Adventure Tales, Volume 6

by John Gregory Betancourt

  “I asked Lockwood to come,” Halton said hotly. “Insisted on it in fact. Lockwood is a clever man—and one of my very best friends. He has a perfect right to be here.”

  Halton grabbed his hat, glared at Viola and Hank Standish and then stalked out. Lockwood smiled, bowed and followed him. Viola remained stony-faced. She turned on her heel and walked briskly out of the room.

  “Am I alone?” Quinn asked somewhat petulantly.

  “No sir—I’m here—Hank Standish. Say, Halton is a pretty temperamental fellow, isn’t he?”

  “Oh—yes, of course. Mr. Standish, you were also here last night when those men, described by Halton, invaded the house. Were they unnecessarily rough with Mr. Halton—with you—or Viola?”

  “One of them just walked up to Halton and conked him one and—I owe that mug a favor now because that’s what I’ve felt like doing all along. Halton says he owns half of everything Joel King left. He has notes and papers, but Viola says her father never told her anything about signing over his inventions. Sure they got tough with Halton and me too. They tied me up.”

  “And Viola?”

  “We-ell—they just pushed her into a closet and locked the door. Firm about it, but they didn’t harm her.”

  “And you are certain Joel King was not one of those four men? The fact that Halton was injured shows somebody in that quartet hated him. You were more or less neutral to that party and Viola was treated gently. Doesn’t that indicate Joel King?”

  “Maybe it does,” Standish snapped, “but he wasn’t one of them. I got eyes. I can see.”

  And a tongue which could also lie, Quinn thought. He arose, moved his cane before him and almost tripped on a slightly elevated door sill. Standish sprang forward to steady him.

  “I’m sorry,” Standish said. “I didn’t mean to get sore, but Halton was so insistent and Viola has suffered so much…”

  “I understand,” Quinn said. “Now, if you have nothing more to tell me, I think I’ll get back to my office. Halton won’t make any trouble immediately. His threats to use those demand notes were simply meant to intimidate you and Viola so news of his financial help to Viola’s father wouldn’t be made public.”

  Standish nodded. “Yeah—I guessed that after he started talking. Want to know what I think? Halton knows all about the invention. He wants to pay off this—this killer and then horn in on the profits.”

  Viola didn’t appear again and Steve Cobb was running up the walk as Quinn reached the steps. Quinn went straight to his offices. On the way he tried to puzzle out a few things—especially where Halton was concerned. The man was certainly in an ideal position to put over this deal. He was one of the few persons that knew Joel King worked on such a device. He must also have known how close to perfection it was inasmuch as he financed the whole affair.

  Now he could put pressure in the right places, induce the payment of an incredible sum of cash to this man who called himself the Patriot. Could Halton be the Patriot? And why did Standish lie and Viola cease her act of an innocent, coy young girl? In a more minor vein, he wondered what George Lockwood was doing with Halton.

  True, as a friend and possible business associate, he did have a legitimate right to stick with Halton and do what he could to assist him—but was he remaining a bit too close? There was Kurt Miller to think about, too. The spy hadn’t put in an appearance since the fire in his tenement. Kurt Miller was a man to beware of if Tony Quinn could read faces correctly. It was even possible that Miller might be the Patriot. Certainly he would be willing to dicker with the man for the purposes of getting that invention. This fact rather explained the reason why the Patriot so callously resorted to murder. He played two games—one with the United States authorities, the other with Miller and his Axis Powers. Perhaps he hoped to collect from the highest bidder—or even both of them?

  CHAPTER X

  Publicity for Murder

  Lieutenant Commander Pierce, in charge of the torpedo tests, held the receiver of his telephone so hard his knuckles glistened starkly white.

  A calm voice was giving him a dire warning:

  “This is the Black Bat, Commander. You will recall that a man who calls himself the Patriot and claims to have exhibited the powers of a death-dealing device has promised further proof of his claims. He requires something very big—something that will stun the entire nation. I’m afraid your test runs today will offer him the best chance. Therefore I advise all caution.”

  Lieutenant Commander Pierce was torn between a desire to notify an aide and try to have this call checked, or to listen and accept the advice of this greatest of all crime fighters.

  “I’m not accustomed to taking advice from someone I do not know,” Pierce said, “but I do understand what you have in mind. I shall inspect the three craft most rigidly and maintain a constant guard over them. However, if this so-called Patriot does possess Such a device, what good will searching the craft do?”

  “Nevertheless—search them,” the Black Bat insisted. “Be certain of anyone who comes in contact with the craft.”

  There was a click and the connection was cut off. Pierce hesitated a moment and then phoned Police Headquarters. Mention of the Black Bat’s name brought him the instant and exclusive attention of Captain McGrath.

  Pierce repeated what the Black Bat had told him. “Can the man really be trusted?” he asked. “Do you think I should take his word for this?”

  “By all means,” McGrath howled. “If the Black Bat even has a remote hunch, it always turns out the way he says. That guy doesn’t fool, Commander. Take my guarantee for it.”

  McGrath hung up and then quickly raised the receiver again and told the switchboard operator to ring the home of Tony Quinn. McGrath received no answer. He tried Quinn’s office and was told he’d left for the day. McGrath had a smug little smile on is face as he walked briskly toward Commissioner Warner’s office.

  The Black Bat had phoned Commander Pierce. Tony Quinn was neither at home nor in his office. Silk hadn’t answered either. Therefore it was logical to assume, in the face of facts McGrath was certain of, that Tony Quinn and the Black Bat never could be in two different places at the same time and that Quinn had done the phoning. He opened Commissioner Warner’s door, took several steps inside and then stopped cold.

  Tony Quinn sat in a chair facing the Commissioner. Silk was parked near the window, a scowl on his face. Silk had little love for McGrath.

  “You seem surprised—perhaps stunned would be the proper word,” Warner said slowly. “What’s wrong, Captain?”

  “N-nothing—not a thing, sir. I—oh hello, Mr. Quinn. Just got here half a minute ago, didn’t you?”

  “Did I?” Quinn didn’t turn his head. “Of course I can’t see a clock, but I was under the impression I’d been here for…”

  “At least half an hour,” Warner put in curtly. “What’s on your mind, McGrath?”

  “Well—it seems the Black Bat just telephoned to the naval officer in charge of torpedo tests and says the Patriot may try to blow up some of those boats.”

  Warner sat back slowly. “And you thought Quinn couldn’t be here and make a call as the Black Bat at the same time, eh? You’re getting stupider about this Black Bat phobia day by day. That’s beside the point now. The Patriot would try a stunt like that. Think of the publicity! McGrath—select a picked squad of thirty men. Arm them with sub-machine guns and station them around the point where the tests are to be made. Cover the entire route on our side of the river.

  “I’ll contact Jersey Police and have them cover their side. Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll be busy. I—say—want to come along? There might be some fireworks to break up the monotony.”

  Quinn shook his head and McGrath, on the way out, hesitated to hear Quinn’s final answer. McGrath was by no means satisfied about this. Quinn was and always would be the Black Bat in his estimation.

  “No, Commissioner,” Quinn said, “I’d only be in the way. Thanks for the invitation, but really�
��”

  “Come along,” Warner insisted. “Silk can go too and be your eyes—as he always is. McGrath—what in thunder are you hanging around for? Get busy!”

  Warner abruptly left the office for a few moments. Silk arose and sauntered over beside Tony Quinn.

  “Is there anything I can get you, sir? And do you really think we should go along?”

  Silk brushed an imaginary bit of debris from Quinn’s shoulder and leaned down as he did so. He spoke in a whisper this time.

  “Who called in that warning, sir? Not you!”

  “I don’t know who did,” Quinn answered and his lips hardly moved. “Certainly not Butch. I gave him no such orders. All I can figure out is that the Patriot did it. Why? To build up publicity—to get the full facts of this business smeared all over every newspaper. To train the people so they’ll believe he should be paid off—and promptly. I…”

  “Yes sir,” Silk said aloud. “I’ll be at your side every moment. Oh—it’s Commissioner Warner back.”

  “We’re all set,” Warner jammed on his hat. “Take Quinn to my car out front, Silk. I’ll be along in a moment.”

  “Maybe,” Silk offered when they were alone in front of Police Headquarters, “it’s just a stall to keep the cops and F.B.I. men concentrated at one point while the Patriot strikes in another.”

  “No—I doubt it,” Quinn answered. “Destroying those torpedo boats would be an excellent method of getting necessary publicity. He issued a warning under the Black Bat’s name because it would add to the interest of the case. Silk—we can’t accompany the Commissioner in his car. What if something turns up? I intended to be on the scene as the Black Bat anyway. I’ll insist I might be in the way and only agree to go if you drive me in my car. No use arousing McGrath’s suspicions either—which we would do if we had to disappear suddenly when he was around.”

  “Warner’s coming ~ Silk said.

  Quinn did some fast talking and convinced Warner he was right. Half an hour later they followed Warner’s car through the carefully guarded gate leading into the Navy Station where the torpedo boats were parked.

  “Holy Smokes,” Quinn muttered. “Over there—talking to the Naval officer. Look, Silk—the taller man is George Lockwood and the other is my old friend, Jim Halton, partner of Joel King, instigator of a determination to pay off the Patriot. Drive over. Park close by them. I’d like to hear what they’re talking about.”

  * * * *

  Silk brought the car to such a smooth halt that none of the three men, facing the torpedo boats now, heard it. Halton was talking.

  “If you have completely searched all three craft, Commander Pierce, there seems little else we can do. It’s a useless gesture, anyhow, because the instrument used to blow up those bombers required nothing planted on them. This device attacks energy stored up in such things as gasoline, explosives and the like.”

  Silk whispered, “I wasn’t carrying any stored up energy when they set that damned yellow light in my direction. Nor Carol either. We’d used up even our physical energy getting away from the place. Yet those explosions and craters were not our imagination, believe me.”

  “Quiet.” Quinn had his head cocked and those supersensitive ears of his listened to George Lockwood make a very worthy suggestion.

  “If that’s the case—about the stored up energy, I mean—then why carry loaded torpedoes. Of course you can’t operate without fuel, and if the gas tanks exploded, your men would have a chance, but—if a loaded torpedo ever let go…”

  Halton whistled softly. “Very good, Lockwood. I’m proud of you. Yes—those torpedoes must be removed and dummies substituted. Can you do that, Commander?”

  “Of course—we’ll weight the dummy torpedoes with lead shot to make their weight exactly that of the real ones. We’re testing speed this time, you see, and must travel under average conditions. I’ll see to it at once.”

  Quinn explained to Silk what he’d overheard. “Lockwood had a good idea there. I was going to suggest it myself, if I could find the proper loophole. All I hope is that somebody thinks of examining the dummy torpedoes.”

  “Tell me,” Silk said slowly, “do you really think those crooks have to plant something in the object they’re going to blow up?”

  “Who knows, Silk? If we had the secret of the Patriot’s machine, he’d be licked. The facts so far point to the idea that their device works independently and can pick out any target. Look—they’re bringing the dummy torpedoes over.”

  “And there goes Lockwood, giving some more advice.”

  Quinn listened intently. “And good advice too—he wants them to open those torpedoes. It’s time for us to be on our way. If Commissioner Warner wants to know why I won’t stay—I’ll tell him some excuse or other. Like wanting to have you describe the test to me from some point up the river where they travel full speed.”

  Silk turned the car around and drove to the gate. Quinn’s eyes were looking blankly straight ahead, but he saw three uniformed sailors come out of a supply building. Each carried a box about a foot square.

  “Ask the guard what those men are carrying,” Quinn told Silk. “Do it without arousing any suspicion whatsoever.”

  Silk braked the car and two guards came over. Silk said, “If you see Commissioner Warner, tell him Mr. Quinn decided not to stay. This place is too busy for us to interfere. A minute ago I doggone near ran over three sailors. They were carrying a small box each and they walked like those boxes were full of eggs.”

  One guard laughed. “Oh, you mean those guys who came out of the supply house. They were carrying officially sealed speedometers to check the test run of those boats. I’ll tell the Police Commissioner if I see him. The test will really look like something about two miles north of this point.”

  Silk drove through the gates and uttered a groan. “Oh-oh—here comes good old Captain McGrath and has he got an eagle eye on us. Do you think he’ll try to follow us, sir?”

  Quinn’s head never moved as McGrath drove by, practically leaning three quarters of the way out of a window to see if anyone was with Quinn. He gave the blind attorney a sharp appraisal, but there was little satisfaction in that because Quinn never changed his expression nor the direction of his eyes.

  CHAPTER XI

  Murder Test

  Fifteen minutes later Silk pulled up along a quiet spot overlooking the river. Below them the three torpedo boats would streak for a new record or—swift death. Everything possible to safeguard those aboard the craft had been done. Guards were posted, the boats searched thoroughly, no strangers allowed to come close by them.

  Silk had chosen this place wisely for a clump of trees practically hid the car from the highway behind it. Tony Quinn quickly opened a hidden compartment in the rear of the car, took out a black suit of fine, heavy silk. He donned this and also put on a black shirt and tie. The Black Bat’s hood and cape were handy. Two automatics went into his pockets and the Black Bat was ready for action.

  He picked up a high powered telescope, got out of the car and made his way almost to the edge of the cliff overlooking the river. He used the telescope, studying the opposite shore intently. Within the next half hour those boats would come roaring up the river.

  The Patriot had given warning that he’d attack—but where? Along the ten or fifteen mile course there were a thousand places which might hide him and his lethal apparatus. Patrolling this section under such short notice practically was impossible. The test should have been called off; but the Navy never will be bulldozed.

  The Black Bat gave an audible grunt. His telescope had spotted the brilliant reflection of sunlight upon highly polished glass. Someone, across the river, was watching through binoculars. He studied the area carefully through his own lens. Twice he caught a glimpse of men moving stealthily.

  The Black Bat returned to the car and got in.

  “Silk—get going. Take me over the bridge—two miles north of here. Then head south again until I tell you to stop. Go as fast a
s you dare. I’ve spotted them—on the other side of the river.”

  Silk speeded, then slowed and followed the line of traffic across the bridge at a leisurely pace because the bridge police were keeping it moving slowly. With a tweed jacket over his black suit and a robe covering his legs, Tony Quinn had his head turned slightly as if to sniff the river breeze sweeping over the bridge. In reality his eyes were riveted far down the river, looking for the first signs of spray from those racing torpedo boats. If he didn’t reach the location of the killers in time men would die.

  Then, to complicate matters, there was a slight accident up ahead and all west bound traffic was stalled. Silk fidgeted and squirmed. Tony Quinn had to hold himself in check. Ten minutes were wasted—minutes that might spell the difference between life and death.

  They reached the other side, sought the narrow road running close to the river and Silk tore down it. Suddenly Quinn barked an order.

  “Stop and shut off your motor. We’re almost there and—the torpedo boats are coming. Hide the car, Silk. Find a hidden spot for yourself too and watch the river.”

  * * * *

  The Black Bat donned his cape and hood, plunged into the brush bordering the road and vanished from sight. Silk concealed the car, got out and approached the steep cliff overlooking the water. He lay prone, glued Quinn’s telescope to his eye and picked up the three speeding boats. They were half in and half out of the water, like racing dolphins. Behind them was a white fury of a wake.

  Twice Silk heard cars pass on the road behind him—pass slowly as if patrolling the area. This might do some good if the crooks attempted to get clear; but hidden—as they were—it would require a small army of police to comb this section.

  Silk turned his attention to the boats again. They’d soon be about opposite the spot where the Black Bat had seen the sun’s reflection against glass.

  Then it happened. There was no warning, no preliminaries. All three boats suddenly disappeared, as if wiped off the river by a gigantic, invisible hand. Debris flew in all directions. There really wasn’t much left to sink because the pieces were small and hardly identifiable.