Adventure Tales, Volume 6

by John Gregory Betancourt

  “If that’s a sample of what they can do with their invention—it’s worth five times twenty million dollars,” Silk grunted. “That damned thing followed us around like a dog on the scent. In daylight we’d certainly have been blasted to bits. Wait until the Black Bat hears about this sample of what they can do.”

  “Silk,” Carol said curtly, “they’re leaving. Both cars—without headlights—but I can hear the motors and see them once in awhile. Perhaps they’ll search the whole golf course to see whether or not they disposed of us.”

  But the two cars rolled rapidly to the road and disappeared. Both Carol and Silk held their breaths, listening to the fading sound of the motors.

  “They won’t come back,” Silk said softly. “Those explosions must have been heard in the distance and when their source finally is traced, those crooks don’t want to be around here. Of course they took that machine with them, but just to make sure, let’s risk going back to the clubhouse for a look.”

  “Why not?” Carol answered. “If the machine and its operators are gone, we should be safe enough.”

  Nothing happened as they headed back to the clubhouse. Silk found the door wide open. Gun in hand, he motioned Carol to stand aside. Then he bolted through the door, prepared to answer shot for shot if this were an ambush. Silence greeted him. He drew his flashlight, sent the beam inquiring into dark corners and then called to Carol.

  They searched the place rapidly until they reached the room whence the brownish yellow beam of light had originated. This proved to be a shower room. The floor was made of cement and—encased in the cement were four heavy bolts, like those used to hold machinery in place. That alone was their clue to the Patriot’s death dealing device which had tried to ferret them out and destroy them.

  “Nothing,” Silk groaned. “We’d better get out of here ourselves now. The coupe is parked on the highway and those mugs won’t have seen it. Let’s go—the quicker the Black Bat hears of this, the better.”

  “Yes,” Carol agreed. “We can’t waste a moment now—after actually having had the death machine directed at us. One thing though—I’d recognize any of those crooks again.”

  CHAPTER IX

  Financier of Death

  Relief flooding Tony Quinn’s face at sight of them was a plain indication of how much he cared for these two aides of his. In the privacy of the hidden laboratory, Silk and Carol told him just what had occurred.

  “That doggone light just kept sweeping the golf course like a searching finger,” Silk said. “Then—I suppose—it picked us out and—blooey—we were in the middle of a blitzkrieg! I’m telling you, sir, it’s the most ghastly thing I ever experienced.”

  “It must have been,” Quinn said. “We know what we’re up against now. Carol, that man you knew as Gus sent one of his men, named Mike, back to town in order to find out whether or not the car you’d appropriated was stolen. Was Mike pretty sure of himself when he got back?”

  “He was positive, Tony. Not only about the car, but also the fact that some fellow crook named Wicks hadn’t been locked up.”

  Quinn frowned. “That means the mob has contact at headquarters, somehow. I have ideas, but they are based only on suspicion so I won’t voice them now. The bolts buried in the cement floor of the shower room indicate that the machine is large and apparently heavy. It also works under its own generated power. Silk proved that by cutting the electricity to the clubhouse. We’ve made a little progress at any rate. Now we all need rest. They won’t try anything more tonight.”

  “What about that promised exhibition of their machine again?” Carol asked.

  Quinn tapped the edge of the lab bench. “I’ve busied myself looking into possibilities. The Patriot, as he calls himself, has to give a really thorough exhibition of what his machine can do. Something highly effective and spectacular. Of course it’s impossible to prophesy his next move; but I’ve learned that there is to be a test run of several torpedo craft on the Hudson tomorrow afternoon.

  “Those boats are the fastest things on water and invaluable if anybody ever gets crazy enough to try an invasion of our country from the sea. The test hasn’t received much publicity and could easily be watched from any of the various points along the course of the run. I think we’ll go out there tomorrow and have a look around.”

  After Carol had departed and Silk returned to the house proper, Tony Quinn resumed his usual chair in front of the fireplace. His eyes were blind again, a cane rested between his knees and he puffed slowly on a well-heeled pipe full of fragrant tobacco.

  His mind went over the details of the case. He put aside all thoughts of the death dealing device. That was just a machine and the destruction of it would mean little unless those men who knew its secret also were destroyed. The case was developing ramifications that coursed a winding path from Kurt Miller, a spy, all the way to pretty, little Viola King.

  Quinn meant to question Viola’s fiance at the first opportunity. He already had checked on Hank Standish and found that he was well known as a sportsman, a motion picture producer who worked independently, and something of a power in the entertainment world. He owned a number of small movie houses and seemed to be financially sound. Despite the fact that he was comparatively young, Standish had done rather well for himself.

  He’d been roughly treated at Viola’s house but not nearly as much as Jim Halton who claimed to be a partner of Viola’s father. Was Halton trying to edge in on some claim to the stolen invention?

  * * * *

  Added to this confusion of developments was the fact that Joel King apparently had returned to his own house, opened his own safe and removed certain revealing details of that lethal weapon he’d invented. Hank Standish had insisted Joel King was one of those men who had returned. But why then hadn’t Carol or Silk seen him around the clubhouse? From their stories, the crooks fleeing by car hadn’t stopped to discharge any passenger so Joel King must have traveled with them to the golf course.

  Calmly, Quinn tried to sort the details into some kind of a workable theory. Joel King presumably had completed a death dealing weapon that worked, more than likely, by radio impulses. Yet the reputation which Joel King enjoyed counteracted the idea of his holding the machine for twenty million dollars ransom.

  What was Kurt Miller’s position in this mess? Was be a member of the mob—switching his patriotism from Germany and foregoing the placing of this great weapon into the hands of his fatherland’s army because there were twenty million dollars involved? Or was he eager to lay hands on the device as the Black Bat?

  There was grey dawn in the sky when Tony Quinn went to bed.

  Silk awakened him five hours later. “I’d have let you sleep longer, sir, but Miss Viola King just phoned and wants you to come to her house as soon as possible. Seems there is more trouble about her father,”

  Quinn sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Good—I meant to see her today anyhow. As Tony Quinn, of course—not the Black Bat. I want to find out more about what happened last night. How’s breakfast coming along, Silk?”

  “Very well. Fifteen minutes ought to be enough for a shower and shave. Miss Viola insisted that you were needed in a hurry, sir.”

  As Quinn ate breakfast, Silk read the headlines about the case of the Twenty Million Dollar Patriot. The explosions at the golf course had been investigated and it was inferred that they had been caused by some device similar to that used by the Patriot. Editorials were more or less evenly divided between condemning the Patriot and agreeing he should be paid—or just condemning him.

  Then Silk gave a grunt of surprise.

  “Wasn’t there someone named James Halton at Miss Viola’s home last night?”

  “Yes—the Patriot’s boys mussed him up rather well, too. Why, Silk?”

  “Because this guy Halton happens to be a United States Representative and he’s hinting rather openly that the twenty million should be paid at once to insure the government’s getting the device as quickly as possible. Maintains
we’ve gone all out to fight dictatorships—and stopped at practically nothing—so why should we hesitate to dicker with a crook and profiteer?”

  “Is his picture in the paper?” Quinn said. “I thought it would be. Now just lay the paper on the table carelessly. When I get up, I’ll have a quick look at it.”

  Quinn’s blank eyes possessed life for a bare instant as he pushed back his chair. In that flash they glimpsed the portrait in the newspaper.

  “That’s Halton, all right.” Quinn picked up his cane and tapped a path into the hallway. “Rather a perfect set-up for the Patriot, too. That is, if Halton is on his side. It doesn’t take many congressmen to convince the others when it’s a matter that more or less meets public opinion. Halton would be a good man for the Patriot to know.”

  “Why can’t Halton be the Patriot?” Silk helped Quinn on with his coat. A car horn tooted outside. Silk looked through the window. “It’s Steve Cobb, sir, with his taxi. I called him as you ordered, but I don’t see why I couldn’t drive you as usual.”

  * * * *

  Quinn put a friendly hand on Silk’s shoulder. “Steve Cobb is all right and he inadvertently got into a mess. Nice chap, too. He insists on paying me while acting as my chauffeur. Tell you what—meet me at the office around twelve-thirty. And Silk—fill the hidden compartment of the sedan with the regular paraphernalia, will you?”

  Silk sucked in a sharp breath. “You mean the Black Bat…?”

  “May go into action in broad daylight for a change,” Quinn smiled. “It’s a risky business, but I’ve an idea that the Patriot will try out his device on the torpedo boat tests on the Hudson. They’re scheduled for two this afternoon and we’ll want to study the situation first.”

  Steve Cobb was on the porch as Silk opened the door. Cobb took Quinn’s arm and helped him down the steps. Quinn’s cane tapped a rhythm as he moved along the sidewalk and into Cobb’s taxi.

  “Swell morning, sir,” Cobb grinned. “Boy, wouldn’t I feel lousy if they had me locked up in some old cell on a day like this. I would have been, too—if it wasn’t for you. Where to, sir?”

  “Let me see,” Quinn stroked his chin. “There’s a client on Malvin Street who wishes to see me. I think the address is something like number 602. Try that anyway.”

  Steve Cobb drove there in quick time, got out and rang the bell of Viola King’s house. She opened the door, saw Quinn outside in the taxi and started to beckon him in. Quinn never moved a muscle and Viola turned slightly pink.

  “Oh—I’d forgotten—he’s blind.”

  “That’s okay, lady.” Cobb tipped his cap. “I’ll bring him in. He just wasn’t sure of the address-like he’d never been here before.”

  “Why—he never has,” Viola said. “Please hurry.”

  Cobb helped Quinn out of the car and on the way up the path to Viola’s home, Cobb asked whether or not he should wait.

  “Yes,” Quinn replied, “but it may take some time and I’ll permit it only on one condition—that you allow me to pay the meter charge. Otherwise—it’s no sale.”

  Okay—sure, I ain’t never refused dough yet, Mr. Quinn, but like I said, I owe you plenty.”

  “You owe me nothing, Steve. You’ve been very helpful and I appreciate it. I … ouch!”

  Steve Cobb gulped. “Gosh, I forgot all about telling you where the step was. You okay now? Make it yourself?”

  Quinn smiled. “My fault for not using the cane. I’m quite all right and—here comes Viola. Good morning.”

  Viola came down the steps and aided him into the house. There were three men seated in the living room and Quinn’s apparently blank eyes never flickered with the surprise he felt.

  One man was young Hank Standish—who might be expected to be around. Another was Jim Halton, congressman and alleged partner of Joel King. He wore a bandage around his head-a souvenir of last night’s grim affair. The third man was known to Quinn, but only by sight and reputation. He was George Lockwood, a restaurateur known from coast to coast because of the chain of cafeterias he owned.

  Quinn said to Viola, “You didn’t ask me how I knew it was you on the porch. People usually wonder how I recognize them when I can’t see them or they haven’t spoken.”

  “You knew my footsteps,” Viola said rather curtly. “Please sit down, Mr. Quinn. I’m in some rather awkward trouble. Oh—I’d forgotten. There are three people here. My fiance, Hank Standish, Mr. Halton and Mr. Lockwood.”

  “Congressman Halton?” Quinn stared blankly about six feet from the spot where Halton stood.

  “Yes…yes, I’m that Mr. Halton,” he said. “I understand you are Miss Viola’s attorney so I’ll come right down to cases. For a long time I was associated with Viola’s father as his secret backer. That is, I financed many of his experiments. Few panned out, but I kept providing the old fool with cash because I had faith in him.

  “He was working on a device which would explode munitions, fuel tanks—even hydrogen gas if used in lighter-than-air craft. Such an invention would have profited this country tremendously. Well—I think Joel King perfected his invention and is now holding out for the fantastic sum of twenty million dollars.”

  “And you want half?” Quinn asked very gently.

  The response came from Lockwood, not Halton. He laughed with his head back and his stomach shaking.

  “That was the fastest answer I’ve ever heard pulled,” he roared. “Halton—I’m afraid you’ve bitten off a worthy opponent in Mr. Quinn.”

  “I don’t want a penny out of it—except what I actually put into the affair”. Halton glared at Lockwood. “That’s fair enough. But what is even more important is the fact that Joel King may dispose of this instrument to anyone who bids high enough. Oh, I thought him a harmless old codger until last night. See this bandage on my head…?”

  “He’s blind,” Lockwood whispered hoarsely. “How can he see?”

  “Oh—oh, yes.” Halton ceased patting the bandage. “Anyway there is a bandage on my head. Doctor had to take three stitches. Last night I came here, peaceably and willing to be convinced my suspicions were in error. Viola insisted her father simply had disappeared and she didn’t know where he was. Just about the time she had me convinced, four men entered the house. They were all well muffled with scarfs and coat collars and each one had a gun. When I remonstrated with one of them I was hit over the head with a gun butt.”

  “What in the world did four gunmen want here—with Viola King?” Quinn asked sharply.

  “I’ll tell you,” Halton cut off Viola’s effort to speak first. “Just before I passed out, I had a look at one of those men. It was Joel King—I swear it. He came here to open a wall safe and remove from it all the papers and drawings he had made in connection with his death machine. You know what happened to those bombers. They were blown to smithereens. Joel King did that.”

  “But if Joel King wanted his own papers, why didn’t he openly return for them?” Quinn asked. “That would have been the most natural thing to do.”

  “Because he knows the police and the G-Men are after him. Because he knows that I’d turn him over in half a second if I ever laid hands on him. That man has changed from a harmless, crackpot inventor into the greatest menace this or any other nation has ever faced. With his death machine he can blast anything, anywhere, at will.”

  * * * *

  Lockwood put in soothingly: “Oh come now. You’re getting all wrought up about this, Halton. You were the only person out of three who recognized Joel King. Perhaps you were mistaken. Certainly his own daughter and her young man would know Joel King if he appeared. They were here, too, you remember.”

  “I know what I saw,” Halton insisted. “And I admit getting wrought up. Who wouldn’t—with this maniac running around loose? I know what Joel King can do because he told me his hopes. That’s why I have already started things humming to arrange a payment to the man. We’ll pay him, get the device and then hunt him down like the rat he is.”

  Quinn wasn�
��t listening too intently as Halton raged. He was thinking of Hank Standish, who had informed the Black Bat that he recognized Joel King the night before and now indicated he hadn’t recognized anyone. Had he been warned to keep quiet or was he just protecting the girl he loved? And Viola—just a bit cleverer than she pretended. Few people guess that a blind man can distinguish people by their footsteps, yet she’d caught on instantly. Rather different from the weeping, heart-broken girl who’d been in his office. Right now her eyes were flashing, red hot sparks of

  anger.

  Quinn stared in space. “What should I do about this?” he asked. “If you’re not after Joel King’s property to get back the money he borrowed from you, I can’t see where I

  fit in.”

  Lockwood arose and signaled Halton to remain seated. He approached Quinn and looked at him.

  “Halton is in a peculiar position. He assisted in promoting this death dealing device which Joel apparently invented. He’s a regular financier of death.

  “Now Halton is betwixt and between. As a congressman he must decide whether or not to pay this crazy demand for something he helped to create. What Halton wants from all of you is complete secrecy about this. He intends to ask that the sum be paid.

  “If the newspapers discover his true position—well, use your own judgment. Halton is all right—perfectly honest and sincere. I’m buying out his brokerage house because he is patriotic enough to sacrifice every line of work to devote all his time to defense duties in Washington.”

  “I see,” Quinn said slowly. “It does place Mr. Halton in a peculiar position. So far as I’m concerned, you have my word not to speak. I’m sure the others also will respect your position.

  “By the way,” Quinn continued, “just what is your interest in this case? If I seem rude in asking, please remember that Viola King is my client and I must protect her.”

  Lockwood’s smile faded quickly. “Why I—I’m practically an associate of Congressman Halton. We—a—intend to carry out some important business. Now I can’t let him get sewed up in something like this without trying to help him.”