The William P. McGivern Fantasy MEGAPACK™: 25 Classic Fantasy Stories from the Pulps

First published in Fantastic Adventures, May 1942.

Chapter I

“Allan! Do you hear me? Allan!”

The voice finally penetrated the fog of concentration that surrounded Allan Curtis and he looked up to see his secretary standing in the doorway of the stockroom.

“Ah, oh, yes, Miss Matthews,” he said abstractedly. He checked the last of a long list of supply cases on the typewritten sheet in his hand.

Jo Matthews, the young lady in question, moved back quickly to avert a collision as he stepped toward her.

“Allan,” she repeated sharply, “I’ve sent the check list to the docks.”

Allan Curtis halted, then.

“Good, Miss Matthews,” he said abstractedly. When lost in his fogs he always addressed her formally. “That’s fine. I’ve just finished making a final check on our crates. The list seems in order.”

He handed her the typewritten sheets he’d been holding. Sighing, Jo Matthews took them. Her lovely features wore the affectionately despairing look of a mother worrying over an idiot offspring.

“Have you made certain your luggage is in order, Allan?” Jo asked.

Allan Curtis nodded, standing toward his private office.

“Yes. Yes, I’ve done that. How about your stuff? Got it ready?”

Jo’s blue eyes were amused. She’d told him her luggage was packed on at least four occasions this morning. She followed after him, into his office.

“Yes, Allan. My bags are ready. I’ve had them sent to the dock hours ago.”

“Hmmmm,” Curtis muttered, scarcely hearing, “that’s fine. Just fine. Rather early to send them, wasn’t it?” He sat down behind his rich mahogany desk and began shuffling through papers.

“I’ve told you that there’s a war going on,” Jo said. “It takes plenty of time to get things through inspection these days.”

“Hmmmm,” Curtis agreed. “That’s right. The war makes it difficult, doesn’t it?”

Jo’s eyes went suddenly impatient with annoyance.

“Difficult? Really, Allan,” her tone was one of exasperated bewilderment, “doesn’t anything bother you? I really don’t believe the fact that our nation is facing one of the most gigantic struggles in its history, has yet penetrated your mind. You probably haven’t a thought in your head but those stuffy Peruvian ruins and rotting fossil bones.”

“Just ruins,” Curtis corrected her. “We aren’t out after bones this trip.” He looked up, his eyes suddenly twinkling. “Really, Jo, I don’t think you’re the least bit pleased about this first chance to come along on an expedition.”

“Well,” said the girl in mock elation, “he called me ‘Jo.’ He must have emerged from the Peruvian jungles long enough to remember I had a first name.”

Curtis grinned.

“It was a long time before I called you anything but Miss Matthews, Jo. I got into a habit that I still fall back on now and then, when I’m thinking of something else.”

Jo Matthews sighed. Then her voice became imperceptibly softer.

“I’m really excited over this trip, Allan. And I’m terribly grateful to be going along. I know that you went to a lot of unnecessary trouble with the museum people to persuade them to let me come as your assistant. But even so, Allan, I can’t help thinking sometimes that now, I mean since December, the importance of things like this have dimmed a great deal.”

Allan Curtis lighted a cigarette.

He blew out the match and flicked it unerringly into a priceless Inca jug that stood in the corner.

He inhaled deeply, then spoke smilingly through a swirl of blue smoke.

“The importance of anything is only relative, Jo,” Curtis said. “What might seem to be important to the world of today is, after all, only measured by the countless centuries in time that went before it, and will undoubtedly follow it. Just because this world goes mad, I see no reason to let my intelligence be swept away in the emotional turmoil of others.”

Jo Matthew’s lovely mouth was set. “No,” she snapped, “I don’t believe you are capable of reacting emotionally.”

Curtis was still smiling, tolerantly. “Do you think the wheels of science, research, progress and discovery should stop while the world goes mad?”

“There will be an end to progress and civilization, science and research — of the decent democratic way — if we lose this war, Allan. I think certain things can be set aside until the objective is accomplished, otherwise we’ll ultimately lose those things.”

Allan Curtis shrugged.

“I’ve spent most of my rather young life prowling about the ruins of ancient civilizations, Jo. Those were civilizations as great, in their time, as our own is now. They died. But the world didn’t die. Progress didn’t die.”

Jo’s eyes were moist.

“But don’t you see what I mean, Allan? You could turn your knowledge, your mind, to the accomplishment of far more important tasks for the duration. I know that your career has been and will always be your very life. But the careers, the lives, the futures of all of us are menaced beyond realization.”

“Then you think this expedition of ours will be of no real consequence?” Curtis asked.

“I didn’t say exactly that,” Jo declared in exasperation. “It has its place, I’ll admit, and it is important in the normal scheme of things. But now the normal scheme of life has been abandoned. There are relatively more important missions for all of us.”

“Ahhh,” Curtis grinned irritatingly, “now we get to the crux of the matter. You think I should be putting my shoulder to another wheel, right?”

Jo’s eyes flashed defensively. “Yes, Allan. You have one of the finest young minds in this nation. You’re capable, strong, with a tremendous amount of valuable knowledge of almost every god-forsaken jungle in the world. I’m certain there are things other than puttering in decayed ruins which you could do to serve. Things that would utilize your knowledge, your youth, your ability for our country’s effort.”

“You make me blush, Jo. I never thought secretaries thought so highly of their employers.”

Jo turned angrily toward the door. “Sometimes I think quite the opposite, Allen. If I didn’t think you talk as you do merely because you’re blinded to actuality, I wouldn’t be your secretary.”

Curtis looked at the tip of his cigarette. His eyes were still amused. “Then your unswerving loyalty still persists because you hope to make me see the light, eh?”

Jo paused. The anger left her lovely face. Her eyes were serious.

“Your attitude might be blind for the present, Allan, but I’m sure your mind will rouse you to your responsibilities fairly soon. And when it does, well,” Jo colored, “you’ll have a secretary who is as proud of her boss as she is loyal.”

Curtis seemed suddenly embarrassed. He returned his scrutiny to the lighted end of his cigarette. Then suddenly, clearing his throat, he changed the subject.

“Our tickets are all arranged for, Jo?”

“Passports, visas, tickets, all in order,” she smiled. “And please, please, don’t get lost in one of your fogs and miss the boat. It leaves at four o’clock. I’ll meet you on the ship’s end of the gangplank.”

Curtis grinned.

“No,” he promised, “I won’t be late. I’ve never missed a sailing time yet.”

“What about the Tahitian trip?” Jo reminded him accusingly.

Curtis reddened.

“Well, I might amend that by saying I almost never miss a sailing time. Four o’clock. Top of the gangplank. I’ll see you then, Jo. You’d better run along now. I know the female of the species is always beset by a thousand last-minute details before going anywhere.”

Jo raised one eyebrow.

“Really, Allan, sometimes I think you aren’t completely hopeless.”

Curtis looked up.

“Eh, what d’you mean?”

“Sometimes you actually seem aware that there is such a thing as a female of the species. Your remark about details almost indicates that you observe the species occasionally.” Jo’s voice was mockingly analytical, but her eyes held another emotion not quite completely masked.

Curtis, however, had turned his attention back to the papers on the desk before him. He answered without looking up.

“Is that so? Guess I must have read it somewhere in a book.”

Jo gave him a long glance and sighed in despair.

“See you at the ship,” she said. “Right.”

Curtis didn’t look up as Jo Matthews left the office. He heard the door shut behind her and continued his scrutiny of the papers before him for another full minute before he raised his head.

He crushed out his cigarette, rose, and stepped to the door of his own office. He closed it, flicking the lock switch. Then he went back to his desk and, still standing, leaned over it to an ancient shield which hung on the wall.

Carefully, Curtis took down the shield. There was a wall safe on the surface it had been covering. Expertly he flicked the dial until the combination clicked the tumblers. Then he swung it open. He brought forth a thick manila envelope, then sat down at his desk as he opened it.

There were at least a dozen papers inside, but Curtis sheafed through the stack until he’d found the three he sought. On the top of each there was the letterhead reading: “Office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs.”

He hastily read through each of these letters, as if making one last check on instruction data he had already committed to memory. Then, apparently satisfied, he placed them in his large ashtray. He found a match.

Moments later, Curtis watched the letters burn to blackened ashes in the tray. Then, after carefully powdering the ashes with his thumb, he emptied the tray into the wastebasket at his feet. He put the remaining papers back in the envelope, stood up and returned them to the wall safe, closed the safe and twisted the dial right and left.

After Curtis had replaced the ancient shield in its position on the wall, he stepped over to the door, unlocked it, and moved out into the reception office.

His luggage was there, five traveling bags. His trunks, he recalled, were already aboard the ship.

Curtis stepped to the window of his office, a window looking from Telegraph Hill toward San Francisco Bay.

Lighting another cigarette, Curtis stood there a moment, gazing idly down into the street beneath him.

Against the building on the other side of the street, standing half in the concealment of the doorway, were two men. One wore a camel’s hair topcoat, the other merely a blue serge suit. Both had gray fedoras.

The one with the camel’s hair topcoat was apparently reading a newspaper, while the chap in the serge suit passed idle conversation with him.

Curtis stood at the window watching this, waiting to see if either would look up at him. Then, smiling grimly, he drew the Venetian blinds.

Crossing the reception room, he went to his luggage, selected a bag, placed it on a desk and opened it. Inside, atop some shirts and papers, was an automatic pistol. Next to it lay a leather shoulder holster. Curtis removed the gun and the holster and restrapped the bag.

He slipped out of his coat, arranged the holster, and placed the gun in it. Then he put his coat on once again, buttoned it, and looked down, satisfied that the weapon was well enough concealed.

He glanced at his wrist watch. Three-fifteen. He stepped to the telephone to call for a taxi...

Chapter II Rendezvous with a Killer

The small, dingy waterfront café was typical of the dozens that lined the narrow streets of San Francisco’s harbor district. A few small tables covered with dirty red-checkered cloths were set up in the middle of the floor. Dark, and curtained booths lined three of the walls.

At a small bar a sleepy looking bartender presided. Two unsavory waiters leaned negligently against the wall.

The only distinctive feature of this particular café was the couple that occupied the booth closest to the door.

They sat quietly, not talking, and only occasionally sipping from the small glasses of brandy before them.

The man was tall, with heavy sloping shoulders that bulged slightly against his smoothly-fitting, conservative suit. His hair was blond and combed straight back from his high shining forehead. In contrast to his square, almost cruel jaw, his eyes were a soft blue, surprisingly out of place in his hard face.

The woman could have been twenty-five or she could have been forty-five. She was immaculately groomed and dressed, and her complexion was as flawless and as smooth as a child’s.

But her eyes were strangely lacking in warmth. They were like two perfect diamonds, hard, cold and ageless. Hair the color of new wheat fell in rippling waves-to her shoulders, but she was not beautiful, although she should have been. If there had been more expression in her face, or warmth in her eyes, she would have possessed an ethereal allure. As it was, her very frigidity and aloofness seemed to encase her in a shell of icy mystery that had the effect of repelling rather than attracting.

She raised her glass slowly and over the rim her eyes met those of her companion.

“Our friend is late,” she murmured.

The man glanced at his watch and a faint expression of annoyance touched his features.

“There is plenty of time,” he muttered. “The ship does not leave until four. Are you sure, my dear Maria, of your role?”

The woman sipped her drink slowly.

“Perfectly sure. As your devoted sister, Maria von Wessel, I have a simple part to play. Yours is by far the more difficult, my dear Kurt.”

A faint mocking undertone colored the woman’s soft voice, as she added, “Your role demands that you display a certain amount of brotherly affection toward your dear ‘sister.’ That will be a difficult part for you to play.”

The man shrugged irritably.

“You must keep your emotions out of your work, Maria. If there was ever anything between us, we must forget it.”

“You have, of course, my dear Kurt.”

Kurt von Wessel’s deceptively soft eyes frosted slightly.

“Maria, my dear, your beauty has made you extremely useful to the Cause. When your attractiveness is past, your usefulness is over. Remember that one fact and control your feelings.”

He toyed idly with his glass and his smile was delicately cruel.

“It would be a pity,” he said, “if I were forced to report that your allure was dimming. Even now, in this highly unflattering light, I can see a faint wrinkle at the corner of your mouth.”

The woman’s hand moved instinctively toward her cheek. Kurt smiled as he saw the gesture. Maria checked herself and folded her hands calmly in her lap.

“You are a beast,” she said softly.

Kurt von Wessel lifted his glass and smiled.

“But, of course,” he said.

They were silent for a while, both occupied with thinking. It was the sudden opening of the café’s door that brought them to life.

“Is it he?” Kurt asked quietly.

Maria raised herself slightly from the seat. When she settled back her face was suddenly pale. Her slim white fingers trembled as she pulled the brim of her hat over her eye, concealing the side of her face.

“What is it?” Kurt asked sharply.

A tall, slim, olive-skinned young man strode past their booth before she could answer. He didn’t look at them but continued on to the bar, where he ordered a double whiskey in a loud voice.

He was elegantly dressed and quite handsome in the dark Latin manner. His flashing white teeth stood out sharply against his dark skin, and his luminous brown eyes were good-naturedly rakish.

“Who is he?” Kurt demanded. “What are you afraid of?”

“Quiet,” Maria hissed. “Do you want him to hear every word you say? He is a young fool I met in Peru a year or so ago. His name is Carlos Benevadas. I think his father is a diplomatic official. It wouldn’t do for him to see me now. He knew me as Sonya Karlstad, a Norwegian refugee.”

“Was your business with him official?” Kurt asked, a tight smile playing about his lips.

“Yes. Of course there were several unofficial interludes. The fool thought he was madly in love with me.”

“I see,” Kurt nodded. “I see you were able to forget me long enough to indulge in — ah — unofficial interludes with this hot-blooded young Latin. Very touching example of your constant devotion to me.”

Maria’s cheeks flamed angrily.

“I have thrown myself at many men,” she said hoarsely. “It has never bothered you. And it has meant nothing to me.”

“Let us not become hysterical,” Kurt suggested quietly, “I will draw the shades of the booth. Your young admirer will soon be gone.”

He stood up and jerked the dark curtains over the entrance of the booth. Maria turned her hat back from her eyes.

For several moments they waited in silence, their drinks untouched.

Then they heard quick footsteps crossing the floor, a careless laugh and an instant later the sound of the café door slamming.

“Ah,” said Kurt, “the coast is again clear.”

He glanced at his watch and frowned. He fingered his glass impatiently.

“Has the fool forgotten,” he growled.

“Maybe he didn’t receive the instructions,” Maria suggested. “In America now it is becoming increasingly difficult to continue our contacts. The federal agents of this country are very efficient.”

“They are a lot of fools,” Kurt snapped. “In Germany we shoot traitors and spies. Here, until only a few months ago, they allowed them the use of the press and radio to spread their doctrines. Well, their complacent carelessness has been our strongest ally.”

He drummed his fingers nervously on the table. Finally they heard the sound of the café door opening. Kurt stood up and cautiously drew back the curtain of the booth.

An almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped him.

Standing inside the doorway was a chunky, red-faced man, with closely cropped light hair, and a thin scar running along his jaw line.

When the man’s small, cold-blue eyes met Kurt’s they glinted with recognition. With a rolling stride he advanced to the booth and bowed from the waist.

“I have the tickets for the gentleman and his sister,” he said softly. He glanced over his shoulder at the sleepy bartender and the indifferent waiters. “Everything is arranged.”

“Sit down,” Kurt said.

The chunky red-faced man drew a chair to the table and seated himself.

“You know the man?” Kurt asked.

“Yes.”

“You are sure?”

“I am positive. I have studied his pictures. I have a complete physical description of him. There can be no chance of a mistake.”

“Excellent. He must not leave the Ventura alive.”

“Everything has been arranged,” the red-faced man said stolidly.

“How long have you been a steward on the Ventura?” Kurt asked the man suddenly.

“Three years,” the man answered. “But this is my last trip. It is no longer safe.”

“This is the most important trip you will ever make,” Kurt said slowly. “Remember that. And remember too, not to indicate by so much as a raised eyebrow that you have ever seen me or my ‘sister’ before, when we come on the boat. This man is no fool. We can take no chances. Do not speak to us. Do not look at us. Do nothing to invite suspicion.”

“I understand my job,” the red-faced man said impassively.

“Good. Now, leave us. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you sir.”

The man stood up and the pale light of the café threw a silvery edge on the long scar on his chin. His blue eyes were coldly expressionless as he bowed formally and left.

Maria shuddered slightly as the door closed.

“Cold, my dear?” Kurt asked.

Maria finished her drink quickly and set the glass down.

“No. It was that man. He — he is a killer.”

Kurt von Wessel looked at her for an instant with a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally he smiled ironically and his soft blue eyes were amused.

“Precisely, my dear,” he said.

Chapter III An “Accident”

On the passenger deck of the South American Steamship Ventura, Jo Matthews leaned against the railing and gazed out at the scene of crowded activity on the dock below.

Passengers, stevedores, inspectors, ship stewards hustled back and forth in the shouting commotion, brushing past lines of well-wishers gathered to bid bon voyage to departing friends and relatives.

Thronging up the gangplank, singly and in groups of four and five, other passengers, late arrivals and their retinues of well-wishing friends, came noisily aboard.

There were uniformed men, in naval and army attire — some whose high rank was indicated by the gold and silver braid that bedecked them — also dotting the embarking swarms in more profusion than Jo had seen since war began.

Nervously, now, Jo glanced at her watch.

“Twenty of four,” she murmured anxiously. “Oh, I do hope the lanky lout will remember he’s a boat to catch.”

“You are waiting for someone, Senorita?”

The voice, low, polite and definitely Latin came to Jo’s ears suddenly, causing her to turn sharply in surprise.

A tall, olive-complexioned, smiling young man with wavy dark hair faced her.

Jo raised an eyebrow.

“Well, really,” she began.

The tall young Latin grinned in a manner meant to be apologetically friendly. There was something assuringly nice about the twinkle in his brown eyes.

“I do not intend to intrude, Senorita.

Especially if I am unwelcome. Excuse me, if you feel I have affronted you.” He was still grinning.

In spite of herself, Jo smiled.

“My name, Senorita,” the Latin declared, “is Carlos Benevedas.”

“And mine,” said Jo, “is Jo Matthews. I’m glad to meet you, Senor Benevedas, even though this is slightly out of my usual insistence on formal introductions.”

Carlos Benevedas laughed.

“It is so, Senorita. I knew it instantly I spoke. But permit me to assure you that this is a usual fashion of introduction aboard shipboard. People are never so rigidly formal at sea, especially when bound for South American ports.”

“I needn’t be bright,” Jo smiled, “to hazard, then, that you are South American?”

Benevedas’ white teeth flashed in another smile.

“More exactly, I am Peruvian. We in South America are often touchy about being so generally classed.”

“You are returning home?” Jo asked.

Carlos Benevedas nodded.

“After a short stay in your most delightful country.”

“I’m glad you like it here,” Jo said. And then she added: “I hope most of you feel the same about this country.”

“I am sure your country will be publicly assured of that fact within the next several weeks,” Benevedas replied.

“You mean the South American Solidarity movement, of course?” Jo asked.

The young Peruvian nodded.

“Precisely.”

“That’s reassuring,” said Jo. “I’d like to pass that information on to our State Department.”

Benevedas laughed appreciatively.

“But tell me, Senorita,” he said after a moment, “you are waiting for someone, are you not? I know I noticed you glancing at your watch with much anxiety. Perhaps a fellow passenger?”

“An excellent guess, Senor,” Jo said. “I’m just praying that my boss, who has one of the most fuzzy memories of any man on earth, won’t forget he has a sailing appointment.”

“You are going to South America on business?” Benevedas asked.

“Yes,” Jo nodded. “This is my first long trip, and I’m still dizzy from the thought of it. We’re going to your native Peru. My employer, Allan Curtis, is an archaeological curator and part-time explorer.”

“Curtis, Curtis?” Carlos Benevedas put a slim finger to his cheek in recollection. “I do believe I have heard of Professor Curtis.”

“Quite possibly,” Jo said with unconscious pride. “He has done some of the most notable discovery work on Inca ruins. He’s extremely well known in his field.”

“But of course!” Carlos Benevedas exclaimed. “My father — he is in the Peruvian Department of State — once gave a banquet in Lima to honor several noted American archaeologists who were working in our country. I believe your Professor Curtis was one of them.” They both grinned in the warm enthusiasm of those who have found mutual friends.

“Then Professor Curtis must be planning another such expedition?” Carlos Benevedas asked.

Jo nodded.

“And he moved heaven and high water, as a favor to his long-suffering secretary, to get permission from the museum people for me to go along.”

“It will be an experience you shall never forget,” the young Latin promised her. “My country is beautiful beyond imagination. And the interior — you will see much of that I presume — offers such splendor as few men have ever seen.”

“It sounds thrilling,” Jo declared. “Will it be dangerous?”

Benevedas shook his head.

“Not so dangerous that your life would be risked in such an expedition. And with the famed Professor Curtis, who knows our deepest jungles the way an ordinary man knows his own back yard, the expedition would be foolproof. No, it will not be dangerous.”

“I’m slightly disappointed,” she declared. “Allan isn’t very imaginative, but I had a hunch when he told me something about the expedition, and others he’d been on before, that I might get a chance to see something exciting.” Benevedas laughed.

“Exciting things you will see,” he promised. “But danger, I am sure, Professor Curtis will keep from you.”

The trip should be exciting,” Jo said. “The menace of submarines is supposed to be frightful.”

Benevedas nodded soberly.

“Yes, the menace is all you say. But I will warrant that this ship will be more than well protected. Besides, the submarine devils are more concerned with ships carrying valuable cargo than they are passenger vessels. The small cargo this vessel carries would not be worth the price of a torpedo.”

“Are the submarines so well informed as to cargo values and sailing schedules?” Jo asked.

Benevedas waved his hand expressively.

“Senorita, when you have seen as much espionage at work as I have in my own native land, nothing the enemy learns would surprise you. Yes, it is unfortunate that leakages of information very often occur. But I do not think we have too much to fear for the safe journey of this ship.”

Jo suddenly looked down at her watch. It was ten minutes to four. She looked anxiously down at the dock.

“Do not fear, Senorita,” said Benevedas, “a competent man never hurries. Your Senor Curtis should arrive at any moment.”

And then Jo saw the familiar brown fedora of the lanky Allan Curtis bobbing through the crowds on the dockside. Beside him moved several porters with his luggage.

“There he is,” Jo cried in relief.

Benevedas smiled.

“I told you not to be alarmed,” he said. Then: “Would you mind if I waited with you to meet Professor Curtis?”

Jo looked at the tropical handsomeness of Carlos Benevedas, his extravagantly-tailored American attire. She grinned. If anything could bring a twinge to Allan Curtis, it would be the well-meaning attentions of a handsome Latin.

“Not at all,” Jo said. “I’m sure Allan would love to meet you.”

Then Curtis was coming up the gangplank, porters still carrying his grips behind him. He saw Jo, and his generous mouth and long face crinkled in a grin of salute. His eyes, behind the thick horn rims of his glasses, matched the friendly crinkle of his smile.

Jo moved over to the front of the gangplank. Carlos Benevedas was at her side.

“You kept me in terrible suspense,” Jo smiled, as Curtis came up to them.

Curtis grinned.

“The best thing to do with a lady,” he answered.

“Did you read that out of a book, too?” Jo demanded.

Curtis saw Benevedas, then, and looked questioningly at him.

Jo turned slightly.

“Allan, this is Señor Carlos Benevedas, he’s a Peruvian returning to his beloved country. Senor Benevedas, Mr. Allan Curtis.”

“I am charmed,” Benevedas flashed a white grin.

“Glad to meet you,” Curtis declared, shaking hands warmly. “You aren’t related by any chance to Alvardo Benevedas, the Peruvian statesman?”

“He is my father,” Benevedas said proudly. “I was telling Senorita Matthews, just a moment ago, that I recall my father once having had you and another American explorer as his guests at a banquet in Lima.”

“Right you are,” Curtis grinned warmly. “A distinguished and brilliant man, your father.”

“Muy, muy gracias, Señor,” Benevedas smiled, flattered.

A uniformed steward suddenly appeared at Curtis’ elbow. He was a short, chunky, red-faced man. His blond hair was closely cropped, it was apparent even though he wore his uniform cap, and there was a thin scar cleaving the jaw line on the left side of his face.

The steward’s small, cold-blue eyes studied Curtis inquisitively an instant before he spoke.

“You are Mr. Allan Curtis?” he asked.

Curtis nodded.

“That’s correct.”

“If you will pardon the inconvenience, sir, I wish you would have your porters take your luggage over there,” he indicated an open space of deck close to the yawning cargo hatches into which loading cranes were yet dropping crates, “for a last minute inspection.”

Curtis frowned.

“Isn’t that rather irregular? Can’t you go through my stuff in my stateroom?”

The steward smiled.

“I am sorry, sir, and I realize it is somewhat irregular. But there was an anonymous report turned in, undoubtedly a crank call, to the effect that contraband material has been smuggled aboard ship. We were told to check the luggage of any male passengers arriving within ten minutes of sailing time. You are the only one to arrive within that time so far. It is troublesome, but you must understand our necessity to check on any and all such reports in times such as these.”

“Very well,” Curtis said. He turned to his porters. “Follow the steward with the baggage. Put it where he tells you.”

“I’d prefer you to be with me during the inspection,” the steward smiled. “It will be the one courtesy I can extend.”

Curtis nodded, following after the porters and the steward. At the place he’d indicated previously, the steward had the porters drop the luggage. They left, then, and Curtis watched the chunky fellow begin his inspection of the bags.

Above them, huge loading cranes still swung large packing crates up from the dock, over the deck, and lowered them into the yawning cargo hold.

Curiously, Curtis continued to watch the steward as he opened the first bag. Then the steward suddenly straightened erect. He smiled at Curtis.

“If you will excuse me an instant, sir,” he said above the noise of the loading crane winches.

Curtis nodded, and the steward moved off toward a deck cabin door. He turned, as the fellow disappeared inside, and looked back to where Jo still stood talking to Carlos Benevedas.

Jo caught his eye, that instant, and smilingly said something. Curtis didn’t hear it, due to the noise of the winches.

He frowned, moving slightly toward her, cupping his hand to his ear half humorously.

Jo started to repeat what she’d said, raising her voice, and Curtis took four more steps toward her, when he noticed that her words were suddenly frozen in a sharp exclamation of terror.

Bewildered, Curtis started toward her.

It was then that the huge packing case, loaded with small machinery parts, slipped from the loading crane and crashed loudly to the deck, a scant ten feet behind him.

Curtis wheeled, saw the broken case coverings, the scattered iron parts. The complete wreckage of his luggage. The case had fallen exactly on the spot where he’d been standing less than four seconds ago.

Something chill swept the spine of Allan Curtis as he stood there in horrified astonishment, gazing at the shattered packing case that might easily have crushed him lifeless to the deck.

His luggage, buried beneath the parts of the broken case, was almost unrecognizable. But as Curtis ran his tongue momentarily over suddenly dry lips, he realized that he’d made a life-saving trade.

When Jo was at his side, eyes wide with terror and relief, and Benevedas was behind her, his face white in horrified shock. Others who’d been moving around the deck were now crowding around, babbling in shrill excitement.

“Oh, thank God, Allan, thank God!” Jo said again and again.

“What good fortune, Senor,” Benevedas exclaimed in relief and astonishment.

“It’s all right,” Curtis found himself saying calmly. “What might have been a fatal accident was fortunately avoided. That’s all that matters. I can replace the luggage.”

Then the steward, wide-eyed and crimson with surprise, was before him, apologizing profusely, begging to be of any possible service, assuring him of replacement of all baggage.

“It was terrible, sir. Ghastly. I saw the crane starting to lose hold on the crate as I came from the deck cabin. I tried to shout to you. The words choked in my throat. Please forgive the frightful occurrence, sir. I beg of you.”

“It’s all right,” Curtis repeated. “I’ll turn in a statement of the value of the luggage. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d like a drink. A rather stiff one.”

On the way to the ship’s bar, Benevedas was still muttering excitedly, breaking into Spanish now and then under the stress of his concern.

Jo had her hand lightly on Curtis’ arm. And though she meant thus to calm him, it was she who trembled.

“What a hideous accident, what a horrible tragedy that almost was,” she declared somewhat shakenly.

“Yes,” Curtis answered. “It was almost the last, ah, er, accident in my life.”

Chapter IV A Rebuke for Carlos

When Allan Curtis sauntered into the Ventura’s main dining salon, some hours later, he saw that Jo Matthews was already seated at a corner table, chatting with the charming and debonair Carlos Benevedas.

The young Latin-American sprang to his feet with a flourish as Curtis approached.

“Greetings Senor,” he smiled. “The lovely Senorita and I were at the moment discussing your very fortunate escape this afternoon. It was truly remarkable.”

“Yes, wasn’t it,” Curtis said. He sat down and glanced at Jo. “You look nice tonight. I’ve always liked you in that dress. What’s good on the menu?” Jo made a face at him.

“I suppose I should swoon over the fact that you’ve even noticed that I had a dress on,” she said tartly. “And I’m glad you’ve always liked me in this dress because this is the first time I’ve worn it. As to the food tonight, the steak looks good.”

Curtis grinned at her.

“Thanks! I’ll try it. And I still like the dress.”

Carlos sighed heavily.

“Ah! You Americans are so very, very casual about the beauty of your women. In my country we sing songs, we write poems, we compose glorious music to their charms.”

“Sounds like a darn swell country,” Jo said.

“And so it is, Senorita,” Carlos said fervently.

Curtis looked up at the ardent Peruvian, a glint of interest in his eyes.

“How’s the situation with Ecuador these days, Carlos? I don’t keep up with the international situation as I should.”

The young Peruvian shrugged hopelessly.

“The people of Ecuador and the people of Peru desire peace and harmony. Their leaders desire it. But always something happens to prevent the happy union of the two nations. That ‘something’ is the one thing that keeps the political situation of all South America disturbed and unsettled. Imagine what your own great country would be like if two of your States were quarreling among themselves. If Arizona and California had disputes for which there was no amicable settlement, it would affect the tranquillity of the entire nation. The happy settlement of the problems of Peru and Ecuador is the key to domestic tranquillity in South America.”

“And that means that North and South America could present a united front against their common enemy,” Jo said earnestly. She turned impulsively to Curtis. “Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing, Allan?”

Curtis looked up from the menu.

“What, Jo?”

“Oh, Allan,” Jo said disgustedly, “you weren’t even listening! Here you are, heading right into one of the most important sections of the world today, and all you’ve got on your mind is a lot of old relics and ruins.”

“Well,” Curtis said practically, “somebody’s got to collect the relics. Might as well be me as the next person. Are you having the steak, too?”

Jo sighed despairingly.

“Yes, I suppose I’m having the steak.”

“Good idea. By the way Carlos what is this ‘something’ that keeps Peru and Ecuador at each other’s throat? You see, I was listening after all.”

“I do not know, Senor. But always it is something. Just when the gods are beginning to smile, ‘something’ happens to prevent a happy settlement. Trouble will break out unexpectedly. A Peruvian minister will be assassinated in Ecuador, or a band of Peruvian soldiers will be set on by Ecuadorian troops. Then there will be rioting and killing and more hatred is stored up in hearts of the people of both countries.”

“It sounds very much to me,” Jo said emphatically, “as if the whole thing might, be Axis espionage. Don’t you think so, Carlos?”

“It is difficult to prove, Senorita,” Carlos replied gravely. “What do you think, Senor Curtis?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Curtis said. “I never gave it much thought, I guess. Espionage has always seemed to me something that occurred in books for the most part.”

“That,” Jo said, “is a typical statement coming from you, Mr. Curtis. You can’t see the storm signs until you’re up to your neck in trouble.”

“You’re mixing your metaphors, Jo,” Curtis said with a grin. “Let’s mix something else for a change. How about a drink?”

“You’re hopeless, I’m afraid,” Jo said a little angrily. “So we might as—”

She let the sentence trail off uncompleted.

“What’s the matter?” Curtis asked.

Jo was looking over his shoulder to the main door of the dining room. Curtis twisted around curiously in his chair.

“It’s nothing,” Jo laughed. “My attention was distracted by that distinguished couple who’ve just entered. Do you know them?”

Curtis easily located the couple Jo referred to. The man was tall and blond with a hard, impassive face. The woman was also blonde, but her complexion was as clear and fine as a young girl’s. There seemed to be something curiously detached about her, as if she wore an invisible cloak of enchanted mystery.

They stood under the archway of the door, seemingly oblivious to the comment their entrance had occasioned. The woman wore a black satin evening gown that revealed the shimmering grace of her lithe body, and the man was immaculately attired in formal evening clothes.

The woman murmured something to her companion and then she took his arm as they started into the dining salon.

“Dios!” Carlos said unexpectedly. “She is the one. It is impossible that I am mistaken!”

“Oh, do you know her?” Jo asked. “I was hoping there was some way to meet her. She looks very interesting.”

“Why, of course I know her,” Carlos said eagerly. “I met her in my own country a year ago. Would you like me to invite them over to our table?”

Curtis was leaning forward slightly and his lidded gaze was centered on the couple, who were being seated at a table on the opposite side of the room.

“Yes,” he said softly, “bring them over, by all means.”

Jo looked at him queerly.

“Don’t tell me,” she laughed, “that you’ve fallen for the mysterious blonde? It would serve you right to have your heart broken with a shipboard romance.”

Curtis had settled back in his chair. The momentarily tense lines had faded from his face and he was smiling casually again.

“Nothing like that,” he said. “I just thought it’d be fun to have a drink with them.”

“It shall be done,” Carlos said promptly.

He stood up, bowed charmingly to Jo and then marched across the floor to the distinguished couple’s table.

Curtis was in a position to watch their faces as Carlos stepped to their table and bowed smilingly to the lady.

Not a flicker of recognition touched their features as they regarded the young Latin-American.

Curtis glanced at Jo. She, too, was watching the scene absorbedly.

Carlos was speaking to them now, a bewildered expression on his face.

The pale, blonde woman stared coldly at him for an instant, then turned and murmured something to her escort.

The man stood up and said something to Carlos.

Curtis was too far away to hear the remark, but he saw the dull flush of anger that stained the neck and face of the young Carlos Benevedas.

“What’s up?” Jo asked.

Curtis didn’t answer. Every atom of his attention was focused on the scene that was taking place at the other table.

Carlos was speaking now, directly to the woman, and Curtis could see that his hands were clenched into angry fists.

The woman’s thick-shouldered, blond companion spoke sharply to Carlos, then imperiously summoned the head waiter.

His implication was obvious. With one last hot exclamation, Carlos wheeled and marched away from their table. He didn’t return to Curtis and Jo, but strode out of the dining salon.

“Well!” Jo said. “Did you ever see anything like that?”

Curtis was absorbed in the menu again.

“Like what?” he inquired blandly.

“Why,” Jo said indignantly, “those people cut poor Carlos dead. They acted as if they’d never seen him before.”

“Maybe they hadn’t,” Curtis suggested. “Now, how about ordering our dinner?”

“I don’t feel like eating now,” Jo said. “Let’s get some air.”

Outside in the soft velvet of the Pacific night, Jo rested her arms moodily on the rail of the steamer and stared up into the starred heavens.

“That scene upset me,” she said. “I’m sorry if I spoiled your dinner Curtis. It wasn’t very considerate of me, was it?”

“Not a bit,” Curtis said promptly.

“I wonder who those people are?” Jo said.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Jo swung about to face him, her face a pale blur in the darkness.

“Honestly, Allan, you can be the most exasperating person in the world. This is a terrible way for a secretary to talk to her boss, but I feel it’s for your own good. You don’t notice anything that’s going on, because you’re so terribly wrapped up in your work. Even the international situation is just a big joke to you.”

“It isn’t always funny,” Curtis said. He glanced up and down the dark deck and moved slightly away from the girl so that his back was protected by the converging corners of the companionway.

“I won’t bite you,” Jo said peevishly, as Curtis moved. “I’m going to my cabin. You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Curtis grinned at her.

“I wasn’t thinking of the danger you hold.”

Chapter V The Corpse in Curtis’ Cabin

Half an hour later Allan Curtis was still standing in the shadows of the deck, his mind sorting and shuffling the events of the past six hours. Particularly his thoughts centered on the scene he had just witnessed between Carlos and the distinguished couple.

His contemplative smile was without humor as he flipped his cigarette into the air and watched its glowing tip fall through the darkness to the water.

In the game he was playing, a participant was generally allowed only one mistake. And Curtis had reason to believe that someone in the game had already made that mistake.

He turned slowly from the shadow of the companionway and, after a careful, yet casual glance in both directions, he sauntered back toward the passenger cabin section of the ship.

There was one young man he was very anxious to talk with. Carlos Benevedas should have something very interesting to say...

He descended the broad carpeted stairway that led to the lower cabin decks and stopped before the door of his own stateroom.

The lighted corridor was deserted.

Curtis started to insert his key in the door, but it wasn’t necessary. The door was ajar. Curtis frowned and glanced carefully up and down the empty corridor. He was certain that he had locked the door before leaving.

For an imperceptible instant he hesitated. If anyone were in his cabin, Curtis would provide a choice target for him when he opened the door and silhouetted himself against the glaring light of the corridor.

Cautiously he swung the door open about ten inches. Then, with a swift lithe motion, he slipped through the narrow aperture and slammed the door shut.

Back against the wall, hand in his coat pocket, he waited tensely. There was no sound in the cabin other than the heavy pumping of his own heart.

There was no sound, no sudden shot, no rustle of stealthy movement, but Curtis’ keen senses perceived that something was radically wrong.

For a moment he remained motionless in the darkened cabin. Then he snapped on the light.

In the sudden illumination that flooded the room, Curtis saw the body of a man lying face downward on the floor, a long-handled knife protruding from his back.

Grimly Curtis knelt beside the twisted figure. He turned the man over gently and his face hardened as he recognized the death-distorted features of the handsome young Peruvian, Carlos Benevedas!

In the deathly silence of the cabin, Curtis stared at the body of the young Peruvian. His thoughts were churning swiftly, but his long, angular face was expressionlessly blank.

How long he knelt beside the dead man he had no way of knowing, but he was finally aroused by a footstep in the corridor.

He looked up just as the cabin door swung inward and a uniformed figure appeared. Curtis recognized the chunky, red-faced steward who’s insistence on baggage inspection earlier that day had almost caused his accidental death.

The cold blue eyes of the steward took in the scene carefully. His scarred chin moved as he said,

“Accident, sir?”

Curtis didn’t answer immediately. He stood up slowly, giving himself time to think. This was the” man who had been the indirect means of his almost losing his life when the packing crate had crashed to the deck that afternoon. It had been this steward who had led him to that particular spot of the deck. Now he was on hand again, miraculously materializing at another serious occurrence.

“I don’t think it was an accident,” Curtis answered at last. “It isn’t possible to stab a man in the back by accident.”

“Isn’t it, sir?”

Curtis said, “Get the captain and the ship’s doctor.”

The steward hesitated.

“I’ll ring for them from here,” he said. “I don’t think it would be right for me to leave.”

Curtis smiled grimly. He knew what the man was getting at, but he determined to force his hand.

“Why?” he snapped.

The steward faced him stolidly, not a flicker of emotion on his face.

“I must see that you do not leave, sir,” he said.

“Are you accusing me of this murder?” Curtis demanded.

“I am doing nothing but my duty,” the steward replied. “You must realize that the circumstances are suspicious.”

Curtis relaxed then. He had learned what he wanted. He let a helpless look spread over his face.

“Oh my God,” he said. “I see what you mean. But this is so silly! I didn’t kill the man, By all means ring for the captain.”

The captain arrived a few moments later. Curtis was seated in a chair smoking nervously. The steward was standing carefully beside the body, his expression impassive as stone.

The captain was a tall, florid-faced sea dog, with tufts of white hair sticking up ludicrously from his pink scalp.

He took in the scene with one sweeping glance and listened in silence while the steward told him what had happened.

Then he turned to Curtis.

“Mr. Curtis,” he said, folding his arms and squinting down at him. “What do you have to say?”

“Not much,” Curtis said. “I came to my cabin a few moments ago and found this man lying here on the floor with a knife sticking out of his back. While I was kneeling beside the body, the door opened and this steward walked in. That’s all there is to tell.”

The captain stroked his chin and frowned.

“Did you know young Benevedas?”

“Not well,” Curtis said. “I met him for the first time today.”

“Did you dislike him?”

“I told you I hardly knew the man. He seemed very charming and agreeable. I can’t understand who would want to kill him.”

He glanced helplessly at his clenched hands and then said suddenly.

“Steward, how did you happen to come to my cabin tonight? What prompted you to stop in here?”

He looked up and saw the faint shine of perspiration that beaded the stocky steward’s brow. His sudden shot had caught him off balance.

“I–I was walking through the corridor. I thought I heard a noise. I stopped to investigate.”

“Oh, I see,” Curtis said. “That explains it.”

The steward, Curtis knew, was lying. Somehow, he was mixed in this affair. The captain said,

“Mr. Curtis this is a serious affair. Until we definitely discover the murderer of young Benevedas, I shall be forced to insist that you remain in cabin custody.”

Curtis was silent as the captain talked on about the necessity of taking every precaution to apprehend the killer. He was thinking of what it would mean if he were delayed at docking by Peruvian officials, if he were forced to kill time while the routine of a police investigation were carried through.

It would mean—

“I understand your position, Captain,” he smiled suddenly. “I won’t make things any more difficult. You can depend on me to stick to my cabin.”

“We’ll have to post a guard, you understand,” the captain said. “It’s a formality, but a necessary one. The Line is not accusing you nor anyone else. That’s not our job. We’re just following orders. You’ll have your meals here. I’ll send for the doctor now and get — ah — things cleaned up here.”

“I would appreciate it,” Curtis said, “if you would notify Miss Matthews, my secretary, about the state of affairs. If possible, I would like to talk to her about our work.”

“I think that can be arranged,” the captain said. “I’ll inform her myself of this — ahem — accident.”

“Pardon me, sir,” the steward said, “but I feel it my duty to report that Senor Benevedas dined with Mr. Curtis’ secretary tonight. Also that he left suddenly shortly after Mr. Curtis arrived. Senor Benevedas seemed quite angry as he left the dining salon.”

“Just what are you implying?” Curtis demanded. “That Carlos Benevedas and I were fighting over Miss Matthews’ affections?”

“I do not imply anything,” the steward said respectfully. “I only tell what happened.”

“What about this, Curtis?” the captain asked. “Any bad blood between you and Benevedas?”

“None at all,” Curtis said.

He realized he was in an uncomfortable spot, but he now knew definitely the steward’s role in the situation. The steward’s anxiety to add to the evidence against him, was definite proof that he was involved.

He smiled at the man as he moved with the captain to the door.

“Thanks,” he said, grinning. “You’ve told me just what I wanted to know.” The steward’s face was gloatingly triumphant as he closed the door.

Chapter VI An “Escape”

It was almost an hour later when Jo Matthews, breathless and white-faced, arrived at the cabin to which her employer had been confined.

She found a guard posted outside the stateroom and, inside, Allan Curtis striding nervously back and forth before his bunk, taking deep and frequent draughts from a cigarette.

“Oh, Allan,” she exclaimed, distraught. “Is it really true? They told me Carlos Bene—”

“Yes,” Curtis cut in quietly. “Yes, Carlos was murdered. I found him in my room, stabbed in the back. A steward, the same one who started to inspect my luggage before the almost-accident this afternoon, burst into my cabin while I was kneeling over the body.”

Jo’s face was bewildered, frightened.

“That’s horrible,” she gasped. “But surely they can’t think that you—”

Again Curtis cut in, pausing in his pacing.

“My friend the steward summoned the captain immediately. Then, before I knew it, he was implying to the captain that I had a quarrel with Carlos over his attentions to you, and that young Benevedas left the dining salon in a rage.”

“But surely the captain didn’t belie—”

Once more Curtis interrupted her.

“I don’t know what the captain believed,” he said. “I don’t think he took what the steward said with any too much consideration. But I was found with a man who was slain in my cabin stateroom. Any further investigation of the matter until we reach port is beyond possibility. The Peruvian authorities will take charge when we dock. In the meantime, being the solitary suspect of any sort, they feel obliged to keep me in a sort of semi-gracious custody.”

“Oh, Allan,” Jo cried, dropping to a lounge chair and putting a slim hand on her forehead. “This is simply frightful! Poor, poor Carlos — they can’t think that you’d have reason to kill him. You only met him for the first time less than ten hours ago!”

“All that will be proved,” Allan said. “I’m not worried about my ability to prove I had nothing to do with it.” Relief shone on Jo’s face.

“Then you’re sure they won’t try to embroil you in it?”

Curtis crushed out his cigarette. “No,” he said assuredly, “they’ll merely have a brief investigation and release me.”

Jo rose.

“Then why,” she asked, “do you seem so visibly agitated? Why were you pacing the stateroom like a furious bear when I entered?”

Curtis looked at her wordlessly for an instant, as if debating his answer. Then he removed his horn-rimmed spectacles, placed them in his pocket, and took out a handkerchief with which he mopped his brow.

“I am anxious,” he said, “over the costly delay this will mean to our expedition.”

Jo looked at him with what almost amounted to incredulity. She shook her head slowly from side to side, as if refusing to believe what she’d heard.

“Allan,” she declared, “I don’t think you’ll ever fall out of character, even for an instant. Murder occurs, you are involved, placed in custody — and yet your only worry, your only apparent concern, is the delay it will cause your precious prowling about in dusty, ancient ruins!”

Curtis grinned at this biting characterization of himself. He shrugged.

“As I told you not so long ago, Jo,” he declared, “the real importance of things is merely relative — depending on how you view them.”

Jo Matthews sighed.

“Sometimes I think I know you better than anyone on earth, Allan. And then—” she left the sentence trailing, almost despairingly.

Curtis moved to her side, placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about anything more, Jo,” he said gently. “This will all be merely routine.” Again, on his face there was the momentary suggestion that he was deliberating if he should say anything further. And again, he seemed to decide against his emotion with his answer.

“Good night, Jo,” he said lamely. “Don’t worry. I wish you’d drop in here tomorrow morning after breakfast. I’m turning in for some rest now. This day has been much more full than I’d expected it to.”

Jo looked up at him, the perfume of her auburn hair coming suddenly to his nostrils. In her eyes there was bewilderment. On her lovely lips a halfformed question.

“Good night, Jo,” Curtis repeated.

Jo Matthew’s white young shoulders suddenly slumped.

“Good night, Allan,” she murmured. Only his eyes betraying the conflict of emotions within him, Curtis Allan watched the girl leave the stateroom. He sighed, then, and walking to the portholes, quietly shaded them. Then he removed his coat.

With a half smile of dry amusement at the fact that no one had bothered to search him before he was confined to the cabin stateroom, Curtis removed his shoulder holster, took the automatic pistol from its leather sheath, and carefully placed it under his pillow.

Then he continued disrobing...

It was almost noon of the following morning when Allan Curtis woke.

The sunlight streamed into his cabin stateroom, giving it a warm cheerfulness that for the first brief moments of waking awareness almost obliterated the danger he knew lay ahead.

Half an hour later, Curtis breakfasted, and after that talked once again to Jo Matthews. Later, at his own request, he had no more visitors in his “prison,” and spent the time until dinner perusing navigational volumes he found beside his berth.

Jo Matthews dined with him in his cabin, and their conversation was sparsely sprinkled through the course of the meal and the moments they spent together after that. On more than one occasion, sensing the mood of bewildered disappointment that had fallen over Jo, Curtis was forced to hold back any information he might have wanted to proffer.

And when Jo left that night, it was wordlessly, almost dejectedly. Curtis, however, shortly after her departure, stepped to the door of his cabin and had a brief, urgent conversation with the sailor who stood on guard outside.

It was the second such conversation that Curtis had had with the lean, clear-eyed sailor that day. They made certain they were not overheard, and were unobserved.

When darkness blanketed the skies and water that surrounded the ship, Curtis observed with satisfaction that this would be a moonless night. Then he retired, fully dressed, and slept three hours...

The hand and voice of the sailor who had been on guard outside his cabin, awakened Allan Curtis.

“It’s almost time,” the sailor declared in a voice reminiscent of Brooklyn. “We’re off the coastal regions already.”

Curtis opened his eyes, focusing them in the darkness of the cabin. Then he rose, making certain his automatic was still holstered at his shoulder.

“You have the Jacob’s ladder ready?” Curtis whispered.

The sailor nodded.

“All set. It will approach from starboard.”

“How about the watch?” Curtis demanded.

“Pheno-barbital in their coffees. Toured the watches. All sound asleep,” the sailor answered.

“Good,” Curtis said. “And the bridge?”

“First and third officers on duty. Helmsman too. They won’t catch the approach of the launch.”

Curtis moved toward the door. The sailor followed him. Out on the deserted deck, under the heavy blanket of the starless night, Curtis drew his automatic pistol. He turned to the sailor.

“Excellent work. I didn’t know you chaps were quite so efficient. Hope this doesn’t end your usefulness.”

The “sailor” grinned. “I’m due to be sent to the east coast to work pretty soon. The Chief’ll probably make my transfer after this.”

Curtis grinned back at him.

“You look nothing like an intelligence operative,” he observed.

“If I looked like one, I wouldn’t be a useful one for long,” the “sailor” smiled.

Curtis started along the darkened deck. At the railing, twenty feet later, he paused beside the shipboard end of a hemp ladder. It was knotted securely to a brace of rail davits.

Looking over the side, Curtis saw the length of the ladder trailing far down the steel sides of the vessel, almost to water edge.

“Long climb,” the “sailor” observed dryly.

Curtis nodded grimly, his eyes searching the darkened reaches of the waters out there.

“I think I hear them faintly,” he said.

The “sailor” stopped to listen. Then he nodded. “Keen ears, Curtis. That’s the launch.”

He pulled forth a tiny flashlight, and covering it with his hand, he flicked it on. A tiny pinpoint of light flickered several times as the “sailor” signaled. He stopped, waiting.

The faint muffled throb of a small motored boat was more audible now. And from the blackened reaches of the water off there, an answering pinpoint of light flashed twice.

“Everything ready,” said the “sailor.” He held out his hand. “The best of luck.”

Curtis smiled.

“Thanks, and to you, also.”

“I’ll head up to the bridge now to create your diversion,” the “sailor” said. “For God’s sake, make it speedy. I won’t be able to carry the bluff long.”

“I won’t,” Curtis promised. The “sailor” turned, disappearing up a companionway. Curtis watched until he was gone. Then he turned his gaze back out over the railing to that darkened stretch of water. He could tell, now, that the motor power of the launch-out there had been cut, and that the pilot was playing the skillful, though dangerous, game of drifting his tiny craft at angle to the huge ship’s forward motion.

Curtis could barely make out the outlines of the tiny motor launch on the moonless waters. It was a roofed cabin craft, no more than twenty feet long.

And suddenly Curtis heard the muffled exclamation behind him.

“Allan!”

Curtis wheeled, automatic in hand. He faced Jo Matthews!

Her eyes widened as she saw the gun in his hand, the rope ladder tied to the rail davits. Her lovely lips parted in fear.

“Allan,” she whispered huskily, “have you lost your mind? What are you doing?”

“Get back to your cabin, Jo, for God’s sakes,” Curtis whispered fiercely. “Quickly!”

“But, Allan,” Jo protested whitely, bewilderedly, “you mustn’t try to run from them. They’ll never implicate you in that murder. Don’t you see how foolish this is? Please, Allan, listen to—”

Curtis looked sharply over his shoulder and over the rail. The small launch was drifting to the side of the ship rapidly as the Ventura moved ahead through the tranquil waters.

He made his next decision in a split second, as swiftly as he realized there was no other alternative. He holstered his gun.

Stepping toward Jo with amazing alacrity, Curtis swept her up off her feet and into his arms. Then grabbing the davit lines for support, he swung up on the railing of the ship, teetering there for an instant, finding footing on the first rung of the hemp ladder which swung sickeningly down to the water below. He saw the tiny launch swinging closer now.

Precariously, then, Curtis started slowly down the swaying ladder of hemp. Dizzily bobbing at the bottom, far below, was the drifting motor launch.

Rung by rung, Curtis inched down the ladder, his body streaked with sweat, his arm cable-like around Jo Matthews.

And then, at last, he was at the bottom, while the wash from the prow of the ship frothed inches below his feet.

A grappling gaff, held in a sinewy black arm, extended from the launch and caught the hooks fast in the hemp ladder. Slowly, and with tremendous strength, the arm pulled the tiny craft in toward the ladder until it was at last only three scant feet away.

Curtis released his hold on the ladder, springing toward the bobbing deck of the small motor launch. He landed on his feet, Jo still in his arms.

A massive, powerfully-muscled negro stood there in the small roofed space of the launch deck, one hand on the helm, the other still clinging to the gaff hook. He smiled briefly, whitely, at Allan.

And then Allan let Jo gently down to the deck. Springing to the side of the gigantic negro, he grabbed the gaff hook, freed it from the hemp ladder, and fended the tiny launch away from the side of the huge steamer.

Under the expert hands of the negro, the motor of the launch snarled to life. Swiftly, he spun the wheel, turning the craft about. Then the motor launch, under full power, was surging away from the steamship.

Curtis turned to the huge negro, extending his hand.

“Well done, Juan,” he declared.

The giant negro, wearing only an oily pair of white sailor’s dungaree pants, cuff legs rolled slightly, revealing bare feet, grinned. He wore a gun and cartridge belt on his lean hips.

“Welcome back, Amigo Curtis. It been long time since I guide you.”

Jo Matthews had taken a place in the stern of the craft, her eyes filled with wonder as she gazed at Curtis and the negro. There was a curiously pleased, almost awe-inspired look in her eyes.

“Thanks, Juan,” Curtis said. Then, glancing about, he asked: “Where is the pilot of this launch, the little Scot, McAndrews?”

Juan shook his head. His expression was suddenly grim.

“He come in at beachhead, for pick up Juan. Then we to meet you. But my expedition party, twent’ boys, run into ambush there, just as launch come in. McAndrews among those dead.” Curtis cursed under his breath. “Ambush?” he asked. “Who ambushed your party?”

Juan shrugged.

“We no know. Not expect it. But see strange signs on way to jungle from Lima.”

“How many boys have you left for our trek?” Curtis asked.

“Four,” said Juan. “Five with me.” Again Curtis cursed, desperately. “And McAndrews, too,” he muttered savagely. He turned and went back to the stern where Jo sat silently.

“I had intended originally to keep you out of this mess, Jo,” he said. “You were just a front, to make my so-called expedition look more realistic. I was to meet this boat no matter what happened aboard the Ventura. I never intended to dock at port. But at least I’d thought you’d be safe.”

Jo started to speak, but Curtis cut her off.

“Even a few minutes ago, when you blundered on me making my exit over the rail, I had no choice but to take you along to keep you from delaying me and possibly unwittingly spreading an alarm. But I’d thought that the pilot of this launch, a McAndrews, would take you back to Lima once he’d landed me on the beachhead. I figured poorly, Jo. McAndrews has been killed. There’ll be no one to take this launch back to Lima. We’ll have to scuttle it.” He paused gravely. “I don’t know what I’ll have to do with you.”

“You haven’t told me what this is about, Allan,” Jo said quietly. “But I won’t stand in your way. Do as you please. I... I’m sorry I had to... to interfere as much as I must have. Can’t I make it back to Lima alone?” Curtis laughed humorlessly. “Through countless miles of trackless jungle?” He shook his head. “Natives could hardly make it afoot, let alone a white girl unaided.”

“I’m sorry Allan,” Jo said softly. “Forget it,” Curtis said briefly. Then he turned away to rejoin Juan at the helm. Over his shoulder, he paused to say, “I’ll think of something, some way. I have to.”

“We no go back to beachhead,” Juan said to Curtis. “Ambush party maybe there yet. Me leave four boys in cove, two mile up coast. We took cover in cove. Then I took boat, met you like plan.”

Curtis nodded grimly.

“Thank God we’ve still four of them left, at any rate,” he said. “How long did it take you to reach the beachhead from Lima?”

“Four day,” Juan said proudly. “Travel like los diablos.”

Curtis fished for a cigarette, eyes grimly knifing the darkness at the approaching jungle coastline. A verdant, tropical smell was already in the warm sea air...

Chapter VII A Jungle Trap

The motor faded away into silence as the launch coasted into a narrow, small-beached cove. Ahead of them, the shore line was an uninviting bulk in the deep blackness of the night. Except for the occasional, marrow-chilling scream of a soaring bird, not a sound welcomed their arrival.

When the bottom of the boat scraped against the sandy beach. Curtis jumped ashore and fastened the painter line to the bole of a tree.

Sloshing back through the warm, gently swelling water, he held out his arms for Jo.

“Come on, Kid,” he said. “You’re in for a tough enough time as it is, without starting things off thoroughly soaked.”

“All right,” Jo said meekly.

Curtis put one arm around her waist and lifted her over the gunwale of the boat and carried her ashore. Juan splashed after them.

Curtis set Jo down and turned to Juan.

“How many of the expedition did you say escaped with you?” he asked.

“Four, Amigo,” Juan answered. “They are very much afraid. Now they are hiding in the bush.”

“Get them,” Curtis ordered. “We’ve got to get moving as soon as possible.” Juan nodded and moved off, his oily dungarees a white blur in the darkness. Soon he disappeared into the forebodingly dark bush that grew in a tangled mass up to the beach.

“Allan,” Jo said in a small voice, “I know now I haven’t been much help to you. I still don’t understand what’s going on, but I realize I’ve been completely blind in judging you. You’re not at all the person I thought you were and I’m — I’m glad.”

“Thanks for the endorsement,” Curtis said. “But this is a mighty tough spot I’ve landed you in. I can’t send you back to Lima now because my pilot, McAndrews, is dead. You’ve got to stick with me, and the things I’m heading for aren’t exactly pleasant. Are you game?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Allan,” Jo said instantly, “but the suspense is absolutely killing me. Isn’t there anything you can tell me that will set my female curiosity at ease?”

“Not a great deal,” Curtis said. “I’m here because I know this country, as you once pointed out, like my own backyard. The government sent me here to do a very special job, but I can’t give you any of the details. If we find what I’m looking for, you’ll know the whole story immediately. That enough?”

Jo’s eyes were shining in the darkness.

“That’s perfect, Allan. I know that what you’re doing is necessary and important and I know you can do the job better than any man in the world.”

“That’s a large statement,” Curtis said. “Especially when you don’t know how tough this job is liable to be. I don’t mind for myself, but I feel guilty about dragging you into this hell-hole of danger. We’ve got a long trek ahead of us and there are some very nasty obstacles in the way of our objective. Then there’s the highly important problem of getting back alive. I’m not trying to scare you, but I’d feel a little better knowing that you’re going into this thing with your eyes open.”

Jo looked at him steadily.

“I’m seeing things more clearly than I ever remember,” she said softly.

Juan returned then driving four small, wizened, dark natives ahead of him. The four men were completely terrified.

Curtis saw the rolling whites of their eyes, the desperate glances they flung about, and he knew that they were not likely to prove of much use.

“What’s the matter with them?” he demanded of Juan.

Juan shrugged his massive shoulders. The glance he directed at the four cringing natives was full of scorn.

“Amigo,” he said, “they are from the bush and they are very much afraid. They do not want to go into the jungle and if they don’t, I break their heads open like a rotten fruit.”

Curtis looked from the terrified natives to Juan.

“I told you to get men who weren’t afraid of bullets,” he said sharply. “If a few rifle volleys did this to them, how do you think they’d react if they ran into a machine gun?”

“It is not the bullets,” Juan said quickly. “Those they do not mind.”

“Then what’s the matter?” Curtis demanded.

“It is the foolish old men’s tales they have been listening to,” Juan said with great indignation. “I have told them it is only the nonsense, but they will not listen. I knock them to the ground, but it does not help. They are still afraid of the snake god, Sacha, and her daughter. It is much foolishness.”

Curtis sighed in despairing. The four natives had crouched close to the ground when Juan had mentioned the word, “Sacha,” and their terrified moans sounded like the wind in the tree tops.

“Allan,” Jo whispered, “what’s it all about?”

Curtis looked disgustedly at the frightened natives.

“A lot of superstitious stupidity,” he said savagely. “I’ve heard a thousand variations of the snake god legend, none of which make sense. These are the first natives I’ve ever encountered who paid any attention to the story. It seems there’s supposed to be a huge snake in the Peruvian jungles who rescued the people from the Spaniards centuries ago. The natives call the snake Sacha. There’s another part of the legend that gives Sacha a daughter, a girl who rides the beast and answers the entreaty of her countrymen who are in need. It’s been years since I’ve even heard a mention of the silly story. Who’s been pouring tales into their ears, Juan?”

“No one, amigo,” Juan answered. “They are big fools all by themselves. Not far from here they have seen the tracks of the snake god and they are afraid.”

“The tracks of the snake god!” Curtis repeated sharply. “What are you talking about, Juan? Do you believe in this story?”

“Me?” Juan said indignantly. “Very much not. But Juan has seen the tracks also.”

“So you’ve seen the tracks,” Curtis said grimly. “Where?”

“Deep in the jungle. For many miles the tracks twist and turn through the jungle. Trees are knocked down, bushes are torn up by the roots. The tracks you cannot miss. It is all very foolish,” Juan finished somewhat uneasily.

“Tracks or not,” Curtis said, “we head into the jungle at sun-up. Now try and talk some sense into your boys.”

In the pale light of breaking dawn the results of Juan’s efforts were apparent. The four natives had disappeared completely.

Juan roved up and down the shore line seeking their trail, but it was hopeless search. He came back to Curtis shaking his big head like an angry dog.

“When I find them,” he said wrathfully, “I break their afraid heads in my hands like a twig.”

“We’ll be better off without them,” Curtis said. “Get the gear from the launch. We’re ready to go.”

Juan passed the knapsacks of provisions from the compartments of the launch to Curtis who carried them to the beach. When the supplies were removed, Juan asked:

“What we do with the boat?”

“Scuttle it,” Curtis said. “Jerk the stops before you leave. If someone stumbled on it here it’d be like an arrow pointing to the path we took.”

In twenty minutes the small launch had drifted from the cove and was settling. Curtis and Juan slung heavy packs to their shoulders and, with Jo in the middle, they filed into the dark jungle.

They trudged through the thick bush, Juan in the lead, hacking at the clinging trailers, until the sun had moved high in the heavens.

It was during their first rest halt that they heard the airplane.

The noise of its motor was like the droning of a giant fly high in the heavens. Curtis shaded his eyes with his hand and searched the sky until he located the plane, a gleaming white speck against the white backdrop of a cloud.

Flying high, it swung over them in several long crisscrosses before it finally disappeared into the sun.

Curtis glanced briefly at Juan.

“We’d better be moving,” he said.

Jo stood up quickly.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

Her dress was torn in several places and smudges of dust streaked her cheeks, but her smile was bright.

“Good kid,” Curtis said.

Again they marched on. That afternoon two more planes flew over them at an altitude of only a few hundred feet.

Curtis followed their flight with his eyes, a worried line furrowing his forehead.

“Allan,” Jo asked suddenly. “What planes are those?”

“Can’t tell,” Curtis answered. “Their insignia has been painted over. Let’s keep moving.”

In another hour they came to a fork in the narrow trail and Juan cried suddenly:

“See, amigo! Ahead of us is the track of the snake god. Where the trees are knocked aside and the bush tom up is the track of Sacha.”

The face of the big black native oddly strained and his hand was clenched around the butt of his hip-holstered automatic. With his other hand he pointed, half-fearfully, half-triumphantly, down the trail.

Without speaking Curtis moved down the trail toward the section of the jungle that had been ripped apart, as if by the passing of a giant monster.

Curtis studied the shattered trees and crushed underbrush carefully. The swath cut across the trail they were following at right angles, and wound away into the dense fastness of the jungle.

Something had passed here, knocking trees aside and tearing up the matted jungle floor — but it hadn’t been a mythical snake god!

Curtis’ eyes narrowed and a worried frown tugged at his lips.

Juan was looking uneasily at the sundered jungle path.

“You see,” he said, “it is as I have said.”

“Have you seen many of these tracks?” Curtis asked.

“Very many,” Juan answered. “All through the jungle. Sacha is everywhere.”

Curtis smiled tightly.

“Don’t blame this on your snake god, Juan. These tracks were made by armored tanks.”

“Tanks?” Jo said incredulously, “are you sure, Allan?”

“Certainly. It’s as plain as the nose on Juan’s face. Look at the way the bark has been scraped clean from the trees. And look at the imprint of the treads on the ground. These tracks were made by tanks, about twenty-five tonners, I’d guess.”

Juan looked dubiously at the tracks, but there was an expression of relief in his eyes.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “It is so easy to see.”

“Then let’s be moving,” Curtis said. “We’ve got a long trek ahead of us.”

They continued on until the swiftly falling jungle night made further travel impossible. Then they made a swift camp, ate their frugal rations and turned in.

In the morning before the first slanting lances of the sun cut through the dusky dawn, they were on their way again, driving deeper and deeper into the mysterious, foreboding fastness of the tangled jungle.

Again they heard the distant droning of planes and soon they could see four slim fighters lazily circling overhead. As they watched, one of the planes banked slowly and started down in a long glide. At a hundred feet the plane pulled out of the dive and flashed over them, so close that they could see details of the camouflaged fuselage.

The three remaining planes banked and dove after the leader. Curtis swore softly.

It was impossible to tell whether they had been seen. The leafy roof of the tall jungle shrouded the trail completely, and at the speed the planes were traveling it would have been nearly impossible for their pilots to see the trail or the small party.

Still—

Watching with narrowed eyes Curtis saw the planes pull out of their steep dives and climb again into the sky. The wings of the leader plane waggled slowly and the small formation banked and thundered away.

“What does it mean?” Jo asked worriedly. “It seems almost like they’re looking for us.”

Curtis swung his pack to his shoulder without answering.

“Let’s go,” he said.

In silence the small party continued their march. Throughout the rest of the morning the sky was empty of planes, but after their brief stop for lunch, they saw one single plane, flying thousands of feet above them, heading west.

Curtis studied the terrain over which they passed carefully now. A queer uneasiness disturbed him, as his eyes probed the still, silent forests.

Juan noticed something too, for his glance swung restlessly from side to side.

The deep depths of the jungle were quiet now, as the small party fought their way along the ever-narrowing trail. Ahead of them the path they were following converged with another trail that branched off at right angles.

Juan, in the lead, hacked savagely at the trailing creepers and the thick underbrush that tore at their clothing.

“How much longer?” Jo panted. “I feel like I’ve been walking for ages.”

“Keep your chin up for a while longer,” Curtis said.

When they reached the right-angling branch of the trail, Curtis stopped and looked about. The convergence of the two trails formed a small natural clearing about fifty yards in diameter.

Here Curtis stopped.

“We’re rather close to our objective,” he said, “so we can rest here for a while.”

They moved ahead to the center of the clearing. Curtis felt the peculiar prickling premonition again, as he unslung his pack and dropped it to the ground.

Nervously he glanced about the clearing. It was late afternoon and the shadows of the dense trees threw flickering areas of darkness over the shrublike bushes. Everything was quiet.

He noticed for the first time then that the shrill, almost incessant screams of the birds had ceased, and that the silence that had settled over the jungle was frighteningly unnatural.

His hand dropped instinctively to his gun.

“Juan,” he said softly, “I think we had better start back. I don’t like the looks of things.”

“Allan,” Jo said anxiously, “what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said, in a low voice, “but I think I’ve found out all I need to know. We haven’t any time to waste. Hurry!”

He was bending down for his pack, when he heard the sudden cracking, rustling noise in the bushes.

On one knee, he froze. His eyes flicked swiftly about the circle formed by the clearing, and he drew his gun slowly.

Suddenly through the dark depths of the underbrush he saw the flash of metal, and the vague shadows of moving shapes.

Jo crouched close to him, and he put his free arm about her shoulders.

“Don’t be afraid, Honey,” he whispered.

He raised his gun and backed carefully toward the narrow trail that had led them to this clearing.

Juan was at his side, crouched low, his big hand closed over his gun.

“Don’t be fools!” a harsh voice behind them said suddenly. “You are covered from every side.”

At the sound of the strident, commanding voice, there was a sudden threshing sound from the underbrush that circled the clearing, and from the tangled depths of the jungles a dozen uniformed soldiers suddenly emerged, their rifles pointed unwaveringly at them.

“Be sensible,” the harsh voice continued. “Throw your weapons into the center of the clearing. If you delay I will order my men to fire.”

Curtis felt Jo trembling in his arms.

“Chin up,” he said.

His eyes swung over the semi-circle of tough, hard-bitten soldiers who covered them so completely with their weapons. Resistance was not only futile, it was impossible. The soldiers were obviously Nazi, and they looked anxious to use the rifles they held so grimly in their hands.

“Throw down your weapons!” the harsh voice snapped. “I give you but one more chance.”

Slowly Curtis lowered his gun and tossed it into the center of the clearing.

“Drop your gun, Juan,” he told the big native.

With a contemptuous flip Juan tossed the gun after Curtis’.

“I do not need the gun,” he said grimly. “If I get these hands of mine on their necks.”

Curtis stood motionless as a slim, arrogant German officer stepped around him and regarded him with mocking eyes.

“May I ask the meaning of this attack?” Curtis said calmly. “We are a legally licensed archeological expedition and as such, have the right to explore this territory.”

“Have you?” the German officer said coldly.

He waved his hand and a tall thickset blond fellow stepped from a place of concealment in the tangled shrubbery, and advanced.

Curtis stiffened slightly.

This man’s eyes raked mockingly over Curtis and Jo, before he turned to the German officer.

“This is the man,” he said. “I do not know about the girl. She traveled as his secretary.”

“Good,” the officer snapped. “So?” he wheeled to Curtis, “It is just an exploring expedition, is it?”

The heavy-set blond with the soft amused blue eyes checked the officer with an upraised hand.

“I will handle this, Captain Brach. I believe that Mr. Curtiss will more fully appreciate the situation if I explain it to him. After all we both speak the same language. We can speak as one foreign agent to another, can we not, Mr. Curtiss?”

Curtis regarded the man thoughtfully. This man, he knew, was the same whom he had seen on board the Ventura, in company with the mysteriously beautiful woman.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” the German agent said politely. “I am Kurt von Wessel. My job was to prevent your arriving here, Mr. Curtis. Happily, I have succeeded, though you did manage to give me the slip from the Ventura. That was very clever of you, I must say.”

“Thank you,” Curtis said quietly. “I imagine it was especially annoying after you had gone to the trouble of murdering Carlos Benevedas and implicating me as the guilty party. That was to give you time to slip away from me at Lima, was it not?”

“Yes,” von Wessel admitted, smiling. “I didn’t think that you were planning to jump ship so unobtrusively. You forced me to alter my plans a bit. I was forced to fly here and warn the garrison of your whereabouts. Our planes located your party early this morning. Since then we have been expecting you quite patiently.”

Curtis shrugged wearily.

“Since you’ve won the little game we were playing, would it hurt to tell me just what the whole program is? After all, I don’t imagine I’ll be taking the information back with me.”

“No,” von Wessel smiled, “you won’t be taking anything back with you. There is no harm in telling you that for several months Germany has been infiltrating troops into this country. We have the nucleus of a complete armored division gathered here in the abandoned ruins of an ancient Incan city. At the proper moment these forces, together with a band of Peruvian renegades, will strike at the capital of the country, Lima. Imagine, if you can, the effect on Hemispheric Solidarity, when the government of Peru is controlled from Berlin.”

“Very neat,” Curtis said grimly. “It was what the American state department feared.”

Captain Brach stepped forward.

“We must return to our encampment,” he said. “If you are through with the prisoners, Herr von Wessel, I will have them escorted to their cells.” Von Wessel smiled coldly.

“I am through with them,” he said softly.

Chapter VIII Maria Again

The improvised cell to which Curtis, Jo, and the massive Juan were taken, was little more than a small, dank cave, situated in what had once been the heart of the ancient Inca city.

Through a small square aperture in the ceiling, and a similar foot-square slot in the right wall, a scant supply of sticky tropical air was admitted.

The only entrance and exit to the narrow little cave was covered by a thick-slabbed stone door, which the uniformed soldiers of Captain Brach slid into place.

Then the three heard the footsteps outside moving away until there was no more sound.

In the murky darkness of the cave, Curtis struck a match. Then, holding it aloft, he moved slowly about their confinement. His sharp exclamation was punctuated by sudden darkness as the match flickered out.

“It’s all right,” his voice came through the darkness to Jo and Juan. “I’ve found an old candle stub in a wall niche here.”

There was the scraping of another match. Then illumination. Curtis lighted the candle, which sputtered at first, then flamed to a steady glow that drove the darkness from all save the smallest corners of the tiny cave.

“Not exactly what Edison had in mind when he first began puttering around,” Curtis observed, “but it’s something.”

Juan was busy at the stone door that barred their exit, his huge muscles knotting as he searched for leverage on its worn surface.

Jo crossed to Curtis.

“It’s just about all over, isn’t it, Allan?” she asked softly. There was no trace of fear in her voice.

Curtis shook his head.

“Perhaps,” he admitted, “but it won’t actually be over until we admit we’re licked. I’m not conceding anything yet.”

“This ancient Inca city, Allan,” Jo asked, “have you been here before?” Curtis shook his head.

“I’ve been in this territory, Jo, but never found the city until now. Several expeditions had tried to find it, unsuccessfully, of course. A few of us knew it was here. In the ancient Inca civilization this was called Sacha.”

“And that’s the basis of the snake god legend?” Jo asked.

Curtis nodded.

“Part of it. The queen who ruled this city was supposed to have escaped with the great snake Sacha when it was sacked and razed by a maurading band of conquistadors. The snake and the queen were supposed to have taken refuge in the jungles, returning to dwell alone in the city after the Spaniards had left it in ruins.”

Jo shuddered.

“Well, you’ve found it full of minor snakes now,” she observed.

Curtis nodded soberly.

“And somehow, Jo, these snakes have to be crushed before they have a chance to touch off the revolt that will crush all South America under the coils of the Axis.”

Juan came back from the door. His black brow was shiny with sweat. He shook his head.

“The door no move, amigo,” he declared.

Curtis shook his head.

“I didn’t think it would. It probably can only be opened from the other side. Undoubtedly it operates on Inca lever theory. Clever people, those ancients.”

Juan looked patiently at Curtis. There was complete faith in his expression, as though he were certain his amigo would inevitably bring forth a solution to their troubles.

Curtis interpreted this glance for what it was. He smiled ruefully.

“No ideas as yet, Juan. We’re in a tight one, this time.”

Juan grinned confidently, shrugged, and went over into a corner where he sat down on the dank stones of the floor.

“Juan has the right idea,” Curtis said to Joe. “Standing up, pacing back and forth, will only wear us out. Let’s relax. We’ll need all our strength.”

He moved over to the side of the wall and sat down, leaning his back against the stones. Jo sat down beside him.

“You can tell me, Allan,” Jo said.

“Eh?” Curtis looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“We aren’t being held here as prisoners, Allan. I know that much,” Jo answered. “We’ve just been sealed in here to be left to die. An easy method of eliminating us. Isn’t that so?”

Curtis was silent, and when he finally answered his voice was husky.

“You’re a stout fella, Jo. And discerning.”

“I’m not afraid, Allan,” Jo whispered. “I’d always kind of hoped that we’d live to be a ripe old age tog—” She suddenly broke off, flushing.

“Together, Jo?” Allan asked. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Jo didn’t look at him. She nodded her head quietly.

Allan Curtis found her hand, and covered it with his own.

“Maybe we will, kid,” he said huskily. “Maybe we will at that.”

Jo didn’t answer. But the look in her lovely eyes was answer enough. She moved closer to Curtis, until her auburn head touched his shoulder.

Dawn was rising in the jungle. The faint gray light of it poured through the two tiny apertures in the cell. Curtis rose and moved to the candle in the wall niche, snuffing it out with thumb and forefinger, then came back to take his place beside Jo.

In his corner, Juan dozed, his magnificently handsome head slumped forward on his cable-muscled arms.

Quite suddenly, Jo turned to Curtis.

“Allan,” she whispered sharply. Her hand was on his arm, her head tilted to the side.

Curtis frowned.

“What’s up?”

“Listen,” Jo entreated.

In the silence, Allan Curtis suddenly heard the faintly scraping sounds outside the barred doorway. They were growing more audible with every moment.

“Footsteps,” Allan whispered. “Someone’s coming!”

The footsteps were definitely louder now.

“Von Wessel, or Captain Barch,” Jo hazarded.

Curtis, swiftly on his feet, shook his head.

“Those are a woman’s steps,” he whispered.

Curtis moved to the small aperture in the wall, peering out. He turned back to face Jo, his expression one of mixed emotions.

“Von Wessel’s accomplice, the girl, Maria,” he declared. “She’s coming here!”

Jo scrambled hastily to her feet, eyes alight with hope and excitement.

“I had no idea she was here,” Jo began.

Curtis cut her off.

“Neither did I.” He placed his finger to his lips. Then he stepped back to the small aperture. Jo moved up beside him.

“She’s frightened, looking wildly around as she walks,” Curtis reported. “Cross your fingers, kid. Something is in the air.”

Then Curtis stepped back from the wall opening. He stepped to the stone door, placing his ear against it.

“She’s experimenting with the mechanism,” he whispered excitedly. “She’s going to open this!”

Juan opened his eyes, caught the situation at a glance, and rose to stand beside Curtis and Jo at the door. There was the sudden scraping of stone against stone, then the door began to swing outward!

Curtis pulled Joe back to one side with him. Juan stepped swiftly back to the other side. And then gray light streamed into the cave, and Maria von Wessel stepped inside.

Juan grabbed one of her arms, Curtis the other. Juan had a hand across her mouth. She didn’t struggle. Her cold-blue eyes flicked from Juan to Curtis, to Jo, trying to convey a message.

At Curtis’ command, Juan removed his hand from her mouth.

“I’m here to help you,” Maria von Wessel said swiftly, urgently. “Please release me. I am unarmed. I would not have come here this way had I meant harm to you.”

For an instant Curtis hesitated, then he released the blonde girl, signaling Juan to do the same.

“All right,” Curtis demanded, “what’s this all about?”

Maria von Wessel’s shapely body was trembling visibly. There was no mistaking the strain she was under. When she spoke, her sensuous red underlip quivered.

“Kurt von Wessel brought me here with him to kill me. He figured it would be much more easily accomplished in, the jungle. He was acting on orders from our High Command, which considered my usefulness to the fatherland at an end. Kurt didn’t tell me. Three hours ago, unable to sleep, I rose and started from my tent. I overheard Kurt instructing the captain to have one of his soldiers put a bullet through my skull within the next ten hours.” Looking carefully at the girl, Curtis knew instantly that she spoke the truth.

“I went back to my tent,” Maria von Wessel continued, her voice strained. “I could not sleep. I racked my brain for means of escape. I realized the futility of any attempt on my own to escape through these horrible jungles. At last I realized that only through you people could I bargain for my life.” Maria von Wessel shuddered visibly. “I have freed you,” she said. “I beg of you, now, to take me with you in your flight.”

Curtis hesitated for but an instant.

“Very well,” he said, “the bargain is made. But I can’t promise you anything after we reach Lima.”

“I am asking only safe guidance through the jungles,” Maria von Wessel answered.

“There are no sentries out there?” Curtis demanded, indicating the courtyard that lay some eighty yards from the cave entrance.

Maria shook her head.

“There was no need for posting them,” she said. “The entire group still sleeps.”

“You know where we can obtain supplies?” Curtis asked. “We’ll need guns, food.”

Maria nodded, her blonde hair shimmering in the growing dawn.

“Yes. But we will have to be swift. Follow me.”

Juan moved beside Maria, and Curtis walked with Jo as they started cautiously down the slope from the cave that led to the crumbling ruins below them.

Less than a minute later, the four were moving through the crumbling, weed-tangled ruins of the courtyard. Decaying, vine-webbed walls of ancient stone encircled them on all four sides. And against one of these walls, on the far end of the courtyard, there were six or eight tents pitched.

Beyond the walls, and in the outskirts of the ancient city, Curtis knew, were the rest of the German troops. Their tanks, perhaps from twelve to fifteen of them, and armored motorized equipment had also been stationed out there. Against the wall to their left was a tall stone platform, similar to an altar. A series of steps, twenty or thirty, led up to that crumbling edifice.

They were halfway across the courtyard, when Maria paused.

“One of those tents contains officers’ supplies,” she whispered. “Food and guns and ammunition you will find in there. We must not all advance at once. They might be roused. Kurt, the captain, and several lieutenants are in those other tents.”

Juan turned to Curtis.

“I go, amigo. I move as silent as the cat.”

Curtis debated this an instant.

“Guns first, Juan. Then we’ll be able to cover any possible awakening on the Hun’s part.”

Juan nodded, starting off with incredibly swift stealth. They watched him moving noiselessly, running lightly, toward the tent Maria had indicated as containing supplies. Juan moved not the tiniest pebble in his approach. Then they saw him cautiously entering the supply tent. He reappeared moments later, his arms stacked with three revolvers, a submachine gun, and boxes of cartridge rounds. Then he was back at their side, breathing easily, grinning broadly.

Curtis swiftly strapped one of the revolvers to his side, holstering it on a cartridge belt. He gave the other to Jo, while Juan donned the third.

Then Curtis took the submachine gun, and nodding to Juan, said:

“Now for the food we’ll need.”

Jo and Maria remained behind, this time, while Curtis, four steps behind the swiftly moving Juan, backed the giant negro’s advance with the protection of the submachine gun.

Curtis took a position some ten yards before the line of tents, holding the tommy gun in sweeping command of the scene. Juan reentered the supply tent. When he emerged, moments later, laden with four small crates.

“Concentrates,” Curtis observed, as Juan came up to him. “Splendid. They won’t take room, and will provide all the nourishment we’ll need.”

Curtis took two of the oblong crates under one arm.

“Give the other two to Jo until we reach the outside of these walls safely,” he ordered Juan. “I’ll remain here and keep the tents covered. Go with the senoritas as far as the wall. See they are covered well, then return.”

Juan started off toward Jo and Maria. From the corner of his eye, Curtis saw Juan escorting the two women toward the wall gate. And then Curtis heard the shot ring out, felt the stinging flash of pain in the soft flesh of his shoulder, and saw Kurt von Wessel, smoking automatic in hand, moving from the farthest tent toward him.

And even as Curtis realized he was hit, even as he dropped to one knee and trained the submachine gun on Kurt von Wessel, he realized that this shot had spelled their doom. The camp would come alive, and it would be impossible to escape from the walled courtyard.

Then the tommy gun was rattling in Curtis’ arms, spitting flame and death at the figure of Kurt von Wessel.

The Nazi agent had time to fire twice more before the flame from the tommy gun cut him down. Curtis felt the spat of stone flicking at his feet, and thanked God that von Wessel’s last shots had missed.

Kurt von Wessel was sprawled face forward in the dust. But in seconds later, Curtis knew, the occupants of the other tents would be spewing forth, weapons in hand. He rose, wheeling, to see Juan, already aware of what had happened, dashing with Jo and Maria away from the wall gate and toward the tall stone platform at the other side of the courtyard.

Mentally Curtis thanked God for Juan’s presence of mind. The massive negro had known, the instant Kurt von Wessel’s shots rang out, that it would be suicidal to attempt an exit through the wall gate. He had immediately sized up the situation and decided swiftly that the only vantage point in the courtyard would be that stone platform. There were buttresses along its edge that would be protection.

Curtis set out across the courtyard toward the same objective as Juan, Jo, and Maria dashed for. He’d traveled less than a hundred yards when the first shots sounded behind him.

He wheeled, then, dropping to his knees, training the tommy gun on figures of German officers emerging from the tent line. His fire caught two of them instantly, and sent the third to cover.

Then Curtis was on his feet again, dashing once more toward the high stone platform against that far wall.

And now two soldiers dashed through the wall gate, rifles in hand. They sighted Juan and the two girls instantly. And even as they raised their rifles to their shoulders, Juan turned, stopped, and whipped out his revolver.

The huge negro dropped to one knee, steadying his aim, and with incredible nerve drew careful bead. He dropped the first of the soldiers with his first shot.

But the second German had fired, now. And Curtis saw Maria sprawl headlong as his rifle barked. She didn’t move, even though Jo had stopped and was trying to help her to rise.

Then Juan’s second shot dropped the second rifleman before he could fire again. Juan was on his feet then, dashing to where Jo bent over Maria. He paused an instant, then grabbed Jo’s arm and hurried her up to the first of the stone platform steps.

Curtis turned again now, sweeping his tommy gun back and forth to cover Jo and Juan’s ascent to the platform. He moved backward as rapidly as he could, finally gaining the first steps himself. Then he turned and dashed up the crumbling flagstones.

Jo and Juan had gained the stone platform, and were covering his ascent. And then Curtis was beside them, helping Juan drag a tripod-mounted machine gun from its position overlooking the other side of the wall. They speedily turned the gun about, so that now it covered the courtyard.

“They must have had this posted to cover any outside approach,” Curtis grunted thankfully, as they tugged the gun into position. He found a crate with sufficient ammunition rounds, then.

Jo, revolver almost concealing the tiny hand in which she held it, looked grimly beautiful, and deadly determined.

“Maria caught the shot in the back,” she said briefly. “It went through her heart.”

Curtis was breathing more easily for the moment. They were now in a position that would be costly to attack. The buttressing of the stone boulders on the platform’s edge gave them protection enough, with luck. And Juan, behind the machine gun, was a coolly efficient marksman.

“Get into concealment,” Curtis ordered Jo. She took a position behind a boulder three times her size.

And then, through the wall gate to their right, more than a dozen German soldiers swarmed.

Grinning at the opportunity, Juan swung the machine gun muzzle on them. And as Curtis dropped beside him to feed the belt through the gun, Juan opened fire.

The attackers wilted under the deadly chatter of the gun, sprawling backward as the bullets scythed through their numbers like a harvester through wheat. Only three lived to flee back through the gate entrance.

“Nice work,” Curtis commended.

Juan grinned. He was a first class fighting man in paradise.

“Thank you, amigo,” he said.

Moments passed, while outside the wall gate there was the sound of voices raised excitedly. But no one reappeared in the courtyard. The moments crawled into fifteen, then thirty minutes.

“Wonder what they’re up to?” Jo asked quietly.

And then, through the wall gate and out into the courtyard toward them, strode the slim, uniformed arrogant figure of the German captain, Brach. He held one hand aloft, with a white handkerchief in it.

“Keep a bead on him, Juan,” Curtis ordered. Then he rose into view behind his boulder.

Captain Brach halted some fifty yards away from their position.

“Curtis,” he shouted, “do not be a fool. You cannot hold that position more than a few hours, even though it be momentarily advantageous. I guarantee the safety of the girl if you surrender instantly.”

Curtis looked grimly to Jo. She grinned.

“I don’t believe the liar,” Jo said coolly.

“Start running, Brach!” Curtis shouted. “You’ll take this position, undoubtedly, but you’ll pay the price it’ll cost.”

“Curtis,” Brach snapped, “you are a fool. Consider. The gir—”

“Make him dance,” Curtis ordered Juan.

The machine gun chattered briefly. Almost at Brach’s feet, bullets kicked up dust. The arrogant little captain retreated in undignified haste.

Juan, grin wide on his ebon features, opened fire again, following the racing little captain from a distance of four feet with bullets. He broke into laughter as Brach scurried through the wall gate.

Curtis smiled grimly.

“They’ll be back,” he promised. “Plenty soon, and with plenty of trouble.”

And then, as if to confirm his words, they heard the sudden thrumming of motors snarling to life. Juan looked up, the smile gone from his face.

“That noise, amigo, come from many tanks!”

Curtis picked up the submachine gun he’d discarded when he’d started feeding ammunition to Juan’s larger gun. His lips were tight...

Chapter IX A Panzer Attack!

Jo was suddenly beside Allan, then, her hand lightly on his arm, her eyes answering his own swift glance with equal fearless resolution.

“They’re coming this time meaning business,” Allan said tautly. “Our argument with a brace of tanks can’t be more than a short one, a very short one, Jo.”

The sound of the tank motors was steady and menacing, now. It seemed, moments later, as if they were moving into action, approaching the wall gate down the courtyard.

Juan’s grin was unflinching.

“Must shoot plenty damn sharp now, eh amigo?” he grunted.

Curtis nodded.

“And sharper still, Juan. Unfortunately we’ve nothing even looking like an anti-tank gun here on the platform.

We’ll have to make the best of a very bad bargain.”

Jo’s sharp exclamation of discovery knifed the air, even before Curtis had finished speaking.

“Allan, look!” Jo was pointing to a hitherto unnoticed concealment under one of the boulder buttresses.

Following her pointing finger, Curtis saw a small crate concealed there under the rock. He stepped swiftly over to it, dragging the crate forth.

His own exclamation was one of rekindled hope.

“Good God, luck is still with us.” He rose, pointing down at the crate. “Grenades, a dozen of them. The old potato masher style. They aren’t the same as anti-tank guns, but they’ll be more than what we have!”

“Madre de Dios!” Juan said softly. “It is fate!”

And suddenly the thundering of the tank motors came to them with definitely increased vibration.[6]

Curtis dragged the crate swiftly behind their boulder buttresses, and picked up his submachine gun once again. Jo returned to her place of safety, at Curtis’ urgent signal to do so.

And then the first of the tanks nosed through the wall gate into the courtyard, and rumbling directly behind it in a single file formation followed three more!

“Brach is taking no chances,” Curtis said bitterly. “A tank for each of us and one to spare!”

The four tanks were of the light panzer action type, Curtis saw, that had been used so successfully in action against France and in Poland.

Now they continued single file, straight across the courtyard at right angles to the platform, until all four were inside the courtyard.

“Ready!” Curtis said grimly.

An instant later, the tanks all wheeled sharply, swinging directly toward the platform, lined four across, and started bearing toward them.

“Give it sharply, Juan!” Curtis shouted.

Juan’s gun chattered to life, sweeping a hail of fire against the steel sheaths that covered their approaching enemy. It was impossible to tell if any of his fire was penetrating the chinks and apertures through which the tank guns peered. They kept coming forward.

“They’re not wasting fire until they get closer,” Curtis declared. “Which is just what I’d hoped for!”

Curtis bent swiftly, brought forth a grenade from the crate. He pulled the pin, counted briefly, and then hurled it out from the platform at the approaching line of tanks.

It exploded squarely between the center pair of tanks, which had been less than five feet apart from one another. The tank on the right of the center was knocked up and over on its side, while the one on the left center was blasted completely around by the force of the explosion until it was facing in the opposite direction.

But the tanks on each extreme end were both still coming doggedly down on them now, and suddenly there was a sharp exclamation of elation from Juan.

Curtis wheeled to see the tank on the left end of the line veered wildly off at a sharp right angle. One of Juan’s machine gun bursts had penetrated a chink and caught the driver!

And then Curtis had the second grenade in his hand, and Juan had left the machine gun to get a grenade himself. Both pulled pins at the same time, and both hurled their grenades with grim accuracy at the remaining tank that still bore down on them from the right.

Juan’s grenade caught the tank flush on the tower, and Allan’s hit directly below the stomach of the metal monster. With tremendous force they exploded simultaneously.

And when the haze and smoke and dust had cleared, the tank lay completely over on its back, tractors still moving, like some gigantic beetle!

But the left center tank, the one that had been knocked around in the opposite direction by the explosive force of Allan’s first grenade, was now turned about and starting toward them again!

And as Juan leaped back to his gun position, and Curtis tore another grenade from the crate at his feet, the fore gun of that tank blasted forth!

There was a shrill whining as the shell, misdirected, went above their heads and back into the jungle.

Juan was firing again with the machine gun, trying to work toward another lucky demolition of the approaching monster. But the hail of his bullets ricochetting off the steel belly of the tank told what little effect his fire was having.

Curtis pulled pin again on the grenade he held, just as the second tank gun blazed forth at their position. The second shot was closer, blasting into the wall high above and behind them, showering the platform with a rain of stone and dirt.

Then Curtis hurled again, his grenade exploding directly beneath the belly of the oncoming tank. It went over and back in a geyser of flame and dirt and noise.

The tank Juan had gotten with his lucky through-chink hail of machine gun fire, now having replaced the driver, was limping back away from the courtyard platform, heading toward the wall gate.

Juan rose, leaving his gun position, and stepped to the grenade crate. He was grinning widely.

“I stop that beetle from get away, amigo!” Juan exclaimed, seizing a grenade.

Curtis started to protest that the distance was all of a hundred yards, that the accuracy of such a throw, not to mention the distance, was next to impossible. And then he saw the ripple of ebon shoulder muscle through Juan’s magnificent torso, and clamped his jaw shut.

Juan pulled the pin with his white, even, tough teeth.

Then he drew back his massive arm, counting briefly, his huge chest leaning far out over their buttresses of boulders. He grunted, hurling the grenade with every last atom of his superb strength.

And even as the grenade sailed high across the courtyard, straight toward the tank making for the wall gate, the staccato chatter of machine gun fire burst forth from the side of the disabled tank lying half-over some fifty yards from their platform.

Juan’s mouth opened in swift pain as the bullets ripped across his massive chest. Then his white teeth were flashing against his ebon face, belying the pain in his dark eyes. He’d exposed himself as far too vulnerable a target.

Juan slumped down behind the boulder buttresses on the platform, just as his grenade landed beneath the caterpillars of the tank heading for the wall gate. The explosion was violent, definite, as the tank bounced crazily over on its tower and stopped.

Then Curtis was beside him, holding his massive handsome black head in his arms, looking sickly, grimly, at the blood that burbled from Juan’s pierced chest.

“It... is... over... for Juan, amigo,” the massive negro gasped.

Jo was hovering solicitously beside Curtis and his fallen comrade. Her lovely face was white, her eyes welled with unshed tears.

Then the thunderous clamor of many tank motors took up anew outside the walled courtyard. And the girl and the white man, and the dying Juan all knew that another tank attack was starting, and that there would be many more than four to face in this fresh onslaught.

“They come in... greater... numbers, amigo,” Juan said weakly.

Curtis said nothing. His own eyes were as misted as Jo’s.

“Peru,” Juan mumbled. “Not fall... under heel... conqueror.” He coughed, blood reddening his white, strong teeth. “Great God Sacha... come aid... in hour... Peru’s need... as always... before.”[7]

Juan’s brown eyes were glazing, staring almost sightlessly up at Curtis and the girl. A reddish foam flecked the corners of his handsome mouth.

“Sacha... Great God Snake... Great Daughter of Sacha... Paswulg neh... como... salendar istu zes,” Juan mumbled thickly.

Jo looked at Curtis.

“What does he say?”

Curtis shook his head, bewilderedly.

“I’m not certain. It’s an ancient incantation, Inca origin. Prayer to the daughter of the snake god, Sacha.”

The noise of the rumbling tanks was very much louder now, and Curtis looked up sharply. At any instant they would rumble through the wall gate.

And suddenly there was another noise. Thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance, and the sky seemed to take a darker tint. The jungle creatures chattered nervously above all this.

“Sacha,” Juan gasped, “Rusmach sensamol... inshani yegreda zes.” Again he coughed, weakly.

Against the darkening sky there came the sudden flashing flame of lightning!

And then the thunder broke forth like a million rolling kettle drums furiously crashing cadence one against the other. Huge drops of rain began to splatter down, while the red sky became dusty-amber, then gray-black.

“Sacha!” Juan gasped, “eresuch zes istu! Klabon... urinti... moll.”

Again the lighting flashed across the gray black sky. The jungle creatures were silent now, and there was no sound against the growing storm save the rumbling snarl of the tank motors approaching the wall gate entrance to the courtyard.

Juan’s eyes suddenly lidded, his head rolled limply. Curtis looked up at Jo.

Juan gasped one more sentence before his huge body went completely limp in Curtis’ arms.

“Sacha, wunphy zes constuiduo!”

Curtis lowered him to the platform.

“He’s dead,” he told Jo.

And then the thunder and the lightning crackled and spat above them in the darkened heavens, while through the wall gate crawled the first ominous line of tanks!

The rain was increasing from scattered huge drops to a growing tattoo that rose in intensity with every passing instant. Curtis lifted Juan’s body swiftly, but gently, in his arms, moving it back against the wall at the rear of the platform.

And as he dashed back to Jo’s side the rain was suddenly a drenching, driving deluge of jungle fury, while the sky opened in flashing flame and thundered wildly.

And the tanks, fifteen of them, were in the courtyard, while others still crawled in!

The courtyard was rapidly becoming a vast sea of mud and water as the torrent continued to pour down from the maddened skies. The first of the tanks wheeled to open fire with its fore gun on the platform.

The sound of the gun was lost in the thunder above them, but its flame spat through the darkness of the storm, and its effect was told in the terrible crashing devastation it wrought on the huge wall directly behind their position on the platform.

Curtis threw his arm about Jo’s waist, hurling her to the side as the shell smashed into the wall behind them. And then the tanks were driving through the sea of mud in the courtyard, rushing straight at the platform.

Curtis glanced at the crate of grenades and realized the utter futility of such an effort at resistance. Their only chance now lay in a desperate dash through the rain and mud and darkness.

It was at that moment, when Curtis debated swiftly their next action, that Jo, half turned to glance at the devastation wrought on the platform wall, screamed shrilly, horribly.

Curtis turned, glancing swiftly at the gaping rent in the wall, and then his jaw fell slack, while horror filled his eyes.

An incredibly huge snake, a coiling, undulating monster at least five feet thick and forty yards long, was writhing from the gaping rent in the platform wall!

And it was Curtis who first saw the girl atop the creature’s back, the girl who rode the giant reptile and brandished a lance in one hand as her body swayed just behind its dipping, weaving head. It was Curtis who was first to see the girl, and scream in hoarse horror.

“Good God!”

And then he was shielding Jo with his body, backing hard against the far end of the platform wall while the giant reptile and its weird human rider slithered forth from the gap in the wall.

“Sacha!” Curtis murmured in horrified conviction. “Sacha the Snake God, and the daughter of Sacha!”

“Allan, Allan,” Jo was whispering in terror, “Juan was calling, summoning, that... that monster and its mistress!”

Allan Curtis gripped the girl’s arm tightly. White-faced, he nodded.

Chapter X Sacha

The scene was like something from the black depths of a horrible nightmare. The roaring growl of the thunder had intensified, and the jagged forks of lightning slashed the boiling heavens with eye-searing brilliance as the immense reptile slithered through the shattered wall.

Stone crunched to powder under the mighty body of the monstrous beast as it slid ponderously over the smashed debris.

As the great snake’s angrily weaving head flowed through the demolished aperture, Curtis crouched against their barricade, protecting Jo with his body.

Logical thought or reasoning was impossible.

This monstrous apparition was impossible, beyond the wildest flights of imagination, but still it existed before his eyes.

Through the pelting rain he could see the figure of the girl astride the snake’s back. Her head was thrown back exultantly and her rain-darkened hair streamed gloriously behind her, like a triumphant banner.

He had only one brief glimpse of her savagely flashing eyes, her sharply chiseled features, before she was carried from his range of vision as the mighty reptile slithered massively down the broken steps leading to the courtyard.

The incredibly huge body of the snake flowed past them, writhing with mighty undulations that shook the very foundations of the stout stone barricade.

Curtis scrambled to the side of the barricade where they had placed their machine gun and peered into the courtyard — where the front line of German tanks was advancing inexorably.

Even through the torrential rain he could see the oncoming tanks, squat, invincible harbingers of destruction. There were eight of them proceeding in formation toward the barricade.

The mighty head of the snake was weaving and swooping thirty feet in the air, and its vast coiling length was slithering toward the foremost tank.

Curtis felt his heart hammering sickeningly in his body. His hands clenched until he could feel them numbing.

This incredible scene was like a page torn from a madman’s view of Dante’s inferno. Its unbelievable import was physically staggering.

The thunder broke over the courtyard like the crashing of giant sledges, and in the wild illumination furnished by the blazing lightning, Curtis saw the massively coiling body of the snake loop slowly but inevitably about the nearest tank.

The advance of the tank was instantly halted.

The coils of the snake lashed another loop about the halted tank and lifted it clear of the ground.

The forward guns of the tank swung helplessly back and forth like the feelers of a giant bug. A futile burst spat from the muzzles of the gun, but the tank was inexorably lifted — five — ten — a dozen feet from the soggy, muddy ground.

Then the thick coils tightened with the irresistible power of a mighty vise. Dozens of feet above the suspended tank, the daughter of the snake god flung her head back and screamed a strange, chilling command into the teeth of the maddened storm.

Curtis heard a rending, cracking sound, that carried to him, even above the banshee-howl of the wind. Through the drenching murky rain he saw the sides of the tank crumple under the tremendous pressure of the great snake’s coiled body. The steel armor of the tank cracked inexorably, and as the mighty coils continued to tighten, the tank crumpled into a twisted, shattered mass of wreckage.

A horrible, nerve-chilling cry came from the twisted, crushed tank as the coils of the snake tightened with one final undulation.

Curtis felt a shudder pass through him.

From the tangled wreckage of the tank a human figure fell to the ground. Or rather something that had been a human figure. The mangled, broken thing that lay beneath the suspended tank had only the faintest resemblance to a human body.

The crushed wreckage of the tank was raised high now by the fantastically immense snake, and at a signal from the imperious girl, the coiled body of the snake whipped the tangled wreckage to the ground with a shuddering crash.

The crushed tank lay on its side, a broken, useless thing. The snake slithered away from it and moved with sinuous speed toward the other tanks.

Three of the oncoming tanks had halted and wheeled about to face the monstrous snake. It was obvious that they had witnessed the destruction of the first tank.

A rattling burst of fire broke from the tower guns of the three tanks, and Curtis saw that concerted fire pour into the flank of the mighty snake.

Its head was weaving high in the air, keeping the girl out of the range of fire, but its own immense body was completely unprotected before the murderous blast from the three tanks.

Still the immense creature moved forward. There was no hesitation in its deliberate advance. Instead the fire of the three tanks seemed to infuriate it to a pitch of savage, devastating rage.

With lashing speed its tail looped about the first of the tanks, jerking it into the air. With a sweeping movement it swung the tank in a wide arc and dashed it into the side of the second with incredible force.

The massive steel-armored vehicle shattered completely the tank it struck, knocking it onto its side. The tower door of the tank opened and three men spilled out. In the murky darkness it was impossible to see their faces, but the congealing horror that gripped them was evident from their frozen helplessness before the spectacle that met their eyes.

They did not attempt to run. One of them sank to his knees, his hands clasped over his eyes, but the other stood in motionless terror as the mighty head of the snake passed over them, high in the air.

The tail of the snake, as thick as a tree trunk, whipped about the three men. Their arms and legs threshed with frantic futility as they were lifted into the air. The coils of the snake tightened once — swiftly and inevitably — and the arms and legs of the German tank crew ceased to move.

Curtis felt Jo trembling against him. Her face was frozen in rigid horror. With a low moan she buried her face against his chest.

Curtis held her tightly with one arm, and with the other he swung the machine gun about to cover the courtyard.

The remaining tanks were wheeling about and lumbering desperately for the court entrance. The mighty length of the snake coiled swiftly and slithered after them. High in the air, the slim figure of the daughter of the snake god was vaguely visible through the downpour. Lance held high she screamed into the gale, her glorious hair streaming wildly behind her. She was, at once, the most thrilling, the most savage sight Curtis had ever witnessed.

As the tanks escaped through the court entrance, Curtis saw a small contingent of Germans pour into sight from a wall gate on the opposite side of the enclosure.

Curtis saw that the three leading German soldiers were dragging a heavy, anti-tank gun between them. In one of the flashes of lightning he saw that they were hastily setting it for action, with its heavy blunt muzzle directed at the vulnerable flank of the huge snake.

Swiftly, Curtis swung the machine gun around to cover the small band of Germans. With savage speed he jammed both firing buttons down, sprayed a lethal burst at the German contingent.

His first blast was off, but as he swung the gun into more accurate position, three of the Germans staggered and fell to the muddy ground.

The others flung themselves prone as they located the direction of Curtis’ fire.

Curtis fired desperately at their position, but he couldn’t tell if his raking fire was hitting its objective.

A belching burst from the anti-tank gun suddenly sounded, and Curtis saw a flash of flame spear through the muggy darkness.

In spite of his fire the Germans had managed to get their anti-tank gun into action.

Peering through the downpour Curtis saw the immense shadowy shape of the snake veering and slithering toward the German gun crew.

Another blast from the anti-tank gun sounded, and the shrill staccato of machine gun fire was added to the melee, but the mighty snake continued its inexorable advance.

Within fifty feet of the gun crew the thick bludgeoning tail of the snake lashed out with terrific speed. Sweeping over the muddy ground with tremendous force it smashed into the Germans, slamming them to the ground like toy soldiers before the sweep of a mighty fist.

The anti-tank gun was hurled fifty feet through the air. It crashed against the wall of the enclosure, a twisted mass of useless wreckage.

The immense head of the snake reared in the air and Curtis saw that the slim body of the girl was lying limply across the reptile’s broad back.

The lance had fallen from her hand and was lying on the ground. Curtis saw then, even through the blinding gusts of rain, the blood that trickled from the girl’s body and painted a red smear against the side of the monstrous snake.

The body of the snake slowly uncoiled. The roaring fury of the storm crescendoed to a wild pitch, and in the keening maelstrom of the tempest there was a sobbing mournful note that sent a chill through Curtis.

Through the blinding storm Curtis could see the mighty head of the snake lowering slowly to the ground. The limp figure of the daughter of the snake god was dead, and some psychic awareness of this seemed to be transmuted to the mighty snake and to the endless darkness and mystery of the Peruvian jungle.

Then Curtis saw the mighty length of the snake coiling again and moving with deliberate purpose toward the courtyard entrance through which the German tanks had disappeared...

Curtis held Jo closely in his arms.

“We’ve got a chance again,” he said tensely. “With luck we can make the coast. My work here is done. Rather it was done for me by—”

“Sacha,” Jo murmured. “Oh, Allan, I feel as if I’m about to lose my mind. Have I dreamed all of this unimaginable horror?”

“I don’t think so,” Allan said softly. “There are things in the depths of this country which few white people would believe, even if they saw. I think we’ve seen one of those things. At any rate the menace to the unity of South America is over, forever, I believe.”

Jo drew a short shuddering breath. “Is there any chance for us to get out of here? Tell me the truth, Allan. I won’t mind if we can’t. We’ll be going together, at least.”

Curtis looked carefully around the ravages of the storm, then he looked down at Jo and, for the first time in many hours, he grinned.

“I don’t think we’ll get out,” he said, “I know it.”

(S.P.P.) With the final ironing out of the Peruvian-Ecuadorian border disputes, the Pan American Conference at Rio de Janeiro lined up solidly to form an anti-axis bloc which will undoubtedly be reviewed in history as one of the greatest Allied victories of the century.