Читать книгу Doctor Zero and Others - Paul Chadwick - Страница 3

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"WHAT'S that?" Detective O'Conner's voice was a nasal bleat. His eyes bulged under the brim of his soft felt hat. His dank cigarette slipped from trembling fingers. He stared off into the darkness across the wide lawn of Gordon Munn's suburban house.

A fellow dick, one of a cordon thrown around the place to protect its owner from the mysterious menace of "Doctor Zero," shook his head. He also was staring in amazement.

"It looks like a rocket," O'Conner went on. "No--it's coming nearer. Hell, we ought to warn Munn."

He started off across the lawn at a lumbering gallop. The sky behind him had turned into a vivid violet. There was a strange, hissing sound in the air. A fantastic ball of eerie purple light was descending toward the house. It moved as though some unseen power were directing it--moved with horrible certainty toward the window of Munn's study.

O'Conner waved his arms and shouted. At that instant the ball of purple fire touched the window panes. There came a noise like the crack of a giant whip, then a deafening concussion that shattered every piece of glass in the sash, sending gleaming slivers inward and outward and searing the boards along the side of the house.

A stinging needle of glass struck the detective. He bawled loudly and clutched at his face. Men were shouting to each other out on the lawn now. A half-score of plainclothes men came running up, converging on the house from three sides. A babble of voices sounded.

"It's a bomb--who threw it?"

"See if Munn's hurt!"

"Turn in an alarm!"

Questions, orders and explanations tumbled over each other. Then O'Conner spoke again. "There's another one coming--look out!"

The ball this time seemed to swoop out of the black night sky like a sinister will-o'-the-wisp. It appeared first as a pinpoint of light, hardly distinguishable from the stars. It might have been a shooting star as it flashed across the sky.

But as it came nearer its speed diminished. Again there was that uncanny effect of diabolical intelligence. The hissing, whirling ball of purple fire followed its predecessor. The first one had cleared the way. The second plunged through the gaping hole of the shattered window while detectives screamed a warning.

They heard a muffled explosion this time. Lurid tongues of light speared from the window, dancing like an aurora borealis. The room inside looked for a moment to those staring from the darkness like the mouth of some fantastic inferno such as the hand of a Doré might have depicted.

Above the noise of the concussion they heard a single, horrible cry. Then blackness descended and the night seemed to close in, bringing silence with it. The voices of the detectives grew hushed with amazement and the awe of the unknown.

O'Conner entered the house with his men behind him. They found the servants huddled into a frightened, whispering group near the hall stairway. Then they climbed to the floor above, entered Munn's study and swore harshly at the thing they saw.

Gordon Munn, director in a great and powerful bank, and shareholder in a dozen corporations, was lying face downward on the rug, his clothing in singed tatters, his body twisted and blackened into an unsightly caricature of a man.

THREE miles away in Wade Hammond's apartment the French-type telephone jangled into life. The curio-lined walls of the living room threw the sound back harshly. The stuffed heads of big game, collected in a dozen far corners of the world, stared down with unblinking eyes as though listening.

Hammond, sprawled in a big armchair, dropped his cigarette into an ashtray, untangled his legs and got up. He crossed the room in four quick strides. Ten years of newspaper and police work had taught him to answer phone calls promptly. But his deeply tanned face was impassive as he picked the instrument up. People were always giving him a buzz for one thing or another. His lips below their thin mustache line barely moved in the mouthpiece.

"Hello! Hammond speaking."

Words came from the other end of the wire in an excited quaver.

"Listen, Hammond--this is Sergeant O'Conner. All hell's popping. Gordon Munn's been knocked off in spite of us."

"Gordon Munn?"

"Yeah--the bank man. You know who he is. Can you come out? The chief wants you. Follow Parkway Boulevard and make the first turn to your right. It's the big yellow house with the iron fence in front of it. Step on it!"

"O.K." Again Wade's lips moved. No use asking questions now. The dope would come later after he got to the scene of the killing. When Inspector Thompson called, it meant there was a tough nut to be cracked.

Wade's movements in the next few seconds were like those of a well-oiled machine--a machine taut with blued steel springs and rapidaction mechanism. But the springs were his muscles and the motivating mechanism was the flashing power of his quick-fire brain.

He threw off his dressing gown, pulled on a coat, stuck his feet into shoes, shoved a flat, wicked-looking automatic into his pocket and grabbed a hat. Three minutes later wind was whistling past the radiator cap on the battleship nose of his sport roadster.

He held the button on the steering column down at every intersection, defying traffic lights and making the night raucous. Twice he lifted a gloved hand at red-faced cops who stared belligerently. The fighting expressions left their faces when they saw who it was.

It was known that Wade Hammond carried a special investigator's card bearing the signature of the commissioner himself. It was also known that it didn't pay to interfere with him.

He swung into the driveway of the Munn estate. Gravel snapped under fat balloon tires as he roared up to the front steps. The headlights of his car goggled into the shrubbery. Almost before the motor stopped ticking over he was up the steps and inside the house.

Inspector Thompson, the grizzled chief of the City Homicide Bureau, was coming forward through the hallway to meet him, his expression owlish as always.

"Sorry to dig you out of bed, Hammond. They caught me at a banquet--right in the middle of a steak, smothered with onions. It's tough when a fellah can't enjoy his grub."

"Tough is right. What's going on here, chief? O'Conner sounded fussed when he called."

"Why wouldn't he? Didn't he tell you Munn had got his?"

Wade nodded grimly. Thompson's features suddenly reddened. His voice was thick with anger.

"I'm going to burn up somebody for this. Munn asked for protection. I sent enough men out here to guard the sub-treasury--and they let that devil rub him out anyway."

"Who?"

"Doctor Zero."

Wade shook his head.

"You'll have to start from scratch, chief. You've been holding out on me. Who's Doctor Zero?"

"I wish I knew. That's what he calls himself. He tried to get cash out of Munn--sent him a scare letter--and a bundle."

"A bundle? What was in it?"

"Come here, I'll show you."

THOMPSON turned and Wade followed him. They climbed to the second floor, to the room where Munn had been killed. The place was filled with headquarters' men; detectives, the medical examiner and his assistant, and experts from the bomb squad. Munn was still sprawled on the rug near a table, pieces of glass all around him from the shattered window. Thompson spoke in Wade's ear.

"Look here."

The inspector was lifting an odd-looking contraption from a pasteboard box. There was a handful of thin, collapsed rubber; a small metal ball attached to it, and a long brass cylinder with a tube at its end stoppered by a brass valve.

"What is it--a bomb?" Wade spoke grimly.

"No, a balloon, Hammond--with a tank of compressed gas to fill it, and a place to put the cash."

"A present from Doctor Zero, eh?"

"Yeah. Munn was supposed to put fifty thousand dollars into that tea-ball gadget and send the balloon up when it got dark. I don't know how the hell Zero expected to get it back. It might land any place within a thousand miles. He must be a nut."

Wade did not answer. He was looking interested, staring at the balloon keenly, and fingering the small round cash box. It was made of some lightweight metal. There was a coating on it. Some sort of waterproof paint apparently.

"Munn would have done better to have followed instructions," he said. Thompson swore under his breath and nodded.

"He had plenty of dough, but he didn't want to send fifty thousand of it sky-hooting all over the landscape--you can't blame him. He sat tight and called on us. Now it'll get out that the department fell down on the job. It's going to raise a stink."

Wade fired a sudden question. "What sort of a bomb did Doctor Zero use and where did it come from?"

Thompson shrugged. "Nobody knows yet. Carmichael and Parks are working on it now. The fellahs who saw it say it wasn't a bomb at all. It floated through the air, they say. It seemed to come from the sky--sort of purple fire."

Wade spoke quickly, his voice hard.

"This Doctor Zero is no nut, chief. You can bet on that. He must have known what he was doing when he sent that balloon. We've both heard of scientific criminals, and read yarns about them. Now we're up against one. It's the smartest extortion racket I've ever bumped into, with murder as a side line. Some guy who's half genius and half devil is behind this--and he must want the money bad."

Thompson grunted and Wade spoke again.

"We won't learn much here. That's a cinch. Mind if I go off with that balloon?"

"I can't let you, Hammond." Thompson spoke regretfully. "My men have got to have it to trace the material--see where it was bought."

Wade made an impatient gesture.

"They'll have a good time doing it. Let me have a few scrapings then. I think there's something queer here--and deep, too."

Inspector Thompson stared uncomprehendingly while Wade took a penknife from his pocket and scraped some of the paint and metal off the ball-like cash receptacle onto a paper. He stuffed this into his pocket and spoke slowly.

"That's the angle I'm going to work on first, chief. I got a hunch about something. I think--"

He stopped suddenly. A girl was standing in the door of the room; a girl with blonde hair, frightened eyes, and bloodless lips. She made a little whimpering sound in her throat, and moved forward; but a detective held her back.

"Better not look at him, miss. It won't do any good."

The girl burst into a spasm of crying, her slim shoulders shaking.

"That's Munn's daughter, Arlene," Thompson whispered. "She must have just come. We'll have to get her out."

Wade followed the inspector, and as they neared the doorway he saw a man standing behind the girl. Thompson was speaking in a kindly voice.

"We'd better go downstairs, Miss Munn. There was an explosion--you'd better remember your father the way he was."

He led the girl gently out into the hall while Wade sized up her escort. The man was thin and aristocratic looking with features so clean-cut as to be almost harsh. He was dressed elegantly, and wore an aloof expression. Wade had seen the face somewhere before.

Arlene Munn recovered enough to introduce him when they got downstairs. The formalities had been bred into her.

"Professor Ornstein," she said. "We were dancing at the Belmont when they paged us--and told me about father." She choked again.

"I came here as fast as I could," Ornstein said. "It's a terrible thing. I'm awfully sorry." His words were sympathetic, but his tone sounded casual. Wade's thoughts were active, building up impressions, remembering scraps of information.

He had Professor Harold Ornstein checked now. The man was connected with the Technological Institute--a brilliant scientist specializing in physics; a dapper society light when he cared to be, and a person of independent means. It was an odd combination. Wade recalled Ornstein's name in connection with a recent breach-of-promise suit. The man, who was at least twenty years older than Arlene Munn, had a bad reputation with women. Science was his life work; philandering his recreation. He had won the Nobel Prize for his researches into the nature of matter, and the "ignoble" prize in his dealings with the ladies. Wade smiled grimly at the bad pun.

But he didn't like Ornstein, and sensed a certain hostility in the man. Still, the professor was a genius in his line. He might even be able to help in this strange case. Wade started to speak, but Arlene Munn interrupted, weeping again.

"I can't stand it!" she said. "I can't! Take me away from here, Harry."

"That's a good idea," said Inspector Thompson. "We can talk to you later, Miss Munn."

"I'll take her to her aunt's," said Ornstein smoothly. "She'll feel better when she's had a drink and quieted down a bit. If I can be of any service let me know."

The two of them moved toward the front door; Arlene slender and wilting, Ornstein tall and bland, looking somehow like a suave Satan.

"A pretty slick bird," said Thompson. "If there's science mixed up in this as you say, Hammond, we'd better check up on him. I wonder if he was at the Belmont with Miss Munn all evening?"

Thompson called one of his men and had a low-voiced conversation with him. Then he whirled, facing Wade and listening.

Shouts had suddenly come from outside, then the sound of two pistol shots in quick succession. Wade was already headed for the door.

"Come on, chief," he said. "This seems to be our busy night!"