Ken Holt - Mystery Of Green Flame Part 13

George interrupted him. He was still grinning. "He wouldn't be dashing around the hills some place with two cars full of cops, would he?"

"You see, boys," the white-haired man said mildly, "we're trying to make it easy for you. We want you to know just where you stand-just how foolish it is to BLACKOUT 147.

try to match wits with us. Frankly, I'm sorry to see fine young men like yourselves mixed up with the police and their stupid little plans. But you can hardly blame me for the fact that you let yourselves get involved in this situation-now can you?" He smiled.

Ken knew he couldn't speak. Hot boiling rage choked his throat and his chest. This calm gentle-voiced little man, surrounded by his gunmen, seemed to Ken the most evil and dangerous criminal he had ever encountered. The gentleness didn't detract from the danger that emanated from him. It emphasized it, made it seem even more deadly.

"And what a pity," the man was continuing softly, "that you allowed that innocent child to accompany you on your ridiculous spying mission."

"He doesn't know anything about us-or about you either!" The words burst from Ken's tight throat.

"Oh, is he so innocent?" The man leaned forward suddenly and studied Roberto's face. Ken could feel the child shrink against him. "Ah, I thought I recognized him. Yes, you were a patient here once, weren't you, my boy? And this is how you repay our generous care of youl Tut-tut." He shook his head sorrowfully.

"He didn't do anything! We told you!" Sandy half shouted. "We just hired him as a guide and-"

"And he guided you to us. Yes, that's what I mean. Ungrateful, stupid boy." Again the white head shook. Then he became more brisk. "Now, if you would care to tell us something about your friends' plans"-the blue eyes glanced from Sandy to Ken and back again- "we may be able to make your stay here a little more comfortable than otherwise."

He waited. "No? Well, it doesn't really matter, of 148 .

course. There's very little we don't already know. They've gone tearing out into the hills on the trail of an honest woodman whose truck happened to break down in front of Mendoza's house this morning. They will question him until they are convinced he knows nothing-as indeed he doesn't." Once more he smiled. "He knows only that he received ten pesos for permitting his truck to break down right there. He doesn't know why. And the man who paid him is now hundreds of miles away. When your friends are finally satisfied of this they will return to Rio Claro and attempt to think of a new way to outwit me. But they will fail again. Yes, they will always fail."

The gentle voice died away and in the silence they could all hear the drone of a plane. For a moment it seemed to be almost directly over the hospital, and then the noise faded slowly away.

One of the men behind Ken cleared his throat nervously. "Maybe we ought to hurry this up, chief."

"No, no-there's no rush." The voice was still placid. "Everybody in Rio Claro knows about this hospital, and n.o.body has ever had reason to investigate us. What reason could they suddenly have today? The car is safely out of sight, I presume?"

"Yes, chief." It was Al who answered him. "Underground."

"Excellent. Then we have nothing to fear." He looked for a long moment at Ken and then for an equal time at Sandy. "Too bad, too bad," he murmured. "You do look like nice young men. But you know the old saying-that a person is known by the company he keeps. And I'm afraid you've been in very bad company indeed."

Ken began to speak, hardly aware of what he was going to say, but only knowing that he had to make BLACKOUT 149.

some effort to break through the smothering sense of danger that seemed to fill the room like an impenetrable fog. "I don't know what you intend to do with us," he said, "but if the man who's been riding in our car is a policeman, as you say, you might be interested to know that we're expected to meet him this morning. And if we don't turn up for the appointment, he'll start a pretty thorough investigation of this town. Even your hospital won't be left out of it." He knew the words sounded feeble even as he said them.

Obviously the white-haired man recognized their feebleness too. "Are you trying to tell me something?" he asked politely. "Did you want to tell me what time you are expected to meet him?"

Ken had learned his lesson. Nothing he could say right now would do them any good.

"Let me ask him, chief." George moved slightly in Ken's direction. "He'll answer me."

"I'd like to remind you, George, that if you hadn't blundered at Laredo yesterday we wouldn't have these young men on our hands now." The white-haired man's voice was still gentle, but it was obvious that George, too, feared the power behind it. He fell back to his previous position. "That's better." The older man rewarded him with a faint smile.

Then he turned again to the boys. "Let's introduce ourselves, shall we, before we get on with our business? I'm Dr. Gosset, head of this hospital-as you have already surmised, no doubt. And you are?"

This time in the silence there was no throb of a plane overhead.

"Oh, come now," Gosset said, "you mustn't deliberately try my patience. I can easily have you searched for identification."

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"I'm Ken Holt," Ken said grimly. "And that's Sandy Allen."

"I am Roberto Rosario," Roberto said. "And I do not like it here. I want to go to my house." Roberto's curiosity was no longer strong enough to hold his fear at bay. His voice trembled.

Ken took the boy's hand. "Take it easy, Roberto," he said quietly. "We'll go home-soon."

"I just remembered something, chief!" Joe leaned forward urgently. "That name Holt-I'm sure I read it yesterday in the English page of that Mexico City newspaper."

"So?" Cosset looked at him expectantly. "What did you read about it?"

"I can't quite- There's the paper, chief. I'll check." Joe reached for the folded sheets of newspaper on the nearest table. "Sure!" he said an instant later. "Here it is-a story about some big conference, signed by a Richard Holt."

"Richard Holt?" The blue eyes fixed themselves on Ken. "Any relation of yours?"

"My father," Ken told him shortly.

Joe groaned. "Let's get rid of these kids, chief. You know how newspapermen are. If they get their teeth into some-"

"Let me worry about that, Joe," Cosset broke in.

"But if anything happens to Holt's kid, chief, he'll have the whole Mexican army called out before he drops the business."

"The Mexican army-or any other army-is no smarter than a police force. And no police force has alarmed us for years."

Cosset's last words were almost drowned out by the BLACKOUT 151.

zooming sound of a low-flying plane. But he only smiled faintly at the noise. "You see," he said calmly, "that's probably an army plane, hunting blindly over the countryside like a bat in a cave. And no more danger to us than a bat would be." He looked at the boys with what appeared to be untroubled curiosity. "Do you think it's looking for you, perhaps?"

Ken glanced automatically down at his watch. It was barely nine thirty. n.o.body would be even faintly concerned about Sandy and himself until they failed to return to the police station a full hour from now. Ken looked away from the questioning blue eyes, hoping that his silence would be taken as an attempt to conceal knowledge of the plane's activity.

"If so, of course," Gosset said, "it's too bad to disappoint them. It won't be for long, however. Tomorrow we shall even help them to find you, if they cannot do so themselves. But to have them drop in today would be extremely inconvenient. I must admit I'm pleased that there's very little chance of that."

Ken listened to the rambling words with half a mind. Dimly he realized that Gosset's offer to "help" a plane find them the next day was more a threat than a promise. He felt sure now that Gosset never intended Sandy and himself-or Roberto either-to be found anywhere, alive. But Gosset's words disturbed him less than the fact that the white-coated doctor and his attendant had moved behind him, out of sight. He heard, faintly, the sound of liquid being poured. Almost immediately he became aware of a new sweetish odor in the room-an odor he had smelled in hospitals before, but which had been noticeably absent from this place. Despite Joe's armed presence beside him, he half turned.

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His own motion coincided with the swift motion of the doctor and his a.s.sistant as they stepped to either side of Sandy and pinioned the redhead's arms.

In almost the same instant Ken's own arms were grabbed from behind and pulled back in a vicious grip. A wet cloth whipped past his ear and clamped itself against his face.

In a split second the sweetish odor identified itself. The word chloroform seemed to rise up before his closed eyes in towering letters.

With all his strength Ken twisted his head toward the right. For three ticks of a clock he wrenched his face entirely clear of the choking cloth. Frantically he gulped air into his lungs before the damp weight pressed down again over his nose and his mouth.

For as long as he could he held his breath. The time seemed endless. Even the pain of the viselike grip on his arms became insignificant in comparison to the agony of his thudding temples.

And then, finally, he gave way. Helplessly he sucked in air through the smothering mask.

He tried to struggle then to loosen his arms, as the sickening smell of the anesthetic rolled up inside his head. But it was no use. He felt the strength drain out of his muscles, felt a heavy weariness engulf him. And then it was over. He sank into blackness and silence.

CHAPTER XIII.

BARRICADE.

IT SEEMED to Ken that he was struggling desperately to climb out of a deep well, to claw his way to light and air somewhere far above him. His chest heaved and his fingers scrabbled over cold stone. But the stones were smooth and tightly fitted together. He could find no fingerholds. His hands went limp and for a moment he was quiet, panting with exhaustion.

Then, quite suddenly, he remembered everything that had happened. He recalled the violent moment when Sandy was attacked, and when, almost simultaneously, the chloroform mask had been clamped over his own face. He remembered his final frenzied effort to gulp air into his lungs, before the blackness came down over him.

His last moment of consciousness had been spent, he knew, in the Rio Claro hospital which no one-except Sandy and himself-recognized as the hide-out Phillips and Gonzalez had long been seeking. But where was he now? Where was Sandy? Where was the small frightened boy named Roberto? Had he himself been unconscious for days, for hours, or only for minutes?

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But though the questions moved through Ken's brain, they did not seem to require answers. The effort of remembering had left him too spent to feel worry or even curiosity. The scene he had just recalled could no longer alarm him. It seemed to have happened long ago, to somebody else.

Slowly, aimlessly, he moved his heavy arms. Again his hands slid over smooth stone. But now he smiled to think he had believed himself pressed against the wall of a well. He realized now that he was lying on his face on a stone floor. The stone was cool against his cheek and there was dank, dead air in his nostrils.

"If I turned over on my back," he thought vaguely, "I could see where I am." But was it worth the effort?

He lay there a while longer, breathing laboriously. The dank odor of the stone grew unpleasant. He decided, finally, that he would turn over, to get away from the stone.

It was an even greater task than he had thought it would be. His muscles were soft putty, completely without strength. His body was lead, heavy and inert. But he forced himself, stubbornly, to accomplish the feat.

He was panting again when he finished, and his palms were wet. But it was good not to have the stench of the stone close under his face.

He opened his eyes after a minute, and then closed them and opened them again. It made no difference. There was only blackness. Was it because he himself could not see, or because the place where he lay was darker than the darkest night? Perhaps, he thought dimly, he was locked in an underground vault. And yet he had a vague sense of open s.p.a.ce above him, and BARRICADE 155.

on either side. It occurred to him that he could sit up, perhaps even stand up.

He reminded himself that he had been able to turn over simply because he willed himself to do it. If he willed himself to sit up, he might achieve that too.

He slid his hands along the stone, to plant them firmly, still wondering why he should drive himself to such a difficult task. Suddenly his right hand touched something solid and faintly warm. As he closed his fingers around the unexpected obstacle, the nerve ends in his fingers flashed a message to his still only half-conscious brain. He was clutching Sandy's shoulder.

In a single instant, then, Ken came to himself. "Sandy!" Ken thrust himself up without even being aware of the effort. "Sandy!" He grabbed the shoulder again and shook it. It moved limply under his hand.

Now Ken's brain churned wildly. Was Sandy dead or merely unconscious? If only he had a light he could find out. If only- Suddenly he stopped shaking Sandy, stopped gasping his name. Faintly, somewhere near at hand, Ken had heard voices. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but some warning instinct kept him quiet.

The voices grew louder. A chain rattled, wood sc.r.a.ped on stone. And a thin vertical slit of light cut the gloom. Some twenty feet away from Ken a pair of tall doors was being pushed slightly inward, to admit a long streak of brilliant sunshine.

Crouching there beside Sandy, blinking his eyes at the unexpected brightness, Ken became aware of how weak he was. If Gosset or any of his men were about to enter this stone-floored prison, he would be unable to put up any fight at all, either for Sandy's sake or 156 .

his own. Without being aware of planning his strategy he did the only thing that occurred to him. He lay down on the cold stone again, face to the floor, in the same position he had been in when he first began to regain consciousness. He shut his eyes, as the door opening widened. For a split second, before his lids closed against the increasing light, he saw a familiar-looking car wheel not half a dozen feet away from his head.

Again there was the ragged sound of timber sc.r.a.ping over stone, and then the noise of at least two pairs of footsteps on the rough floor. Ken could sense figures coming near him.

"Still out cold." The unidentifiable voice spoke almost directly over his head and a glare of light struck the lids of his eyes. Ken forced himself to lie limp and flat and still.

"Well, what did you expect after only about forty-five minutes? Doc said it would last a couple of hours probably." The answering voice sounded like Al's.

"But he said you never could be sure." Ken recognized now that this was the man called Joe.

"Well," Al said, "in any case we don't have to wait around in this hole." One pair of footsteps moved away a little.

"Wait a minute, Al. I want to tell you something. I don't like this setup one bit. Monkeying around with the son of a newspaperman like that Holt fellow-you can see he's important if they put his name in the paper- is just crazy. Leaving them here all day is even crazier."

"Relax, Joe," Al said impatiently. "Have you ever known the chief to slip up? Besides, what else could we do after we saw them snooping around? We can't arrange a good legitimate-looking accident in broad day- BARRICADE 157.

light, can we? You know what a mess Mendoza made of that one he tried to pull, don't you? What would you suggest, anyway?"

"Clearing right out-that's what," Joe said belligerently. "And that's what the chief would do if he didn't care a lot more for his investment than he does for OUT necks. Just because he's got a lot of money sunk in the hospital-"

"You'd better not let him hear you talking like that, Joe. Old Doc Gosset may be crazy as a loon in some ways, but he's managed this business pretty smartly so far. If I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut-unless, of course, you want to clear out yourself?"

Joe's short laugh was low and ugly. "Never mind. I know what happens to people who try that." Then his voice raised in an angry whine. "But can't we at least tie these kids up, so we don't have to play nursemaid to them all day?"

"And leave marks on them that even the dumbest policeman would notice when their bodies are dragged out from under a car? Use your head, Joe!" Al snapped. "Anyway, I told you, we don't have to stay inside here. The walls are three feet thick, there are no windows-and those doors would stop a truck. Even if the kids do come to, and yell their heads off or start trying to beat their way out, there's nothing they can do. Come on." Footsteps retreated firmly.

"O.K. But I still think it's a mistake. The whole thing's a mistake." Joe's feet lagged as they moved farther away from Ken, and the sound of the doors being pulled shut again cut off his last resentful mutter.

Ken lay perfectly still for one moment longer, trying to stop the shivers that had been running through his body ever since he fully realized what lay ahead for 158 .

himself and Sandy, and presumably for Roberto too. He told himself that he'd had a stroke of luck because now, at least, he had knowledge with which to plan ahead.

But he had no time to waste. It was impossible to guess how soon Al and Joe would return to check up on them again.

Grimly Ken pushed his hands against the cold floor to bring himself up to his knees. Roberto was somewhere in this same enclosure, he supposed, but the first thing to do was to see if he could rouse Sandy. Then together they could try to work out some scheme to rescue themselves.

"Sandy, Sandy," Ken whispered, shaking the redhead's shoulder once more. "Sandy-wake up!"

The big body remained inert beneath his hands. Ken slapped Sandy's cheeks then, lightly at first but with growing fierceness. "Sandy! Can't you hear me? Wake up!" Sandy's head rolled back and forth beneath the blows, but his slow, regular breathing was uninterrupted.

It was no use, Ken knew.

He swung around then and began to crawl over the stone floor in the dark. If he could find Roberto, that would be some small gain. Just to know that the small boy was still alive would be a relief. Roberto was so young-it was hard to know what reaction he might have had to a dose of chloroform similar to the one that had Sandy still unconscious. Ken knew that his own last-minute gulp of air was all that had prevented him from receiving an equal amount.

After five long frantic minutes he found the boy's body. Roberto was alive-yes. But, like Sandy, he failed to respond to shakings and slappings. Ken sank back BARRICADE 159.

on his heels finally, almost overcome with weakness and hopelessness.

What could he do by himself against two armed men?