Liquid Death And Other Stories

by John Russell Fearn

  He stood thinking for a moment whilst Gwenda regarded him anxiously, her ruined dress hanging in tatters about her. Then he suddenly seemed to make up his mind. He threw the gun on the nearby table and came straight for her again. What happened in the ensuing moments, she had little idea. She was pushed and shoved and manoeuvred around until she, too, finally hit the chesterfield and sprawled upon it.

  "This," 'Mopes' panted, towering over her, "is where we start to get real matey, sweetheart…"

  He whipped off his jacket and grinned sadistically as she twisted her head to look at him. For the life of her, she could not remember the words of the emergency call she ought to give. Then 'Mopes' great body plunged down towards her, smashing the breath out of her.

  It was at this identical moment that there came the crash of broken glass. 'Mopes' jerked up again, swearing, just in time to see a tall, broad-shouldered figure leaping across the room from the direction of the french windows.

  "Who in hell… ?" 'Mopes' dragged to his feet, then he gasped as iron knuckles hit him under the chin and knocked him spinning against the table.

  "Okay," Harriday panted, as Gwenda looked at him. "I think I can handle this gentleman. I…"

  "You'll handle nothin'!" "Mopes' roared, as he realized Gwenda's automatic was right beside him on the table. "I'll blow the livin' day…"

  Harriday dived straight forward, in a rugby tackle. Since he did not have a gun, he had no alternative but his physique and agility. His arm locked around 'Mopes' legs and brought him down just as the gun went off. Then the fun really started.

  Gwenda raised herself up to watch as the two men rolled furiously about the floor, battering and hammering at each other. First one took punishment and then the other. They got up, and smashed each other down again; and, out in the grounds, the various men posted at different positions were unaware that anything was wrong. They could not see the french windows from their vantage points, otherwise they would have noticed the gleam of light when Harriday had broken in. Nor were they near enough to hear the breaking of the glass, and in any case, the various shrubs around the house baffled the sound waves. As for the shot 'Mopes' had fired; the drapes had fallen back across the window and muffled it completely as far as outside hearing was concerned. Nothing could be heard at that distance.

  Slowly, Harriday struggled to his feet, using the table to help him—and immediately 'Mopes' was up, too. He lashed out a jaw-breaking left, missed, and received one on the nose that drew blood. He swore, lunged, slamming a straight right into Harriday's stomach. He was in anguish as the wind was blasted out of him. He bent double—to jerk straight again from a blinding uppercut that toppled him backwards. Senseless, he hit the carpet and sprawled.

  The instant she saw what had happened, Gwenda lunged from the chesterfield and dived for the window, but 'Mopes' snatched her arm as she fled by. With a powerful twist, he swung her round, an unlovely vision, with blood smearing his face and his hair disheveled.

  "Nice work, baby," he murmured, tightening his hold. "So you had your boy friend planted, did you? You damned cheap little bitch! I'll make you smart for this night's work, believe you me! I've a way of dealin' with women who try and double-cross me…"

  He paused, staring at the floor near the door. Still retaining his steel grip on Gwenda's arm, he stooped and picked up the disc microphone. Its wire was still intact, though twisted. 'Mopes' pondered for several seconds until the truth crystallized in his slow-moving brain.

  "So that's it!" He flung the mike down and drove his heel into it. "Bin recordin' everything, huh? Cops just around the corner, and that mug was one of 'em in plain clothes. So you're workin' for the police? I was thinking as much! Right! Get movin'—an' quick!"

  "Where—where to?" Gwenda was shaking, her eyes wild. She could not understand why no further help had arrived.

  "I'll show you!" For answer 'Mopes' suddenly swung her over his massive shoulder, carried her from the room and up the staircase. She was aware of the cavernous darkness, of the corridor, and then light clicked on again and she found herself thrown down heavily upon a bed.

  "Handy things, beds," 'Mopes' said, with a brutal grin. "I can tie you down and make you do as I say. Put a stop to your blasted struggling while I…"

  "What's the idea, 'Mopes'?" a voice cut in.

  'Mopes' swung round, bleary-eyed, and stared at the Chief as he stood in the doorway, a revolver in his hand.

  "Hello, boss." 'Mopes' straightened. "I wus just going…"

  "Shut up! Remember me saying some time ago I'd catch up with you one day? I seem to have done it. You're no longer any use to me. You've gummed up every damned thing from start to finish, bringing this girl here."

  "But listen, Chief, I…"

  The Chief fired, and 'Mopes' didn't stand an earthly. The black hole from the bullet appeared on his gray shirt over his heart and he reeled heavily to the floor. Gwenda turned and looked at the quietly dressed man in the doorway. He came forward slowly, revolver still leveled.

  "It's a pity you know so much, young woman," he said, eyeing her disheveled hair and clothes. "You've only yourself to thank, for mixing up with scum like 'Mopes' McCall. Sorry though I am, I have to dispose of you."

  Gwenda could only stare, too exhausted with reaction and fear to think of anything to say. Then, almost before she realized it, the Chief had snatched down one of the long curtain cords and began swiftly to bind her hands behind her. She made a brief, ineffectual struggle to get free, but had to give it up. Twisted on the bed, breathing hard, she found the Chief looking down at her.

  "Apparently," he said, "Chief-Inspector Dawson has been surprisingly thorough. I noticed a mobile recording unit and men planted about the grounds as I arrived. In fact, the men in the recording van were wondering why recording had gone dead and were about to investigate. I managed to keep them away—as well as the men around the grounds. At the moment they have gone racing on a fool's errand, looking for 'Mopes' and you, and Detective Sergeant Harriday, whom I noticed lying flat out in the drawing room."

  "You—you sent the police away?" Gwenda stared incredulously. "How could you? The head of this whole rotten outfit! How could you?"

  "I have a way with me," the Chief answered dryly. "However, I am wasting time. Pardon me a moment."

  Turning aside, he removed his hat and coat. Gwenda lay helpless, trying to fathom why he was wearing a white coat. He looked like a house decorator, a soda-fountain operator—even a waiter. He was good looking after a fashion, unless it was a small graying imperial that conveyed the effect. In build, he was slight, but probably pretty strong. Then he turned and headed from the room.

  That he had plenty of strength was revealed to her a few moments later, for he returned carrying Harriday's unconscious form in a fireman's lift. He dumped him near the bed, against the wall, and swiftly went to work to bind him up with the remaining curtain cord.

  "Everything neat and tidy…" The Chief made a final examination of Gwenda's painfully tight cords, looked at the sprawled body of 'Mopes', with the burn-hole over his heart, then he carefully re-donned his hat and coat. Evidently he had only removed them during his exertions so as to have more freedom.

  "This place contains so much of interest to the police if they return here, as they inevitably will, that I have decided to burn it down," he explained. "Fire is such a wonderful element, don't you think?"

  He smiled slowly, his rapier-like cold gray eyes on the girl s face; then he turned aside and removed something from his pocket. It looked purplish as it lay in his hand after being shaken out of a small envelope.

  "Permanganate of potash," he explained, seeing her eyes fixed upon him. "I pour them on the carpet, so, and…"

  They streamed from his hand into a little pyramid. Then he held up a bottle of transparent bluish substance.

  "Glycerine," he concluded. "Just and old chemical trick to produce a delayed action fire, you see. I pour the glycerine on the permanganate, and you notice it froths
up. In a few minutes, during which time I'll have time to get clear, it will smoke and burst into flame."

  He straightened up and turned away quickly. "Sorry I cannot stay longer. Goodbye!"

  The door slammed and Gwenda lay staring like one hypnotized as—true to prediction—the crystals presently began to smoke, to glow, and then they burst into flame and filled the air with the stench of burning carpet.

  VII

  IT TOOK SEVERAL seconds for Gwenda to realize that this was the end—that, in a very short time, the place would be in flames. Immediately she realized it, she began rolling herself desperately on the bed, finally dropping herself with painful impact to the floor. Twisting again, she seized one of the fallen blankets in her teeth and attempted to drag it along towards the now smoldering fire in the carpet and smother it; but long before her attempt could succeed, the smoldering became flame, and she had to roll in the opposite direction to save herself.

  The window! Was that a possibility? No use if there were no men in the grounds any more, and she couldn't get free of her ropes, no matter how hard she tried. She coughed as smoke surged into her lungs and gave a desperate look around her. Then, to her amazement, she saw something quite unbelievable. 'Mopes' McCall, despite the obvious bullet wound over his heart, was slowly sitting up and rubbing his head dazedly.

  "'Mopes'!" Gwenda's voice was a scream. "'Mopes'—you're not dead!"

  "Huh?" He shook himself and looked about him, then he gave a start as he saw the smoldering fire.

  "What the heck… ?"

  "The Chief did it!" Gwenda chattered on. "Tied me up, along with the Sergeant there, and set the place on fire with glycerine or something. He didn't bother to tie you up since I suppose he thought you were dead. Get us free—quick!"

  'Mopes' heaved to his feet, feeling at himself and frowning. Then, from his shirt pocket, over the heart, he drew forth his thick notebook and examined it. In a dazed fashion he peered at a bullet embedded within it.

  "Can you beat that?" he asked. "The slug lost itself in me notebook—an' the Chief didn't kill me, as he intended to. Ain't that nice? Ain't that really nice?" His face hardened brutally as he threw the book away.

  "'Mopes'—for the love of heaven…" Gwenda coughed savagely. "Get us out of here—the Sergeant and me. I'll do whatever you want afterwards. Get us clear of this fire."

  'Mopes' looked at it, seeing it was now beyond all control.

  "I've no time," he said curtly. "I've a score to settle with the Chief. Will his face be red when I turn up to settle with him!"

  He hurtled for the door and Gwenda's despairing voice came to him again:

  "'Mopes'—you can't do it! You can't leave me and the Sergeant here…"

  "Who can't? What the hell did either of you do for me but get me into the hell of a mess?" Just the same, 'Mopes' still hesitated. Gwenda was a woman, and a highly desirable one at that. Perhaps if he… No! No use slipping back again. She and he were on opposite sides of the fence.

  "I've a job to do!" he snapped. "I'm going straight to the Chief's home and straighten things up with him."

  Then he was gone and the door slammed amidst a swirl of smoke. Out in the corridor, he found the air comparatively clear and he wasted no time in hurrying down into the basement laboratory. Here he collected the double blowpipe, a capsule of darts, and then went on his way, homicidal viciousness in every line of his ugly face. Meantime, Gwenda had rolled herself away from the immediate source of the fire. By degrees she reached the spot where Harriday was lying and dimly showing signs of returning consciousness after the shattering blow in the jaw he had taken. When at last Gwenda did reach him, she did the only thing she could do to arouse him—lay flat on her back and dug her feet into him repeatedly—a performance calling for considerable effort with her legs and arms bound as they were.

  After a while he responded and opened his eyes. Since neither the Chief nor 'Mopes' had switched off the light, he was able immediately to take in the situation—and what he saw and smelled dashed the last fogs of unconsciousness from his mind.

  "We've got to do something—and quickly," Gwenda told him, raising her head and shoulders to look at him. "It won't be long before that burning carpet sets fire to the furniture and the bedding; then we'll really be in a mess."

  "Can't understand where the boys are, that they don't come," Harriday muttered, straining savagely at the cord tethering him. "They must have an idea how things are…"

  "The Chief sent them away. He told me that when he set the place on fire."

  Harriday stopped struggling. "The Chief did? What in hell's the matter with our fellows to take orders from him?"

  "I don't know—and, right at this moment, I don't care. What do we do? We've got to move fast… oh, 'Mopes' has gone! I thought he'd been shot dead, but he wasn't. The bullet stuck in his notebook. He's gone to square accounts with the Chief."

  Harriday muttered something at the turn events had taken, and then looked about him.

  "Main thing is to get rid of these ropes," he said. "I can't get at the knife in my pocket, and I don't think you could, either. Nor will it be safe to try and wriggle over the burning carpet there and let it burn the ropes through: too painful and too likely to set our clothes on fire. So what the devil do… I have it!" he exclaimed abruptly. "You say 'Mopes' just left here?"

  "Uh-huh." Gwenda waited anxiously. "Did he lock the door there?"

  "Not as far as I know. He just slammed it."

  "Good! Then it's worth the effort of rolling to it and trying to get into the corridor outside. What I'm thinking of is the bathroom. There ought to be a razor there, since 'Mopes' is clean shaven. Or else a razor blade. We'll be free in no time if that's the case… let's go!"

  Without delaying any longer, they began dragging and rolling themselves towards the door, avoiding the burning area and coughing with every movement they made—so thick had the smoke become.

  "So far, so good!" Harriday panted, as they gained the door. "Now for the tough part. Maybe I can brace myself."

  He rolled and manoeuvred until his shoulders were against the door itself. Then, digging his heels into the carpet, he levered himself up inch by inch, using the door to support his back. Thuswise, he finally became upright enough to have the doorknob on a line with his bound hands. Gripping it with difficulty with his finger ends, he turned the knob and then toppled forward, dragging the door open with him.

  The rest was again a matter of manoeuvre and wriggling as they both eased themselves out into the corridor. Having succeeded so far, and having clear air again to breath, they were encouraged in their efforts. Certainly they had no idea where the bathroom was, but it had got to be found.

  "Stay here if you wish, whilst I look," Harriday said, peering at the girl in the faintly reflected moonlight through the corridor window.

  "Not on your life! I'm rolling as far from that burning bedroom as possible!"

  So the painful, laborious progress was resumed—and for quite a while it was without result. They opened quite a few doors with considerable difficulty, to find they gave on to empty rooms—but at last they found the one they sought, and Harriday wasted no time in edging himself in a series of long, kangaroo-like leaps towards the mirrored cupboard over the washbowl.

  He turned the cupboard catch back with his teeth and then looked into the interior. His eyes gleamed at the sight of a number of old razor blades carelessly flung into a grimy looking tumbler. Again his teeth came into action and he lifted the tumbler out and then deliberately dropped it.

  It splintered on the uncarpeted flooring beside the bowl, scattering glass and old razor blades all over the floor.

  "That's it!" Gwenda cried in delight.

  "Yes—but keep clear, or those bare arms of yours might get badly cut. I'm okay in this jacket—I hope! Here I go!"

  He flattened himself down carefully and spent the next five minutes working into a position where his carefully investigating fingers could pick up either a blad
e or a piece of glass. It happened to be a blade and, after that, the rest was easy. Three or four edgewise movements with the blade cut the rope on his wrists and he quickly pulled himself free. In one minute flat he also had Gwenda free and helped her to her feet. She was looking about her in the dim light, doing what she could to fasten her rent garments in place.

  "Here, take this," Harriday said, tugging off his coat. "Make you feel less embarrassed, maybe. And much warmer."

  "Thanks." She took it gratefully and buttoned it about her. "I've got a cape in the drawing room, but maybe this is no time to think about it."

  "Grab it as we go out," Harriday said, diving for the door. "You've put up with enough without losing a cape as well. Come on."

  She kept beside him as they hurried down the staircase. By this time, flames were crackling from the bedroom they had vacated, and the whole big house was full of smoke. Gwenda detoured long enough to recover her cape from the sideboard cupboard, and then hurried with Harriday to the outdoors—just as a party of men came running up. From the distance there came the sound of a fire engine's siren.

  "Thompson!" Harriday exclaimed, halting as the men came up. "Where in blazes have you men been all this time? Didn't you know Miss Blane and I were in real trouble?"

  "We thought you might be, Sergeant, when the microphone blanked out but, just at that moment, Mr. Ensdale came along with the news that you and Miss Blane had been spirited away round the back by 'Mopes'. He told us which way you'd gone, so we followed hell for leather. When we couldn't find any trace of you, we came back to make sure. I sent one of the boys to phone the fire brigade when we spotted smoke coming from an upper window."

  "Who did you say came along?" Harriday asked, in wonderment.

  "Mr. Ensdale. I assumed he was deputizing for the Inspector while he remained at the Yard…"

  "And when he'd given you these instructions, what did he do?"

  Thompson scratched the back of his head. "Don't rightly know, sir. We left him here."

  "Oh, you did…" Harriday thought swiftly, then: