The Scorpia Menace (18 page)

Midnight was chiming from the big clock in the tower of the Museum buildings when Cringle drove the Cadillac through the last intersection and along the side of the complex.

"Shouldn't we have radioed Center?" he said nervously.

"I'll handle this myself," Koch said shortly. "We can radio Center afterwards, when we've done the job. My standing orders are to stop all mention of Scorpia anywhere. It's a basic policy."

Cringle nodded. He turned the car down a side alley and stopped alongside a big wall of granite which rose up under thickly clothed trees. It was quiet and secluded, and ideal for their purposes. He drew in his breath with a hiss. There was a low stone parapet opposite and beyond that, the trimly cut lawns fronting the Museum. A big figure in a belted raincoat, with a dark fedora pulled down over his eyes, was sitting casually on the wall, with his feet on the grass.

"There he is," Cringle said. He turned the car in a sudden U, raising the headlight beams to illuminate the man better. They drove slowly back, Cringle slowing the big car to a walking pace.

"Mr. Walker," Koch called softly.

"Here," the big man replied. "Are you Scorpia?"

"Yes!" said Koch decisively.

The rattle of the sub-machine gun in Koch's hands seemed to slap Cringle's eardrums with physical violence. Flame lanced from the muzzle and was answered with sparks from the wall. Stone chips flew angrily into the air as Koch stitched across the sidewalk, the bullets moving upward, flaying the wall. The figure of the big man disappeared suddenly, punched from his perch with shocking violence. The stench of cordite filled the interior of the Cadillac. It was like perfume to Cringle.

"Not bad, Otto," he said. "Congratulations."

"We'd better make sure," Koch said. "Mr. Walker has had his payment from Scorpia."

He smiled. He and Cringle got out of the car, leaving the engine running. They vaulted over the wall. Cringle was the first to reach the crumpled figure. He turned it over.

"A dummy!" he said disgustedly.

Koch whirled too late as an enormous figure launched itself over the wall. A revolver glistened in his hand.

"I'm here for our appointment, Scorpia!" said The Phantom in ringing tones.

Koch snapped up the tommy-gun too late. There was a thin crack and flame bloomed in the darkness of the Museum grounds. Koch felt a numbing pain in his fingers, and the weapon fell to the grass. The Phantom pushed the two men back and picked it up.

"Back to the car," he said. "The whole town will be here in a moment."

A few seconds later, the Cadillac roared off into the night. A solitary patrolman rushed up just in time to see the taillight disappearing in the direction of the main street. He noted the bullet marks on the sidewalk and across the wall. He vaulted over and inspected the clothing gingerly. Then he scratched his head.

"Clothes with some busted balloons inside!" he said. "What the hell gives here?"

He went up the street at a fast pace, looking for the nearest police phone.

The Phantom sat at ease in the back of the Cadillac, his pistol trained steadily on the back of Otto Koch's head.

Otto sat with a handkerchief tied around his injured hand, his whole arm aching. There was a dull ache of rage in his brain at being outwitted. Cringle drove normally, but the whiteness of his knuckles on the steering wheel betrayed his tension. Now he looked in the mirror, astonished at the extraordinary being who had outsmarted them.

The huge man in the tight-fitting jerkin and hood laughed. A black mask covered the upper part of his face, so that Koch could not make out his features. He had a

broad, strong jaw and square teeth which glinted as he smiled; which he was doing right now. Koch took a quick hold on himself.

"Are you Mr. Walker?" he asked softly.

He half-turned in his seat, stiffened as he felt the muzzle of the pistol against his cheek.

"How did you . . .?" Koch went on.

"Where's Diana Palmer?" The Phantom interrupted him.

"Diana Palmer's dead," Cringle answered, turning his head furtively.

"Shut up, fool," said Koch, something of his old manner returning. "We know no one of that name."

Cringle seemed to cringe in his seat.

"I meant I read about her in the papers," he said. "She was a pilot." ,

He watched The Phantom carefully in the big rear mirror.

"You're both lying!" The Phantom snapped.

"Drive me to Scorpia Headquarters."

Otto Koch drew himself up and put his pudgy hands in his lap.

"Mr. Walker, you can shoot us," he said slowly. "But it won't get you any closer to Headquarters."

The Phantom could see tiny beads of sweat running down Koch's forehead as his face was reflected in the mirror.

"We have an ancient law in Scorpia," Koch said. "That is, die before revealing information!"

He smiled bitterly.

"Stop the car here," said The Phantom. They had reached a lonely spot outside the town, where a ravine ran alongside the road. The Cadillac slid to a halt and Cringle cut the motor. Both men turned around to look curiously at The Phantom, who leaned calmly back, holding the revolver steadily where both men could see it clearly.

"What do you know of the history of Scorpia?" he asked.

"Shooting us won't get you to our hideout, Mr. Walker," Cringle said.

The Phantom laughed.

"Mr. Walker isn't my name. It's short for the Ghost Who Walks. Does that mean anything to you?'

Otto Koch started and his face turned pale. He glanced quickly at Cringle.

"The Ghost Who Walks is The Phantom," he gasped. "The legend says that he fought the Scorpia centuries ago!"

He turned back to the big man in the rear seat. His eyes were hard again.

"Are you trying to tell us you're that Phantom? A ghost? Do you think we're idiots?"

He snorted. "I've read about the skull mark. It's a lot of rubbish."

His fingertips at last touched the butt of the Luger strapped to the leather upholstery at his feet. He brought the gun up, turning with triumph on his face. The Phantom's mighty fist came up with the force of a sledgehammer. There was a tremendous crack as it caught Otto Koch beneath the chin. His head slammed back against the window frame and he sagged unconscious, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. The gun dropped to the floor of the Cadillac.

"I don't think you need that," said The Phantom calmly. To Cringle, he added, "Pick it upl"

Sweating with fear, Cringle bent slowly and searched for the Luger with Ms fingertips. One look at The Phantom's set features told Mm not to try anything. He handed the gun to the big man, butt first, and felt it taken from him. He stiffened, Ms eyes focused on Otto Koch's unconscious face. The mark of a skull was grinning up at Mm from the unconscious man's livid flesh!

"The skull!" he gasped, looking at The Phantom with sudden fear on his face. "Just as the legend says! Who are you?"

"I told you," The Phantom answered imperturbably. The pistol muzzle remained trained unwaveringly on Cringle's head.

"Now drive me to your hideout."

Cringle swallowed heavily. Sweat ran down Ms face.

"We will die before revealing our Headquarters," he said in a quavering voice.

"Very well," said The Phantom inflexibly. He advanced the pistol until its cold rim seemed to be eating into the blond man's neck.

"You will obey the ancient law!"

Cringle gave a muffled cry as he heard a minute click behind him. His nerve broke. He twisted away.

"All right!" he said. "I'll take you there. The law will have to be broken this time."

He put the Cadillac in gear and the big machine moved forward through the night. Otto Koch was groaning his way back to consciousness as Cringle pulled up in front of the farmhouse and switched off the engine.

Koch struggled up, massaging his jaw tenderly with one pudgy hand. All his self-confidence seemed to have deserted him.

"Fool!" he snarled to his companion. "Why did you bring him here? You know the law of Scorpia!"

Cringle turned a twisted face to him.

"Just look at yourself!" he said. "That's why!"

Puzzled, Koch turned to the rear-view mirror and examined his face carefully. He began to tremble as the reddened skull symbol stamped into his puffy flesh stared back at him. He got out a handkerchief and passed it across his face, as though the action would erase the mark.

"The sign of The Phantom!" he stammered. "I don't understand."

"You will," said The Phantom calmly. "Get out of the

car."

The two men preceded The Phantom up the steps, their hands clasped behind their heads.

"Now, take me to your companions," said The Phantom when Cringle had opened the door and they were in the musty hall. "And no unnecessary movements, or this gun might just go off."

"We ought to go up normally, or they'll know something's wrong," Cringle said. Koch gave a low mumble of anger.

"That's all very well," Cringle flared. "But getting shot isn't going to help Scorpia."

"We will take this up later, clown," said Koch, with a flash of his former confidence.

The two men walked slowly up the stairs to Koch's private quarters. The Phantom swiftly searched the rooms while the two men sat on the couch and watched him sullenly.

"You must have a transmitter here somewhere," said The Phantom. "Where is it?" "Up top," said Cringle, before Koch could reply.

The Phantom smiled.

"After you, gentlemen."

Cringle led the way to the attic room. As they got near the door, The Phantom's heart leaped in his throat. He could hear Diana Palmer's voice coming through the thin partition that separated them.

Diana was saying, "I must find out if Scorpia really exists."

Then another woman's voice broke in.

"Now listen," it went on. "I'll bet you can't tell my voice from Diana Palmer's."

The Phantom relaxed. He jammed the pistol in Otto Koch's ribs as the three of them stood listening outside the boarded attic room.

"I must find out if Scorpia really exists," Diana's voice repeated.

"That was great, Vanessa," said a man's voice enthusiasm tically.

The Phantom didn't wait for more. His mighty hand with all his weight behind it propelled the two men violently forward. There was a crashing impact and Koch and Cringle sprawled through the door and landed in a heap on the floor of the radio room. A tall, attractive blond turned with a start of surprise. Behind her, a rat-faced little man reached for a pistol on the bench beside him.

The Phantom seemed to fill the whole room with his powerful personality as he leaned against the door jamb.

"I wouldn't touch that, sonny," he told the rat-faced man pleasantly. "Or you'll look like a Swiss cheese."

The rat-faced man trembled slightly and then withdrew his hand from the pistol.

The Phantom surveyed the cowering group with satisfaction.

"You did a great job, Vanessa!" he said.

20

THE GHOST WHO WALKS

The blond girl called Vanessa goggled with surprise as she surveyed The Phantom; the black boots, the gun belt, the striped shorts and the hooded jerkin. The mask caused her the most amazement. She sat down on a chair near the rat-faced man and shook her head.