The Python

CHAPTER X CROOKS CHOOSE TO FIGHT

ABOARD the Tropical, chaos had come with flames. The very swiftness of the fire had produced commotion. When officers hastened to give commands, they found themselves confronted by an inferno.

Gouger and his pals had passed up no evil opportunity. A few of them had shipped aboard as new members of the crew; they had lined up some malcontents with promises of big pay. Nearly a dozen in all, they had saturated the woodwork and upholstery with kerosene. Flames, once begun, had spurted like mammoth torches.

Roaring from the spots where they had started, the blazes were sweeping sternward. They had made short work of the lounge and the ballroom; all that the loyal crew could do was hope to halt the fire’s progress. Fire hoses were unlimbered; chemicals came into play. There again, proof was given of dastardly preparations.

The Python’s henchmen had cut off the water line. Trickles, not streams, were all that the hoses produced. The crooks had substituted gasoline for chemicals. The use of this equipment proved disastrous.

Flames tongued viciously at the startled men who spurted the supposed chemicals upon the fire. Officers and crew retreated from the fury of the spreading conflagration.

There were cool heads aboard the liner. The officers had guessed that the fire was no accident. They were sending men to repair the tampered equipment; to bring up chemicals and fire apparatus from the stern. Loyal hands were working with a will.

Passengers had reached the blistering decks. They were being ordered to the stern. Flame-fighting crew members were doing their utmost to prevent the fire from reaching that last refuge.

Engines had been halted; but the liner was drifting onward. The fate of the ship lay in the balance. Every effort was being made to save it, but the start that the fire had gained made the fight a difficult one.

AMONG the passengers who had reached the A deck were three who formed a cluster. One was Louis Revoort; the others were Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. The Shadow’s agents had aroused Revoort and had come with him from below.

Cliff saw a chance to aid with a fire hose. Before Harry and Revoort could do likewise, an officer ordered them astern. They were forced to back away to the rear of the A deck, where other passengers were scurrying down steps to gain the open, sternward space of the B deck below.

Revoort seemed to recognize Harry as a friend. The two remained at the companionway, watching the crew battle the fire. Gouger and some of his pals were there. To cover their crime, they were aiding in the fight against the flames.

Duronne came rushing out on deck, Hank close behind him. Harry saw the pair speak to crew members and gain nods in reply.

Duronne had contacted Gouger. That done, Duronne and Hank came sternward. They arrived at the very spot where Harry and Revoort were standing. The glare of the flames showed a gleam upon Duronne’s crafty, mustached face.

In that instant, Harry knew the fellow for an enemy. Grimly, Harry stayed with Revoort. Hand in his pocket, The Shadow’s agent clutched an automatic.

Gouger had dropped a fire hose to spring toward a lifeboat. He and two others were snatching away the tarpaulin. They flung it in the bow of the boat, where it covered an object already there.

This was boat number six; the crooks had loaded the coffer aboard it and were keeping that heavy chest hidden by the loose canvas.

Davits creaked as the boat began to lower. Gouger bellowed; crew members deserted their posts and dashed over to lower a boat that bore the number eight.

Passengers, coming from sternward, began a rush up the companionway where Harry and the others stood. The sight of boats being lowered had started a panic. Duronne’s new scheme was working.

The Coilmaster’s purpose was a double one. He wanted to get the coffer away from the Tropical before its theft was discovered. He desired also to throw the loyal crew into tumult; to start them into a flight that would end resistance against the fire. Duronne had hoped to panic the passengers; his expectation had been realized.

As the surge came toward the boats, many of the loyal crew members lost their heads. Boat six was already over the side; five of Gouger’s pals were aboard, swinging oars to prevent others from coming with them. Crew members and passengers seized boat eight, which Gouger had started as bait for them. More went after other boats.

IT was then that Duronne and Hank started an attack of their own. It came so suddenly that Harry Vincent could not stop it.

Harry was watching both Duronne and Hank; they looked ready to join in the rush toward the boats. Some signal must have passed between them; instead of starting toward the bow, they wheeled about. Duronne sprang for Harry’s throat; Hank leaped upon Revoort.

Harry whipped out his gun, too late. Duronne drove him backward, hard against a post beside the companionway. Harry’s head took the jolt; half staggering, he managed groggily to aim for Duronne. But before he could fire, the crook drove a swift punch to his chin.

The Coilmaster was lucky with that blow. Harry sprawled to the deck, but came up on one elbow. He had Duronne covered for a moment; then came a surge of passengers that trampled him flat.

Sprawled out beneath the rush, Harry could only protect his head from stamping feet. When the sweep ended, Harry came dizzily to his hands and knees.

Harry looked for Revoort and did not see him on the deck. Staring downward, he caught sight of him below. Revoort and Hank had tumbled down the companionway; in the fall, Revoort had gained the edge. Though slight of build compared with Hank, he was pommeling the big man into grogginess.

A shout made Harry turn toward the bow. Someone was shouting through a megaphone; it was Captain Henderly. The skipper had braved sizzling flames and roasting decks to get here from the bridge. In a booming voice, he was ordering the crew members back to their posts.

Some were responding; others wavered, while a score of passengers clutched the rail, wearied by futile fray. Duronne’s boat had reached the water. Gouger had joined his pals in the second boat. He was snarling at crew members on the deck, telling them to lower the lifeboat in defiance of the captain’s order.

SENSING a conflict, Harry came to his feet and started forward, still gripping his automatic. He saw Cliff turn about from a fire hose. His face black-streaked, his coat and shirt gone, Cliff was reaching for his hip. He, too, saw trouble from boat eight.

It came. Captain Henderly, the megaphone in his left hand, used his right to produce a big service revolver. Another officer copied his example. Budding mutiny ended among the loyal crew.

Men went piling back toward the fire hoses. The captain watched them scurry along the deck. He had not yet turned to face boat eight. He did not know the fiendish caliber of the men aboard it.

Gouger was snarling to his pals. Revolvers flashed from their pockets. Six against two, they were aiming for the captain and the officer with him. Neither Henderly nor his companion saw the coming menace. Harry and Cliff were the ones who spotted it.

Harry aimed with his automatic. Simultaneously, Cliff yanked a similar weapon from his hip pocket. Their guns spoke together. Bullets ripped the gunwales of the lifeboat; one of Gouger’s men collapsed.

Gouger and the others whirled about to meet this unexpected fire. Their revolvers barked quick answers. The captain, startled at first by the shots on deck, saw instantly where the real menace lay. He and the officer aimed for the lifeboat and poured in a rapid fire.

Harry clipped Gouger as the fellow aimed for Cliff. Bullets whistled and ricocheted from flame-wrecked walls. But the shots aimed for the lifeboat were directed toward one concentrated target. The Python’s men went sprawling before they could pick out their well-spread attackers.

The captain bellowed an order. Loyal crew members, armed with axes and belaying pins, took up the charge. They reached the lifeboat and surged over the side like infantry taking an entrenchment.

Gouger and his wounded tribe still had fight. They asked no quarter as they blazed away at the twenty men who overwhelmed them. Nor did they receive quarter from those nerve-strained men whose ranks they tried to thin. When the quick fight ended, the minions of The Python lay annihilated. His automatic emptied, Harry Vincent had pocketed the weapon and was dashing toward the companionway at the back of the deck. He wanted no credit for his part in the fray; he was anxious to find Revoort. When he reached the B deck, Harry saw no sign of the man; nor was Hank in view.

Had Revoort gone back to his cabin? Harry chose a course along the side deck, heading forward. He plunged into a mass of smoke that was pouring from stateroom windows.

He stumbled squarely into a struggling trio. One was Revoort, still pounding Hank; the other was Eddie, the steward. This fellow was trying to drag Revoort away.

HARRY pitched into the fight and flayed out with his fists. Revoort staggered away while his rescuer dealt with the pair. Then came a cry; Harry sprawled Hank and punched Eddie’s jaw.

He wheeled about to see Revoort in the clutch of a bulky, leering fighter. It was “Slug” Cladder, the rogue who had started the fire in the purser’s cabin.

A big fist crashed against Revoort’s face. As the man’s body slumped, Slug hoisted it and gave a heave across the rail.

Harry sprang in just as Revoort’s body balanced on the rail. Slug turned upon him savagely. As they grappled, Revoort delivered a sighing gasp and slid helplessly beyond the rail.

Harry delivered an ankle kick that sent Slug sprawling. He had heard the splash of Revoort’s body. Forgetting Slug, Harry dashed through the smoke to grab a hanging life preserver. Gaining it, he hurled the circular buoy into the ocean, hoping that Revoort might see it bobbing close at hand.

From the smoke came Slug. On his feet again, the vicious fighter encountered Harry before The Shadow’s aid had time to swing and meet him.

Gaining a hold upon Harry’s throat, Slug proceeded to hammer his adversary into complete submission. They sprawled to the deck, Slug on top. Half a minute of hard pounding left Harry limp and unconscious.

Slug arose, to find Hank and Eddie clutching the rail beside him. He heard a voice calling from the smoke; he caught the sound of approaching footsteps.

Yanking a revolver, Slug snarled to Hank and Eddie, telling them to pitch Harry’s helpless form overboard. The pair started to obey.

A puff of breeze thinned the smoke. An approaching man appeared a dozen feet from Slug’s gaze. The arrival was Cliff Marsland. He had left his firefighting to look for Harry Vincent. Cliff, like Slug, could see plainly when the smoke cleared.

He saw Hank and Eddie, struggling to lift Harry Vincent. He saw the glint of Slug’s revolver in the glare of the ship’s flames.

Slug was shoving his fist forward in quick aim; Cliff jogged his reloaded automatic upward from his hip. His finger was quick on the hair trigger. The automatic spoke.

Slug wavered, snarling. Staggering to the rail, he fired two quick, wide shots. Cliff could take no more chances. Dropping back, he pumped three bullets straight into the would-be killer’s body. Slug pitched head foremost to the deck. Cliff swung to deal with Hank and Eddie.

Petty workers in Duronne’s Coil, those two crooks had no nerve for gunplay. They had dropped Harry when they heard the shots; they were pulling out revolvers as they scrambled inward from the rail.

Slug’s fall, however, gave them panic. Eddie dived through an opening into the smoke-filled ship. Hank hurried after him as Cliff delivered a quick shot.

CLIFF chased the pair, stabbing more bullets through smoke and flame. He stopped short as he heard a scream that was followed by a hideous bellow.

He had not even spotted his quarry; he had fired only to drive the two men onward. Cliff moved forward cautiously through the increasing heat. He stopped again as his foot struck a tippy floorplate.

Eddie and Hank had dropped through a fire-gutted opening into flames below. They had fallen into the cornered remnant of the inferno that Slug had started in the purser’s cabin. They had perished in their own trap.

Cliff went back to the deck. Hoisting Harry on his shoulder, he carried his comrade toward the stern. The engines of the Tropical had begun a slow throb.

Excited passengers were reporting that the crew had gained control of the fire. The ship was being headed shoreward; but it would not be beached if the fire could be completely extinguished.

Harry was still unconscious. Cliff’s efforts to revive him failed. A physician among the passengers gave help; he decided that Harry was suffering from a slight brain concussion. He predicted that a few hours of careful treatment would restore him.

Relieved regarding Harry, Cliff wondered what had happened to Revoort. Perhaps the man was safe among the huddled passengers. Cliff planned to look for him later; for if Revoort had escaped harm amid the turmoil, he would be in no present danger.

Should Revoort be missing, there would be a later task in which Cliff would need Harry’s aid. That would be to go to Cabin 222; to lug the heavy trunk from there to 309.

It would not be a great problem; when all was quiet aboard the Tropical, many passengers would be moving to new quarters. Cliff foresaw that he and Harry would be able to get unsuspicious stewards to help them with the treasure trunk.

Such a move, of course, depended on Revoort. Cliff still hoped to find the man aboard the forward-forging Tropical. He did not know that somewhere, far astern, Louis Revoort was floating, forgotten — his only hope the life buoy that Harry Vincent had cast into the waves.