The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 02

by Anthology

  "To get rid of this Grant--well, that sounds meritorious. He is dangerous around here. To that I agree."

  "And with Jetta--"

  "Have done, Perona!" With sudden decision Spawn leaped to his feet. "I do not believe she would have dared talk to Grant. We'll have her out and ask her. If she has, by the gods--"

  It fell upon Jetta before she had time to gather her wits. Spawn strode to her door, and found it fastened on the inside.

  "Jetta, open at once!"

  He thumped with his heavy fists. Confused and trembling she unsealed it, and he dragged her out into the sunlight of the garden.

  "Now then, Jetta, you have heard some of what we have been saying, perhaps?"

  "Father--"

  "About this young American? This Grant?"

  She stood cringing in his grasp. Spawn had never used physical violence with Jetta. But he was white with fury now.

  "Father, you--you are hurting me."

  Perona interposed. "Wait Spawn! Not so rough! Let me talk to her. Jetta, chica mia, your Greko is worried--"

  "To the hell with that!" Spawn shouted. But he released the girl and she sank trembling to the little seat by the pergola.

  Spawn stood over her. "Jetta, look at me! Did you meet--did you talk to Grant last night?"

  She wanted to deny it. She clung to his angry gaze. But the habit of all her life of truthfulness with him prevailed.

  "Y-yes," she admitted.

  CHAPTER IX

  Trapped

  "Spawn! Hold!"

  There was an instant when it seemed that Spawn would strike the girl. The blood drained from his face, leaving his dark eyes blazing like torches. His hamlike fist went back, but Perona sprang for him and clutched him.

  "Hold, Spawn: I will talk to her. Jetta, so you did--"

  The torrent of emotion swept Spawn; weakened him so that instead of striking Jetta, he yielded to Perona's clutch and dropped his arm. For a moment he stood gazing at his daughter.

  "Is it so? And all my efforts, going for nothing, just like your mother!" He no more than murmured it, and as Perona pushed him, he sank to the bench beside Jetta. But did not touch her, just sat staring. And she stared back, both of then aghast at the enormity of this, her first disobedience.

  I never had opportunity to know Spawn, except for the few times which I have mentioned. Perhaps he was at heart a pathetic figure. I think, looking back on it now that Spawn is dead, that there was a pathos to him. Spawn had loved his wife, Jetta's mother. As a young man he had brought her to the Lowlands to seek his fortune. And when Jetta was an infant, his wife had left him. Run away, abandoning him and their child.

  * * * * *

  Perhaps Spawn was never mentally normal after that. He had reared Jetta with the belief that sin was inherent in all females. It obsessed him. Warped and twisted all his outlook as he brooded on it through the years. Woman's instincts; woman's love of pleasure, pretty clothes--all could lead only to sin.

  And so he had kept Jetta secluded. He had fought what he seemed to see in her as she grew and flowered into girlhood, and denied her everything which he thought might make her like her mother.

  Spawn met his death within a few hours of this afternoon I am describing. Perhaps he was no more than a scheming scoundrel. We are instinctively lenient with our appraisal of the dead. I do not know.

  "Jetta," Perona said to her accusingly, "that is true, then: you did talk with that miserable Americano last night? You sinful, lying girl."

  The contrition within Jetta at disobeying her father faded before this attack.

  "I am not sinful." The trembling left her and she sat up and faced the accusing Perona. "I did but talk to him. You speak lies when you say I am sinful."

  "You hear, Spawn? Defiant: already changed from the little Jetta I--"

  "Yes, I am changed. I do not love you, Señor Perona. I think I hate you." Her tears were very close, but she finished: "I--I won't marry you. I won't!"

  It stung Spawn. He leaped to his feet. "So you talk like that! It has gone so far as this, has it? Get to your room! We will see what you will and what you won't!"

  * * * * *

  Again the crafty Perona was calmest of them all. He thrust himself in front of Spawn.

  "Jetta, to-night you plan to see him again, no? To-night?--here?"

  "No," she stammered.

  "You lie!"

  "No."

  "You lie! Spawn look at her! Lying! She has planned to meet him to-night! That is all we want to know." He broke into a cackling chuckle. "That fits my new plan, Spawn. A tryst with Jetta, here in the garden."

  "Get to your room," Spawn growled. He dragged her back, and Perona followed them.

  "You lie there." Spawn flung her to her couch. "After this night's work is done, we'll see whether you will or you won't."

  "She may not stay in here." Perona suggested.

  "She will stay."

  "You seal her in?"

  "I will seal her in."

  Perona's eyes roved the little bedroom. One window oval and a door, both overlooking the patio.

  "But suppose she should get out? There is no way to seal that window properly from outside. A cord!"

  A long stout silken tassel-cord had been draped by Jetta at the window curtain. Perona snatched it down.

  "If her ankles and wrists were tied with this--"

  "No!" burst out Jetta. And then a fear for me rushed over her. A realization, forgotten in the stress of this conflict with her father, now swept over her. They were planning harm to me.

  "No, do not bind me."

  * * * * *

  A sudden caution came to her. She was making it worse for me. Already she had done me immense harm.

  She said suddenly, "Do what you like with me. I was wrong. I have no interest in that American. It is you, Greko, I--I love."

  Spawn did not heed her. Perona insisted, "I would tie her with care."

  He helped Spawn rope her ankles, and then her wrists, crossed behind her.

  "A little gag, Spawn? She might cry out: we want no interference to-night." He was ready with a large silken handkerchief. They thrust it into her mouth and tied it behind her neck.

  "There," growled Spawn. "You will and you won't: we shall see about that. Lie still, Jetta. If I have need to come again to you--"

  They left her. And this time she heard them less clearly. But there were fragments:

  Perona: "I will meet him again. After dark, to-night. Yes, he expects me. For his money, Spawn, his pay in advance. This De Boer works not for nothing."

  Spawn: "You will arrange about your police on the streets? He can get here to my house safely?"

  "Oh yes, at the tri-evening hour, certainly before midnight, before the attack on the mine. You must stay here, Spawn. Pretend to be asleep: it will lure the fool Americano out in to the moonlight."

  * * * * *

  Jetta could piece it together fairly well. They would have De Boer come and abduct me. Not tell him I was a government agent, with the micro-safety alarm which they suspected I carried, but just tell De Boer that I was a rich American, who could be abducted and held for a big ransom.

  Perona's voice rose with a fragment: "If he springs his alarm, here in the moonlight, you can be here, Spawn, and pretend to try and rescue him. A radio-image of that flashed to Hanley's office will exonerate us of suspicion."

  Perona would promise De Boer that the Nareda government would pay the ransom quickly, collecting it later from the United States.

  Spawn said, "You think De Boer will believe that?"

  "Why should he not? I am skilful at persuasion, no? Let him find out later that the United States Government trackers are after him!" Perona cackled at the thought of it. "What of that? Let him kill this Grant. All the better."

  Spawn said abruptly: "The United States may catch De Boer. Have you thought of that, Perona? The fellow would not shield us, but would tell everything."

  "And who will believe him? The wild tale of
a trapped bandit! Against your word, Spawn? You, an honest and wealthy mine owner? And I--I, Greko Perona, Minister of Internal Affairs of the Sovereign Power of Nareda! Who will dare to give me the lie because a bandit tells a wild tale with no real facts to prop it?"

  "Those police guards at the mine to-night?"

  "Admit that they took your bribes? You are witless, Spawn! Let them but admit it to me and of a surety I will fling them into imprisonment! Now listen with care, for the after noon is going...."

  Their voices lowered, then faded, and Jetta was left alone and helpless. Spawn went back to the mine to meet me. We returned and had supper, Jetta could dimly hear us.

  * * * * *

  There was silence about the house during the mid-evening. I had slipped out and followed Perona to his meeting with De Boer. Then Spawn had discovered my absence and had rushed to join Perona and tell him.

  But Jetta knew nothing of this. The hour of her tryst with me was approaching. In the darkness of her room as she lay bound and gagged on her couch, she could see the fitful moonlight rising to illumine the window oval.

  She squirmed at the cords holding her, but could not loosen them. They cut into her flesh; her limbs were numb.

  The evening wore on. Would I come to the garden tryst?

  Jetta could not break her bonds. But gradually she had mouthed the gag loose. Then she heard my hurried footsteps in the patio; then my tense voice.

  And at her answer I was pounding on her door. But it had been stoutly sealed by Spawn. I flung my shoulder against it, raging, thumping. But the heavy metal panels would not yield; the seal held intact.

  "Jetta!"

  "Philip, run away! They want to catch you! De Boer, the bandit, is coming!"

  "I know it!"

  Fool that I was, to pause with talk! There was no time: I must get Jetta out of here. Break down this door.

  But it would not yield. A gas torch would melt this outer seal. Was there a torch here at Spawn's? But I had no time to search for a torch! Or a bar with which to ram this door--

  A panic seized me, with the fresh realization that any instant De Boer and his men would arrive. I beat with futile fists on the door, and Jetta from within, calling to me to get away before I was caught.

  This accursed door between us!

  * * * * *

  And then--after no more than half a minute, doubtless--I thought of the window. My momentary panic left me. I dashed to the window oval. Sealed. But the shutter curtain, and the glassite pane behind it, were fragile.

  "Jetta, are you near the window?"

  "No. On the bed. They have tied me."

  "Look out; I'm breaking through!"

  There were loose rocks, as large as my head, set to mark the garden path. I seized one and hurled it. With a crash it went through the window and fell to the floor of the room. A jagged hole showed.

  "All right, Jetta?"

  "Yes! Yes, Philip."

  I squirmed through the oval and dropped to the floor. My arms were cut from the jagged glassite, though I did not know it then. It was dim inside the room, but I could see the outline of the bed with her lying on it.

  Her ankles and wrists were tied. I cut the cords with my knife.

  She was gasping. "They're planning to capture you. Philip! You should not be here! Get away!"

  "Yes. But I'm going to take you with me. Can you stand up?"

  * * * * *

  I set her on her feet in the center of the room. A shaft of moonlight was coming through the hole in the window.

  "Philip! You're bleeding!"

  "It is nothing. Cut myself on the glassite. Can you stand alone?"

  "Yes."

  But her legs, stiffened and numb from having been bound so many hours, bent under her. I caught her as she was falling.

  "I'll be--all right in a minute. But Philip, if you stay here--"

  "You're going with me!"

  "Oh!"

  I could carry her, if she could not run. But it would be slow; and it would be difficult to get her through the window. And on the street we would attract too much attention.

  "Jetta, try to stand. Stamp your feet. I'll hold you."

  I steadied her. Then I bent down, chafing her legs with my hands. Her arms had been limp, but the blood was in them now. She murmured with the tingling pain, and then bent over, frantically helping me rub the circulation back into her legs.

  "Better?"

  "Yes." She took a weak and trembling step.

  "Wait. Let me rub them more, Jetta."

  Precious minutes!

  "I'll knock out the rest of the window with that rock! We'll run; we'll be out of here in a moment."

  "Run where?"

  "Away. Into hiding--out of all this. The United States patrol-ship is coming from Porto Rico. It will take us from here."

  "Where?"

  "Away. To Great New York, maybe. Away from all this; from that old fossil, Perona."

  I was stooping beside her.

  "I'm all right now, Philip."

  I rose up, and suddenly found myself clasping her in my arms; her slight body in the boy's ragged garb pressed against me.

  "Jetta, dear, do you trust me? Will you come?"

  "Yes. Oh, yes--anywhere, Philip, with you."

  * * * * *

  For only a breathless instant I lingered, holding her. Then I cast her off and seized the rock from the floor. The jagged glassite fell away under my blows.

  "Now, Jetta. I'll go first--"

  But it was too late! I stopped, stricken by the sound of a voice outside!

  "He's there! In the girl's room! That's her window!"

  Cautious voices in the garden! The thud of approaching footsteps.

  I shoved Jetta back and rushed to the broken window oval. The figures of De Boer and his men showed in the moonlight across the patio. They had heard me breaking the glassite. And they saw me, now.

  "There he is, De Boer!"

  We were trapped!

  CHAPTER X

  The Murder in the Garden

  "Hans, keep back! I will go!"

  "But Commander--"

  "Armed? The hell he is not! Spawn said no. Spawn! Where is Spawn? He was here."

  I had dropped back from the window, and, gripping Jetta, stood in the center of the room.

  "Jetta, dear."

  "Oh. Philip!"

  "There's no other way out of here?"

  "No! No!"

  Only the heavy sealed door, and this broken window. The bandits in the garden had paused at sight of me. Someone had called.

  "He may be armed, De Boer."

  They had stopped their forward rush and darted into the shelter of the pergola. I might be armed!

  We could hear their low voices not ten feet from us. But I was not armed, except for my knife. Futile weapon, indeed.

  "Jetta, keep back. If they should fire--"

  * * * * *

  I got a look through the oval. De Boer was advancing upon it, with his barreled projector half levelled. He saw me again. He called:

  "You American, come out!"

  I crouched on the floor, pushing Jetta back to where the shadows of the bed hid her.

  "You American!"

  He was close outside the window. "Come out--or I am coming in!"

  I said abruptly, "Come!"

  My blade was in my hand. If he showed himself I could slash his throat, doubtless. But what about Jetta? My thoughts flashed upon the heels of my defiant invitation. Suppose, as De Boer climbed in the window, I killed him? I could not escape, and his infuriated fellows would rush us, firing through the oval, sweeping the room, killing us both. But Jetta now was in no danger. Her father was outside, and these bandits were her father's friends. I would have to yield.

  I called, louder, "Why don't you come in?"

  Could I hold them off? Frighten them off, for a time, and make enough noise so that perhaps someone passing in the nearby street would give the alarm and bring help?

  There wa
s a sudden silence in the patio. The bandits had so far made as little commotion as possible. Presently I could hear their low voices.

  * * * * *

  I heard an oath. De Boer's head and shoulders appeared in the window oval! His levelled projector came through. Perhaps he would not have fired, but I did not dare take the chance. I was crouching almost under the muzzle, so I straightened, gripped it, and flung it up. I then slashed at his face with my knife, but he gripped my wrist with powerful fingers. My knife fell as he twisted my wrist. His projector had not fired. It was jammed between us. One of his huge arms reached in and encircled me.

  "Damn you!"

  He muttered it, but I shouted, "Fool! De Boer, the bandit!"

  I was aware of a commotion out in the garden.

  "... Bring all Nareda on our ears? De Boer, shut him up!"

  I was gripping the projector, struggling to keep its muzzle pointed upwards. With a heave of his giant arms De Boer lifted me and jerked me bodily through the window. I fell on my feet, still fighting. But other hands seized me. It was no use. I yielded suddenly. I panted:

  "Enough!"

  They held me. One of them growled. "Another shout and we will leave you here dead. Commander, look!"

  My shirt was torn open. The electrode band about my chest was exposed! De Boer towered head and shoulders over me. I gazed up, passive in the grip of two or three of his men, and saw his face. His heavy jaw dropped as he gazed at my little diaphragms, the electrode.

  He knew now for the first time that this was no private citizen he had assaulted. This official apparatus meant that I was a Government agent.

  * * * * *

  There was an instant of shocked silence. An expression grim and furious crossed the giant bandit's face.

  "So this is it? Hans, careful--hold him!"

  Jetta was still in her room, silent now. I heard Spawn's voice, close at hand in the patio.

  "De Boer! Careful!" It was the most cautious of half-whispers.

  Abruptly someone reached for my chest; jerked at the electrode; tore its fragile wires--the tiny grids and thumbnail amplifiers; jerked and ripped and flung the whole little apparatus to the garden path. But it sang its warning note as the wires broke. Up in Great New York Hanley knew then that catastrophe had fallen upon me.

  For a brief instant the crestfallen bandit mumbled at what he had done. Then came Spawn's voice: