The Emperor of Death (21 page)

Van stood with his back up against the wall of the prison which had so recently incarcerated him. Blood streamed crazily down his coat. His face was dripping wet with perspiration. His breath came heavily.

Then, of a sudden, he heard a hoarse scream before him.

A .38 came up in Hesterberg’s hand and leveled itself at Van. Summoning his waning strength, the Phantom lifted the muzzle of his rifle. The two shots sounded as one. Then, in an infinitesimal fraction of a second, something white flung itself before Van. Three more staccato reverberations ripped the air.

Van’s shot found its target. But the bullet of Hesterberg ate its way into Ruby Wooley’s body — Ruby who had flung herself before the Phantom and viciously emptied her own automatic into the staggering body of Hesterberg. Even as she fell she fired another round into the bulky body of the Mad Red.

They dropped together. Hesterberg and the woman whom he had desired. Ruby lay there still, with an ugly red wound in her forehead. Yet on her face was an expression of contentment as she entered a world of peace that she had never known on this earth.

Hesterberg, a few paces away, uttered a horrible gurgling sound.

He slumped forward, his hands clutching his heart. But even as he died he turned his maniacal eyes upon the man who had wrenched his ambition from him, who had ripped his dreams of power into shreds.

And as long as Dick Van Loan lived he never forgot that look. It was the epitome of all the evil in the world, the apogee of all the hate, the murder, the lusts that a human heart can know. From Hesterberg’s throat came a noise like that of a rattler about to strike. Then he pitched forward on his face, a battered sacrifice to an ambition sired by madness, dammed by hate.

*****

The colonel, arm bandaged, and with harassed eyes, came up to Van with an extended hand.

“Shake,” he said. “You’ve done a great day’s work.”

Van shook. Then turned toward the cells. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time we got them out.”

The officer stared at him, puzzled. “But I thought —”

Van grinned.

“No,” he replied with a laugh. “They’re still here. I’ll explain on the way up. I pulled a fast one on Hesterberg, that’s all. I knew that it was absolutely impossible to get them out of here under the Russian’s guards. I left them locked up and reconnoitered on my own.

“Of course, when I heard Hesterberg’s ultimatum to you I realized that I was in a spot. I had to do something and something fast.”

“You mean to tell me,” gasped the colonel, “that you pulled a magnificent bluff and got away with it?”

“It was a bluff, yes. But not quite as simple as all that,” replied Van. “You see, it worked this way. The cell block up above contains four cells — four — five and six. Hesterberg had his prisoners in six. Though the device was an ancient one, and I hardly dared hope it would succeed, I simply switched the numbers on the cell doors. What had been four was now six. What had been six was now four. As far as external appearances were concerned, the prisoners were no longer in the cell in which they had been locked.”

“But good Lord, man,” expostulated the colonel, “such a simple —”

“Simple, yes, but it worked,” grinned Van. “You see, the psychological advantage was on my side. Hesterberg, too, was in somewhat of a spot; his men were excited. It was possible that their entire scheme was about to crash about their heads. I had to gamble that under the strain of the situation the switch would be unnoted.”

“My God!” intoned the colonel in a voice of awe, when Hesterberg’s prisoners had been released. “You really should be in the cabinet.”

Van smiled and took Muriel’s arm. “The colonel will take care of the others,” he said. “But I promised to return you to your father, personally.”

Down the Post Road they drove. Already dawn had put the night to flight. Already the birds filled the air with melody. The air was soft and cool. Autumn leaves browned the mountain-tops that rose beside the Hudson. Dick Van Loan, very much aware of the slim hand that was tucked through his arm, sighed.

A pair of eyes stared up at his mask anxiously.

“You must be awful tired,” said Muriel. “Shall I drive?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not tired. I’m just thinking.”

For the Phantom who had just won a tremendous triumph, was thinking of the girl beside him. He was thinking that had he been a normal man, a man whose life was clean and simple, he could perhaps kiss this girl, could perhaps ask her to marry him.

But the Phantom could never ask any woman to do that. He had dedicated his life to the wooing of death, and he well realized that it was a suit which would some day succeed. Romance was not for him. And as he came to this conclusion he felt a little twinge in his heart.

The remainder of the journey was made in silence; and less than two hours later, when Muriel had been delivered to her father by the Phantom, Dick Van Loan sat over his breakfast coffee with the publisher. Havens regarded him fondly.

“Dick,” he said, “I owe you something I can never repay. You’ve saved both my life and Muriel’s. I’ll never forget it.”

He proffered his hand. Van took it and smiled. Like all men of action he was slightly ashamed of emotional outbursts. He essayed to pass it off as a joke.

“That’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just a scoop for your papers. You pay reporters fifty a week for things like that.”

Havens shook his head. “There’s not enough money in the world to pay for some things,” he said gravely. “Things like friendship, honor — love.”

Van thought suddenly of Muriel, and something stirred within him as he agreed. But he spent little time in vain regrets.

The Phantom was his life. He had chosen, and now he would abide by that choice. Love had been eschewed.

“Yes,” he said after a short pause. “You’re right, Frank. But I’ve no time for romance. I must go home and get some rest. Perhaps the Phantom will have a new case soon.”

“Perhaps,” said Havens.

And neither of them knew then how truly they spoke. Neither knew of the cunning brain, the distorted genius who was already plotting deeds the solution of which would tax the Phantom to his utmost.

THE END