Daredevil
Teal first bang an' then grab you in the same bar, so to speak.
Unfortunately, you two warriors put up such a scrap an' made such a
row about it that half the Roberts in London were chargin' on to the
field before you'd been downed and outed as per invoice. Therefore,
realisin' that dispersion is occasionally the better part of valour,
your adorin' playmates legged it through the Albany an' out the other
side, where the Roberts ceased from troublin' an' the policemen were
at rest. They got away, leavin' your bodies on the plain an' a
number of short-winded bobbies pantin' in their wake. Really, you
know, you want to enlist a few Olympic runners in your comic copper
battalions, if you want to catch young Pegasi (or is it Pegasuses?)
like our friends----"
"Oh, cut it out!" snapped Storm. "What brought you here?"
Terry gave the finishing touches to Teal's bandages, and then left
the detective to put on his coat and himself lighted a long cigar and
puffed thoughtfully.
"I suppose you'll have to know," he murmured at length. "Though, as
a qualified physician whose disgustin' wealth has stopped him from
practising I'll warn you that if you go dashin' off doin' anythin'
silly you'll be knocked up for weeks. Well, to put it briefly, at
home we thought you'd been knocked out in the firework display. An'
Susan thought so too. You were on your way to St. George's Hospital,
and had very kindly sent your 'bus round to bring the chief mourners
to your deathbed. A uniformed Robert was drivin', so everything in
the garden looked lovely--barrin', of course, your own impendin'
demise..." Terry studied the end of his cigar intently. "D'you get
me, little one?"
Storm sat still for some seconds. He might have been graven in
bronze for all the emotion he displayed; and yet, behind that
mechanical masquerade, he was suffering the tortures of the
damned.... Susan, his Susan ... in the Power of the Dog.... "_Kill
H..._" At that moment, for the first time in his life, he knew the
meaning of utter hopelessness. Nothing mattered in the whole world,
nothing existed but that hideous fact. The Triangle might blast
London off the face of the earth, might blow to atoms a thousand more
John Cardans--it wouldn't count a lonely Continental cuss. Susan was
gone.... The only ray of hope came from the implied assertion that
she'd been kidnapped instead of murdered on the spot, and even that
knowledge was fraught with fears too horrible to contemplate....
Put into the balance in Storm's favour that in the last seventy-two
hours he had had less than seven hours' sleep, and perhaps you will
understand and forgive him for plumbing such abysses of despair. And
that spineless despondency was only momentary. Before it could
consolidate the position it had gained, Storm hurled up every
supporting mote of fighting weight that was in him to hold the
breach. With a clinched effort of will which racked and locked his
nerves in positive physical anguish he focused all his strength upon
the one object of getting his mind and body back to par. His face
remained inscrutable and all his muscles were relaxed, but the sweat
broke out in glistening gouts on his forehead. And, gradually, inch
by painful inch, he scourged himself into cool, calm reason.
Watching him, few would have known that in the fleeting of those few
seconds he had gone down into Inferno and dragged himself back again
into the world.
Storm raised his eyes. His hand went slowly to his pocket and drew
out his cigarette-case. With leisured care he selected a cigarette,
tapped it on his thumb-nail, and put it between his lips. Still with
the same Alpine steadiness, he took a box of matches from his pocket,
struck a light, and held it to the cigarette. He extinguished the
match with one flourishing sweep of his hand and broke it into little
tiny splinters, dropping them one by one on to the carpet. And then,
sitting with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupped boyishly
under his chin, he took the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a
long blue trail of smoke.
"Yes?" he prompted, and his voice was as coldly level as a frozen
tarn.
Terry fastidiously preserved the cone of ash that was accumulating on
his cigar.
"Well, I offered to go with Susan, but she wanted to go alone.
Still, I'd gathered from the Robert's not very snappy backchat that
you were more or less lyin' on the banks of the Styx waitin' for the
ferry; so, for the sake of old times, after allowin' Susan half an
hour's start to get through the last fond farewell"--Terry grinned
wryly--"I tottered along myself. Had the jolly old Sisters of Mercy
heard of Captain Arden? They had not. Had the worthy chirurgeons?
_Non plus_. I combed every ward myself, and when we hadn't located
you I remembered the Triangle's interest in Susan and began to get a
whiff of _Mus decumanus_, or the common rat. Toddlin' round to
Scotland Yard, I was told you'd just left on a morgue tour along the
Embankment. So I came toolin' on here to wait for you. _Et voila!_"
"I see," said Storm. "Can you get me some real eighty-over-proof
dope? Snow for preference. I'm about done in, and my acquaintance
with rest cures looks like being not yet."
Terry looked at him for a moment, and then nodded.
"I'll knock up a chemist myself," he promised. "But you'll try to
get some sleep, won't you? Tumblin' into the arms of Morpheus, and
so forth?"
Kit nodded.
"I can't do anything to-night, but God knows what I'll feel like
to-morrow. I won't use the stuff if I can help it, but I want it for
a stand-by. Push off now like a good fellow, and get Teal home right
afterwards, will you?"
Terry went, and then Storm crossed to the telephone and called
Scotland Yard. He was lucky enough to find the Assistant
Commissioner still there.
"I want Prester John," said Storm. "Get him to my flat by nine
to-morrow if it's humanly possible. And Birdie, if they can find
him. Have men out after the two of 'em all night, and hogshave all
search warrants! Also Snooper Brome--add him to the list. Got me?"
Then Storm went wearily to his bedroom. He wound his alarm clock and
set the bell at 8.30; and then, only removing his coat, collar and
tie, he fell into bed and was almost instantly asleep.
The buzzer awakened him after an all too short rest, and his first
impulse was to shut the darn thing off, turn over, and sink back into
the delicious Nirvana from which its clarion call had roused him.
And then he remembered everything.... With a sigh he flung off the
sheet and got up. His head ached appallingly, and for some unknown
reason he was stiff in every limb. He undressed and made for the
bathroom, and under the invigorating chill of a cold needle spray a
good deal of the muzziness cleared away. A brisk rub down restored
him still more; and, so great were the recuperative powers of his
robust health, he finished dressing again with the feeling of being
little the worse for the strain he had been through. A slight
thickheadedness and a heaviness in the eyelids--that was all.
He burst into the sitting-room to be greeted by the yawning visage of
Mr. Teal.
"Je-rusalem!" he said. "What're you about so early for?"
"I haven't been away," replied Teal, stretching his sound arm. "Your
sofa's pretty comfortable, and I don't like being sent behind the
lines when there's anything doing on the front."
Storm turned to his manservant, who was laying the table for
breakfast.
"We'll start with a double Colonial breakfast," he said briskly.
"And make your coffee black and strong!"
He was gulping a Horse's Neck into whose composition very little
ginger ale had entered when the Assistant Commissioner arrived.
Bill Kennedy was alone, and the scowl which invariably disfigured his
face before breakfast was more worried than usual.
"I haven't got either of your men," he confessed bluntly. "Prester
John's left the country to make a new start in Canada, and Brome's
vanished. We never knew much about Snooper, anyhow, and the lag who
runs his fencing store in Kensington when Eddie's away hasn't seen
him for days. What's the particular hurry?"
Storm told him in four words, and then--
"Did Mr. Mannering turn in that dope, Teal?" he asked.
For answer, Teal pointed to the cellarette, and Storm went over and
opened the small parcel which lay there. He took a glance at the
hypodermic syringe it contained, and the two phials packed into the
metal syringe-case, and slipped the box into his pocket.
He carried writing materials over to the breakfast table and wrote
while he made his meal. When he had finished there were five closely
written pages which he checked over carefully and then sealed into an
envelope, scribbling his initials on the flap.
He gave the package to Bill Kennedy.
"I put you on your honour not to open this unless I fail to report at
the Yard by midnight," he said. "It gives you the identity of the
Triangle and a string of substantial evidence against him--enough to
hang an army! If I don't turn up you'll know what to do. Secondly,
I'll bet you've had men put on to guard me after last night?"
"Yes." Bill nodded.
"Take 'em off right now! Bill, I guarantee that if I see anyone that
looks like a nursemaid in trousers tailing me around when I leave
here I'll wring his neck! I _want_ the Triangle to catch me--that's
the only chance I've got left of cleaning up this mess outside of the
Old Bailey. You put that right up inside the big bone you wear under
your hat, and let it dig itself in!"
Even as he spoke Storm was stripping off his coat and shirt, and they
had a chance to view his magnificent torso. The muscle just lay on
him in slabs, writhing and cording under the satiny skin with every
movement he made. He was ribbed out and sinewed up like a
thoroughbred racehorse--he might have served as a model for a statue
of Apollo, with his perfectly proportioned, splendidly supple and yet
immensely powerful development. Storm was always trained to a hair;
and, at that moment, as he stretched and limbered up, he looked fit
to fight for a kingdom ... whereas he was going to fight for
something which, to him, meant more than all the cities of the world
and their glory----
He disappeared into his bedroom and returned a minute later with a
heavy bundle in his arms.
Against each bicep, by means of straps fastened above and below the
muscle, he fixed neat leather holsters which carried compact
small-calibre automatics. Against his right calf he laid a small
thin razor-sharp poignard which was held in place by his sock and
sock suspender. Thus secretly armed, he pulled over his head a
jerkin of pliant deerskin which laced up to the collar-bone; and over
this he put on a singlet of the finest steel mesh.
Kennedy and Teal observed all these accoutrements with unconcealed
interest, and Storm smiled.
"Courage gets medals," he remarked as he resumed his shirt, "but
people who sail into typhoons without taking in canvas, battening all
hatches, and rigging life-lines, just get what they deserve--and
that's Hell!"
He completed his reclothing, slipped another automatic--to be found
if and when he was searched--into his hip-pocket, lighted a
cigarette, and picked up his hat.
"So far I've been the world's premier boob," he said--"the most
paralytic fall-guy that ever wore pants. And I'm going to get even
or bust!"
He was in high spirits. In spite of the ever-present fear for Susan
which haunted the back of his mind, he was totally unable to repress
his cheerfulness. The scent of battle always got him that way; and
it was a trait of his which caused him great annoyance, for, when
sparring and waiting about turned the corner into the straight run