by Robert Reed
Wentworth made sure that the ad would appear that day, then
hurried to the subway again, and sped uptown to the address he had
given, where a druggist with whom he had dealt kept pigeons as a
hobby .
Wentworth strode up the inner stairs to the man’s house above
the store, knocked, and when the bewhiskered little man with gold-
rimmed glasses far down upon his nose opened the door, spoke swift .
“I want to board with you for a week. Here’s fifty dollars in ad-
vance,” and he thrust out two twenties and a ten-dollar bill .
The man’s fingers closed on the money automatically. But he
stared from the crisp new notes to Wentworth’s entirely serious face
in astonishment .
“I don’t understand, Mr. Wentworth — you want to take board
with me?”
“That’s it .”
“But I don’t understand .”
The pale watery eyes were bewildered . Wentworth smiled grimly .
“It is not necessary that you should . You have the money . Do you
agree?”
The man stared down at the green banknotes . His head wavered
slowly from side to side. “I — I guess it’s all right,” he stammered.
“I’ll ask mother .”
Wentworth heard his voice calling his wife and knew that when
the woman saw the money it would be all right .
All that day Wentworth sat in the small room that had been as-
signed to him, waiting. Waiting without action while the corpse fires
burned on Riker’s Island; while ambulances sirened through the
streets; and people choked and died with the Black Death .
It was late when he let himself out of the lonely little apartment
and hurried home to get a change of linen . He tarried only a few
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 180
moments, then hurried back . Climbing the stairs, he heard excited
voices raised within .
He knocked on the door and found the bewhiskered little drug-
gist striding back and forth, gesticulating with stiffly waving arms.
“They’re gone!” he cried. “They’re all gone — all my lovely pi-
geons .”
Wentworth’s eyes narrowed . “Not stolen?” he demanded .
The little man paused in his striding, peered at him above the
gold-rimmed glasses far down upon his nose, peered and blinked
and suddenly shouted, “You — you stole my pigeons!”
Wentworth cursed silently . Stolen! And he had expected that the
Black Death would come and buy them legitimately . “I’m a dumb
fool,” he said . His hand reached into his pocket . “How much were
the pigeons worth?” he asked .
At sight of the money the man ceased his jabbering . “I’m sorry,
Mr . Wentworth,” he said, his voice quavering, “I was half out of my
head . I know you didn’t steal the pigeons .”
Wentworth said: “But I put the ad into the paper that caused them
to be stolen .”
He laid a thousand dollars on the table, whirled and strode from
the room . He had been gone from the house scarcely half an hour,
yet in that time the Black Death had struck . Was it luck? Or was the
arch criminal even now upon his trail?
Wentworth flicked a glance over his shoulder. Hell, he was be-
coming as frightened as the rabbit-like people of the city, terrified
by the plague, who ducked in and out of their doorways like hares
out of a warren .
A taxi sped him home . He strode across the room to the phone
without even pausing to remove his hat . Swiftly he called every
pigeon fancier he knew, and all either had sold out their complete
stocks of pigeons or had been robbed .
That clinched it . He dialed police headquarters, asked for Kirk-
patrick, but giving his name was told the Commissioner would
not speak to him. Anger flared in Wentworth. This was no time for
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 181
personal animosity . No time for foolish personal considerations .
The entire city was in peril .
He left the house, and a cab sped with him to headquarters . He
strode in, and policemen who would have objected stepped from his
path, overawed by his blazing eyes . He stormed up to the door of the
Commissioner, and there the guard stood firm until the sharp voice
from within bade the man step aside and let Richard Wentworth en-
ter .More worn than ever, Commissioner Kirkpatrick crouched be-
hind the desk . He did not speak until the door had closed behind
Wentworth .
“I warned you,” he said then, “not to come here again .
“But damn it, man, this is important . There is no time for per-
sonal considerations,” Wentworth rapped out .
Kirkpatrick’s face was grim, his lips so compressed that they
showed only as a thin white line . When he spoke again, they opened
and shut upon his words like slashing knives .
“I have but one question to ask you,” he said . “Why did you steal
the pigeons from that man?”
Wentworth stared at him . “Are you mad?” he demanded . “Have
you been shadowing me?”
Kirkpatrick smiled grimly . “You leave me no choice, Richard .
Give me your cigarette lighter .”
Wentworth threw back his head and laughed . It was wild laughter .
“Stanley, in heaven’s name, be sensible! I tell you I have the clue
that will lead to the capture of the master of the plague .”
Kirkpatrick had not moved since Wentworth had entered the
room . He still crouched behind his desk, uttering words like bullets .
“Will you hand over the lighter, or must I summon help to take it
from you forcibly?”
The gaze of the two men met, and locked . And Wentworth shook
his head slowly . “If I do that, will you listen to me?”
The smile that just disturbed Kirkpatrick’s lips was wintry . His
mouth opened a fraction of an inch .
“Perhaps,” he said .
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 182
Furiously Wentworth snatched the cigarette lighter from his
pocket, the lighter that contained even now the damning seal of the
Spider and flung it upon Kirkpatrick’s desk. Even if it meant his
death he was willing that it should be so, if by so doing he could
avert the doom that hung over the city .
Kirkpatrick leaned forward . Under the strong, shaded light upon
his desk he examined the lighter . But he had done that futilely be-
fore . Now he took out a screw driver and systematically took the
thing apart . The white scar upon Wentworth’s temple throbbed
redly. Even though he was determined to sacrifice his life, if need
be, to gain the hearing that was necessary to the salvation of the city,
the sight of these lean, probing fingers ferreting nearer and nearer to
the secret of the lighter sent the blood thrumming through his veins .
He waited tensely, and his breath came more swiftly . His eyes
stared with a fearful intensity . Then abruptly, it was over .
The screw driver touched the hidden spring and the base of the
lighter came loose in Kirkpatrick’s hand . Wearily, with grief in his
>
eyes, the Commissioner looked up at Wentworth . And the seconds
that their eyes met brought hope to the Spider . For he knew that each
moment their eyes held the red seals were vanishing .
Kirkpatrick’s eyes dropped at last to the lighter . He turned it curi-
ously over in his hand, and Wentworth caught his breath as the Com-
missioner held it under the light and peered into that secret chamber
in its base .
Had the shrewd mechanics of the lighter functioned properly?
Had the seals disappeared? With throbbing pulses Wentworth wait-
ed . Kirkpatrick’s face revealed nothing . It was as if made of steel, its
lines drawn so taut it seemed no emotion would ever stir them again .
Then slowly Kirkpatrick looked up .
“I am glad, Richard,” he said slowly, “that there are no seals
of the Spider to add to the damning evidence my men have piled
up against you . This secret chamber in the base of your lighter is
enough without that .”
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 183
“Richard,” he said, “I hate to do this, but I have no choice . Any
other man in my position would have arrested you days ago . I still
cannot believe it, but — ”
His hand moved heavily to a row of buttons at the end of his
desk, pressed upon one . Behind Wentworth a door opened, and with
the sudden feeling of a trapped animal he whirled and stared into
the muzzles of two police pistols, held in the brawny hands of two
grim-faced officers.
“Richard Wentworth,” Kirkpatrick intoned . He might have been
a judge in his black robes with a black cap upon his head, pronounc-
ing doom upon a convicted man . Almost Wentworth could imagine
he heard the words, “Dead — dead — dead,” that would terminate
such a sentence .
“Richard Wentworth, I arrest you on suspicion of homicide,” he
said . “Take him away .”
Chapter 15
“Is That a Confession?”
Wentworth whirled back, staring into Stanley Kirkpatrick’s
wooden face . The man looked like a sleep-walker, his eyes staring
straight ahead, as if they were looking into infinity.
Wentworth started forward, and strong hands gripped his arms .
“In God’s name, Stanley, hear me first! Hear me — ”
“Take him away .”
“ — hear me, Stanley!”
“Take — him — away — ” Kirkpatrick’s voice rose to a shriek.
“Stanley, those pigeons — ”
“Shut up!” snarled a voice in Wentworth’s ear . He was lifted forc-
ibly, dragged backward .
“Stanley!” he cried .
But the doors slammed between them, and a heavy fist thud-
ded against the base of his skull . Lights danced in his brain, his
head sagged, and only half conscious he was dragged with feet that
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 184
thumped on every stair up a long flight of steps. A cell door clanged
metallically and Wentworth was flung inside. He tripped, collapsed
upon the concrete floor.
Once more the steel rang . Wentworth thrust his body up from
the floor, head dangling. “Stanley,” he called. “Stanley!” He caught
the bars, dragged himself to his feet . “Stanley!” he cried again, and
his voice rang down the steel-barred alleys . He beat upon the iron,
shouted, but only the echoes answered him . And from the next cell a
man snarled, “Fer cripes sake, dry up and go to sleep .”
And another man muttered, “Youse damned dopes give me a
pain . Yuh can’t take it .”
Wentworth took his hands from the bars, clenched them at his
sides until the nails bit into the palms, and forced himself to calm-
ness . In some way he must force Stanley Kirkpatrick to listen to
him .Swiftly he stripped off his belt, climbed upon the iron bed that
constituted the cell’s sole furniture . He fastened one end to the bars,
put the loop about his throat, and let himself sag upon it, sustaining
his weight with his hands on the bars so that he could still breathe .
Then he beat against the steel as if he kicked in his death agony .
The man in the next cell rolled over and cursed, saw the dangling
body and shrieked . “Hey, the damned dope’s killing himself!”
“God Almighty!” another man cried .
The entire cell block suddenly went mad, cursed, screamed,
shouted, beat upon the bars, cried out like a menagerie in a blast-
ing thunder storm. Guards came running, and lights flashed into the
cells . Wentworth still hung on by his hands, waiting until the light
bathed him . Then he released his hold and dangled in the noose .
Now he actually choked . His tongue thrust up in his throat . His
eyes seemed to be starting from their sockets . Blood drummed in his
ears . The guard cursed, keys rattled and the door swung open . Pow-
erful hands grabbed Wentworth . He felt himself lifted, the noose
jerked free, and he slumped to the floor, almost unconscious.
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 185
And now Kirkpatrick came striding, long-legged and somber
alone the echoing tiles . He came into the cell where Wentworth lay
upon his back on the cot .
Kirkpatrick’s face was more drawn than ever . His eyes had a
haunted look . “In God’s name, Dick,” he said, “why have you done
this thing?”
Wentworth could not speak above a whisper . His throat had been
torn by the metal of his belt buckle . “I must talk to you,” he articu-
lated. “Those pigeons — ”
Abruptly Kirkpatrick straightened above Wentworth’s prostrate
body. “Carry this man to my office,” he ordered harshly. And Went-
worth was lifted bodily and borne away through the still clamoring
cells .
In Kirkpatrick’s office he was allowed to slump into a chair and
the Commissioner stood before him, a gaunt skeleton of his former
self, with eyes that glared in near madness .
“Outside,” he said abruptly, gesturing to the officers who had
brought Wentworth into the room .
One of the men ventured a protest .
“Outside! ” Kirkpatrick roared, and the men bolted for the door .
Kirkpatrick’s eyes still had not left Wentworth’s . “Now speak,” he
croaked hoarsely .
“In God’s name, Stanley,” Wentworth whispered, his words
wide-spaced and painful . “In God’s name let me out . I’m the only
one in the world who can keep this plague from killing every mortal
soul in the city .”
The Commissioner’s face went pale as death .
“Is that — is that — a confession?” he asked, and his voice sank to
a whisper that was as rasping, as painful, as Wentworth’s own .
Wentworth, slumped in the chair, stared up at him with sick eyes
and with mouth twisted awry in a bitter smile .
“Is that a confession?” Kirkpatrick rasped again, and his voice
rose . Suddenly his hand darted beneath his coat . A long-barreled re-
volver gleamed . Wentworth’s eyes did not waver, nor did the twisted
smile
leave his lips . He continued to stare into Kirkpatrick’s face .
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 186
But the Commissioner made no move to shoot . He reversed the
gun, thrust it toward Wentworth .
“Either kill me or kill yourself,” he said . “For, God help me, if
you are guilty! But how could you be guilty? I can’t believe it .” He
broke off, panting . “If you are guilty,” he said again, “I have failed
in my duty to the city .” And once more he thrust the gun toward
Wentworth .
Slowly his prisoner shook his head . “No man can accuse you of
that, Stanley .” Wentworth’s mind was racing swiftly . He realized
now that he could not tell Kirkpatrick the information he had; that
he dared not tell him what he had discovered, since to the man’s now
distraught mind it would seem an additional link in the evidence
against him . And Wentworth knew he must get free .
True, he had a clue — but it was a clue that no one but himself
could follow to its end; that no one but himself could turn into a
weapon against the sinister master of the plague . He must take a
long chance — one that would involve his own possible death and
that of Stanley Kirkpatrick . But that chance alone would give him
his liberty; would in the end enable him to save the city . And he
knew that no other hand than his could triumph .
Wentworth stared into Kirkpatrick’s eyes . “Take me out of here,”
he said, “and I will lead you and your men to the master of the
plague .”
Kirkpatrick shook his head heavily . He turned his back on Wen-
tworth and strode across the room and back again, pressing his
temples with his palms, but no words squeezed from his lips .
“The master of the plague,” Wentworth whispered, “I’ll take you
to him!”
Kirkpatrick’s hands dropped . His eyes were dull . “The city is
under martial law,” he said . “Troops patrol the streets . Any person
who leaves his house after dark is shot on sight . Mobs howl about
the doors to the City Hall, pound at the doors of the banks, demand-
ing that the Black Death’s ransom be paid. And you — you confess
at least to complicity in these things, and I let you live!”
He raised a clenched, shaking hand above his head .
WINGS OF THE BLACK DEATH, by Norvell Page | 187
“It isn’t so, Wentworth,” his eyes were pleading . “Dick, it isn’t
