The Devil—With Wings Read Free

health? It is excellent?”
    â€œQuite, Captain. I regret—”
    â€œOh, no, no, no. Regret nothing, sir. I am desolated that I was not here to receive you more properly. I…er…have been taking considerable interest in your recent itinerary, sir.”
    â€œYou flatter my poor efforts, Captain.”
    â€œI am prostrated not to be able to attend your various calls in person. The Imperial Japanese government is quite attentive to your goings and comings, sir. You are…shall we say…a very great man. A power, as it were, in Northern Asia.”
    â€œYou flatter me,” replied Forsythe with a slight bow. “If my fame were only a tenth of your own, I should be content.”
    â€œThese guns,” said Shinohari, “are rather foolish, don’t you think? When the great meets the great, they should not demean themselves with common brawling.”
    â€œI suggest,” said Forsythe politely, “that we unload together. I regret that I did not have time to put a shell under my firing pin.”
    â€œStrange coincidence,” said Shinohari. “I was too startled to think of it and my Luger is in a like condition.”
    They bowed together and then each one placed his left hand before him with great ostentation and slowly curved it in under his automatic.
    â€œShall we say at the count of three?” said Forsythe.
    â€œSplendid. Shall we count together?”
    â€œOne…two…three…”
    Twin clicks were sharp in the room. Two magazines slid out of the butts and into the reaching hands. Timing their movements exactly, they each placed the clips in their belts and lowered their automatics.
    â€œI regret,” said Forsythe with a smile as brittle as the captain’s, “that I cannot stay. I have an urgent appointment elsewhere.”
    â€œI also must extend my regrets,” said Shinohari with a bow. “I only came for the files of a new incident.”
    â€œMay I wish you success?” said Forsythe, moving toward the door.
    â€œThank you. And may great success attend your endeavors, dear sir.”
    At the sill they bowed again, black jacket toward yellow greatcoat. They smiled as they went around until Forsythe had his back to the hall and the captain’s to the room.
    Still bowing and still backing, Forsythe went toward the corner and halfway around it.
    Abruptly the captain raised his Luger. He had carefully forgotten the shell under his firing pin until now.
    Forsythe saw the motion and dodged around the corner. The bullet slapped the plaster close beside his face.
    He leveled his .45 and squeezed. The captain was hastily throwing himself backward and out of sight. Forsythe’s bullet sent the glass from the door in a stinging, glittering shower.
    Forsythe had also forgotten his loaded chamber.
    He whirled and raced down toward the steps. The officers by the car would be on the alert and he had to pass them. Behind him he heard a window crash open. The captain’s shrill voice blasted a warning down at the sidewalk.
    Forsythe took the steps four at a time, almost soaring through the blackness on the wings of his wind-harried jacket. He sped into the lower corridor and stopped just inside the main door, hastily loading his .45.
    The two officers were stepping stiffly toward the entrance, watchful, guns in hand.
    Forsythe leaped into sight.
    One officer fired too fast, the other was too slow.
    The .45 roared twice, the explosions blurring together. One Japanese sprawled out at full length. The other sagged slowly to his knees, still trying to bring up his gun.
    The chauffeur leaped out of the car, stung to action by the yapping staccato of orders from the captain above. The chauffeur drew and chopped a frightened shot at the black terror which was streaking toward him off the steps.
    Forsythe fired into the chauffeur’s face and whipped around to stab two more bullets at the window.
    The captain dodged back,