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Show SFIhAll Over But the WEF II 5 Richard Powell- Shooting If , .'LLi 'JZ AN ININJER SANCTUM MYSTERY I 'h A lyitl- ' STARRING ARAB D ANDY BLAKE who features ' THE STORY THUS FAR: Lt. Andy Blake and his wife Arab, believed that a German spy ring was working out of her boarding bouse. Andy had searched Jones' house, nearby, and found some evidence, which he turned over to FBI, Later, Arab had told the girls that she had given evidence of loose talk to Andy and that he was keeping it in his home to deliver to Intelligence. Knowing they would be followed they went to Andy's , home, where they read and sorted out the notes. They beard the window open and saw Renee climb in. She was overpowered overpow-ered and tied and taken down to the cellar for safekeeping. Both Andy and Arab were certain that Jones would soon follow. CHAPTER XI "Not at all. If you have any little errands to do, feel free to go ahead with them." I watched her flounce around the cellar unfastening a clothesline. She dug into a tool chest, found a knife, and cut the clothesline into lengths. She came back and began packaging packag-ing Renee's wrists with a not-to-be-opened-until-Christmas skill. She had finished with the wrists, and started to pass the free end of the rope around Renee's waist. "And kindly move back," she said, Jabbing her finger into my ribs. "You needn't think I'm going to tie her to you. Will it make you less playful if I remark that she probably has a few friends waiting outside for her?" "I was trying not to think of that." "Well, somebody better." She bent down, tied Renee's ankles, and said, "Bring her over to this straight chair." I lifted Renee, still keeping my hand over her mouth, and carried her to the chair. Arab used another length of rope to tie her to the chair, and It began to look as if Renee would be staying with us for a while. "Now," Arab said to our package, :"will you be good if we don't gag you?" Renee nodded, "all right, Andy. You may have your hand back. Mrs. Fielding, if you scream I'll probably hit you with something." some-thing." I took away my hand, and Renee said huskily, "Why should I scream? When I do not come out, they will know something has happened. They will come after me. What does a half-hour more or less matter?" That burned me. "I used to know a swell song," I said. "It was called the Marseillaise. It's funny, I never used to think it sounded like the Horst Wessel song. Are they both the same now?" She looked at me with old, sleepless sleep-less eyes. "I have forgotten the tune. tWe of the New Europe have no songs." "I used to know a swell guy, too. A big kid from Dartmouth, named Bob Fielding. He married the prettiest pret-tiest girl who ever walked into Zelli's. He was killed in Spain. I thought he was killed fighting Germans." "Everything," she said in a flat voice, "gets killed fighting the Germans. Ger-mans. My husband. France. Every Ev-ery tiling." "This might be a good time to see how the Germans like being killed." For the moment there was a bite in her voice. "What good is a dead German to me? Why should I help you? Where were you when Bob was killed in Spain? Where were you when France was strangled? Do you remember June of 1940? Do you remember Reynaud crying for American planes? For clouds of American planes? Where were they?" "On the drawing boards," I muttered. mut-tered. "But they're coming now." "Now it is too late for me. I made my choice two years ago." "And you chose the Germans." "How would you like to starve for four months? How would you like your parents threatened with the concentration camp if you didn't obey orders? How would you like to have lost all hope? They wanted me to work for them. I held out for almost five months. How long would you have held out?" She shivered. "The Germans cannot can-not be beaten. They would kill me. They would kill my people in Brittany." Brit-tany." "You know what all this excitement excite-ment is about, don't you?" "Yes. Landings in North Africa." "It's the first step toward bringing France back to life." "The Germans will kill your troops." "Has your gang got word out yet?" "Not yet. We did not see the pattern pat-tern until today. It takes time to arrange to send a message. Either there must be a U-boat contact, or the message must be sent by short wave direct to Germany." Arab picked up the Smith & Wesson. Wes-son. "I want to make sure," she said. She crept up the steps and crouched at the locked cellar door. Then she turned and whispered down to me, "Get the derringer from my pocketbook." I wnt to the ping-pong table, dumped the sawed-o(I howitzer from her handbag, and picked it up between be-tween thumb and forefinger. I went back to the bottom of the cellar cel-lar stairs to see what Arab wanted with the second gun. The stairway was empty. I went up the steps three at a time. Just as I reached Vhe top a key clicked on the other side. The door was locked, and Arab had Stilled a fast one on me. "Arab." I whispered, "come back here!" "You'll spoil everything," she replied re-plied from the other side of the door. "Somebody has to make a break for it. And I'm the one who can shoot." "You idiot! I'm going to kick this door down if you don't open it." She blew a kiss at me through the keyhole, and said, "The derringer has a stiff trigger action. Remember Remem-ber to point the open end away from you. Good-by, darling." "Arab! You can't go! When I get hold of you . . . Arab!" There was no answer. Something clicked upstairs. "'Shut up," I whispered. The click might have been from the cellar doorknob. I watched it carefully. Another click. It was the knob, all right; I had seen it turn that time. Somebody Some-body had tried it first one way, then the other. I remembered that there was a keyhole and that the cellar was dimly lighted. I took a step toward the light bulb. Joey Raeder's voice chanted jeer-Ingly, jeer-Ingly, "Five-ten Lieutenant Blake and Mrs. Fiel-ding!" I moved slightly to one side, out of line with the keyhole. "Come on, Jack," he said. "We got you cold. Unlock this door or we'll do it with a few slugs." I didn't answer. "We got your dame," he said. "I'd ask her to coax you, but we She climbed in slowly. had to part her hair with a loaded rubber hose and she won't come to for a while. She was heeled wit' a Smith and Wesson and one of the boys didn't want to have any words with her about it. Look, Jack, are you gonna " I yanked both triggers of the derringer der-ringer and the explosion almost caved in my eardrums'. My right arm jerked back, tingling. Two black holes sprouted in the cellar door and Joey began yelling that he was murdered. There was enough rage in his voice to tell me he wasn't really hurt and to warn me to get out of the way. I jumped aside just in time. Wood began spraying from door and stairs. Sound blasted into the cellar: tremendous stutters of sound that seemed to make the foundations founda-tions sway. One bullet smashed the electric-light bulb. In the darkened cellar the air became a live vicious thing scorching my lungs and jabbing jab-bing knives into my ears. Joey had turned loose a tommy gun. I started start-ed to dive into a corner . . . and Renee screamed. I had forgotten her. She was out in the middle of that traffic jam of bullets, tied in the chair. I made a drunken lunge across the black cellar. The timing was right. My shoulder hit her chair at seat level. I kept on driving low and hard at the chair until the opposite op-posite wall smacked me flat For a moment I lay there, unable to think of anything except that Roper would never have thrown me off the squad if I'd played defensive end like that. "Anything get you?" I whispered. "Yes," she chattered. "In my left arm. Above the elbow. It feels like fire. Are they going to kill us? Are " ' "Take it easy. They can't hit us here." I ran my fingers lightly up her arm. A splinter quivered in the flesh above her left elbow. She moaned, and I snapped, "Keep quietl They might try some three-cushion three-cushion stuff if they locate us. And don't forget that bullets don't ask who you're working for." "I will be quiet." A harsh voice called down, "Lieutenant "Lieu-tenant Blake." I put a hand over Renee's mouth, and didn't answer. It sounded like Plain Mr. Jones. He called. "There is no use hiding. hid-ing. It will merely delay events. Come up the steps with your hands raised." I kept quiet "Nobody will have heard the shots," he went on. "There are no houses within a mile. It is useless to expect help." Still silence. "We will give you five minutes," he said. I waited quietly and listened. Feet were pounding through the house. He wasn't really giving me five minutes, min-utes, because it would take that long for his gang to search the place. When I was sure that nobody was trying to sneak down the cellar stairs, I whispered to Renee, "Remember "Re-member what I said about bullets not asking whose side you're on. I'm going to fix your arm now. It's a splinter, a pretty big one. But I think it'll come out cleanly." She choked back a cry. The splinter splin-ter came out easily. It seemed to have nicked a vein, because her arm was getting wet and sticky. I whipped the handkerchief around the spot and began tying it. "I don't know why you did all this for me," she murmured. "You made too much noise. I kept losing count of the slugs going go-ing past." "You really have no chance, have you?" "They may get tired of playing with me If I pat a couple of them with that hatchet." "You have been very generous to me. I will repay you some way." I grunted, and went on trying to get the handkerchief just tight enough. Her free hand touched my hair and stroked it. I could feel the tips of two of her fingers stroking my cheek and lingering at my right temple tem-ple and suddenly I realized that she had the hatchet in her hand. I shuddered, shud-dered, started to turn. The edge of the hatchet drew a chilly line on my forehead, and she hissed, "Hold still!"' I froze. The edge of the hatchet left my head but I knew it was poised there, inches away. I tried to guess where her right wrist was. When I grabbed, I had to connect. "I am not going to hit you," she gasped. "I just wanted to prove that I could have done it." "Why?" "So that you will trust me." My muscles relaxed a notch. "Trust you about what?" "You have no chance fighting. They will merely come down with flashlights and shoot you. Your only chance is If they think you are dead. Give me the knife you were using." I got lt and handed it to her. After alL there wasn't much to lose. As she had said, she could easily have laid me out with the hatchet. Maybe this was a chance. She fumbled with my blouse and I felt her fingers fin-gers tugging at the right breast pocket. She was using both hands and making small sobbing noises. The gash from her splinter must be hurting. Suddenly the knife blade touched the skin over my heart, and I jerked away. "Please," she whimpered. "I am trying to make it look like a bullet-hole. bullet-hole. Please let me hurry. If they ever find me doing this . . She pulled me back closer, and I felt something pressing against my chest. It was her left arm. The handkerchief had been pulled down from the deep splinter cut. The last wisp of control snapped suddenly and she began to scream. Long, shuddering screams. I dropped to the floor. I had never felt sicker or more scared In my life but I had to go through with it now. A light fingered the cellar steps, probed toward us. I squeezed my eyelids shut and then remembered remem-bered that dead men don't close their eyes and opened them and tried to roll the pupils up as far as possible. The light glared into them. Feet drummed on the stairs and the fat man yelled at Renee to shut up. She babbled, "I fainted and then when I woke up and got my hands loose and I touched him and it was slippery and he didn't move and " Crack! That was a hand slapping Renee. She began to sob convulsively. convul-sively. I could see vague forms rising up to giant heights beside me and I turned my pupils up still farther far-ther to show nothing but the whites of my eyes. I tried not to breathe. My stomach was solid lead and I could feel sweat chilling my face. Somebody's foot was touching my side. If he looked closely he would know that dead men don't sweat. Joey Raeder said, "Look here, chief! I got him right in the ticker and he had just enough left to crawl here and " "We will make sure," the harsh voice said, and then before I could move a parachute flare burst inside my head. It went drifting down and down and getting smaller and dimmer dim-mer until it was merely a pinpoint of light and then it flickered out and there was nothing but a ringing blackness and then quiet Renee had done an artistic job on me in the dark. Over my heart was a ragged tear. The cloth was darkened and wet and sticky. The button over the pocket wasn't bright gold. It was red. My fingers were red, too, and back where I had been lying the floor was splashed with blood. It looked as if I ought to find a spade and save somebody the trouble of burying me. But the worst any doctor could say was that I needed a bath. (TO BE CONTINUED) |
