The Python

CHAPTER VIII CRIME’S ZERO HOUR

IT was close to midnight when Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland began their vigil in Cabin 309. They had concentrated their efforts upon the guarding of Louis Revoort, in Room 313. They had ceased to worry — for the present — regarding others aboard the Tropical.

They had discussed a passenger named Luke Duronne, the man who looked like a card shark. Cliff had seen the fellow while in the smoking room. Duronne had been playing poker with a crowd and had seemed quite disinterested in the temporary presence of Louis Revoort.

While The Shadow’s agents watched below, Duronne was still in the smoking room. Sallow and quick-eyed, he was tugging at the pointed ends of a dark mustache while he played a two-handed pinochle game with a bulky, dull-faced passenger. The poker game had ended. Duronne had apparently picked up an acquaintance with this lone passenger.

As they played their cards, however, Duronne was speaking in an undertone. Looking past the bulky man’s shoulder, he noted the purser talking with a ship’s officer.

Duronne was catching some of the words that lips were forming; he was repeating his observations to his bulky acquaintance.

“They’re talking about the strong room, Hank,” Duronne was saying. “The purser’s seen Revoort; that’s a cinch. They’re liable to be watching the strong room later on.”

“How soon, Luke?” whispered Hank.

“I don’t know.” Duronne watched the speakers. “Psst! They’re coming this way, Hank!”

The purser and his companion walked past the card table, while Duronne and Hank busied themselves with their game. Both heard the officer say:

“All right, Mr. Lycher. From one o’clock on. Good night, sir.”

The purser left the smoking room; the other man strolled away. Hank whispered to Duronne.

“Did you get that, Luke?”

“Sure,” returned Duronne. “It means that guards will be posted around the strong room. But they won’t put them on until after most of the passengers have retired.”

“At one o’clock.”

“Yes. That gives us a good part of an hour. The purser’s gone below. Eddie will fix him and tip off Gouger. We’ll get the word. Stick to pinochle for a while, Hank.”

Hank grinned. He admired Duronne’s sang-froid; and with good reason. For, among the Coilmasters of The Python, Luke Duronne was one of the most capable when it came to handling deliberate crime.

THE purser, Mr. Lycher, went directly to his own cabin after leaving the smoking room. There he removed the coat of his tightfitting uniform and stretched his portly body.

He brought a bottle of large pills from a bureau drawer and dropped three of the tablets into a drinking glass. He added water from a decanter and stirred the liquid with a spoon. When the pills had dissolved, the purser swallowed the medicine.

This was Lycher’s regular dosage; he used these pills in connection with a restricted diet. Overweight, the purser had long been trying to reduce. He followed the medicine with some calisthenics; after a few minutes of these exercises, he sat down on the edge of his bed.

Black spots were showing before Lycher’s eyes. A sudden nausea had gripped him. He began to waver; then caught himself with an effort. Faltering toward the door, he pressed a button; then staggered back across the cabin and slumped upon the bed.

Someone knocked at the door. The purser answered feebly. He lacked the strength to rise. A pass-key clicked in the lock; a peak-faced steward entered and stared at the prone figure on the bed.

“Is that you, Eddie?” queried Lycher, his eyes closed. “Give me a drink of water, will you?”

“Certainly, sir,” responded Eddie. He poured some water into the glass that had contained the medicine. “What is wrong, Mr. Lycher?”

“I’m sick.” The purser managed to rise and sip from the glass while Eddie held it. “I’m — feeling — feeling quite ill. You’d better — better summon the ship’s doctor.”

“Very well, sir.”

Eddie replaced the glass on the bureau. With his other hand, he produced a small bottle of pills and laid it beside the glass. He quickly pocketed the duplicate bottle from which the purser had taken the tablets. That done, Eddie looked over his shoulder and saw that Lycher’s eyes were still closed.

Quickly, the furtive-faced steward reached into the pocket of the purser’s coat. He gripped a bunch of keys, tightly, so they would not clink. They were hooked to the lining of the pocket; Eddie tore the cloth as he tugged the keys away. Lycher heard nothing; his lips were moving feebly.

EDDIE made a quick departure. He closed the door behind him, followed a long corridor and ascended a flight of stairs. He paused near a small foyer, while a few belated passengers entered an elevator. As soon as the lift had descended, the steward edged forward and wigwagged a signal toward a door that led to the deck.

A lurking man caught the signal. This fellow was a deck hand. Scurrying along a deck, he came to a hatchway and ascended the steps, which brought him to a deck outside the glass-inclosed smoking room.

He paused there, shifting close to the window; then moved away. He was seen by watchful eyes within. Luke Duronne spoke to his fellow pinochle player.

“It’s Gouger,” whispered Duronne. “The tip-off from Eddie. Come along, Hank.”

They ascended the near-by stairs to find Eddie awaiting them. The steward pointed across the foyer, toward a bulky door that was marked “Purser’s Office.”

He handed the key ring to Duronne.

“Lycher took the knock-out drops,” whispered Eddie. “From the bottle that I left for him. I switched the bottles; he was too groggy to see me do it. He didn’t see me grab the keys, either. I’ve unlocked the office door—”

“Come along then,” cut in Duronne. “Let’s get at that coffer.”

They entered the purser’s office. With the door closed, Duronne approached a safe-like strong box. He found the right key and opened the bulky door. The light showed a metal coffer, bound with iron bands; and equipped with stout locks. The chest was not much larger than a steamer trunk. But when Duronne tried to move it, the coffer failed to budge.

“Get Gouger,” he ordered.

Eddie fetched the deck hand, who was lurking outside the office. The four men managed to raise the heavy coffer. Trusting to chance, they lugged it from the office and followed the passage to the deck.

“Get the other fellows,” ordered Duronne, in a quick whisper to Gouger. “Stick with Gouger, Hank, to keep watch. It’s going to be a job taking this chest up the companionways. Remember: it goes in lifeboat number six.”

“Maybe we ought to crack the box,” suggested Gouger. “It would be easy to handle the swag if we did.”

“Yeah?” queried Duronne, savagely. “Do you think everybody’s deaf on board? Get along, you two. Come with me, Eddie.”

DURONNE and the steward made a quick return to the purser’s office, where they locked the strong box and extinguished the light. They then locked the door behind them; and sidled down the steps.

“Get back to Lycher’s cabin,” ordered Duronne, as he and Eddie neared the bottom of the stairway. “Put these keys back in his pocket. I’ll be in my cabin.”

“What about the doctor?” queried Eddie. “I’m supposed to get hold of him.”

“Tell Lycher you couldn’t locate him.”

The pair separated. Luck had been with Luke Duronne; it was not quite one o’clock; yet the Coilmaster had gained Revoort’s coffer before a watch had been instituted. But luck was due to change. Eddie found that out when he reached the purser’s cabin.

Lycher was sitting up; beside him stood the ship’s physician. The purser glowered as he saw Eddie. Although still weak, Lycher had recovered sufficiently to be angry.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I managed to call Doctor Reed’s cabin and found that he was there. Why didn’t you do that, Eddie?”

“I–I was looking other places,” returned the steward. “Sorry, Mr. Lycher. Are — are you feeling better, sir?”

“Yes. Doctor Reed gave me a restorative. I think I’ll be all right, doctor.”

“If you experience another spell of dizziness, call me at once.”

With this statement, the physician left the cabin. Lycher rubbed his forehead and looked at Eddie.

“I wonder if it could have been my pills,” he remarked. “Funny thing — they were absolutely tasteless tonight. Whew! That bowled me over. Pour me another glass of water, Eddie.”

The steward complied. As he approached Lycher with the glass, the purser arose. Somewhat unsteadily, he started toward the wall, to reach for his hanging coat.

“I–I wouldn’t try too much, sir,” stammered Eddie. “I–I would relax if I were you, sir.”

“I want my keys,” retorted Lycher. “They’re in my coat pocket.”

“I can get them for you, sir—”

“You wouldn’t know how to unfasten the hook that holds them.”

LYCHER had reached the wall. He lurched, although the ship was not rolling. His back was turned toward Eddie; and the steward knew that inside another minute, the purser would be reaching to find the missing keys.

Eddie thrust his left hand into the pocket of his jacket. Frantically, he twisted away the cap of the bottle that held the knock-out drops. Bringing out the bottle, he let a flock of pills glide into the glass of water. Quaking, he watched them dissolve — seven in all.

It was a race; the melting of those pills against the purser’s present recovery. Eddie’s game won; the tablets were dissolved before the purser had decided to resume his look for the keys.

Eddie dropped the little bottle into his pocket; he stepped forward with the glass just as Lycher’s hand went toward the hanging coat.

“Drink this water, sir,” suggested Eddie. “All of it. You will feel better, Mr. Lycher.”

The purser nodded. He took the glass and gulped its entire contents. Passing the glass back to Eddie, he reached into the coat pocket. His eyes bulged as his hand found emptiness. Lycher wheeled suddenly; he saw Eddie’s staring gaze.

“You — you thief!” accused the purser. He saw Eddie’s expression, and it was a give away! “You — you stole my keys. So you’re in the game! I might have—”

Lycher’s voice failed as he lumbered forward, seeking to clutch the steward’s throat. The new dose of knock-out tablets was beginning its effect.

Lycher swayed across the cabin; slumping to the bed, he clutched the telephone, while Eddie stared, too frightened to make a move.

The purser had raised the receiver. He was calling the doctor’s cabin. Eddie could hear a voice responding to the purser’s hello. Wildly, the steward surged forward as Lycher started to speak. His attack, however, proved unnecessary.

That was all that Lycher managed. The telephone fell from his hands; he sprawled to the bed, then rolled to the cabin floor. Eddie scooped-up the telephone; nervously, he finished the call.

“It’s Mr. Lycher, sir,” panted the steward. “He — he has had another dizzy spell, doctor. Shall — shall I give him water? Or — or—”

The receiver clicked at the other end, announcing that the doctor was on his way. Eddie stumbled over and replaced the keys in the purser’s pocket; he fastened the catch to another portion of the lining. Opening the porthole, he hurled his bottle of knock-out tablets into the watery depths.

Returning to Lycher, Eddie stooped beside the purser’s body. Lycher had fallen heavily. His head had thumped the end of the bed. Blood was clotting his hair; his eyes were glassy when the steward raised their lids. Eddie propped a pillow beneath the man’s wobbly head.

Some minutes passed before the ship’s physician arrived from his distant cabin. He found Eddie anxious-eyed, beside the body. The doctor attempted to restore the stricken purser; but a half hour of effort failed. He was solemn when he declared his final verdict:

“Dead.”

TWO-THIRTY found a solemn group assembled in the captain’s cabin. The doctor was talking to the skipper, while other officers listened.

“I was slow responding,” admitted the physician, “because I supposed the trouble to be nothing but a mild relapse. Eddie, the steward, was there to look out for Lycher. Unfortunately, the purser was dead when I arrived.”

“What about Lycher’s fall?”

“It may have been responsible for his death, Captain Henderly. Lycher was a heavy man; he received a severe blow.”

“What about your talk with Lycher?” inquired the captain, turning to the officer who had been with the purser in the smoking room. “You say he apprehended trouble? That was at midnight, Mr. Rodney?”

“Yes,” replied Rodney. “Lycher wanted men to watch his office. But he did not seem greatly apprehensive, sir. He seemed merely to have some reason for thinking that precaution might be wise.”

“Hmm. Was everything all right in Lycher’s cabin?”

“Yes, sir. I have just come from there. Here are his keys; I had to rip them loose from his pocket.”

The captain pondered.

“What about the steward, doctor?” he queried. “Did he act suspiciously?”

“No,” returned the doctor. “On the contrary, he was very helpful. Nervous, of course, but that was natural. He bemoaned the fact that he reached Lycher too late to prevent the man’s fall.”

The captain arose. He shook his head.

“I don’t like it,” he declared. “Place two men on watch in Lycher’s cabin. Have others stay outside the strong room. We shall order an autopsy on Lycher’s body when we reach New York.”

The doctor nodded his agreement.

“What about Eddie?” queried Rodney.

“Let him go about his duty,” ordered Captain Henderly. “Doctor Reed’s statement clears him. Lycher’s pills, we know, are harmless. If there was foul play, it occurred before Lycher went to his cabin. Say nothing that may alarm the passengers or cause too much talk among the crew.”

THE captain went to the bridge. The others also left the cabin. Mr. Rodney posted the required men. Half an hour after the conference, all was quiet aboard the onward steaming Tropical.

But it was at that hour — three o’clock — that Eddie, the treacherous steward, appeared outside of Duronne’s cabin and tapped cautiously at the door. Duronne admitted him.

“Word from Gouger?” queried the Coilmaster.

Eddie nodded, his peaked face leering.

“Good work, Eddie,” approved Duronne. “That overdose you handed Lycher has fixed things doubly well. The crew members on duty are staying put, so Hank tells me. Some around the purser’s office; others in Lycher’s cabin.”

“Which leaves nobody to spot Gouger’s pals.”

“Exactly. They’ll start operations in the lounge and the ballroom, and work out from those points. What’s more, one of Gouger’s bunch is lucky enough to be on duty in Lycher’s cabin.”

“You mean Slug Cladder?”

“Yes. He’ll sock the guy that’s in there with him and do some dirty work of his own. You be ready to go with Hank and myself, Eddie.”

“To get Revoort?”

“Yes. We won’t have long to wait. The ship’s position will be just about right inside another hour.”

“It’s three o’clock now.”

“Three o’clock,” Duronne chuckled. “The zero hour.”

Duronne was right when he stated that there would not be long to wait. Quiet followed after Eddie departed from the Coilmaster’s cabin; and that silence persisted for a brief half hour. Then came a sudden change aboard the Tropical. Wildly clanging bells began a bedlam.

Harry and Cliff, awake in 309, were among the first to hear that clamorous alarm. They stared at each other for one brief moment; then Harry leaped across the cabin and yanked open the door. He sniffed smoke as he reached the corridor.

Then, before either he or Cliff could decide on the right move, their ears caught the sound of a bellowing voice that delivered one tragic announcement amid the echo of the jangling alarm bells:

“Fire! All hands on deck!”