by Jerry eBooks
The hatch opening! And the wind must have whipped a corner of the loose canvas covering free. He had almost pitched through into the great space below deck!
Breath sucking into his lungs in a strained gasp, Roger Cass attempt to pull away from the dangerous opening. But too late. The man behind him was on his feet. His foot, his heavy shoe drove downward. There was again the guitural curse.
The heel of that foot caught Cass behind the shoulders, across the back of his neck. It felt like every muscle in his back was broken. His brain numbed and he went tumbling forward across the hatch opening. Then he was in space . . . falling . . .
He landed with a sickening thud. He lay there unmoving, wondering whether his spine was cracked or not. He thought perhaps it was, because there was no feeling in his arms, his legs. He must be paralyzed.
He heard the satisfied grunt that came from above. And then he heard the canvas covering being lashed back in place. After that . . . silence. Silence save for the wind and the driving rain.
But after awhile, he heard not even that . . .
CHAPTER VI
Suspicion
ROGER CASS opened his eyes and stared into the blackness and instinctively knew that someone was close to him. He must have moved slightly, for swiftly there was a sharp intake of breath nearby.
And then the girl’s voice. “Roger!”
It was Katherine, and immediately her cool hand was on his brow and she was continuing, “I tried to find you. I searched everywhere. And then I saw that piece of cloth clinging to the hatch opening . . . a piece from your linen suit.” He knew that she was trembling. “Roger, how badly are you hurt?”
He tried moving again. He felt stiff as a board, and his back ached. But he suddenly knew that he was not seriously injured, for his outstretched hand touched a sack that was yielding and fairly soft. There were other sacks, dozens of them. It was upon these that he had landed. There was the sharp, biting smell of spices in the hold.
He raised to one elbow, said cheerfully, “Doctors are hard to kill, darling! I guess I’m still pretty much alive!” And then, feeling the girl so close to him, he gave a start.
“But how—” he started. “How did you ever get down here?”
She had flicked on a small flashlight. As though fearful of detection, she kept the palm of one trembling hand cupped over the small lens. Then she allowed a sliver of light to seep through and pointed upward.
Roger saw that the hatch opening was not more than seven or eight feet above their heads. All around them were stored the bags of spices. The hold was almost full.
Katherine said softly, “I hung by my hands, dropped down here.” He had a glimpse of her wide blue eyes. “How we’re ever going to get out—”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said. He gripped her arm, prodded, “Where were you? I came to your cabin, and you were gone.”
She nodded, then explained rapidly, “I thought I heard someone near the door. When I looked out, a little later, a man was just disappearing down the corridor.”
“Who?” Roger prompted.
The girl shook her head. “I don’t know. I only saw his back. He was stripped from the waist up . . . and bald!”
Roger Cass gave a start. “That’s him!”
“Who?”
“The one I fought with. The one who pitched me down here!”
“Then you know who it is?”
Roger was getting to his feet. Worried, Katherine grasped his arm. “Be careful—” she started to warn.
But outside of the pain in his back, he felt all right. He continued:
“I couldn’t see him. But whoever he is, he’s a madman. He’s bent on killing me . . . and perhaps others!”
“You think . . . he murdered Dougherty?”
“There’s no doubt of it,” admitted Roger.
“But who could it possibly be?” the girl wanted to know, her eyes frightened. In her tenseness, she had forgotten to keep the light covered. The ray now revealed her pallid and yet lovely face.
Roger Cass’s jaw set grimly. “I wish I knew,” he murmured. He stared upward over their heads. “We’ve got to get out of here! It isn’t safe for you to be here.”
“I want to stay with you,” Katherine said determinedly. “Your life’s in danger!”
THERE were things he wanted to tell her, but there wasn’t time for this now. Each moment they remained here there was danger of the killer returning. There was this menace far worse than a loose gorilla. A human could think.
He grasped Katherine’s trim waist, directed, “I’ll lift you so that you can reach the hatch coping. Then pull yourself up. Up there on deck you’ll find coils of rope some place. Throw an end down and fasten your end up there.”
He lifted the girl’s shapely form, stretched his arms upward. Her fingertips barely touched the bottom of the hatch opening.
Katherine gasped, “I . . . I can’t make it.”
He lowered her again, directed, “Hold yourself rigid. Now, here we go.”
He had a firm grip on her thighs this time. With one smooth movement, he raised her upward again. Her hands caught hold of the coping. He thought her fingers were going to slip.
And then she was holding on, pulling herself upward. He suddenly admired the determination it must have taken to haul herself over the hatch edge. Then she was clear, on deck, and she called down softly, “Just a minute.”
For a moment, fear took hold of him. Suppose the killer should be up there, waiting . . .
He tried not to let his thoughts dwell on the idea. He retrieved the light which the girl had left on the sacks. He dropped it in his pocket.
And then he heard the swish of heavy rope being lowered toward him. He reached up a hand, clutched the two-inch strand. It was slack. No possible way to climb . . .
Abruptly the rope went taut as the girl above found some purchase and tied the other end. Roger Cass tested his weight on the thing. The rope held.
Next he was going up the rope agilely, his back screaming with pain against the strain. In a moment he had swung out on deck.
He pulled the loose end of the rope after him, passed it to the girl, then fastened down the hatch tarpaulin. Katherine was swiftly close to him. She cried softly, “You’re all right? You’re not hurt?”
He squeezed her arm. “Come on,” he said.
It was still raining, though the wind had died and there was the sultriness of the air again. In the distance, thunder muttered as though in protest against this ship that disturbed the solitude of the sea.
They reached a door, got inside out of the rain. They almost bumped into the seaman who was running through the corridor.
The man drew up short, seeing the girl. He exclaimed, “They’re looking for you, miss!” The man was breathing hard.
“Me?” The girl’s deep blue eyes were questioning. “Why?”
“That is, the skipper sent me, miss,” explained the sailor. “He figures maybe you oughta hurry down to Mr. Benedict’s cabin. Mr. Benedict is bad again! It’s that fever!”
ROGER CASS stood silently, listening. But he sensed the thoughts that must be racing through Katherine’s mind. Clark Bennedict, explorer, was the one back at Lost Mountain who had accused him of being a murderer. He had testified that he had seen Doctor Roger Cass leaving that hut where a man had been killed. Benedict’s partner had also substantiated the story. They had picked up Clark Benedict in the jungle, ill with fever. He was supposed, now, to be recovering.
The girl hesitated, turning to Cass. She gave him a swift, searching look.
“I really should, I suppose,” she murmured. “After all, he’s ill. But when I think that he’s the one who accused you—”
Roger waved his hand. He said, “That’s no reason for not aiding now. Besides—” He met her steady gaze briefly. “Perhaps he had reasons for naming me.”
The girl gave a start. “Roger!”
For the moment, he made no further explanations. Instead, he urged h
er forward. “I’ll tell you later,” he added.
He paused a moment to address the sailor. “Have you found anything? Any trace of that gorilla . . . or Mark Irwin?”
The man shook his head. Cass noted that he was carrying a long-bladed knife in his wide belt.
“We’ve searched two of the holds, sir. But that takes time. We only did a quick job, and we still ain’t sure something might be down there!”
“How about the rest of the animals?”
“All safe. That black boy has been with them all through the storm. I was there, too. We secured the cages better.”
Roger nodded, then followed the girl. Shortly they reached the stateroom door of Clark Benedict.
Katherine turned. “You’re coming in?”
“Why not?” Roger said.
The door swung open at her knock and they headed into the large room. Roger saw that the girl’s father, Owen, had opened the door. The tall, spare man’s face was sober.
He gave Cass a brief regard, then said softly, “He’s half delirious. Please be quiet.” He touched his daughter’s arm, led his toward the bed. “We thought if you were here it might help.”
A man came through from an adjoining bathroom. He wore a white laboratory coat and held a glass of water in his hand. He was as thin as a man could be without falling apart. He was tall.
Roger Cass recognized him as Paul Francis, who was somehow associated with the fever-ridden explorer. Francis had a weak chin and watery eyes. How he had ever withstood the menace of the jungle was beyond Cass.
The skinny man paused halfway across the room, gave Roger Cass a dark look.
“What is he doing here?” he demanded. “I thought—”
“Relax, Paul!” Roger Cass said quietly. “Regardless what you might think, I’m not out to murder people.”
The expression on the thin man’s face said that he doubted it.
Katherine had moved quickly to the bed. She looked across at Benedict’s thin associate, said, “Get me some wet cloths!”
Shortly she was placing the damp cloths on the bed-ridden man’s forehead. A jumbled muttering came from the man lying there. Cass stepped closer to the bed.
CLARK BENEDICT was a big man. He was in his forties. A light spread had been thrown over his twisting, restless body, and the heavy, unshaven face that was revealed about the covering was sweat-bathed and flushed. Perspiration ran from the muttering man’s cheeks.
Once Benedict opened bleared, wild eyes. He stared at the girl unseeingly. Katherine kept replacing the cool rags on his forehead.
Cass looked at the girl’s father. Cass queried, “It’s the fever again?”
The tall professor nodded. “See for yourself,” he offered.
As Roger Cass stepped close beside the bed, skinny Paul Francis was swiftly beside him, as though fearful that Cass might try some trick.
Exasperated, Cass snapped, “For heaven’s sake, man—”
Then he gripped the sick man’s wrist, felt the quick, rapid pulse. His fingers rested a moment on Benedict’s forehead. He noted the condition of the eyes. He looked at Owen.
“It’s the fever again, all right.” He named a drug. “I think it might be a good idea to give him a little.”
Without waiting for Paul’s permission, Roger stepped toward the bathroom, located a medicine closet, went through its contents to see if any of the drug was there. He found a bottle.
Suspicious, Paul Francis stood in the doorway watching him coldly.
Owen appeared in the doorway. The lanky specialist asked, “Find it?”
Cass nodded, passing the small bottle sideways to the girl’s father. For just a moment, his gaze, puzzled, lingered inside the medicine chest. Then he closed the door.
There was a mirror on the outside of the door. As it swung shut, Roger Cass had a brief glimpse of Paul Francis’ eyes.
Those eyes were regarding him with utter fury!
When he turned back toward the room, Francis had stepped back to attend the sick man.
Owen himself administered the drug. They all waited, silent. Rain splattered against the partially shuttered stateroom windows. Once there was a long, drawn-out cry like weird laughter sustained.
The caged hyena again, Cass thought.
And there was the mournful creaking of beam supports somewhere in the ship. Each roll of the vessel brought the dismal sound, as though, at any moment, the freighter was going to crack in two.
Benedict’s muttering died. His eyes remained open and seemed to clear somewhat. He stared around.
He was not a bad-looking man, with some of the flush gone from his face. Though approaching middle age, he had a thick shock of iron gray hair, which glistened with perspiration.
He recognized Roger Cass, went rigid, suddenly was shouting “Get that man out of here! He’ll kill me, just like he murdered that poor devil. Get him out of here!”
The big man’s voice rose to almost a screech. Owen, his eyes thoughtful, made a slight motion to Cass. Roger understood. He stepped quietly toward the corridor doorway. He went outside.
Instantly Katherine was out there with him. An overhead dim light revealed her strained, fine features. Her eyes were misted as she gripped his arm.
“Roger, why have they done this to you?” she gasped. “I know you didn’t do it. It makes my heart ache to see you . . .”
He gripped the girl’s trembling hand, moved with her along the silent passage. He said, “I think it’s time to tell you everything.”
She paused, tense. “You mean—”
“About how Williams, back there at Lost Mountain, really was killed!” he announced.
Katherine stared.
And then she was suddenly pressed against him, her whole slender form stiff with horror.
“Listen!” she cried.
Ears strained, Roger Cass thought there was no other sound quite so horrible.
It was a man, screaming.
CHAPTER VII
Horror and the Dead
THE TWO of them, Roger and Katherine, had been standing near an open room doorway. The room was empty. Strangely, source of the man’s terrible scream had seemed to come from that way.
Roger Cass ducked into the room, stood a moment listening in the darkness. Katherine was beside him quickly, her trim form vibrant, as she gasped, “Where . . . where is he?”
The sound, Roger realized, came from outside the cabin, from somewhere on the deck. The window was partially lowered here in this stateroom.
He led the way back to the passageway. A moment later they were out on deck. The rain had practically stopped now.
Again the terrified cries came, shrill, blood-chilling.
It was Katherine who gasped, “Good heavens!” as she ran toward the ship’s rail.
Cass himself was puzzled.
For it appeared that the cries came from out of the ocean itself. Faint they were now, as though from down near the water which surged past the side plates of the moving ship.
Then Roger Cass understood. He exclaimed, “They’re coming from an open porthole, down in the depths of this ship. You’d better wait—” He started to turn swiftly away.
But the girl was at his side. “I’m going with you!” she declared emphatically.
Roger admired her courage. He had met few girls in his life with the cool determination of Katherine Owen. But then, he had never met a girl with the courage to travel thousands of miles to distant tropics, to the sultry menace of the jungle.
They descended ladders through the vast ship. Down . . . down . . . They reached an iron catwalk that passed over the huge boiler rooms. Heat down here was terrific. It brought a wet flush to their already hot faces. It seered the skin.
They went down a perpendicular ladder that seemed to end in the very bottom of the ship itself.
But this was the engine room, run by the oil-fed boilers that they had just passed.
A powerfully built man, half naked, with an oil can in his hand, acco
sted them. He stared at Roger’s rumpled clothes, at a smear of blood that was on the young doctor’s face. He looked at the girl.
Katherine’s light summery dress had become smeared with grime as she climbed down the ladder into the bowels of the ship. There was a streak of black across her lovely features.
The man demanded, “What the hell?” above the uproar of pounding machinery. Down here, it seemed as though the vessel were about to rip itself apart.
Roger yelled, “Did you hear a man screaming?”
The big engineer shrugged, indicating the throbbing engines. He frowned. “How in hell could you hear anything with that racket?” he bellowed. Then his eyes narrowed. “Hear who screaming?”
BRIEFLY, Roger Cass explained about the missing animal collector, Irwin. It appeared the engineer knew something about the trouble on the ship, for he shouted, “We ain’t seen a thing down here, mister!”
Roger asked, “Is there any place where a man could get . . . get trapped down here?”
The big fellow thought a moment, then pointed toward an iron door, yelled, “You go through there and follow the catwalk. There’s a way into that place from the cargo holds. Me, I’m staying out. I heard about that gorilla.”
For emphasis, the man picked up a huge Stillson wrench, hefted it mightily. But he looked scared.
Cass and the girl passed on, went through the iron door that the man had indicated. It clanged shut behind them. They found themselves on a narrow steel catwalk. A vague, dim light gave a saffron glow somewhere ahead of them. The heat, the terrific heat down here in the depths of the ship made the thick air steamy, like fog over a river at night.
Cass carried the small flashlight that the girl had used when searching for him. Carefully, they moved across the narrow catwalk. Beneath their feet, so very close, were the dank bilges of the vessel. The odor that assailed their nostrils was not pleasant.
Roger Cass started to comment, “I wonder—” when the girl gripped his arm fiercely. He heard the labored sound of a man’s breathing.
SWINGING the light ray around trying to pierce the misty gloom, he tried to locate the thing they had heard. And then he saw the fellow’s eyes . . . the wild staring eyes that were like a frightened rabbit’s.
