THE SPIDER-City of Doom (51 page)

"The president at once," he snapped at the man's secretary . . .

The girl's head lifted indignantly, but when she met the
Spider's
eyes, she surged at once to her feet. "Yes, sir," she gasped. "At once, sir!"

Moments later, a fussy little man was hurrying toward Wentworth at the railing. "That man on the safety-deposit gate," Wentworth asked quietly, "are you sure of his identity?" He held out his hand and exposed against the palm the fraudulent detective badge.

The bank president's eyes widened. He stared toward the man in question. "Hawkins my cashier?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Are you sure that's Hawkins?" Wentworth pressed.

The president shrugged, glanced irritably up at Wentworth. "Really officer," he began . . . and then his eyes met those of Wentworth. It was not for nothing that the
Spider
was known as the Master of Men!

"Yes, sir!" said the president. "I'll make sure right away!"

He opened the gate in the marble balustrade that cut off the offices from the floor, and led the way toward the bronze grill that gave entrance on the safety-vault steps. Hawkins, or the man who looked like the cashier, was standing at the head of the stairs. He seemed to be staring absently at the floor. Abruptly, he frowned, turned and hurried down into the vault!

The bank president swore mildly. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I have a key. I can't see why you should question Mr. Hawkins' identity. It certainly looks like Mr. Hawkins in every way. The way he stared at the floor then, frowned, and went down stairs. I've seen him do it many times."

Wentworth's lips were grim and he did not answer. It was possible that he was mistaken, but he did not think so. Towan had earned fully the reputation he possessed, a genius . . . . The president jammed his key into the lock, swung the gateway open and Wentworth strode through behind him. Abruptly, Wentworth checked.

"Do you smell that?" he asked sharply. "Gas! There must be a leak in a gas main! It's very strong!"

The president paused, trembling. "Yes, yes! I smell it!" he gasped.

"Call the emergency!" Wentworth snapped, "and the police! I'll get people out of the vault!" As he spoke, Wentworth hurled himself down the steps. The smell of gas grew stronger!

Wentworth bounded toward the vault itself, and abruptly the grill was flung wide. A gun blasted at him! Wentworth wrenched his body aside in mid-leap, drew his own weapon. Even as he leveled it at the doorway, the lights in the vault blacked out!

Up above, there were shouts and the sudden pealing of a clangorous alarm. Wentworth laid two bullets across the doorway to the vault itself, then checked. Dimly, he could see the figure there . . . and that figure was sagging at the knees. Arms and legs dangled limply! Whoever was standing there in the doorway was holding an unconscious man before him as a shield!

And the stench of gas was stronger than ever!

Wentworth swore and leaped to the attack. The gun blasted again. He felt lead pluck at the sleeve of his coat and then his shoulder drove into the limp body poised there in the vault entrance! Wentworth drove to the floor with the unconscious man, tossed him aside and struck out with his clubbed automatic. He struck nothing. There was no sound, no movement anywhere about him!

Wentworth whipped out a pocket flash and spilled its light about the wide, aisled vault. Within his range of vision, every safety drawer had been forced; each hung open and empty!

On the floor, lay four men and two women, unconscious and bound hand and foot. One of them was a grey-uniformed bank guard!

Wentworth stared down at them, and sucked in a deep breath. He coughed rackingly. He saw that there was a pinkish flush in the faces of the unconscious people on the floor. Their breathing was shallow, noisy. They were suffocating from the gas!

Yet, while he stood there, the guilty man or men were escaping up the steps!

Wentworth paused only an instant. After all, he knew where those men would go. And by this time, Jackson would be on watch! Swiftly, he stooped over the unconscious people on the floor. He heaved the two women to his shoulders, staggered erect and lumbered at a trot toward the steps that led upward from the vault!

When he reached the top, the bank president was standing there with a nickel-plated gun in a trembling hand. "I got the police," he jabbered, "and emergency! They're on the way!"

"Who came up these stairs?" Wentworth snapped.

The man shook his head, "I didn't see anybody!"

Wentworth swore and dived back down the steps after more of the unconscious victims of Towan and his gang. He had not forgotten that Cassin was at work here, too. Cassin who had the skill of a demon with locks and safety devices . . . and a wide knowledge of explosives!

The
Spider's
mind was working furiously as he caught up two more of the unconscious people and staggered up the steps. Did the bank president's failure to see anyone leave mean that no one had left? Beside the women, Wentworth stretched out the two men he had carried up. But their faces were unfamiliar. Certainly, they did not resemble Hawkins! Could one of them be Towan?

"Guard those people!" Wentworth snapped at the bank president. "Don't let them get away! And clear everyone out of the bank! There may be an explosion!"

He did not mean a gas explosion, but it was the only thing which would convince the man without long explanations. There was no time for that! With the last two victims of the criminals slung across his shoulders, Wentworth made the heavy trip up the stairs. He was breathing heavily. The gas had made him dizzy. He reeled up to the grill at the head of the steps, staggered, through and pushed on toward the main doors. Men and women were hurrying out of the bank, without hats or coats. At least the president had followed his instructions to the letter.

Wentworth laid his last two charges upon the pavement and set the outer bank guard to watch them. He peered intently at their faces. No sign of makeup or disguise there. Wentworth shook his head and raced back in. He might be wrong about the explosion, but he did not think so. Almost certainly, Cassin would attempt to cover up the evidence of their depredations by wrecking the vault!

Suddenly, Wentworth understood! That was the reason for the odor of gas! It was not a genuine leak at all. It had been framed to give an excuse for the explosion that would follow! The strength of the odor meant that there were only moments to spare!

Wentworth shouted at the bank president. "Get out, now!" he cried. "The place may blow up at any moment. I'll attend to the people who are unconscious!"

Wentworth stooped toward them, then straightened with an oath. "I told you not to let any of them get away!" he said savagely. "One of the men is missing!"

"One of the men," the bank president said stupidly. "Oh, you mean Frank! The vault guard! But he said he felt sick! He went toward the front doors while you were making your last trip!"

Furiously, Wentworth caught up the remaining victims and ran with them to the street. The bank president trod on his heels, anxiously.

"But you didn't mean Frank, did you?" he cried. "Not Frank!"

Wentworth lunged out into the street. The sirens were whining now, police closing in. Now that it was too late to help. Now that the criminals had flown! Wentworth swore harshly as he stood there on the curb. Towan had been clever, too damned clever! He had forced the
Spider
himself to carry him out of the vault!

It was true that Wentworth had more than half suspected the means employed. He himself had too often used the device of seeming to flee, and then remaining behind in an innocuous guise! But he should have sent someone else into the vaults to do the rescue work, remained himself to guard the six supposed victims!

There was no more time to be lost. Towan—for there was no longer any doubt that it was Towan—had escaped in the uniform of the vault guard after having first assumed the identity of the missing Hawkins. It was probable that he was going to Mildred's apartment . . . .

Wentworth whistled shrilly, and saw Bill Sanders roll his coupe out from the curb. He whirled toward the bank manager. "Let no one go into the bank," he snapped. "Tell them it is likely to explode at any moment!"

He hurled himself at the coupe as it slid to a halt, heard the bank manager cry out hoarsely. He ignored the shout, and the coupe just cleared the corner before the police rocketed into sight.

"The rat nest, Bill," Wentworth said softly. "That's the address to which you followed the man!"

Bill Sanders nodded, his face flushed with excitement and drove swiftly. Their goal was near. Wentworth leaped out, ran toward the entrance of the second building into which the secret doorway led. He looked around sharply, whistled the eerie signal for Jackson.

From an alleyway, a boy's round head popped out. Monk grinned and ran toward him.

"Uniformed guard went in that other building there," he said. "Ain't seen him come out yet."

Wentworth smiled his thanks, but his eyes continued the search. Then he sounded the signal once more. In all the district, nothing moved. No one answered. The sirens were raising hell near the bank.

But Jackson . . . did not answer!

Wentworth ripped out an oath.

He raced into the apartment building and when he went through the door into the girl's room, he had his heavy automatic ready in his fist. The room was empty, of course! He manipulated the secret doorway, sprang through. Nothing but emptiness here, too!

As Wentworth stood there, staring blankly about him, the windows suddenly crashed inward . . . all the windows. A rolling concussion jarred the pictures from the walls, shook him dizzily!

The bank had exploded!

Wentworth's face was pale. That explosion had been terrific. He hoped that the police had followed orders. Even in the streets, they might well be in danger from that heavy blast! Methodically, he began a search of the apartment. It did not matter now if there were signs of his invasion. He knew that the set-up had served its purpose and would not again be revisited. As he searched, he heard the increasing bedlam of sirens. Ambulances clanged past; fire department sirens mounted to incredible pitches!

Wentworth's lips grew hard and thin against his teeth. Damn Towan and Cassin! They were completely callous to human suffering! There was no longer any doubt that people had been hurt . . . and there was nothing in this apartment. Nothing at all.

He glanced frantically about him again. His eye caught the disturbed pictures on the walls, and his gaze narrowed. It was a curious fact that every one of the pictures depicted some famous actor or stage scene. He shook his head. Perhaps it had some meaning, but just what it was . . . .

Wentworth sprang to the telephone. Perhaps Jackson had followed the men to some headquarters. Damn it, Jackson must have succeeded! Except for that, the trail ended here . . . and the trail was cold!

Rapidly, Wentworth dialed his home. Instead of the recording device, it was old Jenkyns who answered the phone.

"I went to that Bennington Club place, Master Richie," he reported. "They wanted me to join in some sort of fool parade this afternoon. They kept talking about civil rights and civil disobedience to obtain their pension. I'll admit they have a great speaker in this Father Bennington. I think if I had remained another ten minutes, he might have convinced even me!"

Wentworth's eyes narrowed over Jenkyns' report, but he could not see how that connected with his battle. "Any other calls?" he asked.

Jenkyns' voice grew soft and troubled. "Miss Nita called. She wants you to come and see her. At eight this evening. Her voice sounded . . . strange."

"Exactly what did she say, Jenkyns?"

Jenkyns hesitated, and his voice conveyed his embarrassment. "She didn't know me, sir. Of course. I'll try to remember . . . . Something like this. 'Please request Mr. Wentworth to call on me this evening at the hospital at eight o'clock. I have to be sure, you know. And the voice keeps telling me—'"

"The voice!" Wentworth interrupted.

"Her words, sir," Jenkyns said heavily. "I didn't understand. Then she almost seemed to be listening to somebody there in the room. She said, 'Is eight o'clock the best time? Yes . . . all right, eight o'clock.' Then her voice got . . . hysterical, I believe. She said, 'I can't stand the voice! I've got to be sure!' That was all, sir."

Wentworth's eyes were coldly furious. Without any question, they were trying to strike at him through Nita . . . and, of course, eight o'clock would be the zero hour of their X-day!

He became aware that Jenkyns was talking again, mentioning Jackson's name. He flung a sharp question and Jenkyns repeated slowly. "Jackson called," the aged butler said. "It was a very strange thing. He sounded excited. Said he had overheard a conversation. Something about a parade. But he hung up before he finished what he was saying. Just cut off in the middle of a word!"

Wentworth swore harshly. Jackson had never hung up without completing his report and making sure that Jenkyns understood.
Something about a parade!

"What time was the Bennington Club parade?"

"About quarter of five, sir," Jenkyns said, "in Times Square."

The hour when the multiple subway tunnels beneath the streets were choked with the homeward rush of people!

He hung up woodenly. Towan's "rehearsal" had succeeded, and the parade at five o'clock was the final experiment before zero hour. He still did not know what Moulin's plans were for his raid that was supposed to garner a loot of millions. He knew only that those poor pensioners, ordered to march by a man whose voice could sway them intolerably, would be used somehow.

And at eight o'clock the
Spider
was supposed to walk into a trap!

There was a final ugly blow that had been struck, and it had stripped him of his ally on the brink of battle. That interrupted telephone call made by Jackson could mean only one thing. Jackson had been overheard.

Jackson was a captive of Moulin!