for approval.

  “That’ll fix—”

  The ripples were still spreading when the explosion sent the water geysering upwards, with fish and weed; with fragments of the stone fountain, shattered to splinters.

  It had received the full charge of the infernal machine. With his satanic cunning, the Griffin had doubtless arranged the bomb to explode on opening, but he had also determined that, if the parcel should be suspected, he would still get a measure of unhallowed joy, even if he missed his target.

  He might have hoped to trap Manning. It is a common practice to drop a suspected contraption of this type into water. But the Griffin must have included metallic sodium or some element sympathetic to moisture, that acted instead of the detonator that would have worked by the friction of opening.

  They would never know. They were all drenched. The servant was sent staggering by the air concussion. Osgood and the commissioner were thrown together. All three were uninjured, though they were drenched by the contents of the pool. People came running from the house.

  Manning stumbled to one knee, recovered.

 
; There was the crackling fire of a sub-machine gun at the gate. The van backed up, charged at full tilt at the iron gates—but failed to break through.

  One detective was down, but the driver hung limp over his wheel. The man with him sprang out, shooting at another of the guards, wounding him. The man made for the wall, leaped into a tree, holstering his gun as he sprang. He was taking a desperate chance to gain the top of the wall, perhaps not counting on outside guards.

  Manning came sprinting over the turf. He jumped and grabbed the man’s ankles, swung on them with all his weight and brought the other out of the tree. As the man fell he grappled furiously with Manning, the two of them rolling on the ground as the others came racing up.

  They dared not shoot. Manning, always in condition, hard as nails from hand ball, was a good wrestler. He knew the holds of the Japanese, but the desperate agent of the Griffin was armed with the triple strength of fear.

  Manning wanted the man alive. He did not have much luck questioning the Griffin’s men when he nabbed one, but there was always a chance.

  The man tore loose from a grip that almost broke his arm, driving upwards with his knee at Manning’s groin. He managed to get out his gun. Manning, fighting against the nauseating agony, felt the barrel of the weapon against his ribs. He expected the searing flame and lead in his belly as he pushed back the man’s chin and struck sidewise at his Adam’s apple.

  The man collapsed with a gasp, but his twitching hand pulled trigger. Manning’s clothes were burned, but his skin was not scorched. His chopping blow had diverted the other’s aim.

  The bullet had gone upwards, through diaphragm and heart.

  Even if the bullet had not been instantly fatal he would never have spoken again. Manning’s jujutsu chop had broken his hyoid bone; would probably have killed him.

  This time the Griffin had failed, but once more his agents had not betrayed him, could not have done so had they dared.

  Manning rose, panting, regretful.

  “It’s over, so far as you and the other three are concerned,” he said to Osgood. “They were never in real peril, of course, and the Griffin never tries to retrieve a failure.”