After locking and bolting the door and window he climbed into the bed. He was comparatively safe for the time being.
It was broad daylight when the peal of a telephone bell awakened him. The clerk announced the Duke of Malbury calling.
“Please send him up,” Bill said, adding, “And give me room service.”
He ordered a pot of coffee and went into the bathroom to splash some water on his face and comb his hair. He was hoping desperately that Malbury had turned up something into which he could set his teeth. He was beginning to blame himself for not having taken more drastic action the night before. If Malbury hadn't uncovered something that would lead him to the Saver of Souls, the man would be able to escape entirely.
And Bill knew that if he told his story without proof at this late date he would be laughed off the face of the earth.
IX—“LEAVE ENGLAND!”
BILL BABNES threw a dressing robe over his pajamas and answered the knock on his door. Outside stood a uniformed bellhop.
“The Duke of Malbury, sir,” the boy said and turned away as the dim figure behind him stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
The man who stood there looked more like a duke than the Duke of Malbury. But he was not the duke. He was a pleasant-faced man with iron-grey hair and a strong face tanned by sun and wind. His pale eyes were twinkling as he watched Bill's astonishment.
“You——” Bill began.
The man entered the room and threw his light-grey fedora and gloves on a chair and opened his light fall coat.
“No,” he said, “I'm not the Duke of Malbury. But he told me to use his name. He said you might not admit me unless I did. It's a nice morning, isn't it?”
“Yes,” Bill said grimly. “It's a nice morning. And who the hell are you?”
“My name is Aird, Mr. Barnes,” the man said, and a pleasant smile played on his lips as he held out his hand. “I'm sorry to have walked in on you this way, impersonating the Duke of Malbury. When I saw your astonishment I decided I'd better get into the room and close the door before you threw me out. I'm with the Air Ministry. I've spent half the night talking with Malbury and Lord Hereburn. When we came to a decision they asked me to come and talk to you.”
“But why didn't Malbury come?” Bill asked.
“We decided the whole thing should be handled on a strictly formal basis,” Aird said evenly. “Malbury was of the opinion, because of the friendship that exists between you, that he could not present our decision to you fairly. Malbury was entirely on your side, Barnes, against Lord Hereburn and myself. He asked me to convey his best wishes to you and wanted me to tell you that he would write to you and see you at Barnes Field, Long Island, very soon.”
“Malbury isn't going to see me again?” Bill gasped.
“No,” Aird said. “We are of the opinion, Mr. Barnes, that the sooner you get back to the States and forget this thing the better off things will be for everyone.”
“Forget it!” Bill shouted, and he could feel the blood beating against his temples. “Like hell I'll forget it!”
“Perhaps I put that wrong,” Aird said. “I meant forget it as far as other people are concerned. We know you can't forget what you saw but you can keep it to yourself and muzzle young Sanders.”
“Listen,” Bill said desperately. “If I'm not mistaken you are Sir James Aird with D. S. C. and so forth after your name. You're known around the world in aviation circles.”
“That's right.” Aird said. “I know this is a frightful blow to you, Barnes. But the thing must be kept quiet.”
“You mean,” Bill said, “you're going to let those murderers get away with it? Let them destroy a ship worth nearly a million dollars and wipe out thirty or forty people? Why, it's a criminal action on your part. You'll become an accessory after the fact. You'll be as guilty as they are.”
“Take it easy, Barnes,” Aird said persuasively. “Calm down. There are times when even nations must condone such things. Here is the situation: We are of the opinion that this man you call the Saver of Souls had nothing to do with the destruction of the Memphis. We——”
“Nuts!” Bill exploded, “to use a vulgar expression. I have engaged that man three times in the air and I know his tactics. You are treating me as though I was a child. Don't you suppose I know——”
“That particular trick by which you identified the man to Malbury is an old one, Barnes,” Aird interrupted. “I first used it twenty-two years ago when I was a lieutenant in the Royal Flying Corps. I learned it from a famous German ace. So, you see, you have nothing to establish your identity of the man. Besides, you don't know who he is.”
“That's what we've got to find out,” Bill said. “That man has been in my hair long enough. I'll find him myself it you won't help me.”
“No,” Aird said firmly, “you won't. And I'll tell you why. England and the United States are not the only nations that are flying the Atlantic with passengers and mail and cargo. Remember that France, Germany and Italy are doing the same thing. England and the United States have the jump on them with larger and better planes. We have also made more thorough surveys. Doesn't it occur to you that, possibly, one of several companies in each of those countries might be anxious to present Transatlantic from becoming the premier carrier across the Atlantic? Suppose we go nosing into this thing and find that, with the situation as delicate as it is today in Europe, one of them is guilty? What will it mean if it is released to the public? Only one thing. War!”
Bill Barnes stood in the center of the room, his legs widespread as though to absorb the shock of a physical blow. His face was a mask of hopeless fury. He could understand the wisdom in Aird's presentation of the problem, but he refused to accept it. He told himself that he would find the men guilty of the crime or die himself in the attempt. Then he told Aird.
“That is all right,” he said as calmly as he could. “I understand your point of view. But what about Transatlantic Transport? It means the death of the company. They will never be able to survive the unexplained loss of their first passenger-carrying plane. Even though I didn't have a large interest in the company I could not stand by and see them ruined by such tactics.”
“They can reorganize under another name and the public won't know the difference,” Aird said. “Their loss is probably covered by insurance.”
“That isn't the point!” Bill roared. “You fellows can take it lying down. But I won't! They sent a man here to this room last night to murder me because I know what I know. Do you think I'm going to keep on running away from this man who calk himself the Saver of Souls? He wrote me a note one time telling me there was not room in the world for both of us. I laughed at it. But now I know he was right. There isn't room for a murdering rat, who kills defenseless people with the connivance of the British Air Ministry, and me!”
“Those are pretty strong words, Barnes,” Aird said softly. “And I wouldn't advise you to go about repeating them. We're not interested in your personal feud with the Saver of Souls. We're only interested in the safety of England and we can't afford to become embroiled with an enemy over this thing. We will, of course, put our secret agents to work and when we reach a conclusion we will take suitable steps.”
“You can't tie my hands!” Bill said. “I'll go ahead until I find him. And I'll tell the world what happened!”
“Not while you're in England,” Aird said. “Which will not be long. Hereburn, Malbury and I decided that you must get out of the country. We have enough troubles now without having you around with a tinder to start more. I have been asked to respectfully request you to leave the country at once.”
For once in his life Bill Barnes was speechless. He could scarcely believe what he had heard. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind as he stood there staring at Aird. A thousand thoughts that had to do with the existing friendship between England and the United States and his small part in it.
It is impossible to tell what he might have said at that mom
ent if Sandy Sanders had not opened the door of his bedroom and stuck his tousled head out into the little hallway.
“Hey,” he said, “what's all the shoutin' for? Can't you let a young fellah get a little sleep?”
He hitched up the bottoms of his pajamas with one hand while he rubbed his eyes with the other. Then he strolled into Bill's room in his bare feet.
Some of the rage left Bill's face at the sound of his voice, and the man who called himself Sir James Aird laughed outright.
“This,” he said to Bill, “would be that young demon of the air. Sandy Sanders.”
“That's right,” Bill said grudgingly. “Sandy, this is Sir James Aird of the British Air Ministry.”
“Is that so?” Sandy said as he shook hands with Aird. “I've heard a great deal about you, of course. It's quite an honor to——” Suddenly, he stopped talking and grabbed at his pajamas with his free hand. His face lighted. “Say!” he said. “What about your autograph?”
“He collects 'em,” Bill explained while Sandy darted into his room and returned with the little leather-covered autograph book.
“Right there, please,” Sandy said, opening the book and handing Aird a pen.
Aird wrote his name and handed the book back to Sandy.
Sandy shook his head. “You didn't finish it,” he said. “Put those V. C.s and D. S. C.s and things like that on, too.”
“Righto,” Aird laughed.
“Get some clothes on kid,” Bill snapped at him.
“Righto!” Sandy said, echoing Aird. He went back into his room. Bill waited until he had closed his door.
“All right,” he said to Aird, and there was utter hopelessness and defeat in his voice. “I'll get out of England. I'll get out and I'll never come back. But you can't muzzle me when I get back to the States. I'll talk and I'll have young Sanders to verify what I say.”
“That,” Aird said smoothly, “is entirely at your own discretion. We can't stop you from talking then. But I think, when you have had time to cool off a bit and give the matter a little thought, you'll decide to keep quiet. You'll do it to prevent people from calling you a liar.”
Bill didn't answer him. He knew he was licked and he was afraid to speak because of what he might say. He stood in stony silence while Aird bade him good-by and closed the door behind him.
Then he gave vent to his feelings. He was still cursing when the door to Sandy's room flew open and Sandy came tearing in.
“Bill!” he screamed. “Where is he?'“ Sandy was waving his autograph book.
“He's gone, damn him,” Bill said vehemently.
“Listen, Bill!” Sandy said, barely able to talk because of his excitement. “That guy wasn't Sir James Aird. He's the rat who calls himself the Saver of Souls!”
Bill gazed at him for a moment as though he thought he was crazy. Then he got hold of himself because something in Sandy's expression impressed him that he knew what he was talking about.
“Quick, kid,” he said. “How do you figure it?”
“Remember I was studying handwriting and ventriloquism on our last trip to South America when you first tangled with him? He wrote you a note at that time and I studied it quite thoroughly and remembered it. When I saw Aird's signature I was sure I had seen that writing before. Finally, it came to me. And remember his voice the day he broke in on the radiophone? They talked like the same man!”
For a split fraction of a second Bill stared at him. Then he leaped for the telephone. He got the bell captain on the phone and asked him to find out from the starter in front of the hotel where the man who had just left his room had gone.
Then he started on a telephone quest for Lord Hereburn. Here Bill's name worked magic. The telephone operator had located and had Lord Hereburn on the wire within a few minutes.
“I'm sorry to be short, sir,” Bill said to him. “But I've got to hurry! Did the Duke of Malbury find you last night and talk to you?”
“Ah—ah—no,” Lord Hereburn said.
“I haven't heard from him in——”
“Right!” Bill snapped. “You didn't see him! Listen carefully. The Duke of Malbury dropped me at the Cecil Hotel last night at ten o'clock. He was going to try to locate you. He was being driven by a chauffeur in a Sunbeam landaulet. You'd better start tracing what happened to him after that. He was to get in touch with me as soon as he had talked to you. I believe he has met with some kind of foul play. I can't explain further but I'll get in touch with you as soon as I can.”
He hung up abruptly, snapped at Sandy: “Get into your clothes, fast, kid!”
Again the phone rang, and Bill snatched it.
“The starter says he directed a cab driver to take him to Croydon Airport outside London,” the bell captain reported.
“Thanks,” Bill said. “Have a fast car ready for me when I come down in a few minutes. Did the starter know who the man was?”
“We know him as Mr. Mordecai Murphy, an American, sir,” the captain said.
“Thanks again!” Bill shouted, slamming down the receiver.
His mind was a seething mass of emotions as he made a connection with Croydon and gave instructions to warm up the Lancer. He could hardly believe what the bell captain had told him.
Mordecai Murphy! The Saver of Souls! They were one and the same! The mystery man who was reputed to be a munitions king, an international banker, a fomenter of human misery and suffering.
“Hurry like hell, kid!” he shouted at Sandy. “We have a real job on our hands!”
X—FINAL TRICK
“DO YOU believe the Saver of Souls is Mordecai Murphy?” Sandy asked Bill as their cab raced toward the great airport south of the city.
“I do,” Bill said. “The part fits him perfectly. No one has ever been able to explain Murphy. He is known to have his finger in things all over the world. He has been accused of a thousand crimes in the press. But no one has ever been able to prove anything against him. He is a cunning, shrewd manipulator.”
They saw the twin, three-bladed props of the Lancer idling on the apron as they stepped out of the cab. At the same instant they saw Mordecai Murphy, alias the Saver of Souls, alias Sir James Aird, climb into a low-wing monoplane; he blasted the tail around and jockeyed down across the field.
In that instant it came to Bill how close he had come to letting Murphy bluff him out. He knew that in another few hours he would have been at Croydon for an entirely different reason than he was there now. He would have been making preparations to fly the Lancer back to America. And he knew that he would have left his self-respect behind him in England.
He raced across the apron with Sandy at his heels and dove into the forward cockpit of the idling Lancer. The low-wing monoplane with Mordecai Murphy at the controls was streaking away to the south as Bill hung the Lancer on its props in pursuit.
“Get your swivel gun out, kid,” Bill said into his telephone. “I'm going to get him this time. He's going back and he's going to talk. I should have had enough sense to know the British Air Ministry would never send Sir James Aird to me with any such orders.”
“You going to shoot him down. Bill?” Sandy asked.
“No,” Bill said. “I'm going to force him down. I don't know where he's heading. I want to stop him before he gets over the Channel.”
“Do you think his ship mounts any guns?” Sandy asked.
“No,” Bill said. “I don't think so. But be ready. That bird may pull anything out of his hat. I'm going above him and trim off his nose to force him lower.”
The great chalk cliffs of Beachy Head were under their wings as Bill got the nose of the low-wing monoplane under his telescopic sights. The next instant his finger clamped down on his 37mm. cannon. He fired a burst of five shells that were all tracers just above the nose of the speeding plane.
He saw Mordecai Murphy's upturned face as those five shells danced above his head. Then he banked the Lancer around on its right wing tip as the monoplane flipped its tail into the air in a divin
g turn that brought it closer to the choppy waves of the Channel three thousand feet below.
Again Bill stuck the nose of the Lancer down to fire a burst as they raced westward along the coast. This time the face of the Saver of Souls was white and strained as he gazed up and back at the man who rode his tail so relentlessly.
Bill knew that now he had his enemy where he wanted him. The other was unarmed and flying a plane that was in no way a match for the Lancer. For the first time Bill was engaged with him with the odds on his side. He resolved that if he could not force him to land he would shoot away his controls and force him to bail out.
Then the crumbling promontory of Culver Cliff on the Isle of Wight flashed under their wings and they were above the rolling hills and tranquil villages of the “bowl” at the southern end of the island,
Bill opened the throttles of the Lancer and raced ahead of the low-wing monoplane. Then brought the nose up and around in a climbing turn to race back at it with his Brownings yammering. He was trying, desperately to force it back above the rolling country-side where it could make a landing. He lifted the nose of the Lancer to keep his bullets from driving into the cockpit of the little monoplane.
He was only fifty yards away from the little ship when he saw Murphy lift the nose and heard the staccato chatter of a machine gun that was not his own. At the same instant he felt bullets drumming into the metal surface of the Lancer and felt it buck from the impact. He yanked the stick back into his stomach and heard Sandy's scream of warning as Murphy's bullets drove up through the belly.
As Bill leveled off he looked back and down and saw the machine-gun trough along the engine housing of the monoplane, and he cursed at himself for not having noticed it before. It was only a single .30-caliber gun, but in the hands of Murphy it was equal to a half-dozen weapons. He poured soup into his power plant and brought the Lancer up and over on its back and rolled it level.
Murphy had dropped the nose of his little ship and was racing away to the northwest.
Bill's face was a grim mask of determination as he eased the stick of the Lancer forward and gunned his engines. Ahead the precipitous cliffs of Fresh-water Bay climbed out of the Channel into the gorse and heather of the downs. Everywhere the cliffs were cleft by jagged ravines and glens, cut under by the sea and hollowed out into waterside caverns. Bill knew that no one could survive a forced landing at the base of those cliffs where deadly under-tows raged.
Bill Barnes Takes a Holiday Page 5
