It was the face of a monster, a fiend, lashed by murderous fury, indescribably venomous, vicious, dangerous. Some horrible fate had been in store for Nancy. The hand she clutched so desperately held no gun, no knife, no club. Its talonlike fingers were tensed about the small, gleaming barrel of a doctor’s hypodermic. And the long sharp needle was bending in toward her wrist with all the shuddery menace of a deadly serpent’s fang.
As the door slammed shut behind Val he threw himself at that sinister black-caped figure. A swift turn brought Nancy between them. She was hurled violently back, her grip tearing away.
Val’s arm saved her from a bad fall.
Behind him the house detective hammered violently on the door, bawling: “Open up, inside there!”
“Look out!” Nancy gasped warningly. “He’ll kill you!”
Her words were too late. A hand plunged under the black cape as its wearer backed toward the open window. It came out with something that looked like a small, shiny metal fountain pen. But the instant he saw it leveling at them Val knew better.
He tried to shove Nancy behind him, and was too late. There was a dull pop. A whitish ball of vapor leaped at them, expanded rapidly, enveloped them….
And suddenly they were blinded with tears, coughing, choking, sneezing and fighting for breath. Helpless, Val backed toward the door, sweeping Nancy with him when his arm touched hers. He was thinking of that vicious hypodermic needle and the man who wielded it. They were at his mercy now.
It had been long since Val Easton had known such fear. And it was for Nancy Fraser, not himself. When the tear gas cleared out of the room, would she be stretched out there on the floor also?
The door was shaking before the assault of the house detective. The commands to open up were growing loud and furious. The tumult guided Val to the door. That dick had a gun. His hand found the knob. And still nothing had happened to him as he turned that knob. For some reason the black-caped attacker was holding back.
The door was shoved in violently against him, knocking him off balance.
“By God, what’s the idea of all—” the house man bawled as he charged in, breaking off into a fit of sneezing and choking before he could finish the question.
* * *
—
Val was mopping at his streaming eyes with his handkerchief, trying to see. The dick blundered into him. The hard muzzle of a gun poked roughly into his ribs.
“Watch that gun, you big ox!” Val yelled. “You’ll shoot the wrong person!”
The gun was pulled away. “Come out in the hall!” Nancy choked. Val stumbled out after her. And there, away from the insidious gas, they gained a measure of control and sight.
The house dick was standing in the doorway, mopping at his eyes and swearing under his breath. Peering blearily at Val, he raved: “Did you shoot that stuff off?”
“Do I look like it?” Val retorted. “Is that fellow in the room yet?”
“What fellow?”
“Tall chap with a black cape.”
Peering through the doorway, the dick said angrily: “There ain’t no one in there! Hell—is that him on the floor?”
But it was Galbraith’s body he spoke of. It had not moved since Val first saw it. Air was pouring through the doorway, driving the last of the gas out the window. Wiping his eyes and peering as best he could, Val edged into the room. The tall, black-caped figure had vanished!
From nearby rooms other guests had poured out into the corridor, gathering around the door now. A woman caught sight of Galbraith’s body on the floor and gave a stifled cry.
“Get back, you folks!” the house man ordered through his teeth.
Val looked out at them. “Did anyone escape from this room?” he demanded.
One of the men said flatly: “I was looking when the door was opened. You two men and the young lady were the only ones who came out. What happened?”
Val hurried over to the window without answering. It was open, and when he looked out he saw four stories below the dark roof of an adjoining building.
It was to this window that Nancy Fraser’s assailant had been backing when Val last saw him. He hadn’t gone out into the hall. He wasn’t here in the room. He must have gone out of the window.
But the sheer side of the tall building offered no refuge. There was no ledge by which he could have gained an adjoining window. No fire escape near. No ladder of any kind, up or down. And yet it was the only way he could have left the room. Val whirled on the house man, jerking a thumb at Galbraith’s body as he did so.
“The man who did that went out the window!” he rapped out. “He may have fallen. I can’t see the roof down there very well. Better search it and the building underneath. And the hotel here. He was tall, thin, wore a black cape and dark suit.”
So fast and furious had everything happened that this was the first chance for more than a fleeting look at Galbraith. Val dropped to his knees beside the motionless body as he spoke.
Galbraith lay on his face, one arm under his head, the other thrown out awkwardly. He was dreadfully still and limp. Had no pulse in neck or wrist. And as Val lowered the lifeless wrist, his gaze was caught by a tiny smear of blood just below the coat sleeve.
Taking care not to disarrange the body before the medical examiner viewed it, he bent over and scrutinized the spot closely. Skin and flesh had been punctured by a needlelike instrument. A drop or two of blood had welled out before the wound closed. An area of flesh around the spot, no larger than a dime, was discolored slightly. That was all. And yet Val shivered as he rose to his feet, rubbing his hands slowly together. He was thinking of that glistening hypodermic needle in those talonlike hands…
The hotel dick was staring at him with wide eyes. “Is he dead?” he queried, nodding at the body.
“Very,” Val answered drily. “Better call the police. And then get down after that man!”
The detective had closed the door against the curious in the hall. He stepped to the telephone, called headquarters, and reported the matter. And then swung around and glowered at Val and Nancy.
“I didn’t see anyone else in here,” he said deliberately. “I’ll just wait here with you two until the coppers come.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE BLACK DOCTOR
It took Val a moment to realize that he and Nancy Fraser were under suspicion. And when he did a wave of anger rushed through him.
“You fool!” he said crisply. “Can’t you see we didn’t have anything to do with this? I was tied up in the other room, and Miss Fraser was only in here a few seconds. You heard her cry out, didn’t you? And you got a dose of the gas that chap left!”
“No one could have got out of here,” was the stubborn answer. “If there was a guy, he jumped, and he’s down there on the roof dead. And if there wasn’t, you two can explain it to the cops. Better sit down there on the bed an’ make yourselves comfortable.”
Nancy Fraser met Val’s angry glance with a philosophical shrug. “He’s gone by now, anyway,” she said. “We might as well make the best of it. I’ve got something to tell you.”
While talking with the detective, Val had been conning over something else in the back of his mind. That pale, furious face with the blazing, green-flecked eyes had been strangely familiar. He was certain he had not seen the man before, and equally certain he knew something about him.
Nancy’s face was pale from the shock she had just experienced, but her voice was steady. “That man,” she said under her breath. “Did you ever see him before?”
“No. But I’ve a feeling that I should have,” Val confessed.
“I saw him once in Switzerland,” Nancy declared. “He was pointed out to me in Geneva. That was Carl Zaken, better known as the Black Doctor.”
“Good God—the Black Doctor?”
&n
bsp; “Yes!”
And neither of them needed to say any more.
Through the shady, secret channels of international espionage, tales of Carl Zaken, the Black Doctor, seeped like fantastic nightmares. He was in the way of becoming a legend to those who dealt in such matters. There were men willing to swear that no such person existed, but they did not know the facts.
No country claimed the Black Doctor, and he served none more than momentarily. Master spy, incredibly clever, cold-blooded, ruthless, a wizard at disguise, the Black Doctor gave orders to a wide-flung web of desperate characters. That much was definitely known. How many people received those sinister orders, only the Black Doctor himself knew.
At times he worked alone, and at others as many as a score had helped him. His influence was like an evil miasma. When murder suited his ends, he killed with technical skill. If torture would help, he used torture with all the fiendishness of expert medical training. He was an adept at languages and disguise. And his favorite role was that of a doctor, friend of man and trusted by everyone. For, so rumor had it, Carl Zaken had once been a doctor.
He dealt in information for the most part, stopping at nothing to get what he wanted, and selling the results to the highest bidder if he could not use them better himself.
“Are you certain he was the Black Doctor?” Val urged in amazement.
“The man who pointed him out had been caught by the Black Doctor once. He’d never forget him, and warned me never to. We only caught a glimpse of him, but I marked that face for good. This was the man.” Nancy smiled wryly. “And I had to meet him without a gun.”
“What happened?”
* * *
—
Nancy gave a little shudder. “He jumped at me just as soon as I slipped through the door. I caught one glimpse of his face and that hypodermic in his hand, and knew what I was up against. I tried to scream for you, and he caught me by the throat. All I could do was try and keep that needle away. There was murder in his face. It—it was ghastly.”
“And a good thing you dodged it,” Val said soberly. “Galbraith evidently didn’t.”
“Was that what killed him?”
“Needle puncture in the wrist. If he’d had time, he’d probably have cleaned the smear of blood away, and there would have been another mystery for the police to solve.”
“You think he was on the ship?”
“Who else?”
“But why kill that poor devil, Carmody?” Nancy asked.
“Ask the Black Doctor. He must have a good reason. He’s after something.”
“What?”
“God knows. Galbraith here knew—and he’s dead.”
“Do you think he got it?”
“He tried hard enough,” Val said, looking around the looted room. “I don’t know. Evidently he was still busy when you walked in on him.” Val’s jaw set. “He killed that chap on the boat and Galbraith here in cold blood. It wasn’t a question of putting him out of the way while he searched the room. He simply slaughtered him and then went about his business. Evidently came all ready to kill.”
“Was he the man who tied you up?”
“No. Must have been one of his men. And clever work it was. The fellow came to the door disguised as a waiter, saying he had brought a meal you had ordered for us. I let him in without thinking, and when I did tumble that something was wrong it was too late. He had a gun on me then. Knocked me out and trussed me up.”
“I can’t understand why they didn’t kill you,” Nancy said. “It would have been easy enough.”
Val rubbed his forehead and shook his head. “Lord knows,” he admitted. “It would have been easy enough all right.”
They were silent for a moment.
“That pseudo waiter must have left a trail around the hotel here some place,” Nancy muttered.
“I’m not worrying about him,” Val shrugged. “I’m wondering what this is all about. Why kill Galbraith and search his room here? He could have done it just as easily on the boat. Even the Black Doctor doesn’t go around killing people for the fun of it. He could have left Galbraith alive just as well as he did me, if he had only wanted to look through his things. What about that chap you followed? He had evidently made a date to see Galbraith somewhere near Washington tomorrow. He was an oily-looking bird.”
“Wasn’t he?” Nancy agreed. “And a suspicious one, too. I think he was afraid someone might be following him. He tried all the tricks to shake anyone off.”
“D’you think he saw you?”
Nancy rubbed the side of her nose carelessly and shrugged. “I’ve cut my teeth at that sort of thing. I’m pretty sure he didn’t see me. After riding around town, taking the subway, ducking into a movie and out a side exit right away, he finally went into a telegraph office and sent a wire.”
“Who to?”
“I didn’t have a chance to find out. I wanted to see what else he did.”
“The little bloodhound.” Val grinned. “Did you?”
“I did. He popped into a telephone booth in a cigar store, and then took the elevated to Battery Park and went through the Aquarium.”
“What?”
“ ’Pon honor. He looked at all the little fishes like he was going into his second childhood. And then met a man and woman back in one of the dark corners and talked at least fifteen minutes with them.”
“What did they look like?”
“It was shadowy where they were standing,” Nancy said. “I couldn’t see them well. And my man left first. I had to tag him. He chivvied back uptown on the ‘El’ again, got off at Forty-second Street, hailed a taxi—and I lost him there. I couldn’t get another cab quick enough. Any other time there would have been a dozen on hand.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s going to Washington.”
Nancy arched a delicate eyebrow. “How do you know?”
* * *
—
Before Val could reply the door burst open and admitted the hotel manager, patrolmen, and detectives. The law took charge of the situation; and the ponderous house detective stated his case flatly.
“That lady there,” waving his hand at Nancy, “comes down and says will I come up and open a door for her. She thinks maybe there’s trouble. And when I do that gentleman is tied up in a chair. While I’m cuttin’ him loose she takes my key an’ runs into this room. He follows her an’ they slam the door in my face. I don’t know what happened in here, but when they opened the door the room was full of tear gas an’ that body was on the floor. They tried to tell me there was another guy in here who knocked him off, but I didn’t see no one. There wasn’t no way he could have gotten out. So when they tried to run me off the scene after this guy they claim was in here, I call headquarters an’ sit on the lid.”
Though no direct charge was made, the house detective’s story was damning as he told it.
A brusk, lantern-jawed detective seemed to be in charge of things. He had examined the body and made a quick survey of the room while the house man talked. Now he stepped to the window, looked out, and turned on Val and Nancy.
“No one could have gotten out that window!” he rasped at them. “What’s the straight of this?”
“What’s your name?” Val asked coolly.
“I’m Lieutenant Ives of the homicide squad. And since this is murder I warn you to make your statements correct.”
“Step into the bathroom with me, Lieutenant Ives,” Val requested curtly.
Ives hesitated, fingered his lantern jaw, and then said gruffly: “All right, if it’ll make you feel any better.”
Val closed the door behind them and met Ives’s scowl with an icy stare.
“I didn’t bother to reason with that addle-pated fool who suspected us,” he said icily. “I’m going to tell you w
hat happened; and then I want to get away as quickly as possible. You can check us at Washington, of course.”
Val palmed a small badge for Ives to see. The detective took one look at it and whistled softly. His manner changed abruptly to fraternal courtesy.
“I couldn’t know,” he apologized. “What’s the lowdown on all this?”
Val told him what had happened.
“What’s your interest in this fellow who got bumped off?” Ives asked when he finished.
“That doesn’t matter,” Val refused him. “A lot of things don’t matter right now. The man who killed him went out the window. May have gone up a rope ladder to a window above, or slid down a rope to that roof below.”
“Where’s the rope then?” Ives demanded skeptically.
“A hard flip from below on the rope would have loosened the hook over the window. You may find marks on the sill made by a hook. I’d suggest you try and trace him, and look over this hotel for a check on the pseudo waiter who took me in.”
“I don’t need to,” Ives commented. “Coming up in the elevator the manager told me they had just found a waiter who had taken a meal up to Room 701 and hadn’t returned. They found him tied up and minus his coat. The tray and dishes he had brought up were gone also. The fellow who had occupied the room had checked out ten minutes before. All the waiter could say was that as soon as he brought the tray into the room he was knocked out, and when he came to, stuffed under the bed, two men were eating the meal as if he wasn’t there. He didn’t get a look at them.”
Val thought with unwilling admiration that the Black Doctor would have the nerve to stop and eat part of the meal, which had evidently been ordered to get the waiter and tray where they could be used. But he said nothing of that. Too much information might throw obstructions in their way. For there was small doubt in Val’s mind now that this murder of Galbraith was only a move in another, bigger game that the Black Doctor was playing. And it was that game in which he was most concerned. Time enough when it was uncovered to think about bringing the Black Doctor to book for murder.
The Big Book of Espionage Page 94
