THE SPIDER-City of Doom (57 page)

Bitterness was brassy in Wentworth's throat. He faced the greatest test of his career, and he was a cripple! He guided his steps toward the Federal Reserve Bank. It was there the chief treasure was stored, so that he might expect to find Moulin there. Moulin was always one to stay near the gold!

Wentworth tried to drive his flagging body into a run. His shamble became more difficult. That was all. The gun hung heavy in his fist. He dared not hold it any way except at ready. Otherwise, too long would be required to lift it. Already, he could see the bulk of the Federal Reserve Bank. There was an armored car at the corner, stationed to guard the street along which he ran!

Wentworth checked and drew out one of his grenades. He ordered his muscles through the slow business of drawing back his arm. He pulled the pin there . . . and threw! The grenade arched lazily through the air, hit short of its mark and trickled along toward the truck. Abruptly, a sub-machine gun blasted. Wentworth slid to the ground for protection, watching the slow grenade . . . . Then a shout lifted to his throat!

He tried to cry a warning, but he could not make himself heard. Running toward the truck, from the opposite side was Bill Sanders!

Even as Wentworth spotted him, the grenade let go. The front end of the car lifted high into the air. The whole thing wobbled over sideways and plopped in the street. Smoke lifted darkly. The
Spider
lay, motionless, and searched the smoke. He could no longer see Bill!

A hot rage surged through Wentworth. He could hear men running, shouting, in response to that bomb-blast. He heaved to his feet, and there was a gun in each fist. As the first man darted through the smoke, he squeezed the trigger and saw him slammed to the ground! And he had not aimed!

At last, he was beginning to get back his fighting ability! But Bill . . . Poor little Bill Sanders. Gallant, brave . . . . Wentworth's thoughts cut off. There, in the smoke, was the man he had hunted. There was Moulin!

The hot and angry laughter surged into Wentworth's throat, and he squeezed the trigger! He knew where his bullet would strike. The head! And Moulin went down! He plopped down backward, feet high, behind the truck. The
Spider
crouched behind his ready guns, and knew the thrill of conquest. He had to find Bill. He staggered forward.

Wentworth reached the foot of the overturned car, and a sudden, overwhelming roar of motors beat upon his ears. His head wrenched back. Overhead was a great flying boat, a Transatlantic Clipper! She was settling toward a landing in the Hudson River! Wentworth stared and cursed and knew in that moment, that this was the escape craft of the killers!

At that moment, movement caught his eye. Movement on the ground within a few feet, where Moulin lay! Wentworth's head jerked about, and he was looking into the lifted muzzle of a revolver!

Moulin's face was expressionless. There was a rip in the side of his head, but he was far from dead.

"You have failed,
Spider!
" he said harshly. "My hour of victory has come!"

Wentworth stared into the gun and knew that Moulin spoke the truth. The
Spider's
guns were in his fists, and the
Spider's
brain knew what to do. He could do nothing. The lethargy gripped his arms woodenly. The surge that his anger had given him was gone.

Moulin laughed, lifted the revolver a fraction of an inch . . . Wentworth saw a sudden spurt of light near Moulin's feet. And Moulin yelled loudly, furiously. His gun blasted, but the bullet missed. And now Wentworth could move.

But Moulin was gone. He had fled because . . . Wentworth looked down at the ground. He saw a grimy hand projecting from under the propped up front of the overturned armored truck. On a finger gleamed . . . a
Spider
ring! Even as he stared, an impudent face grinned up at him.

"Bill!" Wentworth whispered. "Bill, I thought you were dead!"

Bill wriggled out from under the truck. "Nuh-uh," he grinned. "No grenade can kill a
Spider!
I was knocked down, but then I crawled under that front part of the truck. When I saw that guy wasn't dead, I didn't know what to do. But I stopped him, didn't I,
Spider?
I kept him from shooting you!"

"You certainly did, Bill," Wentworth said. "You're a smart lad, and—"

A hail of machine gun lead sweeping down the street made Wentworth lunge heavily to the earth. The police were coming!

"Quickly!" Wentworth whispered. "The killers are getting away in that big clipper ship they've stolen. Only one thing left to do now—get to Governors' Island, steal an army plane . . ."

They crawled off through the shadows while the police made their cautious way along the street. Over on the Hudson River, great motors were roaring. The clipper would soon take off, carrying away the criminals and their looted treasure. Out of reach of the police, Wentworth surged to his feet. He could run now, heavily, with a hand on Bill Sanders' shoulder.

An interminable interval passed before he reached the edge of the water. He stumbled as he ran along the wharfs, seeking a boat. "I know where there's an outboard motor boat!" Bill cried. "I got a pal who races 'em."

"Get it!" Wentworth snapped.

Now the motors of the great clipper ship bellowed into top speed. The heavy plane taxied in a graceful half-circle, picked up speed. Wentworth swore hoarsely.

His eyes were straining toward the lifting clipper, and he was scarcely aware of clambering into the outboard motor boat and heading for Governors' Island. He knew that he directed Bill where to go and that, presently, they were stealing through the shadows toward the hangars. Planes were warming on the line. Two minutes later, Wentworth heaved himself into the front cockpit of the nearest, while Bill flung himself into the rear cockpit.

There were dim shouts and then the blast of the motor drowned out the voices. The plane scooted across the field, lifted into the air in an incredibly short while and bored almost vertically into the sky.

For minutes, the
Spider
held the plane in a steep climb. He turned its nose in the direction the clipper had been taking when last he had seen it. He had the advantage on the massive sea-plane by a hundred miles an hour.

Swiftly, he overhauled the clipper. It was making no effort to dodge or avoid him, merely ploughing its deliberate way across the silver and black of the sea. Finally, the monster plane was just beneath him. Wentworth clicked the switch of his radio.

"Calling the clipper," he said quietly. "The
Spider
speaks. Land on the sea and surrender or I'll blow you out of the air!"

There was a silence for an aching space of time, but presently the slow and mocking voice of Moulin answered:

"Before you blow us out of the sky,
Spider,
look down at our upper hatch . . .
and see whom you will kill first!
"

Wentworth swore raspingly, leaned over the side of the cockpit. As he stared, the upper hatch of the big clipper was opened, and a silhouette appeared there. A silhouette which presently was illumined by a flashlight. Wentworth was completely still, wordless, as he peered down into that upturned face.

It was Nita!

Nita's lips were moving. He knew she shouted something above the roar of the engines, and he knew what she would say, brave soul. "Forget me, Dick! Bomb them out of the skies!"

Wentworth shook his head. Grief shook him. He pulled back on the stick and vaulted the ship high into the air. He whipped it in a steep, vertical bank. When he came out of it, he was dropping straight at the big plane!

The hatch in the roof was suddenly a brilliant square of light. Then a man replaced Nita. He saw the flickering serpent tongue of flame at the muzzle of a machine gun. Wentworth's gun-sights were on the man. He did not fire. Deliberately, he pulled the nose forward until the sights showed him the further outboard motor on the left wing. Not until that moment did he squeeze down on the trigger trips.

Tracers streaked from the multiple muzzles of the ship's machine guns, and down those illuminated corridors through the air, screaming, piercing steel was poured! The motor vomited black smoke. The propeller became visible, an eccentric, wavering wreck. That was all Wentworth saw, for once more the stick was back in his lap and the powerful engine was clawing toward the moon-silvered vault of the heavens!

He felt his speedy plane shudder this time to the beat of machine gun bullets punching into it. A strip of aluminum covering fluttered from the wing and was ripped off by the speed of his dive. But once more, his sights were centered on the second port motor. The tracers performed their deathly dance against the blackness, and as he lifted, the second motor was spurting black smoke.

The clipper would have no choice now. It must land!

Wentworth pulled up and circled warily. The clipper's two right hand motors pulled awkwardly about so that it skidded across the sky. Its rudder was cocked over at an extreme angle. Even as Wentworth peered toward the ship, the clipper began to settle. Its other two remaining motors were idling now.

He cut the motor. His voice sounded dull and muted. "Bill, I'm going to land on top that plane. Get hold of the seat cushion. It's a life preserver. When I put the wheels down, get on our wing. Drop off as soon as we've slowed enough."

Bill twisted about. His eyes were strained wide, but with excitement, not fear! "Boy, did you get them!" he caroled. "Did you get them!"

Wentworth smiled slightly. "Once you've done your job, lie flat and grab at the torn metal of a port nacelle. There'll be shooting!"

Bill nodded. He shook a small automatic in the air. "Miss van Sloan gave me this!" he said. "You'll have help!"

Wentworth had to gun his motor again, to pace the gliding clipper. The top hatch was open again. He saw the machine-gunner stick up his head; he plucked out his automatic and fired in one swift movement. The man was driven backward against the forward edge of the hatch. He writhed there for a moment, then dropped from sight. His machine-gun skittered across the whale back and plunged downward toward the sea.

It was only then that Wentworth realized he had drawn and fired with his old swift movement!

An exultant shout lifted to his lips, then the clipper hit the water. It bounced once, then its hull caught solidly . . . and Wentworth tipped his ship's nose down. The clipper was still taxiing through the water at better than sixty miles an hour. His plane's landing speed was seventy miles . . . . Wentworth touched his wheels to the plane's back so gently there was scarcely a jar. Bill, clinging to the cushion with one hand, was already on the low wing of the army plane. The fighter ship ceased rolling and Bill dropped off, scrambling for a motor housing.

Wentworth's left wheel dug into the clipper's back, flipping the tail into the air. Wentworth was pitched out, but he landed flat on his stomach atop the clipper's hull. The pursuit tilted sideways and slipped into the sea. Billy was clinging nearby . . . and the
Spider's
guns were in his own fists!

The mutter of the motors had died. The clipper was still slapping along through the waves, but its momentum was dying. The heave of the ocean swells was more noticeable. No sound save that. Bill began to crawl toward him, but Wentworth motioned him to be still. His two guns centered on the lighted square of the open hatch.

Then he heard a woman's clear voice call. It was Nita!

"Come ahead,
Spider!
" she said. "I've got them under my gun!"

Wentworth's lips smiled thinly.

He turned his head, "Crawl slowly toward the hatchway, but don't go in or show yourself!" he whispered.

Then, as the big ship slowed to a halt, Wentworth let go and dropped feet-first into the water beside it! He was up in an instant, and within moments was aboard the stub-wing that served as a hydro-stabilizer.

In two lithe strides, he had reached the companionway that led upward. He was smiling thinly. The effects of the drug had at last worn off! His guns were in his fists. The wet, slow drip of water from his clothing was the only sound. He went up the companionway quickly. The door at the top stood open. Whenever Nita called him
Spider,
it was a warning of danger!

He could hear now the dull slow steps of Bill walking along the cabin roof. He eased up another step, another. He could see the whole cabin now. The blonde nurse stood behind Nita, with a gun against her spine! Grouped tautly below that trapdoor hatch, automatics and machine guns in their fists, were five men. Bennington, with his benign wrinkled smile; the wily Flash Cassin; Big Gannuck, massive head thrown back while he held his machine gun carelessly; the pompous Dan Flagg, his thick lips loosened by fear . . . and Mark Towan!

Towan had an automatic in each fist, and his glittering, bitter eyes were focused upward. His back was toward the companionway that Wentworth climbed.

"Freeze, gentlemen!" Wentworth snapped. "
The Spider is behind you!
"

Big Gannuck roared an oath and whipped his machine gun around. Wentworth cleared the last steps in a leap. His left gun reached out and slapped the blonde across the skull. She went down in a heap, and Nita grabbed her gun in the same instant. Wentworth's other automatic jammed hard against Towan's spine!

Only one man made an effort to shoot. That was Flash Cassin. He stood well back against the wall, clear of the obstacle offered by Towan's body. As he swung his revolver around, Wentworth's left gun blasted.

Cassin took the slug through his breastbone. It hurled him back in a convulsed knot against the cabin bulkhead. He fell that way, and his head struck first.

Wentworth laughed, softly. "Excellent, gentlemen!" he said. "Kindly deposit your weapons on the floor! Just drop them.
Gannuck!
" Steel rang under his pronunciation of that name. Gannuck started and hurriedly dropped the machine gun. After that, Flagg and Bennington did not hesitate. Their weapons dropped.

The
Spider
stood in his old, battling crouch behind Towan, and his guns were big and formidable. But more menacing even than those sure weapons was the cold stab of his eyes!