THE SPIDER-City of Doom (24 page)

Before Wentworth could fire again, the guns of the enemy opened up. Their crashing discharge pulsed within his brain, seemed to swell the walls to bursting! The hot lead, flying from three angles, crossed and criss-crossed the spot where the
Spider
had stood . . . but he was no longer there! He was a blur of black movement in a room strongly shadowed by the single torch that still blazed from the door. His cape swirled and whipped out from his shoulders until he seemed twice, three times the size of a normal man. He was everywhere at once, and nowhere at all when the bullets flew. The guns in his fists blasted and blasted again—and every bullet sped true! In those crowded doorways, no man could escape or dodge. They were stationary clay-pigeons for the unerring thunder of the
Spider's
guns!

Two, three seconds beat past in that death-trap, and the
Spider's
guns had crashed five times. There was a fury of sound, of gun-thunder and human screams, in which individual voice and shot no longer counted. The light in that room of death was red and yellow, the flicker of gun-powder lightning. Only one pair of eyes saw the small sphere that might have been an over-sized baseball lob in through the open window—and the
Spider
gasped his thankfulness. Every eye saw the flash that came when that sphere exploded there in the middle of the floor beside Eggendorfer's body . . . and after that they saw nothing at all!

From that burst of flame, darkness spurted across the room, coils of blackness that swallowed even the flashes of the guns; that swirled into the faces of the gunmen and clogged their vision. Wentworth flung himself prone on the floor, and his breath whined in his throat from his furious movements. His lips moved soundlessly, but what he said was, "Bless Jackson!"

His trusty comrade-at-arms had heard his signal laughter, and had hurled a smoke bomb through the window!

In the darkness, the killers were mad with fear. Their guns hammered in a frenzy. Plaster dust mingled with the chemical smoke. Wentworth could hear the thudding beat of bullets jarring across the floor, searching out the walls. Mugsy Lugan had long ago ceased to scream.

Wentworth moved cautiously. His guns were fully loaded again, and even in the welter of battle—the intense darkness which could swallow up even the bitter stab of flame from the guns—he had not lost his uncanny sense of direction. He knew that, beside him on the floor within the reach of his hand, was the corpse of Eggendorfer. Wentworth's lips moved in a faint, mocking smile behind the steel mask of the
Spider . . .
and he began to strip off the cape and wig, the black slouch hat, the steel mask, itself.

The shooting died away a little; men's voices shouted in fear and questioning. And there was little time. The smoke of the bomb would dissipate presently. Through that lull in the bedlam struck the keening of a police siren, shrieking nearer, nearer . . . .

"Close in!" A man's voice rasped. "Keep bullets going through that window, and close in! We'll rake this room from wall to wall. If that louse is still here . . .

And then . . . the
Spider
laughed.

"Come, fools!" he shouted. "Come and take me!"

From the darkness, guns roared, and the screams of lead-slashed men lifted terribly. The smoke was thinning, and the flames of the
Spider's
automatics gave them a target. "There!" shouted the leader. "There against the wall!"

Brilliant flashlights bored once more into the thinning mist of smoke, and the guns bellowed and roared; the walls shook, and the taste of burned powder was in the air, stranglingly thick. There were no more shots from that cape-draped figure against the wall. It shook and quivered to the impact of deadly lead, but still that sinister, changeless face peered out from beneath the hat brim; still it did not flee from their attack!

"He's dead!" the leader said hoarsely. "He's got to be dead! I put almost a whole drum of bullets through him. He . . . .
Come on!
"

Through the darkness they charged. Their guns kicked against their stiffened wrists, and they ignored the dying wail of sirens nearby. To hell with that, if they could kill the
Spider!
The leader leaped close and slammed the barrel of his sub-machine gun against the side of that lolling head. The black slouch hat tilted up and fell to the floor with a soft little plop, then . . . then the face of the
Spider
came loose and fell to the floor. It rang like steel, and they knew it was a mask. But they were not staring at it, they were gazing into the face of the dead man against the wall. A
Spider
seal gleamed eerily on the forehead.

"Eggendorfer!" the leader shouted. "Damn him to hell, he put his clothes on Eggendorfer and scrammed!"

Laughter came mockingly from behind them, laughter and a swift bail of lead! Men reeled and pitched to the floor. The leader slumped to his knees and his hands clawed at the figure of Eggendorfer, hung by his collar to a light bracket on the wall. They fell together to the floor. Men lifted futile, emptied guns toward the window, but they snapped only at emptiness, at a black rectangle through which swirled a few icy particles of wind-spun snow.

"Beware," came the
Spider's
voice softly. "Beware, you who would trap the
Spider!
Carry that warning to Munro!"

Fear nailed those who remained alive to the floor, and outside the window, Wentworth slid swiftly down the silken rope by which he had climbed, the line that was no thicker than a pencil but which had phenomenal strength, and which the police and criminals alike knew as the
Spider's
web!

Wentworth hit the pavement, wrapped the silken web into a swift tight ball. Police were hammering into the building now. Those criminals who had survived would not escape, but he had had to cut it terribly fine. Jackson already had gone at his orders. If Ram Singh was late by so much as a minute . . . .

The Daimler careened around the corner, and Wentworth leaped to the street, flung to the running-board as the heavy limousine slowed for an instant.

"Go ahead, Ram Singh!" Nita cried, and slammed the door behind Wentworth. "They're right behind us. Your hat, your coat . . . . Oh, thank heavens, Dick. I heard guns. I never heard so many guns . . . ."

Wentworth dropped back against the cushions and settled his silk hat more smoothly upon his head. His brows were tilted and there was a slight, grim smile on his lips. He saw in the rear-vision mirror that the gangster car had just whirled the corner behind him.

His hand touched Nita's briefly, where they rested on his arm. "I believe I, too, heard . . . some guns," he murmured. "I fancy there are those who wish . . . they had not heard them! They won't again!"

Nita's hands clung to his right arm and, left-handed, Wentworth offered a cigarette, snapped flame to the slender platinum lighter that had so nearly brought about his death. By that minute yellow flame, Nita smiled into his eyes.

"Dick!" she smiled. "Showing off at your age! As if I didn't know you had recovered that lighter!"

Wentworth's laughter was tender. This was when Nita showed her true courage. He knew that she had been torn by fears for his safety, but aside from that first involuntary outcry of thanksgiving, she would never admit it. She was easing his own tension now, for none knew better than she that this was only the beginning of the battle—if Munro were involved!

"Tell me, Dick," Nita said quietly. "You mentioned . . . Munro. I remember . . . awful things about him." Her shoulders, warm beneath her fur coat, shivered a little.

"No doubt," Wentworth murmured, and his forehead creased. "Munro, the Man of a Thousand Faces! I'd hoped he'd never return to this country! He is probably the greatest criminal organizer it's ever been my misfortune to encounter . . . and aside from that, a true artist at disguise, hence his name: Munro . . . . The name doesn't mean a thing. He not only can impersonate other people, but he creates a separate personality for each crime. The police hunt him, and find only the shell of the disguise! Never a clue to his real identity. It's his vanity that causes him to use that one name again, after these years. Munro . . . . The fact that he uses it is a taunt and a challenge to me!"

"And this time," Nita said slowly, "Munro's weapon is . . . arson?"

Wentworth nodded and the last traces of laughter and mockery were gone from his lips, from his eyes. "The man who paid, Eggendorfer, said his boss was Munro. And men who face the
Spider
in their last hour do not lie!"

"No," Nita said quietly. "I don't think he would lie, but where is the profit, Dick? It's awful to think in terms of profit when human lives are at stake. But that man does! A rattle-trap tenement, and five of those poor children . . . ."

Wentworth's lips were grim. "It is what I mean to find out . . . tonight!" he said. "And Nita, listen, trust not even a man who seems to be myself from now on, unless he gives you sure proof! It might be . . .
Munro!
"

Nita whispered, "A pass-word then?" Wentworth shook his head jerkily as the Daimler slid to a halt again before the Hesperides Club, where a bright neon sign showed three bouncing golden apples. "A pass-word can be faked, my dear," he said slowly. "No one can counterfeit the memories we share!"

Nita stepped down to the curb, her hand in his, and sent her gay silvery laughter into the cold night. "So we can finish out our evening, Dick," she said happily. "That was a foolish mistake . . . ."

The doorman's eyes were fixed on them intently as he swung open the portals of the club and Wentworth knew that Duncan would get a report on Nita's words. The gangster car was just sliding to a halt. The gunman, Mac, flashed across the pavement into a side entrance. When Wentworth and Nita had checked their wraps, Duncan was striding toward them, and there was a frown on his forehead; his dark eyes were secretive beneath veiling lids. And Mac was in the background, his sly face completely puzzled.

Duncan's cordial smile was palpably forced. "I am glad you were able to return, sir!"

Wentworth's smile was affable. "We don't like to leave things half-finished," he said, "and the injury to Miss van Sloan's cousin was a foolish error. A man who looked like Gregory and the doorman of the apartment made a mistake of identity."

"I am complimented that you returned!" Duncan bowed.

Wentworth's brows lifted in mockery. "And I forgot to thank you for the bodyguard, Duncan," he murmured. "I don't know the occasion for it, or is it a service you customarily tender to your clients!"

HE TURNED easily toward Nita, and his eyes swept the corridor. Mac was no longer alone, and he was no longer in the background. He was moving lightly forward, flanked by three other gunmen! The smile on his lips was sly and knowing, and his round pale eyes were eager. Wentworth checked the curse that leaped to his lips.

Had something slipped somewhere? It was part of his plan for the evening to have a showdown with Duncan, to find out where he connected with the death of Eggendorfer; with . . . Munro! But this was not the time Wentworth would have chosen, with Nita in the very center of it. Wentworth had not even his guns. He had been compelled to leave them, with their incriminating riflings, for Ram Singh to destroy.

"By the way," Wentworth murmured over his shoulder. "When Commissioner Kirkpatrick comes, Duncan, you may show him to our table."

His gaze sought Nita's face, and he saw in the glisten of her eyes that she had spotted the danger. She put a hand on his arm, and leaned close, laughing while she whispered.

"I have a gun in my muff, Dick, if you want to fight!"

He started toward the dining-room—and Duncan stepped into his path.

"I wonder, Mr. Wentworth," he said suavely, "if you would mind stepping into my office a few moments?" His tone was casual, but there was cold menace beneath his voice. At his shoulder, Mac smiled his sly smile.

Wentworth met that smile easily, and welcomed the chance to remove Nita from danger. "If you'll wait for me in the dining-room, Nita," he said, "I'll promise not to be long."

"I'm afraid we need the lady, too," Duncan said grimly, and the subterfuge was gone now from his voice. There were three men closing in behind Wentworth. He slid his hands into his trousers pockets and his head was tilted quizzically.

"I've changed my mind, Duncan," he said. "We won't go with you. And if you don't send your trained seals packing, at once, it will be my regretful duty to put a bullet through your umbilical. Yes, that protuberance over my trouser's pocket is the muzzle of a twenty-five caliber Colt's. Not a large-caliber weapon, but placed as I have indicated, I think you will find it does the trick, nicely!"

Strangely, Duncan smiled. His eyelids lifted, and Wentworth saw there, instead of the fury and frustration he had expected, a gleam of genuine admiration.

"Check," he said gently, "you will pardon me now while I make Commissioner Kirkpatrick welcome!"

Wentworth turned his head easily and saw the crisply striding figure of Commissioner Kirkpatrick of the police punch in through the main entrance of the club. Sergeant Reams strode briskly at his heels, and there were two other uniformed men. Wentworth laughed . . . and took his hands out of his pockets, One held his cigarette case, and the other . . . the slim platinum lighter of the
Spider.

"Won't you have a smoke before you go, Duncan?" Wentworth asked lightly.

Duncan hesitated, and looked down at Wentworth's hands. His smile was slight, even pleasant. "I'm afraid there isn't time just now, Mr. Wentworth," he said. "If I were you, I would remove the plaster dust from your right trouser leg. It is just possible Kirkpatrick might connect it with . . . a recent demolition job that the
Spider
has just finished!"

He strode easily away to meet the commissioner of police and Wentworth bent casually to do as Duncan had indicated, but there was a frown behind Wentworth's eyes, and Nita's hand, touching his, was cold. No question now that Duncan was sure of his connection with the
Spider,
but what was strange was the man's behavior! Duncan was a big-time gambler, it was true, but he was not of a caliber to meet the
Spider
on equal terms. Yet he had done just that!