THE SPIDER-City of Doom (58 page)

"Nita," he said softly, "collect those guns. Then take Mildred into the cockpit. There is no one else aboard?"

"No one," Nita whispered. "Bennington was the pilot."

"Bill!" Wentworth lifted his voice. "You can come down now . . . Nice work, Bill."

The boy dropped down through the hatch without touching a step. He stood staring in wonder at the men around him, then his eyes fell on Nita. His eyes grew even wider, and a slight flush touched his cheeks.

"Get the guns, Bill," Nita said softly.

Bill stooped to pick up the weapons, sliding skilfully in behind the crooks. Wentworth sent Towan reeling across the room with a hard thrust so that he stood with the other four.

"Revive that girl," Wentworth whispered to Nita. "I did not hit her hard . . . and watch her reaction.
She, and she alone, knows Moulin!
"

He was silent then while Nita and Bill carried the sagging blonde girl into the cockpit. Even after that, he waited with his narrowed, cold eyes surveying the four who lined the cabin. The water dripped with the slow emphasis of clock ticks upon the deck. Only Flagg and Towan seemed out of countenance. There was a sneer on Big Gannuck's face. Bennington had the benign attitude of a martyred saint.

But Wentworth's eyes roamed over them ceaselessly. His guns were ready in his fists . . . and the water continued to
drip, drip, drip.

Flagg broke the silence! "Damn you!" he whined. "This ship is going to sink! Why are you keeping us here like this?"

Wentworth made no answer and presently Bill strolled into the main cabin with his hands in his pockets. He leaned a shoulder against the side wall, and there was a happy grin on his face.

Bennington smiled his slow, lovely smile, and spoke with his orator's voice. "When you are pleased to begin," he said gently, "would you mind shooting me through the heart? I rather fancy my forehead."

Wentworth laughed on a low flat note. "Only one of you will die by my hand," he said coldly. "The man who posed as Moulin!"

Gannuck's sneer increased. "Don't hand us that,
Spider.
Ain't none of us Moulin. Look, you cracked in on one of our meetings. You saw all of us, and that mug's face at the same time. He's meeting us somewhere along the line, only he didn't say where. And we didn't care!"

Wentworth shook his head, smiling. "What you saw in the glass screen was a projected image of a disguised man, made up to represent Moulin," he said. "The camera was placed behind the glass. It's an old trick, used in motion picture studios to build an artificial background."

Towan said nervously, "Look, I heard him talk. I heard Moulin before. It was Moulin."

Wentworth's lips smiled faintly. He stepped backward and holstered one gun. From beside the radio transmitter, over which Moulin had spoken to him a short while before, he picked up two wires which ended in flat pads. He tucked these inside his collar, threw a switch. Then his lips moved . . . and the voice of Moulin came from his throat!

"You fools!" he said. "Do you think you can trick the
Spider
with anything as simple as the motion picture Sono-vox!"

There was amazement in the faces of the four men who faced Wentworth. He snapped the wires from contact with his throat, tossed them back upon the radio.

The
Spider
slowly surveyed the men. "I will give you two minutes to tell me," he said slowly, "
which one of you is Moulin!
"

Bennington shook his head in a frenzy. Gannuck's face grew pale. But Flagg fell upon his knees and Towan cowered and covered his eyes with his hand. The
Spider's
gun muzzle had lifted in menace!

"Moulin should be bullet-marked," Wentworth continued softly. "Except for the thick covering he wore to increase the size of his cranium, he would be dead! My bullet did not cut deeply enough into that covering. I am sorry, gentlemen. It will be necessary for me to shoot all of you, in turn, should you refuse to talk.
Bennington!
"

Bennington drew himself up tremblingly. "I swear to you,
Spider
," he said harshly, "I do not know. That Sono-vox device fooled me completely!"

"Let me assist you," the
Spider
said softly. "You will see plainly that it is some one familiar with motion picture technique, a disguise artist, a man who could be in two places at once by that device, who could argue with himself. In fact, the only man among you who had the courage to argue with Moulin!"

Bennington's brows lifted slowly. He turned his head stiffly.

"Talk, Bennington!" Wentworth snapped.

Bennington opened his lips, snapped them shut again. He shrugged and faced Wentworth. "Hell, I don't know," he said.

Wentworth pulled the trigger of his right hand gun. He was very sure of his aim. His bullet just grazed the temple of Bennington, but it slammed him to the floor. It put blood on his temple. It looked as if he were dead.

"It's too bad he was stubborn," the
Spider's
cold voice said softly . . . but loudly enough to be heard in the pilot's cabin where Nita held the blonde captive. "It looks as if I shall have to shoot each of you in turn. You're next in line
Towan!
"

Towan had a cringing, whining voice. "Why are you picking on me,
Spider?
" he said. He clasped his trembling hands together and Wentworth watched him closely. "You got nothing on me!"

Wentworth laughed metallically, ominously. "Everything I have laid down as a characteristic of Moulin fits you perfectly, Towan," he said. "And you have a brown spot on your right shoe . . . . But I'll pardon you, if you'll name for me this Moulin!"

Towan turned and pointed a shaking hand at Flagg.

"There he is!" he cried. "He's Moulin!"

Flagg threw himself down on his knees. "No, no!" he screamed.

Every man in that room looked toward Flagg, even the
Spider.
It was natural. Flagg was on his knees, pleading. Towan's trembling left hand pointed toward him . . . but it was his
left
hand. And Towan was right handed!

At the same moment, there was a gasp and stamp of feet in the pilot's cabin. The blonde bolted to the doorway . . . but Nita was right behind her, with a gun.

Double distraction . . . nicely planned.

Under cover of that movement, Towan's hand blurred with speed as he snapped out a hidden gun!

Nita screamed. Bill cried out as his head whipped around . . . but the
Spider
laughed!

As Towan's gun jerked into line, the
Spider
fired! His bullet caught Towan dead center between the eyes. It jerked his whole body into a rigid line and slammed him backward against the wall of the cabin. He folded in the middle, sat down, pitched sideways. The blonde screamed. She screamed and ran toward Towan. She dropped down on her knees beside the crumpled body.

Wentworth said softly, "Thank you, Nita. That was well timed."

"She was trembling from the moment you mentioned Towan," Nita said quietly.

Wentworth nodded. "She was the voice of Moulin. Her lips moved but it was apparently because she was phrasing what she wrote down in her book. Actually, she was reading, not writing. You will remember, you other fools, that she was always present when Moulin spoke!" He peered toward the slain Towan. "I'm afraid I won't be able to put the seal on his forehead," he said. "He hasn't any . . . now."

He turned to Nita. "Hold them under your gun, my dear, while I tie them up. The police or the army will be after them very soon. We will leave them, with the looted gold. It will be enough to condemn them. I noticed in the cabin below that they brought along a small motorboat. It will just accommodate the three of us, you and me . . . and Bill!"

It was ten minutes later that they launched the small boat. Wentworth turned its nose toward shore, and through the darkness of the night that had fallen when the moon drifted into a high bank of clouds, they sped to safety. Airplane motors were muttering faintly overhead, and presently with the dawn they would spot the clipper and her guilty crew.

Wentworth sat very erectly in the sternsheets, his hand on the tiller, with Nita beside him. On the midthwart, Bill Sanders sat with his chin on his fists. There was worship on his face.

Wentworth smiled at him, "My friend, Wentworth, will want to do something for you, Bill, to repay you for helping to save his fiancée, Nita. I would suggest that you let him finance your education."

Bill grinned eagerly. "I don't want nobody to give me anything," he said, "but I would like to study up on how to help you,
Spider!
"

Wentworth's smile faded. He shook his head slowly. "No, Bill," he said quietly. "You do not want to be the
Spider,
" he said. He was quiet for a moment, and the high whine of diving airplane motors came to his ears. "If those men could see me now," he said, "they would use their machine guns. And I am a lonely man, Bill. There can be no life for me save this life of ceaseless battle. No home. No . . . love."

Nita's head was bowed. She drew in a slow, long breath, and there was a glisten in her eyes. But she lifted her head again and smiled straight before her, and there was pride in her smile.

"There can be only one
Spider,
Bill," Wentworth said, "and he must walk always alone!"

Bill's face showed his sombre grief. A plane swooped low, and his white face turned up fearfully.

"Cover your face!" Wentworth snapped. "They can see it! That's all they need . . . as a target!"

Bill shuddered and looked down.

"It is always like that," Wentworth said softly, "for the
Spider!
There are those who chant my praises, and even while they eulogize me . . . others are seeking my life. No, Bill, you do not want to be the
Spider!
But you shall lead a life of service, if that is what you want. You have served me greatly this night!"

Nita sensed that Wentworth wanted the subject changed, for there was heaviness and grief in his voice when he spoke of the life that lay ahead of the
Spider . . .
the lonely struggle, without reward, other than the knowledge of a task well done, of a pledge of service fulfilled. A thankless task, but noble! He would not desert it, or change . . . not even for her love!

Nita's voice was tender, though her words were merely curious. "Dick, you knew Towan was guilty in there," she said. "Your logic proved it. You only wanted him to make a break so that you could . . . eliminate him once and for all."

Wentworth said, quietly, "Yes, Nita."

Nita nodded. "I knew . . . because you mentioned a brown mark on his shoe. But what did you mean?"

Wentworth laughed. "Bill did that for me," he said. "Towan was lying on the ground, feigning death, in order to ambush me. Bill was hidden nearby and he forced Towan to betray himself, and miss his aim . . . and at the same time, he marked him for future identification!"

Bill said, "Golly, did I do all that?"

Wentworth nodded gravely.

"But how?" Nita insisted.

Wentworth grinned slowly. "He stuck two matches into the welt of Towan's shoe . . . and touched them off."

Nita said "You mean that Bill . . . ."

"Bill," said Wentworth solemnly, "gave a murderer, with a gun in his hand—
the hot-foot!
"

Nita's silvery laughter pealed into the night. Her hand was warm in the clasp of the man she loved. To her, in that moment, even the swooping roar of the hunting planes overhead seemed remote and harmless. But the planes were there; those who hunted the
Spider
would always be there! And his only reward would be in the worshipping eyes of such boys as Bill Sanders.

Nita's laughter broke on a gasp that was half a sob. Humbly, she thought, "That is all his reward, but . . . for him . . . it is enough!"

Research. That's what Norvell W. Page was doing that night a week after the incident at Gavagan's. Being in a good mood after Carroll John Daly had filled him in during lunch at Scoop's on East 43rd Street, Page decided to accept Daly's invitation. After all, she knew who was trying to kill him and why.

It was all very simple. Susan Fleming works for "The Office," a new agency headed by "Wild Bill" Donovan, an old friend of Daly's. She got to the bottom of it by, among other things, interviewing Harry Donenfeld, who was partial to lanky blue-eyed blondes.

As Daly put it, words just flowed from the expansive Donenfeld, and the truth finally surfaced.

"Get this," Daly said choking down a laugh. "Her job is keeping tabs on certain accounts on deposit with Intercommerce Credit Trust, one of those clandestine banks registered in Monaco with branches in Europe, New York and the Middle East—and close ties to the Nazi Ministry of Finance."

Daly took a sip from a squat glass filled with amber liquid and continued, "In the final months of 1940, some noticeable activity in Mexico appeared on the horizon concerning the account of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, a leading Nazi sympathizer known for recruiting Moslems for the SS. After careful investigation, all indications revealed that a team of assassins had entered the United States from Mexico through extra legal channels. Two German and eight Moslem Nazis. Of course, now there's only one German and seven Moslems to worry about. But, you were not their target."

"You mean," Page asked incredulously, "this has all been a case of mistaken identity?"

"Not quite." Daly took a deep breath and went on. "You see, the secondary target was Harry Donenfeld. Why? Because Hitler seems to have a problem with Superman, especially one that isn't Aryan. Since Donenfeld keeps promoting himself as 'The Man Who Owns Superman,' he became an easy target. Susan wasn't at liberty to tell me who's the primary target."

"Where do I fit in?" Page wondered.

"On their arrival in New York," Daly replied while pondering the details, "the Nazi assassins somehow ran across Donenfeld at one of his watering holes. That's where Susan had located him later on. She had heard what had happened from several sources before cornering him."