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Chapter Six
The Hot Trail

WENTWORTH had counted on the woman's fright. He dived in under the gun an instant before she yanked the trigger. His shoulder caught the woman's ankles and spilled her across his back. He heard the gun smash into a mirror, heard the woman's frightened shriek. Her head thudded against the edge of the wash bowl. Wentworth scrambled up, and the woman crouched on hands and knees, head hanging, swaying from side to side like an injured animal. The rest of her hair had come down and its dyed and lifeless ends swept the floor.

Wentworth seized her shoulders, dragged her erect and pinned her against the wall. Her mouth was sagging open, her eyes barely showed the irises. She was half out, but a dashing of water from the bowl jerked her back to full consciousness. He thrust his face, the sallow, menacing face of the Spider, close to hers; his lips snarled back from pointed fangs.

"You're going with me," he snapped, "and you're going fast—or you're going out feet first. Which will it be?"

The woman's over-red mouth gagged. She shook her head in bewilderment.

"Police are at the door," Wentworth said, emphasizing his words with a violent shake of her shoulders. "Either come with me or I drop you right here." He dragged out his gun and stabbed its muzzle against her abdomen.

"I—I'll go," she whimpered.

Wentworth led her into the next room, snatched a coat from a closet and threw it at her, and she got into it with fumbling hands. He listened at the door, then hurried her through it to the hall beyond. They went down the fire-escape while police were coming up in the elevator, dived through the passageway that a steel grating closed and moments later reached Wentworth's car. The woman huddled in the opposite corner. The winter night bit through her and her lips beneath the carmine were purple with cold. She watched the Spider with cringing eyes.

Wentworth apparently paid her no attention. The woman hugged herself for warmth. "Where—where are you taking me?" she asked.

Wentworth skated to the curb and twisted his long-nosed face toward her.

"Nowhere," he said softly. "You're taking me to Devil Hackerson, or else—" He let his voice trail off and the flat mocking laughter of the Spider filled the car.

The woman shivered and huddled miserably in her corner. "He'd—he'd kill me."

"Probably," Wentworth agreed carelessly. "Start talking."

Stark fright was on the face. She stammered out a hoarse plea for mercy, but her voice was hopeless. Wentworth took out his automatic slowly and once more the ugly mirth of the Spider spilled from his lips. Beatrice Ross whimpered.

"Get out," Wentworth ordered.

"No, no!"

"Then take it here!" Wentworth presented the gun. The woman's hands clawed at him desperately, snatching at the weapon. Wentworth cursed and jerked open his door, backed out. Beatrice Ross scrambled out the opposite side and began to run with crazy frightened shrieks. The Spider raised his gun deliberately, squeezed off a bullet.

"Oh, God!" The woman stumbled, clapped a hand to her shoulder.

A mirthless smile twisted Wentworth's lips. He had merely burned the flesh. He fired another bullet and fragments of cement stung her ankles. As she went around the corner, Wentworth blew chips off the bricks, then sprang to his car and spurted away. He circled the block in time to see the woman almost fall into a taxi. With a smooth twist of the wheel, the Spider took up the trail he hoped would lead to Devil Hackerson . . . .

 

The taxi droned southward on Riverside Drive, took the elevated highway along the Hudson shore and slanted down a ramp at 19th Street. It stopped at the entrance of a huge apartment house that sprawled over two blocks, one of those "colonies" that have sprung up among the tenements of New York's east and west sides to take care of the mounting demand for modern apartment quarters convenient to the business districts. The hallboy stared at the badge that Wentworth showed and stammered out that the woman had gone to Apartment 305.

The Spider was smiling as the elevator lifted him. If he knew Hackerson, the man would have assured himself of at least two exits to his apartment. That meant it would be on a fire-escape. Within two minutes after he reached the third floor, Wentworth continued his guess. He stood on the steel lattice-work of the fire-escape outside an apartment whose shades were drawn. He heard excited voices within.

"It was the Spider, I tell you," Beatrice Ross was blurting. "He tried to make me tell where you were and I wouldn't, then he said he was going to kill me. I ran and he shot at me three times, but didn't hit me."

Wentworth laughed silently. Even as he had hoped, the woman had fled straight to Devil Hackerson.

"You damned fool!" a man choked. "You damned fool! Do you think the Spider could shoot three times and miss? He just wanted you to come here so he could follow. You lousy little—" the sound of a sodden blow came through the closed window—"little tramp!"

Beatrice Ross's sobs filled the room.

"Butts," the man snapped. "Dig out and scout around the building. Muggsie, keep watch in the hall. I'll sit tight and wait. The Spider will be here any minute."

There was a silence of moments broken only by the sobbing of the woman. "It wasn't nothing like that, Devil," she pleaded. "I know it wasn't. I wouldn't fall for a sappy move like that. He shot at me and missed. He burned my shoulder once—"

"Shut up," Hackerson growled. "I want to hear the Spider when he comes. My God, the fire-escape! It isn't covered!"

Wentworth smiled thinly. He kicked in the window and the shade snapped up. He went in guns first and caught Hackerson half out of his chair, hand going for rod too late.

"Yes, Hackerson, the fire-escape," said Wentworth quietly, "but you were a little slow in thinking about it." The sinister flat laughter of the Spider filled the room.

 

Devil Hackerson's hand quivered at his vest opening, but he could not make up his mind to go for his gun, not with the Spider's two automatics leveled on his breast, not with the Spider's glacial eyes boring into him. The woman on the floor whimpered and moaned. She clasped her hands before her and rose straight on her knees and swayed backward and forward. Her coat came open and her brassier had slipped. Her hair was wild about her shoulders. She didn't say a word, just moaned.

Hackerson was unconsciously backing. His knees struck the davenport and he dropped down on the cushions and bounced soggily. The tip of his tongue touched his lips.

"What do you want?" he asked hoarsely.

"First," said the Spider, his fantastic fanged teeth chopping off the words. "First, the name of the man who ordered that job on the Plymouth and the Sky buildings."

Hackerson sucked in a deep breath. His eyes were riveted with hypnotic fascination on Wentworth's gaze.

"For God's sake, don't shoot, Spider," he whispered. "I don't know."

"What about Baldy?" The words were little more than a hiss. Wentworth was listening for other things than the moaning of the woman and Hackerson's reply. He was listening for the possible return of Butts and Muggsie. They had been ordered to prowl outside, but they might return. If Butts peered up at the window and saw the curtains flapping out into the frigid night, he might think it worth investigating.

"What about Baldy?" Wentworth asked and Hackerson's eyes widened in surprise. "How do you reach Baldy?"

"I don't," Hackerson protested hoarsely, and winced. Wentworth had made no move, but cold lights flamed in the Spider's eyes "I don't get in touch with him," Hackerson spoke hurriedly. "He always seems to know where to reach me whether I'm at home or in a restaurant or wherever I am. He brings the stuff and he brings the money, and that's all I know."

"What's the stuff like?" Wentworth was disappointed, blocked in this lead through which he had hoped to trace the man Baldy and his Master. But he believed Hackerson told the truth. It confirmed what Ram Singh's story had indicated, the anonymity of the Master.

"Jeez, Spider," Hackerson whined, "he'll rub me out if I spill all this to you . . . ."

Wentworth cursed, and Hackerson broke off, a yelp of fear in his throat as Wentworth stepped forward.

He took only a single stride toward Hackerson, then seemed to trip and go flat down on the floor. He rolled on his right side and flame leaped from both guns toward the window. A black figure there reeled to its feet, mouth opened in a soundless scream. Butts, Wentworth saw, was accounted for. He hurled upward to his knees, caught Hackerson as the man pulled his gun clear. He saw Beatrice Ross on her feet plunging toward him and dodged as his left gun spat. He failed to get clear and the woman's charge sprawled him sideways to the floor. She fell upon him, sobbing and fighting. Fingernails tore at his face, knees drummed his side. He swept his right arm in a swishing semi-circle and the woman slapped down hard on the floor, her feet thrashing. She was up like a cat, leaping toward him with fingers clawing.

Wentworth cursed angrily. A fragmentary glance showed him that Hackerson was out of the fight at least for a time, slumped down on the davenport, but Muggsie would crash in at any moment, drawn by the shots. A short upward jar of his gun and Beatrice Ross sat down again. Her legs were straddled out, her arms braced sideways on the floor. Her mouth sagged.

 

Wentworth whirled, his quick glance sweeping the room. He saw the door whip open, saw Muggsie charge in with his revolver leaping at his side, spewing lead. A bullet jerked at Wentworth's hat, a second nipped the lobe of his ear, then Muggsie reeled against the doorjamb and went down under a blast of Spider lead. Wentworth jerked back to Hackerson, cursed violently.

Hackerson was dead, a bullet through the base of his throat. The Spider's sure aim had been directed at the right shoulder, intended only to cripple the man so that he still could reveal the secrets of the Master or be used as bait for Baldy. The woman's attack had jerked his gun in the instant of discharge—and killed Hackerson.

Excited shouts were ringing through the corridors. A woman shrieked for police in a high, frightened voice. Wentworth bounded to the door, yanked Muggsie's body inside, stooped to print his seal on the man's forehead. A moment he paused also beside each of the other bodies to leave his crimson sinister signature. The woman had reeled to her feet now, stood swaying.

"By God, Spider" she swore. "I'll get you for this, you . . . ." Her voice spewed filthy abuse. She staggered toward him, tears streaming down her face, wetting the cheek that still bore the crimson imprint of Hackerson's blow. Wentworth pushed her aside, held her off with a hand on her shoulder while she leaned forward, swiping at him futilely.

"You can give a message to Baldy," the Spider said, slowly. "You tell him this is just a token payment. Tell him I shall kill every hireling of his Master, himself included, on sight. The Spider will show no more mercy. From now on, he will kill! Kill! KILL!"

He thrust Beatrice Ross away and she reeled with arms swinging wildly. Wentworth stepped to the fire-escape, swung rapidly downward. He heard the Ross woman screeching from the window. Flame lanced from her hand and gun-noise racketed in the narrow areaway. But her bullets only clanged off the steel framework of the fire-escape and splatted against the concrete floor of the areaway.

As he dashed through the hallways of another of the colony buildings, a white-faced man stepped into his path with a gun in a trembling hand. A swift blow sent the gun scaling along the floor and the Spider went out into the street. The eerie shriek of police sirens was close at hand, but he reached his car before the first of the radio patrol-cars skated into the street. His eyes, as he drove quietly away, were burning points of flame. His only accomplishment had been to wipe out the one tangible clue he had to the Master. There remained—Beatrice Ross.

 

 

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