Hurricane Read Free

behind him. Spar whirled to meet this new danger.
    Henri!
    Henri stopped and tried to take a careful aim, but his face blanched and his hand was shaking when he saw that he did not have the opportunity to shoot Spar in the back. Having missed the first time, Henri did not intend to miss the second.
    They stood for a full second, facing each other across ten feet of space. Then Spar ducked to one side and brought up the recovered gun.
    Henri’s shot went wild. Spar fired with a chopping motion.
    Henri melted back, wilting. The gun drooped and slid out of stiffening fingers. But before he fell, Spar was conscious of a movement at his side.
    His first antagonist, taking advantage of Spar’s distraction, was holding a chair on high, ready to smash down on Spar’s skull.
    Spar rolled swiftly to one side and fired. The chair clattered harmlessly to the rough boards. The man stumbled and sprawled between the upturned legs, hands stretched out as though reaching for his escaping life.
    But even then, Spar had no time to breathe. Footfalls came from the taproom and the door was opened by a tall, thick, black man who stood in the opening with a lordly air.
    Spar was about to fire when the man raised his hand.
    “No, let this be as it is. The dogs deserved it for their bungling. I am your friend.”
    The black man came in. He hauled the body away from the chair and sprawled it out beside Henri’s crumpled form. Then he slapped his hands together after the fashion of Eastern monarchs and a moment later four men entered, bearing another body among them.
    But this man was not dead. He was either drugged or drunk. The four threw him on the floor and stood back.
    The big man flicked an imaginary speck from his starched white coat and looked at Spar. “ I am Chacktar. Your identity does not concern me in the least. Henri said you were a convict, escaped from the colony. So much the better. I have a use for you. If you fail to carry out my orders, I shall turn you over to the French police here and you will go back. You do not want that, I know. Here, you men, bring this young fellow to.”

His first antagonist, taking advantage of
Spar’s distraction, was holding a chair on high,
ready to smash down on Spar’s skull.
     
    The four began to work on the drugged man and Spar studied the fellow. He was young, obviously an American. Blond hair streamed down over his face. His well-cut clothes were torn. But for all that, the face bore marks of long standing. The stamp of dissipation was there, the jaw was weak, the eyes heavily shadowed.
    After a few minutes the young fellow came to, sitting up weakly, holding his head between his hands and staring through his knees at the floor.
    “Now, Monsieur Perry,” said Chacktar, “what have you to say for yourself?”
    Perry shook his head as though to rid it of a fog. “Wha-What happened?”
    Chacktar sent a meaning look at Spar. “You, Monsieur Perry, in your drunkenness killed these two poor, defenseless men. You know what that means. You’ll hang!”
    Perry crawled to his feet and stood weaving back and forth. “Me? I . . . I what?”
    “You killed these men. A good thing it sobered you up. A drunken beast you are. What will your father say? And Miss Mannering. Ah, but we must get out of here. The police have heard your shots. They will be coming, instantly.”
    “I . . . I killed those . . . two?” stammered Perry.
    “God take me!” bawled Chacktar. “Don’t you know?”
    “No, I don’t . . . remember. Why did I do it?”
    “Some quarrel. I happened in just as the last one struck you over the head with that chair.”
    Spar was about to intervene when he felt a gentle hand take the revolver out of his fingers. One of the men had come up to his back. A round muzzle was pressing against his spine.
    “This sailor,” said Chacktar, “saw it all. Didn’t you?”
    Perry looked pleadingly at Spar. The pressure of the gun at Spar’s back grew heavier. Spar thought about the penal