Collected Fiction (1940-1963)
Page 264
DUNN SHOOK his head. “I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken to explain the situation to me—but I’ve got to see Faye Manning. I’ll know she’s all right when she tells me about it herself.”
The other’s manner changed again. His features stiffened and his warmth vanished. “I’m afraid it’s out of the question. We have orders to admit no visitors, except on urgent business, and then by appointment.”
“If I can’t talk to Faye Manning,” Dunn said deliberately, “I’ll talk to the reporters, outside.”
“You’re bluffing. What could you possibly tell them?”
“I could tell them there was something very funny going on, here.”
“Such as what?”
“Such as Faye Manning apparently being kept prisoner in this house. Such as someone knocking me out last night and wrecking my radio set, thus to keep me from using it to call Faye Manning.”
The stocky man blinked. “This is too deep for me. I guess I’ll have to let Miss Manning straighten you out. You can talk to her if you positively insist on it . . . This way, please.” He stepped aside in the open doorway, and Dunn strode past him into a large oak-paneled hall. The other turned very quickly as he swung the door shut, his hand darting under the lapel of his coat.
Dunn caught the motion as he was removing his hat. A great bell seemed to ring in him. Almost wildly, he threw the hat, followed it in a lunge at the stocky man. The latter had his weapon out, a small automatic, but the impact of the hat in his face confused him for just the single instant Dunn needed.
Flailing with his arm, Dunn knocked the automatic from the other’s grasp. Then his full weight hit the man, pressed him back against the door. Dunn held him there as he reached back into his pocket and jerked his own automatic out. He pressed the muzzle of the weapon against the stocky man’s neck. The latter ceased his struggles, staring at Dunn in baffled fury.
Dunn backed away, probing the silence that flowed back into the hall. No alarmed voices, no approaching footsteps. So far, so good.
His questing glance” fell on two telephones on a marble-topped table against one wall. He gestured at them with the automatic, returning his attention to the stocky man.
“One of those is a house phone, I think. Get someone on it. Have Faye Manning brought here. No,” Dunn amended quickly. “Not here. There must be an empty room somewhere close by. Have her brought there. We’ll go there and wait for her. . . And be careful what you say over the phone. If you try to give me away—”
The stocky man smiled thinly. “What would you do if I did? There’s no reason why I should co-operate.”
“You’re forgetting the reporters,” Dunn returned. “And the cops. Trick me, and I’ll make enough noise to bring them here by the truck load. I might even shoot you in the leg for spite. Not that my aim is that good. I could make a mistake and hit you in the stomach, instead. Maybe you know what a .45 bullet does when it hits a stomach.”
THE OTHER considered the thought with a remote, indrawn expression. Finally he turned to the table and picked up one of the telephones.
“Careful what you say,” Dunn reminded softly.
“Marty?” the stocky man said into the telephone. “This is Gillis. Bring Faye Manning to the little sitting room at the end of the entrance hall . . . I know, but bring her anyway. At once. It’s important.” He hung up.
“All right, Gillis—if that’s your name,” Dunn said. “Let’s go.” Urgency was mounting in him. It seemed incredible that the others in the house were still unaware of his presence. His luck could not last.
“This way,” Gillis said tonelessly. He started toward the other end of the hall.
Dunn slipped the automatic into his jacket pocket, keeping his finger on the trigger. He followed Gillis past a broad staircase and then past a number of doors on either side. At the end of the hall Gillis opened the door to a pleasant, informally furnished room that could have been considered small only in relation to the larger rooms of the house.
Dunn motioned Gillis well back into the room before he entered. He left the door slightly open, taking up a position that would leave him concealed behind its inward swing.
“Faye Manning is the only one who comes in here,” he told Gillis. “Send away whoever happens to be with her.”
The other shrugged with an appearance of coolness, but his dark eyes held a baleful gleam. “It’s your funeral.”
“Yours could happen a lot faster than mine,” Dunn said. “Don’t forget that.”
Slow minutes passed. The occasional shrilling of car horns drifted in faintly from the highway outside. There were other vague sounds that might have come from within the house itself. Dunn ached for a cigarette, not daring to relax his vigil long enough to light one. Gillis shifted impatiently, frowning.
Excitement stirred in Dunn as he waited. For weeks Faye Manning had been nothing more than a voice from a short-wave radio loudspeaker. A soft voice that had drawn him, haunted him. But very soon, now, he would see her in the flesh. What would she be like? And—his wonder sharpened—what would she think of him?
FOOTSTEPS rose into audibility behind the door. Dunn stiffened and shot a warning glance at Gillis. Then the panel moved, its edge swinging toward Dunn.
A man’s voice said, “Here she is, Mr. Gillis.”
The stocky man nodded. “Come in, Miss Manning . . . You can go back, Marty.”
A muttered acknowledgment, and then the sound of footsteps again, retreating. The slim figure of a girl walked into Dunn’s field of vision. He had only a moment’s glimpse of her profile as she passed him, not knowing he was there. Then he was looking at the soft blonde curls clustered at the nape of her neck, at the tense line of her back in the simple gray suit she wore.
“Well, what is it?” the girl demanded of Gillis. Her voice was the familiar voice Dunn knew, but tight, now, defiant.
Gillis shrugged, glancing past her, at Dunn. “This isn’t my party, Miss Manning.”
Dunn was swinging the door closed. Startled by the sound of the closing door as much as by Gillis’ glance beyond her, at Dunn, Faye Manning whirled. She stared at Dunn, her widened eyes touching the weapon in his hand.
For a moment he overlooked the strangeness of this meeting. He was aware only of the girl, aware that she stood before him at last. She was no longer a voice, disembodied and remote. The bridge had been crossed.
He was not disappointed. He felt somehow that he had known all along she would look as she did. Her blonde hair framed a small face with fine, even features. It was a face that needed only laughter to make it beautiful, but at the moment it held bewilderment, a vague dread, and showed the effects of nervous exhaustion. Her skin looked pale and drawn, and her luminous gray eyes had dark shadows under them.
Dunn found himself walking forward, wanting suddenly to reassure her. She stepped back, a slim hand lifting to her throat. Her gray eyes were on the automatic.
He grinned impulsively as the oddness of the situation struck him. “The gun is to make Gillis behave,” he explained. “I don’t usually have one in my hand when introducing myself.”
Faye Manning’s lips parted in startled realization. Her gray eyes seemed to light. “Why, you’re Bradley Dunn!” she said. “I know your voice.”
“Not any better than I know yours.” He smiled down at her as she abruptly came forward to meet him, her slim hand extended. He knew then that it was all right, that his life would no longer seem empty or meaningless.
She shook her head slowly, her eyes grave and steady on his. “You came all this way, you put yourself into all this trouble—and over a girl you’d never seen before.”
“I knew the really important things about her,” he said. “But right now we’d better get ready to—”
A sudden flicker of motion off to one side made him turn sharply. Gillis had been standing several feet away, watching. Evidently seeing Dunn and Faye engrossed in each other, he had seized the opportunity to make a dash for the door.
Then, as Dunn belatedly started in pursuit, Gillis slipped through the door, jerked it shut. Dunn heard a metallic clicking. When he reached the panel and twisted at the knob, he understood.
The door was locked.
CHAPTER IV
DUNN WHIRELD back to Faye.
“We’ve got to get out of here! Gillis will have everyone in the house after us in another minute.” He flashed a glance across the room. “The windows! They open on the garden, and we can make a run for it to the rear gate. There’s only one guard there, holding off a pack of reporters. With the reporters watching, he won’t try to stop us.”
She nodded quickly, excitement shining in her gray eyes. Then a new thought seemed to strike her. She caught at his arms.
“Brad, if something happens—if I can’t make it, you’ve got to go on without me. It’s important, Brad—horribly important. Someone has to be able to reach the authorities and tell them what’s going on here.”
“I wouldn’t leave you behind,” he said. “Not after I’ve come this far to find you.”
Her grip on his arms tightened urgently. “Brad, listen to me! This is more important than either of us. The safety of the United States—all the Western Allies, in fact—may depend on it.”
He stared at her, dazed. “Faye, you can’t mean that Stonecrest—”
“Listen! Stonecrest is an imposter. He isn’t Stonecrest at all, but another man masquerading as Stonecrest. And I’m almost positive I know who that man is. His name is Max Borzeny—and I have reason to believe Borzeny is a Slav-Asian secret agent!”
“Borzeny!” Dunn whispered. “I’ve heard the name before. During the second world war, Max Borzeny was a high official in the Nazi secret police—the Gestapo. He was one of the most wanted war criminals, too, but the Allies never caught up with him.” A chill dread rose in Dunn. “If what you say is true, Faye, then Borzeny is right here, in this house. And according to certain evidence, he’s able to control what in effect is the most terrible weapon the world has ever known!”
Somewhere in the house a bell rang sharply.
Abruptly aware of the precious seconds that had passed, Dunn taught at the girl’s hand. “Come on! We still have a chance if we move fast enough!”
He led the way to the nearest of the windows, released the catch, pulled the window open. It was little more than a half-dozen feet to the ground. He dropped easily, then reached up to assist Faye as she swung out after him.
THEY were on the side of the house opposite the driveway. From here only the far end of the front fence was visible, and only a few persons were in sight beyond it, walking along the street. The greater part of the crowd was concentrated around the front gate. Dunn and the girl were still as much alone as though in a wilderness.
They ran toward the rear of the mansion. The smaller buildings came into sight. Beyond them was the garage, and beyond that the greenhouse which cut off the view of the grounds from the rear gate.
Dunn approached the outbuildings from the side. Once he and Faye passed them, they could cut in front of the greenhouse, to the driveway.
He turned as a man’s voice called out behind him. Figures were emerging from the window through which he and Faye had fled. One of the men was pointing, and Dunn realized that he and Faye had been sighted.
He sent an anxious glance at the girl. In her skirts and high heels she was finding it difficult to keep up with him.
He caught at her arm. “Your shoes, Faye. Kick them off, quick!”
She swung to a stop beside him, obeyed hurriedly.
“They’re coming after us from the house,” he said. “We’ve got to hold our lead until we get to the greenhouse.”
Her gray eyes were pleading. She was breathing fast. “Brad . . . if I can’t make it . . . you’ve got to go on without me!”
He shook his head doggedly as they set off again. “We’ve got to make it together.”
They passed the first of the outbuildings—and then Faye gasped. In almost the same instant Dunn saw the reason. Several men were racing toward them across the stretch of grass between the outbuilding and the one beyond it. The path to the greenhouse was being cut off.
A cold anger swept through Dunn. He was lifting the automatic toward the oncoming men, when his plunging foot came down on a depression in the turf. His ankle turned. Suddenly out of balance, he stumbled against Faye—and both fell sprawling.
Dunn hit the ground hard, felt the automatic jolted out of his hand. Frantically he pushed himself back to his feet, whirled to help Faye as she began rising.
“The rear gate!” he whispered at her. “Run for it. It’s the only way, now.”
She hesitated an instant, her gray eyes mournfully intent on his. Then she was gone in a flash of silken legs.
DUNN saw that one of the approaching men, moving more swiftly than the others, was almost upon him. There would be no time to retrieve the automatic. The only thing he could do—
He lunged directly toward the on-rushing figures. Crouching, he threw his shoulder into the first of the group, sent him reeling back into the others. Almost immediately there was a tangle of colliding bodies as most of the men were unable to check their rush in time. They fell heavily to the ground amid curses and grunts of pain.
Dunn pushed, kicked, twisted, fighting his way up through the tangle. He struck out as a face bobbed in front of him, felt his knuckles crunch against bone. Another man was coming at him from the side, and almost too late he dodged a swung fist. He sent a wild punch at the other’s middle, was rewarded by a gasp of expelled breath. Then arms caught him around the knees, and he went down again.
Hands clutched at him, fists pounded at his face and head. Desperately he struggled to keep from being overwhelmed, but he knew it was hopeless. He heard voices, was dimly aware that the reinforcements from the mansion had reached the scene. A fist struck the side of his jaw, and the world west foggy in a burst of light and pain.
From a distance he seemed to hear a girl’s choked scream. And then something heavy and hard smashed down on his head. His dimming perceptions dissolved in a black nothingness.
DUNM opened his eyes in a small windowless room, lighted by an unshielded bulb in the low ceiling. A blurred face hung over him and he blinked several times before he recognized Faye Manning. He lay on a concrete floor, and his head, he discovered further, was pillowed on the girl’s lap.
“Brad!” she said. “I was beginning to think you were dead. How do you feel?”
Knowledge of the girl’s presence quickened his return to full awareness. He forced a grin. “Just seeing you, Faye, I feel fine.”
He got his elbows under him, struggled to a sitting position on the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut as pain rang an anvil chorus in his head. Other pains swiftly became evident throughout his body, blending in a dull, steady ache.
He sent a glance around the room. “Where are we?”
“In one of the storerooms in the basement of the mansion.” Faye hesitated, looking down at her hands. Her small face seemed even paler than before, and there were smudges of dust on her cheeks. “It’s all my fault,” she went on. “I tried to reach the gate, but one of the men caught me . . . I’m sorry, Brad. I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.”
He shook his head. “Getting to meet you was worth it. I’d do it all over again if I had to.”
“I think I would, too, Brad.”
He saw the meaning in her steady eyes, in her grave smile, and it gave him a sudden, deep feeling of strength, of reassurance. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she leaned almost tiredly against him, closing her eyes. He held her for a long moment. The situation had an odd familiarity, as though it had been repeated many times before.
He looked
past the blonde head resting against his cheek, looked at the stained, concrete walls of the room. They seemed to sharpen around him, bringing him back to the problem of survival. He released the girl, stood up, went to the low wooden door. The knob turned easily under his hand, but the door itself was securely fastened from the other side. Nothing short of an ax would open it—and guards all too likely were posted nearby.
He returned to where Faye sat watching him, pressing blonde curls away from her face with the back of one hand. He lowered himself beside her, spoke softly. “Our chances seem to depend on how much Borzeny thinks you know about the set-up, here, and his plans. And there’s the matter of his identity. Does he know you’ve discovered who he is?”
“I think he suspects it. That’s why he was keeping the prisoner.”
“How did you get on to him?”
“I went into the library one afternoon, to look up some records,” Faye began. “I usually did my work in another part of the house, and I don’t think Borzeny expected me there. Anyway, I noticed that a panel in the wall was open, and there was a safe behind it, open, too.”
HER FULL lips curved in a wry smile. “I suppose it would seem the most natural thing in the world for a woman to nose around. But I had a better reason than that. I had been growing certain that something definitely queer was going on at the house. There was too much out of the ordinary happening, too much of an attempt to keep it secret.
“Borzeny—or Stonecrest, as I thought of him at the time—explained the situation by saying he was engaged in certain important and confidential work for the government. It seemed logical enough. Borzeny can be very charming and persuasive when he wants to be. And besides, I knew he had a laboratory in the house and spent a lot of time there on experiments of some sort. He even had two assistants helping him, neither of whom could speak English very well. He said they were European specialists, loaned to him fey the government.
“I played along for a while. That’s why I didn’t tell you a lot of the things about myself, Brad, that I might have told you otherwise. I thought I was helping the government.”