CHAPTER II

Escape

Seth Martell’s craggy, strong face was set in harsh lines as he sat staring at a folded paper on his desk. Sunlight came warmly through the windows of the penthouse apartment above New York, silvering Martell’s iron-gray hair and clipped moustache. He looked hard as nails—till he lifted his lids and gazed at the three young men before him.

Seth Martell was one of the biggest men in America. Connected with the military, high up in the government, his honesty had never been questioned, nor his devotion to his country. Always he had been unswerving in serving his own ideals, no matter what self-sacrifice it entailed. Now—

Now there was pain in his gray eyes.

He looked at his three sons and hesitated, tapping the folded document with stubby, calloused fingers.

“Well?”

None of the three spoke.

Martell reached for a buzzer, and then drew back his hand. He looked at the tallest of the three.

“Tony. Are you the Merlin?”

Tony—a dark, lean young man, with very keen black eyes and a thin eager face—cocked up a quizzical eyebrow. “I, sir? The—”

Martell’s restraint failed for an instant as he snapped, “Answer me!”

Tony sobered. “No, sir,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”

“Phil.”

The second youth, blond and stocky, took a stubby pipe out of his mouth.

“No, sir.”

“Jimmy.”

The third of the trio looked somewhat like Tony, though a less matured man. The eagerness in Tony’s face was enthusiasm in Jimmy’s, boyish and pleasant. He shot a quick glance at the others, hesitated, and finally said, with a little frown, “I’m not the Merlin, sir.”

Martell sighed. “All right. Go in the sun-room and wait, boys. The investigators will be in presently.” He sat steadily regarding his nails till his sons had departed.

Tony left them at the door. “Be with you directly,” he murmured, and hurried off along the corridor. The others went into the room, and ten minutes later the oldest of the three came in, his face blandly impassive. He went to the window and stood staring out over the skyscrapers of New York, waiting on the verge of the 21st century. He began to whistle ruminatively.

“Seth insisted on interviewing us before the detecs. Good of him.”

Young Jimmy, nervously lighting a cigarette, nodded. “Damn good. But all this.... I don’t understand it.”

Phil’s serious eyes were questioning. “Are you sure? There’s no doubt the authorities think one of us is a crook. I wonder—”

There was a little silence. Finally Jimmy asked, “Who is this Merlin, anyway?”

“Cleverest crook in the world,” said Tony, turning. “At least, he’s been kicking around for two years. That means a lot these days. He’s pretty much of a Robin Hood. Only kills in self-defense—and never for personal profit.”

Phil broke in, “Plenty of criminals have evaded capture for years, but they’re the small fry. Not important enough to attract attention. But the Merlin—everyone thinks he’s had years of experience. Remember when Janison died? The governor? The Merlin killed him, and nobody knew why till they found out Janison was one of the biggest political racketeers in the country. He’s a Robin Hood of sorts, but the law won’t stand for Robin Hoods.”

“And,” said Tony sardonically, “one of us is the Merlin. So they say.”

Phil grinned. “Which one?”

“Oh, they’ll find out. They’ll chart our psychology—our character patterns—and check it with the analysis of the Merlin’s activities. Their lie-detectors will tell them which one of us is the Merlin. That’s positive identification, you know.”

* * * * *

Jimmy crushed out his cigarette, lips working. He swung suddenly on the others.

“You’re damn flippant about it! What if it’s true? What if one of us _is_ this crook—d’you know what that’ll mean to Seth? His son shown to the world as a thief and a murderer. Seth will stick by us; I know that. But I know what his honor means to him. He got that silver plate in his skull because he thought more of honor than his life. And now—”

“Shut up, Jimmy,” Phil said quietly. “We know all that. But what can we do about it?”

Tony murmured, “Our youngest brother is about to suggest that the Merlin confess. A touching sentiment. Headlines all over the world announcing the news. Seth resigning all his offices immediately—he’d do that. Everyone knowing that a son of Seth Martell was—the Merlin.”

Phil said, “The Merlin might ... disappear.”

“He’d have to disappear for good. Suppose I’m the lad, Philip, and suppose I disappear. A signed confession would be just as effective. The moment I disappear, it proves I’m the Merlin. No one has ever watched us. As Seth’s sons, we’re above the routine character-checks. We reported to Seth once a month. Otherwise we were free, all of us, with plenty of time to do as we pleased. Including brigandage!”

Phil grunted. “Anyway, people can’t simply drop out of sight in this day and age. Not with television, specialized wireless, telephotography, and so forth. Where the devil could a man hide for years?”

“In the Foreign Legion,” Tony said, and waited. His gaze searched the faces of the other two.

Surprise, astonishment, and incredulity showed. And vanished. Into Phil’s eyes came a look of dogged grimness. And Jimmy’s face showed—excitement.

“The Legion?” he asked.

“Yeah. No extradition. Since 1960, when the company started. No government has a hand in the Legion. They rent its services from the company, just as the Hessian dukes used to sell their soldiers to fight for other countries. When there’s a job to be done too dirty for anyone else, they ask the Legion—and waive extradition. The Polar fortresses. The Sub-Sahara. The Canal Patrols on Mars. Dangerous space-lane patrols. It isn’t like the ancient French Legion. This one’s privately owned, and, once you get in, nothing on Earth or Mars can touch you. As long as you’re in the Legion. Men don’t live long in it, as a rule.”

“Cheerful thought,” Phil grunted, puffing at his pipe. “By the way, which of us _is_ the Merlin?”

Tony smiled. “I’m the guy, lads. And that’s what I’ve been building up to. I’m going to drop out of sight. Head for the Legion. And—well, I wanted you two to know about it. I can’t tell Seth, of course. But—”

“I’ll be damned,” Phil said in blank amazement. “You’ve got the Earth Star?”

“That’s right.”

“Odd. I happen to have it myself. In a hollow tooth.”

“You’re both crazy,” said Jimmy. “I’ve got it.”

Tony shook his head. “It’s no use. There’s no point in the three of us going into the Legion. One’s enough. So—”

Phil said, “Wait a minute. Suppose all three of us disappear? Nobody’d press a charge against three men, when obviously two were innocent. I happen to have the jewel myself—”

“Yeah,” Tony grunted. “But slow down. You’re both going off the deep-end. I’m leaving now. Heading for the Legion, and you’re both staying here.”

Jimmy said, “We’ll meet you there.”

The argument kept on—with no result. Jimmy and Phil were adamant. Each one insisted he had the stolen gem. And, if they didn’t accompany Tony, they’d simply go after him on their own hook. “So we’d better stick together,” Phil said at last. “We’ll have a better chance that way.”

Tony’s lips were compressed. “You crazy fools! You’d do it, too ... well, stay here. I’m going after an amphiplane.”

“What if the investigators get here first?” Phil asked.

“Stall ’em. And keep your eye on that window.”

Jimmy was chewing his lip. “How do you expect to get out? If there are guards—”

* * * * *

Tony’s grin flashed. “You’ll find out.” He turned to the door—and was gone, apparently unruffled. But as he hurried along the passage there was a gnawing uneasiness in his mind. Guards would no doubt be watching to prevent just such an attempt at escape as this. Only blind luck could help now.

He went into the big, gleaming kitchen, a bare room with murals on its walls. Every appliance had been built-in, so that stove, tables, and so forth, could be swung out from their cubbyholes by the pressure of a button. The room was empty.

Tony’s sharp eyes flickered about, resting at last on a panel near by. He went to it, swung it open, and revealed a black hole beyond. The dumbwaiter. A glance upward informed him that the little car was below, though how far he did not know. Deftly Tony swung his legs through the hole and seized the ropes in strong fingers.

He closed the panel behind him.

It wasn’t entirely dark. A diffused pale glow filtered down from above, and gently, carefully, Tony let himself slip toward the shaft’s bottom. It was a long chance. Unless he found footing on the dumbwaiter car soon, his fingers would inevitably lose their cramped grip. For this was a penthouse apartment in a skyscraper.

Down he went into the shaft. Skin scraped from his hands. It grew darker, and below him was only unfathomable blackness. Tony hooked his legs about the rope and rested for a few moments, though he dared not delay long. Time was vitally important.

Then down he went again. He was in pitch darkness now, every muscle strained and beginning to ache. His hands stung painfully. His shoulders were throbbing.

Tony’s feet thumped softly upon the peaked top of the car.

Gasping with relief, he relaxed, keeping the ropes wound about his wrist so that his weight would not carry the car to the bottom too suddenly. But a moment later he was plummeting down, occasionally checking his speed when caution grew stronger than the imperative need for haste. Up in the penthouse Jimmy and Phil were waiting, perhaps being questioned even now by the investigators. And Seth—unseen in the darkness, Tony’s face grew grim. Seth was suffering. The old man’s devotion to his ideals, to humanity was pitted against his genuine love for his three step-sons. And one of those three was the Merlin.

Finally the car thumped against the bottom of the shaft. A little crack of light indicated the panel opening into the porter’s cellar. Tony used his knife-blade to open it, easing the door outward little by little till he discovered that the room was vacant.

The rest was surprisingly easy. A pair of overalls and a cap in a closet made a satisfactory disguise, and, carrying a can of rubbish, Tony walked blandly past the service man posted on guard outside. He deposited his burden on the sidewalk, and without a pause began to hurry toward the corner. A hail stopped him.

“You, there! Wait a minute!”

Tony turned. The guard was following him, gaze probing. A thick finger thrust out suspiciously.

“Where’re you going?”

The street was almost empty. Tony didn’t wait for the guard. He hastened toward him, arms hanging loosely at his side—until the last moment. Then, as recognition came into the man’s eyes and as his hand dived into a pocket, Tony brought up his fist in a vicious uppercut. The blow was delivered at such close quarters that it went unobserved by passers-by. The dull thwack of bone against bone was the only sound. Tony caught the guard as he fell, pulled him swiftly back into the cellar, and left him there. The man was out for the count.

* * * * *

There were no other guards. Tony’s progress was not halted again. He reached his destination, secured a small, swift amphiplane, equipped with gyros, and lifted it through the port in the roof. Luckily, he had plenty of money in his pocket—enough to buy the plane instead of renting it, had he desired to do so. But, like most ships of this type, the instrument board was fitted with a “homing pigeon” device, by which the plane could be set to return to its garage along a radio beam whenever desired.

Tony’s fingers flickered over the controls. The ship was a honey—small and swift, built like a thick cigar, with retractable wings and props. He swung up in a wide arc that presently brought him directly over the penthouse that was his goal.

Briefly he wondered what had happened there, and whether Phil and Jimmy were still waiting. Well—fast work was vital now. The investigators were already on guard. Sight of an approaching plane would warn them of trouble. Tony checked his controls, took a few deep breaths—and dropped faster than was safe. The wind shrieked up into a high-pitched whine past the ship, almost beyond the threshold of hearing.

The skyscraper leaped toward him like a driving lance. Its top seemed about to impale him. But the controls had been expertly set, and the craft fled down safely to one side, stopping with a bone-wrenching jolt as the automatics took hold. Tony fought back giddiness and stared out through swimming eyes. His blurred vision focused. Too far to the left—

He slid the ship forward. This was the window. Inside, he could see Phil’s broad back, and one hand extended in a sign of warning. So the investigators had already arrived. But where was Jimmy? Tony couldn’t be sure.

A voice he didn’t recognize was talking. One of the investigators ...

“Well, we’ll find him. And the lie-detectors will give us the information we want. Trying to frame Seth Martell is the dirtiest thing the Merlin ever did.”

Jimmy said, “You’re nuts.”

“Yeah? One of our men saw it. The Merlin was opening Martell’s safe—trying to put the Earth Star in it and throw the blame on Martell. But he didn’t have time. Our man was too close, and the Merlin had to scram in a hurry. Now—which one of you was it?”

Tony’s eyebrows lifted. A new element had entered into the affair. Trying to throw the blame on Seth—yeah, that _was_ a hell of a lousy trick. So—

Tony whistled softly, and saw Phil jerk aside, crying out something. A slim form came hurtling toward the window. Tony got a glimpse of Jimmy’s pale young face; then the boy was hurtling out into space, almost overshooting the mark in his eagerness. Tony seized his arm and pulled him back as he swayed on the ship’s edge. The craft dipped slightly under the additional weight, and then lifted again as compensatory stabilizers went into action.

* * * * *

From within the room came a crash, and a sharp cry of pain. Phil appeared, his face stolid and expressionless. He jumped, landing accurately, and immediately whirled. In his hand, Tony saw, was a bronze figurine he had snatched up from a table.

“Run for it!” he snapped. There were faces in the window. A gun snarled viciously. Phil hurled the figurine with deadly aim, shattering the glass above the group, and the investigators dodged back as shards and splinters showered them. Almost immediately they were back—but Tony’s hands had found the controls.

The ship fled up. As it fled it curved southward, till far below could be seen the shining waters of Long Island Sound.

Jimmy said tautly, “They’re coming after us. I can see planes—”

Phil touched a lever. The upper framework of the plane was instantly sheathed with transparent walls, making it more than ever resemble a fat, shining cigar.

Tony sent the craft rocketing down. Almost at the surface of the water, he pulled out into a glide, swooping almost without a splash into the Sound. The light was blotted out by green translucence that grew darker as the ship slanted into the depths.

“Not too deep,” Phil suggested. “The hull won’t stand a crack-up.”

Tony didn’t answer. He was fingering the controls, trying to get every possible bit of speed out of the ship before the pursuers located it with their search-rays. If they could reach the outer Atlantic, they’d be safe—barring accident. But they were not safe in the Sound.

Abruptly the water ahead sizzled and bubbled with heat. An aerial torpedo had been launched. Tony shot up and then almost immediately dived again, shifting sharply to the left. Before his companions could get their breath, the ship was rushing back along the way it had came, retracing its path. Jimmy said sharply, “What the hell—”

Phil’s fingers dug into the youngster’s arm. “Good idea, Tony.”

The latter nodded. “Maybe. We’ll dig in at the mouth of the Hudson. They’ll never look for us there. Then tonight we can slip out, take the air again—and head for the Company.”

Jimmy said, “Once we’re there, we’re safe. There’s no extradition from the Legion, eh?”

“Only to Hell,” Tony remarked, grinning.