The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 02 Read online

  * * * * *

  De Boer had, a moment before, spoken quietly aside to Gutierrez. And now three or four of the men were spreading out, poking about with small hand-flashes. Searching for me! The possibility that I might be here, eavesdropping!

  Hanley repeated vehemently, "Phil, they'll find you! Get out of there: the way is still open!"

  Gutierrez was approaching the archway. But I lingered a moment longer.

  "Chief, you heard about that girl, Jetta, Spawn's daughter--"

  I stopped. Perona was saying, "Spawn, was Jetta still in her room? You did not untie her?"

  "No."

  "And gagged? Suppose the Americano was back there now? She might call to him, and he would release her--"

  De Boer: "How do you know he is not around here? Listening?"

  With the assumption that I might be within hearing, De Boer tried to trap me. Gutierrez, at a signal now, suddenly dashed through the archway and planted himself on the path outside. The other searchers spread their rays; the rocks all about me were lighted. But my niche was still untouched.

  De Boer: "If he is around here--"

  Perona: "He could not have followed me; I was too careful."

  I was murmuring: "Chief, they've got that girl."

  "Phil, you get away! Go to Markes. Stay with him."

  "But Chief, that Jetta, I--"

  "Keep out of this! You're only one; you can't help any! I've sent for the Porto Rican patrol ship to handle this."

  "Chief, I'm going back to Spawn's."

  "No--"

  I cut off abruptly. In another moment I would have been discovered. The searchers were headed directly for me.

  * * * * *

  I moved, crouching, back along the inner wall of the archway. The moon was momentarily behind a cloud. It was black under the arch; and out front it was so dim I could only see the faint blob of Gutierrez's standing figure, and the spot of his flashlight.

  Perona: "He is not around here, De Boer. That is foolish."

  Spawn: "He could have gone anywhere. Maybe a walk around the village."

  Perona: "Go back home, Spawn. De Boer will come--"

  Their voices faded as I moved away. A searching bandit behind me poked with his light into the crevice where a moment before I had been crouching. I moved faster. Only Gutierrez now was in front of me. He was at the far end of the arch. I could slip past, and still be fifty feet from him--if I could avoid his swinging little light-beam.

  I was running now, chancing that he would hear me. I was on the path; I could see it vaguely.

  From behind me came a sizzling flash, and the ting of the flying needle as it missed me by a foot.

  "The Americano! He goes there!"

  Another shot. The shouts of the bandits in the archway. A turmoil back there.

  But it was all behind me. I leaped sidewise off the path as Gutierrez small light-beam swept it. I ran stumbling through a stubble of boulders, around an upstanding rock spire, back to the path again.

  There were other shots. Then De Boer's voice, faint by distance: "Stop! Fools! We will alarm the village! The landing field can see our shots from here! Take it easy! You can't get him!"

  The turmoil quieted. I went around a bend in the path, running swiftly.

  Pursuit was behind me. I could hear them coming.

  * * * * *

  It was a run of no more than ten minutes to the junction where, down the slope, I could see the lights of the landing field.

  The glow of the village was ahead of me. Then I was in its outskirts. Occasional dark houses. Deserted streets.

  I slowed to a fast walk. I was breathless, panting in the heat.

  I heard no pursuit now. But Spawn and the rest of them doubtless were after me. Would they head back for Spawn's inn? I thought they would. But I could beat them back there; I was sure there was no shorter route than this I was taking.

  Would they use their flyer? That would not gain them any time, what with launching it and landing, for so short a flight. And a bandit flyer could not very well land unseen or unnoticed, even in somnolent Nareda.

  I reached the main section of the village. There were occasional lights and pedestrians. My haste was noticeable, but I was not accosted. There seemed no police about. I recalled Perona's remark that he had attended to that.

  My electrode was tingling. I had been running again. I slowed down.

  "Chief?"

  "Phil." His voice carried relief. "You got away?"

  "Yes. I'm in the village."

  "Go to President Markes."

  "No, I'm headed for Spawn's! They're all behind me; I can get there a few minutes ahead of them."

  * * * * *

  I panted an exclamation, incoherently, but frankly, about Jetta. "I'm going to get her out of there."

  "Phil, what in hell--"

  I told him.

  "So you've fallen in love with a girl? Entangled--"

  "Chief!"

  "Go after her, Phil! Got her bound and gagged, have they? Going to marry her to this Perona? Like the Middle Ages?"

  I had never seen this side of Hanley.

  "Get her if you want her. Get her out of there. Take her to Markes--No, I wouldn't trust anybody in Nareda! Take her into the uplands behind the village. But keep away from that mine! Have you got flash-fuses?"

  "Yes."

  I was within sight of Spawn's house. The street was dim and deserted. I was running again.

  I panted. "I'm--almost at Spawn's!"

  "Good! When it's over, whatever happens up there at the mine, then signal the patrol."

  "Yes."

  I reached Spawn's front gate. The house and front garden were dark.

  "Use your fuses, Phil. What colors?"

  "I have red and blue."

  "I'll talk to the patrol ship again. Tell them to watch for you. Red and blue. Two short red flashes, a long blue."

  "Right, Chief. I'm here at Spawn's, cutting off."

  "Come back on when you can." His voice went anxious again. "I'll wait here."

  "All right."

  I cut silent. I ran through the front doorway of Spawn's inn. The living room was dim and empty. Which way was Jetta's room? I could only guess.

  I had a few minutes, perhaps, before my pursuers would arrive.

  * * * * *

  I reached the inner, patio garden. The moon was well out from under the clouds now. The patio shimmered, a silent, deserted fairyland.

  "Jetta!" I called it softly. Then louder. "Jetta!"

  Spawn's house was fairly large and rambling. There were so many rooms. Jetta was gagged; how could she answer me? But I had no time to search for her.

  "Jetta?"

  And then came her voice. "Philip?"

  "Jetta! Which way? Where are you?"

  "Here! This way: in my room."

  A window and a door near the pergola. "Jetta!"

  "Yes. I am in here. They tied me up. Not so loud, Phil: father will hear you."

  "He's gone out."

  I reached her garden door. Turned its handle. Rattled the door. Shoved frantically with my shoulder!

  The metal door was firmly sealed!

  CHAPTER VIII

  Jetta's Defiance

  I must go back now to picture what befell Jetta that afternoon while I was at Spawn's mine. It is not my purpose to becloud this narrative with mystery. There was very little mystery about it to Jetta, and I can reconstruct her viewpoint of the events from what she afterward told me.

  Jetta's room was in a wing of the house on the side near the pergola. Her window and door looked out upon the patio. When I had retired--that first night in Nareda--Spawn had gone to his daughter and upbraided her for showing herself while he was giving me that first midnight meal.

  "You stay in your room: you have nothing to do with him. Hear me?"

  "Yes, Father."

  From her infancy he had dominated her; it never occurred to either of them that she could disobey. And yet, this time she did;
for no sooner was he asleep that night than she came to my window as I have told.

  This next day Jetta dutifully had kept herself secluded. She cooked her own breakfast while I was at the Government House, and was again out of sight by noon.

  Jetta was nearly always alone. I can picture her sitting there within the narrow walls of her little room. Boy's ragged garb. All possible femininity stripped from her. Yet, within her, the woman's instincts were struggling. She sewed a great deal, she since has told me, there in the cloistered dimness. Making little dresses of silk and bits of finery given her surreptitiously by the neighbor women. Gazing at herself in them with the aid of a tiny mirror. Hiding them away, never daring to wear them openly; until at intervals her father would raid the room, find them and burn them in the kitchen incinerator.

  "Instincts of Satan! By damn but I will get these woman's instincts out of you, Jetta!"

  * * * * *

  And there were hours when she would try to read hidden books, and look at pictures of the strange fairy world of the Highlands. She could read and write a little: she had gone for a few years to the small Nareda government school, and then been snatched from it by her father.

  When Spawn and I had finished that noonday meal, I recall that he left me for a moment. He had gone to Jetta.

  "I am taking that young American to the mine. I will return presently. Stay close, Jetta."

  "Yes, Father."

  He left with me. Jetta remained in her room, her thoughts upon the coming night. She trembled at them. She would meet me again, this evening in the moonlit garden....

  The sound of a man walking the garden path aroused her from her reverie. Then came a soft ingratiating voice:

  "Jetta, chica Mia!"

  It was Perona, standing by the pergola preening his effeminate mustache.

  "Jetta, little love bird, come out and talk to me."

  Jetta slammed the window slide and sat quiet.

  "Jetta, it is your Greko."

  "Well do I know it," she muttered.

  "Jetta!" He strode down the path and back. "Jetta." His voice began rising into a strident, peevish anger.

  "Jetta, are you in there? Chica, answer me."

  No answer.

  "Jetta, por Dios--" He fumed, then fell to pleading. "Are you in there? Please, little love bird, answer your Greko. Are you in there?"

  "Yes."

  "Come out then. Come to Greko."

  * * * * *

  She said sweetly. "My father does not want me to talk to men. You know that is so, Señor Perona."

  It grounded him. "Why--"

  "Is it not so?"

  "Y-yes, but I am not--"

  "A man?" Little imp! She relished impaling him upon the shafts of her ridicule. Her sport was interrupted by the arrival of Spawn. He had left me at the mine and come directly back home. Jetta heard his heavy tread on the garden path, then his voice:

  "Ah, Perona."

  And Perona: "Jetta will not come out and talk to me." The waxen mustached Minister of Nareda's Internal Affairs was like a sulky child. But Spawn was unimpressed. Spawn said:

  "Well, let her alone. We have more important things to engage us. I have the American occupied at the mine. You heard from De Boer?"

  "I went last night. All is ready as we planned. But Spawn, this fool of an American, this Grant--"

  "Hush! Not so loud, Perona!"

  "I am telling you--!" Perona was excited. His voice rose shrilly, but Spawn checked him.

  "Shut up: you waste time. Tell me exactly the arrangements with De Boer. Le grand coup! now; to-night most important of nights--and you rant of your troubles with a girl!"

  * * * * *

  They were standing by the pergola, quite near Jetta's shaded window. She crouched there, listening to them. None of this was entirely new to Jetta. She had always been aware more or less of her father's secret business activities. As a child she had not understood them. Nor did she now, with any clarity. Spawn, had always talked freely within her hearing, ignoring her, though occasionally he threatened her to keep her mouth shut.

  She heard now fragments of this discussion between her father and Perona. They moved away from the pergola and sat by the fountain, speaking too low for her to hear. And then they paced the path, coming nearer, and she caught their voices again. And occasionally they grew excited, or vehement, and then their raised tones were plainly audible to her.

  And this that she heard, with what the knew already, and with what subsequently transpired, enables me now to piece together the facts into a connected explanation.

  In the establishment of his cinnabar mine some years before, Spawn was originally financed by Perona. The South American was then newly made Minister of Nareda's Internal Affairs. He became Spawn's business partner. They kept the connection secret. Spawn falsified his production records; and Perona with his governmental position was enabled to pass these false accounts of the mine's production. Nareda was systematically cheated of a portion of its legal share.

  But this, after a time, did not satisfy the ambitious Perona and Spawn. They began to plan how they might engage in smuggling some of their quicksilver into the United States.

  Perona, during these years, had had ambitions of his own in other directions. President Markes, of Nareda, was an honest official. He handicapped Perona considerably. There were many ways by which Perona could have grown rich through a dishonest handling of the government affairs. It was done almost universally in all the small Latin governments. But Markes as President made it dangerous in Nareda. Even the duplicity with the mine was a precarious affair.

  * * * * *

  There was at this time in Nareda a young adventurer named De Boer. A handsome, swaggering fellow in his late twenties. He was a good talker; he spoke many languages; he could orate with fluency and skilful guile. His smile, his colorful personality, and his gift for oratory, made it easy for him to stir up dissatisfaction among the people.

  De Boer became known as a patriot. A revolution in Nareda was brewing. Perona, as Nareda's Minister, was De Boer's political enemy. The Nareda Government ran De Boer out, ending the potential revolution. But Perona and Spawn had always secretly been friends with De Boer. It would have been very handy to have this unscrupulous young scoundrel as President.

  When De Boer was banished with some of his most loyal followers, he began a career of petty banditry in the Lowland's depths. Spawn and Perona kept in communication with him, and, by a method which was presently made startlingly clear to Jetta and me, De Boer smuggled the quicksilver for Perona and Spawn. It was this activity which had finally aroused my department and caused Hanley to send me to Nareda.

  This however, was a dangerous, precarious occupation. De Boer did not seem to think so, or care. But Perona and Spawn, with their established positions in Nareda, were always fearful of exposure. Even without my coming, they had planned to disconnect from De Boer.

  "And for more than that," as Jetta had one day heard Perona remark to her father. "I'll tell to you that this De Boer is not very straight with us, Spawn." De Boer would, upon occasion, fail to make proper return for the smuggled product.

  * * * * *

  So now they had planned a last coup in which De Boer was to help, and then they would be done with him: the two of them, Spawn and Perona, would remain as honest citizens of Nareda, and De Boer had agreed to take himself away and pursue his banditry elsewhere.

  It was a simple plan; it promised to yield a high stake quickly. A final fling at illicit activity; then virtuous reformation, with Perona marrying the little Jetta.

  * * * * *

  Beneath the strong room at the mine, Perona and Spawn had secretly built a cleverly concealed little vault. De Boer, this night just before the midnight hour, was to attack the mine. Spawn and Perona had bribed the police guards to submit to this attack. The guards did not know the details: they only knew that De Boer and his men would make a sham attack, careful to harm none of them--and then De Boer would
withdraw. The guards would report that they had been driven away by a large force. And when the excitement was over, the ingots of radiumized quicksilver would have vanished!

  De Boer, making away into distant Lowland fastnesses, would obviously be supposed to have taken the treasure. But Perona, hidden alone in the strong-room, would merely carry the ingots down into the secret vault, to be disposed of at some future date. The ingots were well insured, by an international company, against theft. The Nareda government would receive one-third of that insurance as recompense for the loss of its share. Perona and Spawn would get two-thirds--and have the treasure as well.

  * * * * *

  Such was the present plan, into which, all unknown to me, I had been plunged. And my presence complicated things considerably. So much so that Perona grew vehement, this afternoon in the garden, explaining why. His shrill voice carried clearly to Jetta, in spite of Spawn's efforts to shut him up.

  "I tell to you that Americano agent will undo us."

  "How?" demanded the calmer Spawn.

  "Already he has made Markes suspicious."

  "Chut! You can befool Markes, Perona. You have for years been doing it."

  "This meddling fellow, he has met Jetta!"

  "I do not believe it." There was a sudden grimness to Spawn's tone at the thought. "I do not believe it. Jetta would not dare."

  "You should have seen him flush when Markes mentioned at the conference this morning that I am to marry Jetta. No one could miss it. He has met her--I tell it to you--and it must have been last night."

  "So, you say?" Jetta could see her father's face, white with suppressed rage. "You think that? And it is that this Grant might be your rival, that worries you? Not our plans for to-night, which have real importance--but worrying over a girl."

  "She would not talk to me. She would not come out. He has no doubt put wild ideas into her head. Spawn, you listen to me. I have always been more clever than you at scheming. Is it not so? You have always said it. I have a plan now, it fits our arrangements with De Boer, but it will rid us of this Americano. When all is done and I have married Jetta--"

  * * * * *

  Spawn interrupted impatiently. "You will marry Jetta, never fear. I have promised her to you."

  And because, as Jetta well knew, Perona had made it part of his bargaining in financing Spawn. But this they did not now mention.