by Lee Falk
"I am the tenth generation of my family to rule Scorpia, Miss Palmer," he said simply.
He looked musingly at the girl.
"Do you realize, Miss Palmer, that we hadn't been men
tioned in print for over fifty years until you decided to write a thesis about us?"
A tiny spot of red showed on the cheek Diana had turned toward the ruler of Scorpia.
"I knew nothing about your modern activities," she said. "I thought Scorpia was a band of ancient pirates."
"You were doing research," the Baron interrupted smoothly. "Research which could have led you to the fact that Scorpia is not extinct."
He looked up at the great glowing map on the wall behind him.
"Your research was attracting considerable publicity because—unfortunately, for you—you are a celebrity."
His voice had dropped until it was now no more than a whisper. The effect was most sinister. Diana realized that she was in the presence of a very dangerous man.
"Is that why you brought me here?" said Diana with a sudden intake of breath.
"One reason," replied the Baron. "We dislike people investigating Scorpia. We stop them. Sometimes violently."
He paused imperceptibly.
"There was another reason, Miss Palmer."
"Yes," said Diana, shifting in her chair.
"What was that, Baron?"
Baron Sojin smiled his dead smile. He bowed toward her slightly as he spoke.
"I admired your picture. That is why you are here."
17
MISSING LINK
Sunlight shimmered on the surface of the Palmer swimming pool, the brilliant reflection making The Phantom contract his eyes slightly despite the dark glasses he wore. It reminded him vividly of the pools of his jungle home in bangalla and of Guran, Hero and Devil. He and David Palmer sat on a bench alongside the pool. Ever since The Phantom's revelation of his thoughts to David on his return from the airfield, Diana's uncle had recovered something of hi:, old manner. His pipe was belching smoke and flame again as he listened to his companion's reasoned arguments.
"That's all very well, Kit," he said in answer to a specific point. "But we've no real proof that Scorpia still exists or plotted to kidnap Diana."
"Perfectly true, Dave," said The Phantom, resting his strong chin on his hands.
"Neither the police nor the F.B.I, have any record of Scorpia."
He raised his eyes from the pool and looked squarely at his companion.
"It was a well-planned operation. If Scorpia took Diana, their plot was perfect. The plane accident at sea was ingenious."
He shook his head and continued to look at the sparkle of the sun on the water. His demeanor was so rigid and strange that David Palmer looked at him in surprise.
"Their plan was perfect," repeated The Phantom softly to himself.
he snapped his fingers and rose abruptly. He brushed against Palmer, almost knocking the other's pipe from his mouth.
"It was too perfect, Dave!" said The Phantom raising hii voice, oblivious to his startled companion. He went pounding across the patio toward the house. David Palmer sprinted behind him in bewilderment.
"What's happening?" he called.
The Phantom turned his head without decreasing his speed.
"If Scorpia planned to kidnap Diana, they'd have to have known her every move," he said. "Down to the most minute detail."
He vaulted over a low hedge that ran alongside the terrace. His footsteps echoed from the tile as he rushed through the French doors. A Japanese gardener who was pruning a bush in front of the house fled in terror at the sight of the gigantic man charging past him.
David Palmer was only a few yards behind. He found The Phantom pacing animatedly up and down the drawing room.
"There's just one missing link, Dave," he said as the other came into the room. "If we can only find it!"
"You've lost me," said Dave Palmer, sinking down on a couch and fiddling with his pipe. He looked around vaguely for his pipe-cleaner.
"How about an explanation."
"Don't worry," said The Phantom. "I'll explain everything, later. Just let me work out my hunch. I don't want to upset Diana's mother. Can you make sure we won't be disturbed?"
"Certainly," said David Palmer. He went out and gave instructions to one of the servants. When he came back three minutes later, he was astonished to see the huge form of his guest on hands and knees probing behind the draperies and under the carpet.
His face was a mask of utter bewilderment as The Phantom said in a loud, clear voice, "It's such a lovely day, Dave, I think it would be nice to take a stroll outside."
"But we've only just come in," mumbled Palmer, conscious that things were rapidly sliding beyond his comprehension.
I ii
He found his arm seized in a vise-like grip. He hardly touched the ground as The Phantom dragged him back toward the French doors. A thin chain of sparks from hispipe danced in the air behind him. But The Phantom had a finger to his lips and a warning look in his eyes.
The two men walked in silence down the drive.
I'm sorry about that, Dave," said The Phantom when the house was well behind them. "But I couldn't explain in there. I had to make sure we were outside first."
"What on earth's going on?" said his bewildered host.
"Every room in your house is bugged!" said The Phantom.
David Palmer's eyes widened even further.
"All the rooms have hidden microphones," The Phantom went on. "Scorpia has been listening in. That's obviously how they were able to kidnap Diana. They knew where she was going and where she'd be every minute of the day."
David Palmer was belching smoke furiously from his pipe. His eyes had an angry expression.
"A man came to check the wiring the day before Diana disappeared," he said.
'That's the answer!" said The Phantom excitedly. "Now we, know. It means that Scorpia exists. They took Diana. Now to find them!"
Palmer shook his head sadly.
"They took her, Kit," he said slowly, "or killed her."
"There's one way to find out," said The Phantom simply.
That is, if Scorpia is still listening in."
"1 don't quite follow you," said Palmer.
The two men were walking back to the house now.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Just listen and play along with my conversation," said The Phantom. "I'm going to put on an act. You just keep replying normally to my lines."
They went back across the terrace and re-entered the drawing room. The Phantom made an unnecessarily loud noise in re-fastening the French windows behind him.
"This new evidence the police have dug up should be decisive," he said, winking at Palmer. "With what I've just learned it gives us a clear picture."
Palmer nodded, conscious of the bugging device hidden away somewhere in the room.
"How will you find Scorpia?" he asked.
His voice sounded unnatural and stilted to his own ears, hut he was encouraged by The Phantom's ready smile.
"I've several leads to Scorpia," The Phantom said. "I'm going to take them to the police tomorrow."
"But are you sure Scorpia exists?" Palmer asked.
"No doubt about it," said his gigantic companion decisively. "That's definite. I know who they are and where they are."
He stopped talking and crossed the carpet softly, sitting down next to Palmer on the couch. He put his mouth to the other's ear, his voice the merest whisper so that the micro phones had no chance of picking it up.
"I'm sure these microphones are still alive," he said. "They would need to know the household's reaction to Diana's disappearance. If they are monitoring, I'm sure they'll do something—fast."
David Palmer nodded. His pipe was belching smoke and flame as he puffed furiously, his face a reddened mask as reflected the glowing bowl of the pipe.
The two men stiffened as the strident ring of the phone broke the silence of the r
oom.
18
SCORPIA CALLING
Diana Palmer's face was puzzled.
"You brought me here because of my picture?" she askcd the Baron.
They were sitting on a long steel and leather divan that laced the largest and most spectacular window in Castle Toeplitz. Below them the fiery ball of the sun was being extinguished in the steaming rim of the sea. The sky was blood-red, and the gigantic crimson vision tinged her face and that of the Baron with carmine. They momentarily assumed the aspect of some satanic scene from the Castle's long and brutal history.
Baron Sojin smiled his mirthless smile.
"It was a lovely picture," he said. "But not as beautiful as the original, Diana."
The girl blushed and shifted uneasily on her end of the couch.
"That's nonsense!" she said.
Her eyes expressed contempt.
"My mother and uncle think I'm dead at sea! I insist on getting in touch with them at once."
The Baron slowly shook his head.
"I'm afraid that's quite impossible. I am offering you something far more important."
"What do you mean?" said Diana.
"A unique honor," the Baron replied, leaning across the couch toward her.
"A new life, no less. You are being promoted from Miss Palmer to Queen of Scorpia!"
Otto Koch's eyes expressed infinite satisfaction as he sat
in the attic room watching Cringle taking down his daily message from Center. He noted that the message did not have top priority, and he waited for Cringle to decipher it, the ash from his cigar dropping unheeded on the front of his suit. He glanced at the message when it was completed.
"Routine," he said, handing it back to Cringle. "File it."
He stood up, a bland and yet deadly figure, and went to stand in the next bay.
"I suppose we'd better listen to the monitor tapes," he told his associate. "And find out what the Palmer household's up to."
Cringle went over to switch on the big, multi-channel tape recorder.
Koch listened intently. The playback machine had an electronic device which by-passed the tedious hours of tape when there was nothing being recorded. So the two men heard nothing but the actual conversations taking place at the Palmer home. This saved wearisome hours of listening.
Cringle stared incredulously as he adjusted the volume of the recording. The voice boomed through the attic.
"But, Kit, are you sure Scorpia exists," came David Palmer's voice.
"Certainly," said The Phantom. "I know who they are and where they are."
Koch's cigar fell from his mouth and showered sparks as it rolled across the room. He ignored it. A quick twist of his wrist and Cringle had adjusted the controls. When they had finished the conversation, Cringle re-wound the tape and they listened again.
Cringle blinked and passed a tongue across lips which had suddenly become dry as he saw the expression in Koch's eyes. The bald man gestured again.
"Get the Palmer home on the phone," he said softly.
Cringle found his hands trembling as he leafed through the book.
The Phantom had picked up the receiver almost as soon as the phone rang. He listened to the voice at the other end for a moment and then said, "My name's Walker. Who are you?"
"Never mind who I am," said the voice. "You have information about Scorpia?"
"That's correct," said The Phantom.
he motioned to David Palmer who tiptoed to the other end of the drawing room and quietly picked up the extension The Phantom could see him taking notes as the conversation went on.
We want to know about Scorpia too," the mystery voice went on. "We'll pay well. Are you interested?"
The Phantom smiled thinly.
" How much?" he said crisply.
"Name your own price," the voice said. "Let's meet and talk it over."
"All right," The Phantom replied. "I take it you're not anxiOUS for publicity and that you won't want to come here?"
There was a dry chuckle on the line.
"That's perfectly true, Mr. Walker. I like discretion. How about midnight tonight?"
"That's a bit sinister, isn't it?" The Phantom went on. "Not to say corny."
The chuckle sounded again. "That's the way we operate. We couldn't live without melodrama."
The Phantom chuckled in his turn.
"All right," he said again. "Where?"
"Don't worry," the voice went on. "It'll be a public place. You know the big stone wall opposite the Museum? We'll meet there. See you tonight, Mr. Walker."
There was a click and the phone went dead.
The Phantom found David Palmer back at his side. His pipe was belching smoke and flame furiously and there was atransformed look on his face.
"Don't worry, Dave," said The Phantom, laying a hand on the other's arm. "We've got our first big lead now. We'll just have to sweat it out until midnight."
"Who is this Walker?" said Cringle. "And what do you make of all this?"
Otto Koch sat on the couch and smiled.
"They must have found our microphones. They're trying to trap us."
He smiled again.
"They must think we're idiots to fall for their scheme," he said slowly.
He turned his piercing grey eyes on Cringle in the way that the latter found so disconcerting.
"What would you do in my place, Cringle?"
The blond man made no reply for a moment. Then he looked up, the lamplight glinting on the scar on the side of his face. He patted the .38 caliber pistol he took from his pocket significantly.
"Exactly my sentiments," said Otto with satisfaction.
"I am glad that we are in agreement."
He lit up another of his interminable cigars.
"We'll meet Mr. Walker tonight," he said softly.
<
RENDEZVOUS AT MIDNIGHT
Midnight was chiming from the big clock in the tower of the Museum buildings when Cringle drove the Cadillac through the last intersection and along the side of the complex.
"Shouldn't we have radioed Center?" he said nervously.
"I'll handle this myself," Koch said shortly. "We can radio Center afterwards, when we've done the job. My standing orders are to stop all mention of Scorpia anywhere. It's a basic policy."
Cringle nodded. He turned the car down a side alley and stopped alongside a big wall of granite which rose up under thickly clothed trees. It was quiet and secluded, and ideal for their purposes. He drew in his breath with a hiss. There was a low stone parapet opposite and beyond that, the trimly cut lawns fronting the Museum. A big figure in a belted raincoat, with a dark fedora pulled down over his eyes, was sitting casually on the wall, with his feet on the grass.
"There he is," Cringle said. He turned the car in a sudden U, raising the headlight beams to illuminate the man better. They drove slowly back, Cringle slowing the big car to a walking pace.
"Mr. Walker," Koch called softly.
"Here," the big man replied. "Are you Scorpia?"
"Yes!" said Koch decisively.
The rattle of the sub-machine gun in Koch's hands seemed to slap Cringle's eardrums with physical violence. Flame lanced from the muzzle and was answered with sparks from the wall. Stone chips flew angrily into the air as Koch stitched across the sidewalk, the bullets moving upward, flaying the wall. The figure of the big man disappeared suddenly, punched from his perch with shocking violence. The stench of cordite filled the interior of the Cadillac. It was like perfume to Cringle.
"Not bad, Otto," he said. "Congratulations."
"We'd better make sure," Koch said. "Mr. Walker has had his payment from Scorpia."
He smiled. He and Cringle got out of the car, leaving the engine running. They vaulted over the wall. Cringle was the first to reach the crumpled figure. He turned it over.
"A dummy!" he said disgustedly.
Koch whirled too late as an enormous figure launched itself over the wall. A revolver glistened in his hand.
/>
"I'm here for our appointment, Scorpia!" said The Phantom in ringing tones.
Koch snapped up the tommy-gun too late. There was a thin crack and flame bloomed in the darkness of the Museum grounds. Koch felt a numbing pain in his fingers, and the weapon fell to the grass. The Phantom pushed the two men back and picked it up.
"Back to the car," he said. "The whole town will be here in a moment."
A few seconds later, the Cadillac roared off into the night. A solitary patrolman rushed up just in time to see the taillight disappearing in the direction of the main street. He noted the bullet marks on the sidewalk and across the wall. He vaulted over and inspected the clothing gingerly. Then he scratched his head.
"Clothes with some busted balloons inside!" he said. "What the hell gives here?"
He went up the street at a fast pace, looking for the nearest police phone.
The Phantom sat at ease in the back of the Cadillac, his pistol trained steadily on the back of Otto Koch's head.
Otto sat with a handkerchief tied around his injured hand, his whole arm aching. There was a dull ache of rage in his brain at being outwitted. Cringle drove normally, but the whiteness of his knuckles on the steering wheel betrayed his tension. Now he looked in the mirror, astonished at the extraordinary being who had outsmarted them.
The huge man in the tight-fitting jerkin and hood laughed. A black mask covered the upper part of his face, so that Koch could not make out his features. He had a
broad, strong jaw and square teeth which glinted as he smiled; which he was doing right now. Koch took a quick hold on himself.
"Are you Mr. Walker?" he asked softly.
He half-turned in his seat, stiffened as he felt the muzzle of the pistol against his cheek.
"How did you . . .?" Koch went on.
"Where's Diana Palmer?" The Phantom interrupted him.
"Diana Palmer's dead," Cringle answered, turning his head furtively.
"Shut up, fool," said Koch, something of his old manner returning. "We know no one of that name."
Cringle seemed to cringe in his seat.
"I meant I read about her in the papers," he said. "She was a pilot." ,
