Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  The corporal stepped close to D’Artagnan and jammed a gun into his back. “Come with me,” he growled.

  “And by the way,” the colonel said, as D’Artagnan was being led toward the doer, “I wouldn’t depend too much on your friends. They have already been placed in custody by my guards.”

  “You are holding all the cards, it seems,” D’Artagnan said quietly. “But let me give you one piece of excellent advice, Colonel Rinehart.” His voice was suddenly like iron and his eyes flashed like rapiers in his lean face. “If you harm a hair of this girl’s head, there won’t be a place in hell deep enough to hide you from me. Remember!”

  “You are hardly in a position to make threats,” Colonel Rinehart said mockingly.

  “Remember!” D’Artagnan said again with terrible emphasis.

  The corporal’s gun prodded him in the back and he stepped through the door. The corporal closed it and pointed ahead to a long, dimly lit corridor. “Straight ahead,” he ordered.

  D’Artagnan walked to the end of the corridor. The corporal unbolted a door and ordered him down a flight of winding iron steps that led to a vast, stonewalled room. When D’Artagnan reached the bottom of the steps the first sight that met his eyes brought to him a feeling of black despair.

  For Aramis, Porthos and Phillip were lined against one wall, secured by thick leather straps that cut across their chests and legs, pinioning them helplessly to the massive stone wall.

  THEY glanced up when D’Artagnan was prodded into the room and Aramis smiled faintly.

  “Lady Luck has forsaken us for another swain,” he said wryly.

  “Welcome to our cheerful little group,” Porthos said.

  D’Artagnan was silent as the corporal forced him against the wall and jerked straps into place across his chest, pulling them up so tightly that he could hardly breathe. Another strap buckled securely around his knees and he was bound helplessly—unable to move hand or foot.

  The corporal sneered at the three helpless men.

  “You will wish you were dead by this time tomorrow.”

  He turned, and they could hear him chuckling softly to himself as he mounted the winding steps.

  “Well, comrades,” D’Artagnan said, when they were alone, “this seems to be rather a tight spot.”

  He glanced about the room. Directly in front of them was a rectangular scaffolding and from the cross-bar iron manacles hung. The stone floor at the base of the scaffolding was spotted with brown stains. On the opposite wall was a rack of leather whips.

  D’Artagnan raised one eyebrow ironically.

  “The gentle Germans obviously use this place to introduce to their enemies the delights of the New Order,” he said sarcastically.

  Arranged about the room were other instruments of torture; and several heavy scimitars, sabers and swords were hung at intervals along the wall.

  “Cheerful little place, isn’t it?” Aramis said.

  “We’ve got to get out of, here,” D’Artagnan said grimly. “Have any of you heard anything of the French scientists we came to liberate.”

  “I heard one of the guards mention them,” Phillip said. “They are imprisoned in a room upstairs.”

  D’Artagnan said, “Porthos, have you tried your strength against your bonds?”

  “Yes,” Porthos grunted, “but they are too stout. I can’t get an inch of leverage.”

  They were silent for several moments and then they heard footsteps on the iron staircase. A moment later Colonel Rinehart stepped into the room. D’Artagnan noticed instantly that there was a long scratch on his right cheek. He looked to be in a towering rage.

  Marie was dragged into the room after him by the swarthy corporal and another thick-set German soldier who wore the uniform of an Elite guardsman.

  “String her up!” the colonel ordered savagely. His hand moved to the long, livid scratch on his cheek. “We’ll see if a lashing will cool her spirit.”

  THE German soldier dragged the slim red-haired girl under the scaffolding, snapped the manacles about her wrists and pulled her arms above her head until the tips of her shoes were barely scraping the ground.

  “Do with me what you like,” she said quietly, “I have no information to give.”

  “We shall see if you don’t change your mind after a while,” the colonel said.

  “Remember what I told you,” D’Artagnan said softly, his eyes on the colonel’s face.

  “Naturally,” the colonel smiled, “you wouldn’t want the young lady hurt, She is attractive and full of life, her skin is so soft and white it would be a pity to ruin all that loveliness.” He sighed and shook his head. “Yes, indeed, it would be a pity to use a leather whip on her bare back, and so unnecessary too. If any of you gentlemen care to become communicative we might be able to spare her the unpleasantness of having the skin lashed from her back. What, do you say? Are you willing to start talking?”

  “Don’t tell him anything,” Marie cried. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

  Colonel Rinehart smiled at the musketeers.

  “Possibly you don’t think I am serious,” he murmured. “Maybe you think

  I am only bluffing, that I wouldn’t be so callous as to torture a helpless girl?” He stopped smiling and his face was stonily hard. “Let me assure you that I have no scruples. I will do what is necessary to get the information you possess, regardless of the means I must use.”

  He strolled to the wall and selected a light, delicately balanced sword and flexed it slowly, watching it snap and twist with idle, amused eyes.

  “Perhaps a lashing wouldn’t be quite dramatic enough,” he murmured. “Maybe you would be more impressed if I displayed my skill with the sword on the person of the young lady.”

  He strolled slowly toward the scaffolding where Marie was hanging helplessly.

  “Don’t be nervous, my dear,” he smiled. “I won’t hurt you. Until I’m ready, that is,” he added.

  “Nothing you can do will make me talk,” Marie said scornfully.

  “It is gratifying to hear you say so,” the colonel said mockingly. “I like people with spirit. The ultimate victory is much more satisfying when you feel you have faced a worthy opponent.”

  The sword in his hand suddenly struck forward like a snake, describing a flashing arc that no eye could follow. The point of the blade slashed across the girl’s forehead, grazing the skin by a feather’s width.

  MARIE cried out instinctively and jerked back from the blade, the cords in her slender neck straining.

  The colonel bent and picked up a lock of red hair from the floor. He held it out for the girl to see.

  “You mustn’t be alarmed,” he smiled. “I just wanted to remove the lock of hair that had fallen over your forehead. I can, of course, come much closer.”

  He turned languidly to the musketeers, who were staring at him in open hatred.

  “Are any of you gentlemen feeling talkative?”

  D’Artagnan glared at him with blazing eyes.

  “Give me a blade in my hand, you butcher, and I will make ribbons out of your carcass!”

  The colonel smiled, “Your comrade had that chance; you would do no better than he. At the risk of sounding boastful, I consider myself the finest swordsman in the world today. That is why my little exhibition is going to be so interesting. I will not be crude when I start working on the young lady. She will be aware of every stroke, of every slice, of each separate cut, until the very last.”

  He turned back to the girl, the sword in his hand moving slowly,

  Marie shrank back from the blade, staring at it with agonized fascination.

  “But you are not to be alarmed!” the colonel cried mockingly. “You are not afraid of me, or what I will do. You have said so yourself. Courage, Fraulein, I will be delicate, I promise.” His blade moved in a slow, deliberate arc as it neared her white, taut face. “You needn’t fear a bungling job from the greatest swordsmen in the world.” There was a quiet laugh from the sha
dows at the far end of the room.

  “You have said that twice, mon ami!” a cool voice said from the darkness. “Will you permit me the luxury of doubting you?”

  The colonel had wheeled at the sound of the laugh, his eyes stabbing the darkness at the end of the room. He gestured sharply to his two soldiers. “Draw your guns!” he snapped.

  The swarthy corporal fumbled at his belt, then turned a red, guilty face to Colonel Rinehart.

  “We left them upstairs,” he stammered. “We didn’t think we’d need them.”

  “Fools!” the colonel shouted. “Arm yourselves! Take swords from the wall, both of you.”

  The men sprang to obey his order, while the colonel continued to stare nervously into the shadows.

  “Worried, Colonel?” The pleasant voice from the shadows was gently mocking. “That isn’t the proper attitude for the greatest swordsman in the world.”

  Porthos was staring at D’Artagnan with an incredulous expression of ecstatic relief on his broad face.

  “Could it be possible?” he murmured under his breath.

  D’Artagnan was staring at the dark end of the room, his face blazing with hope and excitement.

  “It could be none other!” he cried.

  THE shadows at the end of the room seemed to dissolve as a man walked slowly into the light. He was tall, with frank, open features, soft eyes and a generous, mobile mouth. A sword hung negligently at his side, incongruous with the coarse clothes he was wearing.

  He bowed mockingly to the colonel and his eyes, strangely, were no longer soft. They were as hard as flint.

  “At your service, Colonel,” he murmured.

  “Athos!”

  Porthos cried the name out, his voice filled with exultant joy.

  Athos turned slightly, smiled and nodded at the musketeers.

  “Greetings, comrades,” he said. He gestured negligently toward the colonel. “When I have split this Prussian pig on my blade I will release you, have no fear.”

  The colonel’s blade suddenly flashed to a guard position. His pale, smooth cheeks were flushed with bitterness.

  “You filthy peasant,” he sneered, “I will teach you the penalty for your insolence.”

  He motioned to the two soldiers who, beside him, blades drawn, faced Athos.

  “Advance with me,” he ordered. “I could cut the dog down myself, but I have not the time to waste.”

  Athos grinned as he drew his sword with a slow, deliberate motion.

  “The greatest swordsman in the world requires two assistants to duel a French peasant,” he said mockingly. “Well, perhaps you will need them.”

  The colonel stepped back a pace.

  “Charge him!” he suddenly ordered his two soldiers.

  They sprang forward at his command, swords driving at the cool young man who faced them.

  Athos stepped forward, his sword flashed to the right, back to the left—steel rang on steel twice and the swords of the soldiers were suddenly flying through the air.

  The soldiers stared stupidly, unbelievingly, at their empty hands.

  Athos’ sword flicked under their noses.

  “Back up, my clumsy oafs,” he said, and he was not smiling. He nodded at the colonel. “It is your turn, mon ami,” he murmured.

  “Watch him carefully, Athos,” Aramis counseled. “He bested me.”

  Athos smiled briefly.

  “Not meaning to disparage you, my dear Aramis,” he said, “but you were never a competent swordsman. If the good colonel musters up enough courage to fight, I will show you an example of superb dueling.”

  “Your modesty is overwhelming,” Aramis said, shuddering.

  COLONEL Rinehart moved forward slowly, his sword held carefully, watching Athos with narrowed eyes.

  Athos moved in and soon their swords touched, clashed and flicked away. The colonel drove in suddenly, but his sword was turned aside easily by Athos’ blade. He drove in again, forcing Athos back a step, his sword flashing in wicked, skillful arcs as it fought to break through the other’s defense.

  “Excellent work,” Athos commented. “Excellent, that is, for a student of about nine.”

  His sword suddenly flashed under his opponent’s guard and the tip slit the colonel’s uniform from throat to waist. He drove again, forcing the colonel back three frantic steps, and his blade was dancing before the colonel’s eyes like a snake about to strike.

  “You realize,” he said coolly, “that I can kill you anytime I choose?”

  His blade flashed again, slashing across the colonel’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. The colonel retreated again, his eyes pools of terror in the whiteness of his face. He fought desperately, wildly, against the flashing, blinding attack, but his eyes mirrored futility.

  A line of blood was drawn on his other cheek, another on his forehead, as Athos’ flicking blade slashed twice with incredible speed.

  The colonel shouted frantically to his soldiers.

  “Help me! Keep this demon away from me. Pick up your swords, you fools!”

  The soldiers scrambled for their swords and then closed in on Athos again, forming, with the colonel, a semicircle of steel.

  Athos backed away slightly. He was at a serious disadvantage. If he tarried too long with any one antagonist, he would be leaving his side and back exposed to deadly thrusts from the other two.

  His eyes narrowed and his face set in hard, purposeful lines.

  “You are forcing me to be abrupt,” he murmured.

  He sprang to one side. His leap brought the corporal closing in on his side. He swung back, dodged the corporal’s clumsy thrust and ran his blade through the man’s heart

  He had withdrawn the blade and was leaping for the second soldier before the corporal started to fall. The second soldier screamed—and his scream broke in a horrible gurgle as Athos’ deadly blade pierced his throat.

  Colonel Rinehart had lunged in, striking swiftly at Athos’ unprotected side, but his blade cut through Athos’ sleeve, missing his body by a scant inch.

  He jerked the sword free with an oath and lunged again—and that was his last conscious act on this earth. Athos deflected the blade with a turn of his wrist and drove forward, his own blade stabbing deeply into the colonel’s heart.

  Rinehart twisted slowly and straightened in a last convulsive, agonized effort. His face was twisted with rage and pain as he glared for one dying instant at Athos. Then he fell heavily to the floor, pulling loose Athos’ blade as he dropped.

  Athos saluted him impassively with his red blade.

  “You never had a chance, mon ami,” he murmured; “but you didn’t deserve one.”

  HE TURNED then, and quickly released the musketeers and Phillip.

  D’Artagnan sprang to Marie’s side and let her down from the scaffolding. He held her in his arms tightly for an instant.

  “There is no time for that,” Aramis said.

  “You’re right,” Phillip agreed. “We’ve got to move fast. We must find Lenier and Bordeau and then try to get away from this place before these three dead Germans are discovered.”

  “We will make it without trouble,” Porthos said. He laughed and slapped Athos on the back. “You were magnificient, comrade. I have never seen your blade quite so effective.”

  “How did you get here?” D’Artagnan asked quickly. “We thought you were in Paris.”

  “I was,” Athos said. “I was watching the Paris office of Colonel Rinehart, hoping to be able to help Porthos, Aramis and Phillip, when I saw all of you emerge and drive away. I followed, but you had left the Hotel Metropole by the time I arrived. By making inquiries I was able to trace your car to this neighborhood. I slipped over a wall and made my way here. Fortunately I was able to force a window of the castle in time to send the good colonel to his final reward. That’s all there is to my story.”

  “Let us hurry,” Phillip said anxiously. “I think we had better arm ourselves with swords. We may have trouble yet.”

&n
bsp; The musketeers and Phillip quickly found weapons and then cautiously ascended the winding iron stairs. The corridor of the castle that led to the dungeon entrance was deserted.

  “The French scientists are upstairs,” Phillip said.

  “Where is the car?” D’Artagnan asked.

  “It is close to the front door,” Phillip answered. “We were caught as we were driving away, but I am certain the car was left there in the driveway.”

  “Excellent,” D’Artagnan said. “Aramis and I will take over the little matter of freeing the French scientists. The rest of you go to the car and wait for us—with the motor running.”

  “Be careful, please,” Marie said anxiously.

  “I am always careful,” D’Artagnan grinned. “Come along, Aramis.”

  Phillip waited until the two musketeers had started cautiously up the stairs, then, with the girl at his side and Athos and Porthos following closely, he led the way from the house to the dark lane where the staff car was still parked.

  He started the motor and let it warm quietly.

  They waited for several minutes in the darkness in silence. Their thoughts were all on the same subject and there was no need to speak.

  The minutes stretched and dragged. The wait seemed interminable, but finally Porthos heard the scratch of a boot on gravel.

  “Someone comes,” he whispered.

  The next instant the door was flung open and D’Artagnan leaped into the car. Two nervous, white-faced figures crowded quickly in after him.

  “Get in the front, Aramis,” D’Artagnan said breathlessly.

  Phillip slipped the car into gear and before Aramis had seated himself, they were rolling toward the main gate.

  “We had to kill the guards,” D’Artagnan said. “There will undoubtedly be quite a commotion shortly.”

  He slapped one of the small men on the back.

  “With luck, Monsieur Lenier or Bordeau whichever you are, we’ll be safe in another few minutes.”

  “I am Monsieur Lenier,” the small man replied weakly. “God and France will bless you for what you have done tonight.”