Ken darted across the deck, reached the companion ladder and scrambled down it as Tux reappeared.

He found himself in a narrow, dimly lit pa.s.sage. One of the four doors on either side of the pa.s.sage had a key in the lock. He could hear Tux moving about above him, and guessed he hadn't much time. He turned the key, pushed open the door and entered the small cabin.

Johnny was lolling on the bunk. He stared at Ken blankly, then sat up.

"Who are you?" he said sharply.

Ken closed the door and leaned against it. He was in such a state of nerves he had difficulty in controlling his breathing.

"I happened to be near this boat and heard them planning to murder you," he said, his voice shaking. "They're going to put you in a barrel and drop you in the river."

Johnny stiffened.

"Is this one of O'Brien's tricks?" he snarled. "You can't scare me, you fool! Get out I"

"We haven't a second to lose! Tux's getting the barrel ready now," Ken said. "The two of us can tackle him, but we've got to take him by surprise."

It suddenly dawned on Johnny that this tall, haggard, frightened man, facing him, wasn't trying to kid him. He remembered O'Brien's murderous expression when he had left the cabin. He remembered, too, how persistent O'Brien had been that he should write to Gilda. It would suit O'Brien to be rid of him for good.

He slid off the bunk, feeling cold sweat on his face.

"He's got a gun!" he said. "We haven't a chance against him."

"We've got to tackle him," Ken said sharply. "Come on. We can't handle him in here."

"Give me the key," Johnny said wildly. "I'll lock myself in. You go for the police."

"Don't be a fool! He'd break the door in and get to you. We've got to handle this ourselves!"

Ken's heart sank at the sight of Johnny's white, twitching face. He wasn't surprised when Johnny said, "Leave me out of it! I'm not going up there."

Any moment now Tux would be down. He had to find a weapon. A quick look around Johnny's cabin convinced him there was nothing he could use except a rather flimsy chair, so he stepped into the pa.s.sage and opened the door opposite, groped for the light switch and turned it on.

The only likely weapon he could see was a half-empty bottle of whisky that stood on the table. He rammed in the cork and picked it up. As he moved back to the door, he heard Tux coming down the companion ladder. There was no time to reach Johnny's cabin. He snapped up the light switch, and, his heart hammering, he leaned against the wall by the door and waited.

Tux came along the pa.s.sage, humming under his breath. Ken caught sight of him through the half-open door. His fingers tightened on the neck of the bottle.

Johnny had also heard Tux coming and had hastily shut his door.

Tux paused outside Johnny's door, attempted to turn the key, but finding it unlocked, he abruptly stopped humming.

Ken watched him through the crack between the hinges end of the door and the doorpost. He held his breath as Tux suddenly jerked out a snubnosed automatic from inside his coat.

Tux turned the handle and kicked the door wide open.

Over his shoulder, Ken could see Johnny backed up against the opposite wall, his face waxen.

"h.e.l.lo, Johnny," Tux said softly. "Who unlocked the door?"

"How do I know?" Johnny said hoa.r.s.ely, staring at the gun. "Maybe O'Brien forgot to lock it. What does it matter? I'm leaving, anyway."

"That's right," Tux said, and he slipped the gun back into his hip pocket. "You're going on a h.e.l.l of a long journey."

Ken began to creep across the pa.s.sage towards him.

The boss is sick of you, Johnny, and I don't blame him," Tux said. "I've got a barrel for you and a snug-fitting cement overcoat."

"You wouldn't do that to me I" Johnny gasped, his eyes bolting out of his head. "O'Brien wouldn't stand for it! Keep away from me I"

Ken jumped forward and aimed a violent blow at Tux's head with the bottle, but Tux was too quick for him. He heard Ken's movement behind him and the swish of the descending bottle and he ducked sideways.

The bottle crashed down on his right shoulder, making him stagger. Fragments of gla.s.s and whisky exploded over him.

Cursing, his arm momentarily numbed, Tux spun around.

More frightened that he had ever been before, Ken swung a wild, hard punch at Tux's head, but Tux slipped the punch and caught Ken under the heart with a jarring left jab that staggered him.

Johnny made a rush for the door, but Tux kicked out, catching Johnny above the knee, bringing him down.

Before Tux could get his eyes back on Ken, Ken had jumped in close and grabbed his arms. It was like catching hold of a gorilla. Tux threw him off with a heave of his ma.s.sive shoulders. He jumped away and set his back against the cabin wall.

Johnny scrambled up and backed away while Ken stood by the door, staring at Tux.

"So you've found a pal," Tux said, his small eyes gleaming viciously. "Well, okay, the barrel's big enough to take you both." His hand whipped behind him and reappeared holding a short stabbing knife. "Who's first?"

Both Ken and Johnny recoiled at the sight of the knife and Tux grinned. He began to edge forward.

Ken s.n.a.t.c.hed up the chair and thrust it at Tux. One of the legs narrowly missed Tux's face as he ducked under it, and he cursed; catching hold of the chair leg with his left hand, he tried to pull Ken on to the knife blade.

He was too strong for Ken, and to prevent himself being pulled forward, Ken had to let go of the chair.

Tux tossed the chair away and darted forward. Ken hit out blindly, and his fist crashed into Tux's face as the knife flashed.

Ken had no idea how he avoided the thrust. He felt the blade cut into his coat and he twisted sideways. He fell against Tux, grabbed hold of Tux's knife wrist with both hands and threw his whole weight on Tux's arm. "Get him!" he shouted frantically to Johnny, who, instead of going to Ken's help, tried to reach the door. As he shoved past the struggling men, Tux grabbed him by the throat with his left hand and pinned him against the wall.

It was as much as Ken could do to control Tux's right arm. He hung on, his Angers squeezing Tux's fingers against the knife handle, trying to make him drop it.

Tux hooked his leg around Ken's, heaved and upset Ken, sending him sprawling on the floor. He tried to hang on to Tux's wrist, but the fall broke his hold.

Tux swung around on Johnny and again the knife flashed, but in falling, Ken had grabbed hold of Tux's trousers cuff and he jerked with all his strength, bringing Tux over backwards on top of him.

Johnny kicked violently at Tux's head. The toe of his shoe smashed against Tux's temple, and for a second or so Tux went limp, the knife falling from his hand.

Ken grabbed the knife and threw it across the room, shoved Tux away from him and scrambled up on hands and knees.

Tux was up at the same time. Blood ran down his face from a cut on the temple where Johnny had kicked him. His face was convulsed with murderous rage.

Before Ken could get out of the way, Tux belted him in the face with a half-arm punch that sent Ken over on his back, but Johnny had s.n.a.t.c.hed up the chair and crashed it down on Tux's head and shoulders.

Johnny suddenly seemed to have found some courage. His white, thin face was as murderous and as vicious as Tux's now. He hit Tux again, driving him to his knees as Ken rolled away and staggered to his feet.

Tux tried to shield his face with his arms as he came off the floor, but Johnny battered his arm down and again hit him on the top of his head with the chair.

The back of the chair snapped and Tux flattened out on his face.

Johnny jumped forward, grabbed a handful of Tux's thick hair and, lifting Tux's head, he slammed it down on the floor.

Tux gave a strangled grunt and went limp.

The two stood over him, panting.

"Let's get out of here!" Ken gasped. "Come on!"

Johnny gave Tux a hard, vicious kick in the side of his neck, then bending over him, he rolled him over and pulled out Tux's automatic from his hip pocket.

"Come on!" Ken said again.

Johnny followed him along the pa.s.sage and up on to the deck.

II.

The lighted clock on the dashboard showed twenty minutes past eleven as Adams pulled up outside 25 Lessington Avenue.

During the short drive from the hospital he had remained silent, hunched up behind the driving wheel, while Watson sat beside him, hoping for some explanation which didn't come.

Adams got out of the car and Watson followed him.

They walked up the steps, opened the front door and, with Adams leading, they climbed the stairs to Raphael Sweeting's apartment.

As Adams paused outside the door, he said, "This guy's going to make a statement. Get it down!"

"Yes, sir," Watson said, wondering who the guy might be.

Adams rang the bell and waited.

There was a long delay, then the door opened cautiously and Sweeting, a damp sponge held to his right eye, looked first at Adams and then at Watson. He seemed to shrivel under Adams' hard stare, and he stepped back hurriedly.

Adams walked into the room, and Watson followed him.

"So this is where you've holed up," Adams said, glancing around the room. "How's business, Raphael?"

"Now look, Lieutenant," Sweeting said urgently, "I'm going straight. How can a guy settle to anything if you cops keep pestering him?"

"I wouldn't know," Adams said mildly. He wandered over to a chair and sat down. "Must be difficult for you. How's the blackmail business flourishing?"

"I don't know what you mean," Sweeting said indignantly. "I've given that up months ago."

"Have you? What's the matter with your eye? Someone paid a debt?"

"I had an accident," Sweeting said sullenly. "Can't you leave me alone, Lieutenant? I'm trying to earn an honest living."

"Finding it difficult?" Adams said, taking out his cigarette case and lighting a cigarette. "It might be easier for you if I put you inside for ten years."

Sweeting stiffened.

"You've got nothing on me, and you know it."

"But I could easily fix something, Raphael. The easiest thing in the world. Don't forget that. I can put you away for ten years just when I want to, but I'll leave you alone if you play along with me. I want some information."

Sweeting sat down. This had been a h.e.l.l of a day. His eye ached and he felt old and tired. He looked across the room to where Leo crouched, panting, and he sighed.

"What do you want to know, Lieutenant?"

"I want facts. You told Donovan you saw no one go up or come down and heard nothing. You were lying. Are you going to tell me?"

"I'm always ready to talk to you, Lieutenant," Sweeting said. "I didn't know the other guy."

Adams looked over at Watson and tossed him his notebook.

"Take it down," he said curtly. "Talk away," he went on to Sweeting. "I know most of it so don't skip the details. Start where you met Holland on the stairs."

Sweeting flinched.

"Have you arrested him, Lieutenant?" he asked uneasily. "You can't believe a word that guy says. I'll bet he said I tried to blackmail him."

"He told me he punched you in the eye," Adams said unfeelingly. "Start talking!"

Sweeting talked.

Half an hour later, Adams lit his fourth cigarette, stretched, yawned and nodded his head.

"That seems to take care of that. You're sure you didn't see this other guy who left Carson's apartment before Holland did?"

"I didn't see him," Sweeting said miserably. He had parted with valuable information for nothing, and it grieved him.

"Okay. Got it all down?" Adams said to Watson.

"Yes, sir."

"Sign it, Raphael," Adams said. "Each page and you countersign it, Watson."