Adventure Tales, Volume 6

by John Gregory Betancourt

  Silk just closed his eyes and murmured a prayer for the men who had died to inflate the ego of a killer. The lethal device which Joel King had perfected must have worked like a charm.

  The Black Bat was running egged on by the ever increasing roar of the powerful engines in those boats. Then came the explosion. The Black Bat’s pace didn’t falter. He knew just about where the murderer’s lair was located and he meant to head off their escape if possible.

  Someone, moving clumsily, reached a small, cleared space and kept running like mad. It was Kurt Miller—the spy. As he disappeared, two men suddenly burst through a heavy area of brush. They saw the tall, black clad figure with its cape outspread and looking like a great bird in the act of taking off. Both men reached for their guns. The Black Bat seemed to barely move his arms and then two automatics were blazing death. One crook fell flat on his face and never moved under his own volition again. The other gave a yelp of terror, turned and disappeared in the brush.

  The Black Bat crashed after him, caught a glimpse of the man as he burst into a clearing and heard him shout an alarm. Bullets began to chop at the foliage and the Black Bat went into a nose dive.

  He could see a wrecking car, just getting started. The cab was thicker than usual and he saw why. A narrow door still was open and through it protruded a squat, dull painted telescope-like affair. It was Joel King’s lethal machine. Then the door was slammed shut by someone within and the truck raced away.

  Six or eight men were left behind, but there were two other cars waiting and ready to whisk them to safety. The Black Bat lifted his guns, sighted them carefully and made certain the driver of one car wouldn’t help the fiends escape. Then he concentrated on the other and repeated his performance. Rolling over several times he escaped the fusillade of lead that tried to ferret him out. Five of the crooks were running toward him, separated and crouched like an attacking army of trained troops. The Black Bat wanted one of those cars so that he could take up the chase of the fake wrecking truck. The machine of sudden death was the paramount objective. These thugs meant little in comparison to that, but he had to clear a path through their ranks.

  * * * *

  Both guns spat. One crook threw up his arms, staggered a few paces and then dropped to vanish in the tall grass. The others ducked out of sight. The Black Bat edged to the left, always drawing a little closer to the parked cars.

  When he estimated that his chances of reaching one without injury were good, he plunged out of the brush and raced across the cleared space.

  Bullets followed him and he fired over his shoulder a couple of times to discourage any attempts at real sharpshooting. Then he reached the nearest car, opened the door and pushed the dead driver aside. He slid behind the wheel, started the motor and rolled toward the second car. His guns blasted briefly at the tires when he was directly beside the vehicle. He doubted that they’d use this car in pursuit.

  He reached the road, slowed and saw the tire marks of the wrecking truck. It had turned north. He stepped on it. Unless the wrecking truck was geared for high speed, he would be able to overtake it within the next ten or fifteen minutes. There were very few side roads and these were so bad that any driver, intent on escaping, would hardly have tried to negotiate them. Still, the Black Bat slowed up enough so he could have spotted fresh tracks.

  He knew that somewhere, well behind him now, he must have flashed past the spot where Silk was hidden. Gripping the wheel, fighting the car over this rough road every moment, the Black Bat not only had to watch for the wrecking truck, but avoid any police patrols as well.

  He was fairly certain that he’d gone beyond the end of the proposed test run for those torpedo boats and this area would hardly be patrolled. However, the shots must have been heard and following so quickly on the destruction of the boats, all police must have recognized them as a clarion call for attention. Police cars would be following by this time.

  Suddenly the road curved sharply to the left and the Black Bat found himself rolling downhill. The road no longer was hemmed in by trees and shrubs—just a vast, wide open area lay in front of him and—about a mile ahead was the wrecking car, racing at top speed.

  The Black Bat laid a gun on the seat beside him, did everything but push the foot accelerator through the floor boards and gained on the truck. He realized that they’d try desperate means to keep the truck—and the secret it contained—out of his hands.

  The truck left the road and began hurtling down a meadow toward the river. Just about the time the Black Bat began to worry if the killers were intent on driving the truck over the cliff and into the river, the driver changed course and bumped toward a summer cottage located about thirty feet from the edge of the cliff. Far below, the upper Hudson flowed like a sheet of silver in the late afternoon sunlight.

  Very soon it would be dusk and then—darkness—wherein the Black Bat operated at top efficiency.

  He turned into the meadow hardly relaxing his break-neck speed. Two men leaped out of the truck, but there must have been a third who drove because the truck rolled up to an attached garage and stopped. The men who had jumped out, opened the doors and the truck moved in. The doors closed and that was all there was to it.

  The Black Bat stopped his car and tried to figure it all out. Three men in that cottage with the lethal instrument. Did they intend to defend themselves with it, blast anything and everything that tried to dislodge them?

  That was the logical answer; yet the Black Bat showed no hesitation. He could reach the cottage in only one way—straight across the vast clearing. He’d run into gunfire or that deadly series of radio impulses and rays, whatever the machine operated on.

  Flat on his belly, he wriggled a little closer, guns ready. He watched the windows and doors narrowly. If one of them opened, he’d fire instantly—give them no chance to get their murder machine into action. Nothing happened. Just a grim silence held sway; and the Black Bat didn’t like it.

  He sprinted closer to the cottage, reached its walls and flattened himself against the boards beside the rear entrance. There was no porch, just three small steps leading to the door. The Black Bat made a dive toward the door, grabbed the knob and twisted it. The door opened. No mass of hot lead came out to greet him, no brownish yellow flashes of a deadly ray were centered upon him. Just more of that grim, complete silence.

  This had all the earmarks of a trap. Three men had entered this cottage. The only way they could have gotten out was by leaping from the cliff which was akin to suicide.

  The Black Bat passed through the tiny kitchen, saw a door to the attached garage and headed that way. No matter what happened afterwards, if he could destroy the lethal machine, any sacrifice would be worthwhile. The truck was there. At the further end of the garage were a number of piled wooden boxes. The Black Bat paid no attention to them—he was far too intent on the wrecking car and what it must contain.

  That was why he failed to see a pair of sharp, cruel eyes peering through an especially arranged peephole in the barricade of boxes. The Black Bat jumped aboard the truck, looked sharply for the hidden door he’d seen wide open as the truck moved off—and found it without much trouble. His sensitive fingers passed over the duco finish until they felt a hardly perceptible lump. Pushing this caused the narrow door to open.

  * * * *

  The Black Bat gave a hoarse groan of despair. The hidden compartment was empty. The truck must have been especially geared, travelled as fast or faster than his commandeered car and the lethal machine had been unloaded somewhere.

  Suddenly the Black Bat whirled around, both guns at a ready angle. The three thugs who had been in the truck, were converging on him from three sides. The Black Bat didn’t wait for an invitation to shoot. His guns opened up and two of the thugs jumped for protected places. The third aimed deliberately and squeezed the trigger with the Black Bat’s head squarely in the sights. As the mechanism worked and a bullet went hurtling on its way, the Black Bat just let himself go completely limp
and dropped like a sack of potatoes. One arm twisted around his body. Two gleaming eyes shone from the slits in his hood and—the gun in one hand barked. The thug went down, moaning.

  The other two crooks took advantage of the Black Bat’s preoccupation and fled through the cottage to the back door. They streaked out of it as if a dozen assorted devils were at their heels.

  Silk—who had instantly taken up the chase—now was observing the cottage, from a point about a quarter of a mile away. He saw a car close to the house, but didn’t know it was the one driven by the Black Bat.

  Then the rear door erupted two men who pounded crazily across the ground. A third came catapulting out and then Silk saw the reason for their haste. From a spot directly opposite where he was hidden, came those brownish-yellow flashes of light.

  The lethal machine!

  Sirens were howling and brakes screeched. Police came rushing across the cleared space toward the cottage. Silk arose, yelling lustily and waving his hands. They couldn’t identify him from that distance and even if they could—Silk would have done the same thing.

  For some reason the crooks were intent on blowing that cottage into oblivion. Silk knew why about half a second later. The third man saw the police, veered sharply and ran straight toward the cliff. As he was almost opposite the house, a figure in black stood in plain view for a moment in the doorway. He had a gun in his hand and it roared.

  At that instant everything vanished in a halo of smoke and destruction. Police were hurled flat by the concussion. Silk just sat down, very slowly, and closed his eyes.

  The Black Bat had been in that cottage—he’d seen him and knew that the Black Bat was dead.

  CHAPTER XII

  Avenge the Black Bat

  When Captain McGrath and Commissioner Warner reached the scene half an hour later, a detective lieutenant, still covered with dirt from the explosion, told them what had happened.

  “We first heard shots back there where the boats were blown up. We found a dead crook and heard car motors fading in the distance. We started a chase. It was slow work because we had to stop at the crossroads to see if they’d changed their course.

  “Then we spotted this car—what’s left of it is still down there near the crater. Anyway, just as we began to close in on the cottage, somebody stood up way over to the left and yelled like mad. We knew it was a warning of some kind. I looked all around and right over there—behind those trees, I saw a funny kind of a light. It was yellow—maybe brown.

  “Anyway that’s about all there was to it. Just before the explosion, some of my boys saw a guy come running out of the cottage. The Black Bat was inside, too, and started shooting at this mug.”

  McGrath turned pale. “Are you trying to tell us the Black Bat was blown up with the house?”

  “That’s it. He was right in the doorway, fighting to the last. The guy he shot at disappeared too—guess he was pretty close to the cottage and went up with the explosion.”

  Commissioner Warner turned away slowly. McGrath licked his lips, started to say something and then pivoted quickly. He gulped, walked up beside Warner and they looked at one another.

  “I—guess that—finishes the case of—the Black Bat,” McGrath said with a great sigh. “I always knew he’d go out like that—with both guns shooting at some louse who didn’t deserve to live.”

  “Then why the devil aren’t you happy about it?” Warner roared. “You’ve hunted the man until you were blue in the face.”

  “Well, I—I don’t know. It seems like I—really lost a friend, Commissioner. Like you, maybe. I was pretty tough on Quinn at that, I guess.”

  “It wasn’t Quinn who was blown up in that cottage,” Warner snapped. “I left him at the Naval test grounds.”

  “Sure you did—and I saw him driving away. Look, Commissioner, I know it was Quinn. To prove it, all we have to do is go to his house and wait. He won’t come back. Ten men saw him die. And that damned machine—look here, sir—I want an assignment like the one I had concerning the Black Bat. I want to run down the rats who killed him—if it takes the rest of my life.”

  “You’ll have your chance,” Warner said. “After what has happened, I don’t think there’ll be much opposition to paying off this leech who claims to be a Patriot. He’ll get his money. If he doesn’t double-cross us, we’ll have that device he uses and then—then McGrath—go get him. Become another Black Bat if necessary. Throw all rules and regulations overboard. Shoot to kill if you must—do—anything. Oh, what’s the use of talking? Our hands are tied. Everyone will be convinced of the efficiency of the Patriot’s machine. We can’t make a move until it is in the proper governmental hands.”

  McGrath blew his nose rather lustily. “Yes sir. But I’m getting busy at once. If I find anything, I’ll lay low so as not to gum up any arrangements to contact the Patriot. Later I’ll drift over to Quinn’s house—just to verify things.”

  * * * *

  Silk made his way back to where Tony Quinn’s car was hidden, got in and drove away, avoiding the police easily. He drove to town, rolled the car into the garage and walked slowly to the house. It was like a tomb when he entered. Silk’s face was hard as granite, his eyes shining and cold with fury. He picked up the phone and made two calls.

  Ten minutes later Butch was clumsily trying to comfort Carol.

  “Look, Carol,” be said, “he wouldn’t want us to mope around. We gotta get on the trail of them rats right away. Ain’t that the agreement—if any of us get—get—well just don’t come back, the others must carry on.”

  Carol looked up. “Yes—of course, Butch. We can’t waste a moment. Tony told us a great deal so we’re not working in the dark. There are suspects to be watched. Silk—you take James Halton. To me, he seems very suspicious. I’ll see to this Nazi spy—Kurt Miller. He simply can’t be involved with the Patriot because he’d have disappeared with the lethal weapon long ago if he could get his hands on it. Therefore, I’ll go see him, say I’m from the Patriot and let him make me an offer. If he has been approached before—which I rather think possible—he’ll contact the Patriot or one of his men. Butch—you’ll remain outside Miller’s house and fellow him if he leaves.”

  Silk was already at work donning a disguise. This one turned him into an apple checked, straw haired man ten years younger. An old, rather battered suit and hat finished the picture and Silk looked much like a farmer’s son on a visit to the big city. Not too obviously so, but this disguise had tricked dozens of confidence men and they were among the most discerning crooks on earth. Silk was sure it would also trick the Patriot or any of his cohorts.

  Carol was talking again, her voice steady, her mind clear and intent on one thing—vengeance!

  “After I prepare the ground for Butch, I’ll go see this Viola King. Tony wasn’t quite satisfied with the manner in which she has been acting. It’s hardly possible that she is involved unless her father voluntarily disappeared with his accursed invention.”

  “Hey,” Butch looked up suddenly, “I just thought of something. Suppose McGrath comes snooping around?”

  “Let him,” Silk barked. “What difference does it make now? Our job is to concentrate on the man who is responsible for Tony’s death.”

  Carol looked squarely at Silk. “You actually saw it, Silk? There’s no doubt in your mind? None at all?”

  “I’m sorry, Carol. He was in the doorway of that cottage, shooting like mad at one of the crooks. There couldn’t have been any mistake and nobody—nothing—could have moved fast enough to get out of the way of the blast. Good luck with Miller. We’ll meet here later on.”

  Silk jumped into the tunnel. Butch paced the floor with mincing steps that would have looked funny under ordinary circumstances. Carol had seen faces alight with hatred before but nothing to equal the look on Butch’s features. His mighty hands kept working, as if there was an imaginary neck within their grasp.

  * * * *

  Carol drove her own car to the vicinity of Miller’
s home. She used a powder puff, rouge and lipstick rather lavishly before she got out.

  “There’s a deep doorway directly across the Street from Miller’s house,” she told Butch. “Hide there. I’ll go in and try to smoke him out. Tony knew all about him, but did nothing except destroy a lot of accumulated maps and things because he wanted to give Miller his head—let him lead the way to the Patriot. We’re following Tony’s plans, Butch, so don’t muff this.”

  Carol walked boldly to the front door, rang the bell and when Miller thrust his lined face against a window, Carol signaled him covertly by exhibiting a piece of paper upon which was written one word PATRIOT.

  Miller’s eagerness to let her in gave away his whale attitude on this case. Getting that lethal device was Miller’s one aim in life. He closed the door, snapped two locks and put a burglar chain in place. Then he faced Carol.

  “You are from—him?”

  “Yes. We are willing to sell to the highest bidder, as you probably know. You must be prepared to state a price, but first—can you raise the cash with the assets of your country frozen?”

  “I can raise the money,” Miller answered excitedly. “It would be worth it just to know the Black Bat is dead. I have heard. It was a clever job. I will also confess that I guessed your employer would blow up those new torpedo boats so—I was in a position to watch it all. Very well done. I am satisfied that your device is worth all the millions you ask.”

  “Good,” Carol said, “but you must work fast. I am in no position to bargain with you, but—I take it you know who is.”

  Miller nodded eagerly. “Yes—of course. I have only been waiting for word to act. You shall go with me—eh?”

  “No—I work outside the organization and take my orders direct from—the Patriot. You will proceed alone, Herr Muller. You see—I even know your right name.”