THE SPIDER-City of Doom (26 page)

"I'm taking you home, dear," Wentworth said steadily.

Nita's hand tightened convulsively on his arm. "Must you . . . leave me tonight, Dick?" she said slowly. "Somehow, I . . . I'm frightened. That man, Munro . . . ."

Wentworth's hand closed hard upon hers. "Munro will not rest," he said simply.

Nita's shoulders shuddered a little, but she said no more. Against Wentworth's inexorable sense of duty, there was no appeal. Wentworth's brows were creased by a frown. Jackson was certainly somewhere here. He had not been dismissed, and he would not leave Wentworth's trail until that standby order was canceled. He helped Nita into her wraps in the lobby. The gaiety went on undisturbed in the Hesperides Club, though police stood beside the exit and each person who left was closely surveyed.

Wentworth quietly donned his own overcoat, drew on white silk gloves. His course was clear. He must find Duncan, the real Duncan, as quickly as possible. That was his one lead, and it might be accomplished as simply as visiting Duncan's home! And that was a task for the
Spider . . . .

As they stepped out beneath the marquee, Kirkpatrick spoke from the shadows. "Those two are all right, Reams!"

Wentworth lifted a hand in acknowledgment, but Kirkpatrick did not speak again. The Daimler slid to the curb; the tall turbaned driver leaped out to swing wide the door.

"Drive toward the park, Ram Singh," Wentworth said quietly.

"
Han, sahib!
"

The Daimler slid smoothly forward and Wentworth watched the rear-vision mirror, and presently when they had gone a few blocks, he saw the battered coupe which Jackson drove swing onto their trail. He smiled, and nodded. Faithful Jackson, still on the job.

"Pull into the curb, Ram Singh!" he called, and turned to Nita.

"Jackson is just behind us, dear," he said. "I'm going to send you home. Better stay at my apartment for the night. It's not the old fortress, but there are still some safeguards. With Ram Singh to watch over you, you'll be safe!"

Nita made no answer, but her arms reached out to him, and the soft sweetness of her lips trembled under his. She smiled faintly as he drew away.

"Don't worry about me, Dick," she said then. "I'm just a bit tired tonight."

Wentworth crushed her to him again. "Don't worry about me, dear," he said. "Only take care of yourself!"

Nita laughed, "Ram Singh will do that for me!"

Wentworth stepped to the pavement, and Jackson's door was already open. He leaped into the coupe, waved a hand, and was gone. Nita leaned back wearily against the cushions as the Daimler surged forward again. She would have preferred to share Dick's peril this night, but she knew that she would only be a burden and hindrance to him. And she could not question his decision that the
Spider
must once more walk this night, though each minute Dick wore those awesome black robes was fraught with double peril.

Nita closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind off the dangers she knew Dick would encounter before another day was born. She would not sleep, of course . . . . She smiled wanly. It was minutes before a curious thing began to beat its impression into her senses. The tires made a high whining, and she could hear the hissing of a strong wind. Her eyes whipped open, and she saw the buildings were flashing past in a blur. The Daimler was hurtling through the night streets at express-train speed!

"Ram Singh!" Nita cried. "There's no necessity to drive like this. Slow down at once!"

"
Han, sahiba!
" came the gruff acknowledgment, and the Daimler slowed gradually to a normal speed.

But Nita sat bolt upright in the rear, and a tension of fear crawled along her nerves.
Sahiba!
The word shrieked a warning in Nita's brain. Ram Singh had never called her anything save
'missie sahib'
in all his faithful service. That meant . . . . That meant the man behind the wheel, turbaned and bearded though he was, could not be Ram Singh!

But it was worse than that. Not only was the man behind the wheel not Ram Singh, but only one man would be capable of that perfection of disguise—one man who tonight had slaughtered a fellow criminal to close his mouth.

Nita knew with a terrible cold certainty that the man who was supposed to guard her this night, the man who sat so steadily behind the wheel of the car was . . .
Munro!

For a space of seconds, while several blocks wheeled past the pulsing Daimler, Nita sat rigidly while something like desperation worked in her breast. She was not afraid. No one who had lived and fought beside Richard Wentworth through the long months of struggle against viciousness could know fear for herself in the ordinary sense. But she was a woman, with a woman's softness, and the man in front of her was a brutal killer who had baffled the police of two continents!

Yet it was not of escape that Nita thought! She was quite sure that Munro was unaware that his disguise had been pierced. If she could think of some way to make him a prisoner and hold him until Wentworth arrived, this latest perilous campaign of the
Spider
would be finished at its very inception! If only she knew how to reach Dick now!

She did not know his plans . . . .

Nita's hands trembled a little and she pressed them hard together, looked down at them with unseeing eyes. In those narrow, ineffectual hands of hers, she thought, lay the fate of hundreds of people. If she could take Munro prisoner, untold anguish would be saved the people whom Wentworth served . . . and Dick would not have to risk his life again for a while.

Thought of the fearless man she loved strengthened Nita. She shivered a little and cuddled her hands into her muff as if she were cold . . . and her fingers closed strongly over the butt of the small automatic she carried there, which Dick had given her and taught her to use expertly! Her movements then were as swift as any pounce of the
Spider!
Abruptly, she leaned forward and jammed the muzzle of the automatic against the neck of the man behind the wheel.

"Pull over to the curb and stop, Munro," she said, and her voice was coldly incisive. "One false move, and I'll drill that shrewd brain of yours!"

Munro's muscles stiffened against the thrust of that automatic, but that was all. Wordlessly, he slowed the car, and let it roll to a stop against the curb. When that was accomplished, he sat quietly under the wheel for a moment, then a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"You are clever,
mamselle,
" he said mockingly. "A fitting mate for the
Spider!
May I ask . . . what now?"

"Open the door and step out!" Nita directed calmly. "Keep your hands behind you as you do it. I'm not as good as Mr. Wentworth with this gun, but I'm still equal to a great many men, Munro."

The man obeyed her faultlessly. His left hand pulled the catch, then he put both hands behind him.

"Like this?" he asked solicitously.

Nita made no answer. She had her knee on the back of the seat, ready to slide into the front. Her left hand held a pair of handcuffs, which was among the standing equipment of Dick's cars. Triumph was making her heart beat quickly. She leaned forward to snap the cuffs on Munro's wrists—and suddenly the engine roared, the giant car leaped forward!

Nita squeezed the trigger, but it was too late. The tremendous surge of the motor's power hurled her violently backward from her uncertain perch. She tried to catch herself, to bring the automatic to bear, and the brakes shrieked. Before she could fight against that new thrust of power, Munro was leaning across the back of the seat.

His teeth gleamed evilly through the false black beard, and his black eyes were wide and happy. His hands clasped on her wrists, and he deliberately twisted her gun hand until it was numb with pain; until the gun dropped from her grasp.

"Clever, yes," whispered Munro, his face gloating above hers. "Very clever . . . but not quite clever enough to trap Munro!"

His palm cracked her hard across the jaw . . . and before her reeling senses returned, she was handcuffed and bound, gagged so that she could scarcely breathe—thrown flat upon the floor of the tonneau!

Then the car was speeding forward again, rolling smoothly through the night while its engine droned a song of power. Nita let her head sag forward to the floor, and something like a sob beat against that cruel gag in her mouth; not for herself, but for what her captivity would mean to Dick!

Munro was laughing!

THE battered coupe slid quietly through the back streets, boring eastward through the city. Wentworth was relaxed in the right-hand seat, eyes closed, forcing rest upon himself. For hours he had battled without ceasing, squeezing free from trap after trap. How many had his guns laid low this night, how many had merited the red badge of his swift justice upon their foreheads?

Wentworth's head sagged forward, and he knew that unless he flung himself into fierce action, he was facing one of his spells of black depression. His heart was kind, and if he seemed merciless and ruthless to those who met him on the wrong side of the law, it was because of his stern sense of justice. How many times his unerring guns had spat their lethal lead . . . and how futile the battle suddenly seemed . . . .

Trouble . . . .

His triumphs came always by Herculean effort, and always there was another greedy twisted man waiting to try his skill against humanity—and against humanity's paladin, the
Spider!
A few minutes before, he had been face-to-face with Munro; now that man had vanished into the nothingness of the air. Where he was now, or in what disguise, Wentworth could not guess . . . . But at least Nita was safe. He could be sure of that, with Ram Singh to guard her!

Jackson's voice was low in his throat. "Flame extinguishers in a box in the compartment, sir," he said gruffly. "Chemist said they were the most concentrated and effective known. Too expensive for commercial use."

Wentworth lifted his head and a smile moved his lips. Jackson recognized his depression and was trying to stir him from it.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "We'll need them." He opened the compartment, tucked four glass globes into pockets of his cape. "I have an idea that Munro will have at his command ways of setting fires far beyond the knowledge of ordinary arsonists. In his way, he is a genius!"

Jackson grunted, "Maybe. But this time he's bitten off more than he can chew!" Jackson spat out the window.

Wentworth's smile widened at Jackson's fierce loyalty, for he knew that his top-sergeant spoke with complete conviction.

"All you got to do, Major," Jackson went on grimly, "is to find out where these mugs hide out, then turn me and Ram Singh loose on them. That heathen is a dumb guy, but he's pretty handy to have around in a fight. Me and him together . . . ." A smile widened the straight line of Jackson's mouth. "Me, I ain't had a decent fight in months."

He tapped his thick gloved hand on the steering-wheel, Wentworth laughed softly. How could he give way to these foolish depressions when he had the loyalty of men like Jackson and Ram Singh, the love of a fine woman like Nita? If he had doubts of himself, they at least never weakened in their faith!

"It's not as simple as that, Jackson," he said quietly, "but perhaps after I pay this call on Duncan, we'll have an idea where to locate the gang. And then . . . ."

Jackson's mouth opened in a bark of laughter. "Me and Ram Singh!"

Wentworth found himself taut and ready for the battle, and wordlessly, he thanked Jackson. His eyes stabbed ahead. The hard, fine spit of the snow had changed with the dying of the wind. The flakes were larger, and they drifted down across the street lights in a swirling pattern of beauty. The sidewalks glistened wetly.

"Duncan lives in a fourth-floor apartment," Wentworth began quietly, "on the next street over. Two blocks down. I'm going there to have a talk with him."

"Let me side you, Major!" Jackson said eagerly. "There might be some other mugs around!"

Wentworth shook his head, eyes still searching ahead. "You forget, Jackson. You are known as my comrade. And tonight . . . the
Spider
walks!"

Jackson shifted impatiently in his seat, but his voice had the flat formality of army service again. "Usual orders, sir?" he asked. "Stand by?"

"Stand by!" Wentworth repeated softly. "The middle of the next block, Jackson. Stay within hearing after you park the car!"

Into the shadows slid the black sinister figure of the
Spider,
merging with the iron grating of an alleyway. In his hand, a lock pick of surgical steel glistened for a moment, then the gate swung open. Wentworth closed it softly behind him, flitted silently toward the rear. His eyes quested over the six-story apartment building on the next street, picked out the window of Duncan's apartment. No lights there . . . . The fire escape would be the quickest way up.

There would be few windows opened to this cold.

Wentworth crossed the open courtyard in long bounds, leaped high and caught the framework of the lowest landing. Above him, he heard steel rasp on mortar, heard slats tremble against each other; the entire structure quivered under his smoothly athletic swing and lift that placed him finally kneeling on the platform. He peered up through the darkness, feeling the wet kiss of snow-flakes on his cheeks, and he swore under his breath. He did not think the sound would alarm anyone. The heavy thrust of the winter wind must be enough to shake this fire escape! The thing should have been condemned long ago! The owners of these old buildings allowed the bolts and fastenings to rust out; careless fire inspectors permitted them to pass . . . or their palms were greased!

Wentworth was already on his way up the steps, and his foot-treads made no sound. So smooth was his progress that even the rattle-trap fire escape did not rattle. His eyes gleamed coldly. Small wonder that such criminals as Munro could cash in on the weaknesses and hypocrisies of humanity! The owner of this building would receive a
Spider
-sealed message through the mails, and if it were not heeded . . .