Free The Emperor of Death by G. Wayman Jones Page A

wall toward Cokey Day’s office.
    He dragged the breathless Havens through the door, slammed and locked it. Then, even before he turned around he heard a vaguely familiar voice say:
    “Oh, Cokey, I’ve wanted —”
    What she wanted he never knew. Ruby stood at Cokey’s desk slowly turning her head. Then surprise showed in her brilliant eyes.
    “Oh, it’s you. I thought it was Cokey. What —”
    “Listen,” said Van swiftly. “Get us out of here. Hesterberg’s behind us. He’ll kill us if he finds us. There must be an exit from this office. Cokey’s not the kind to let himself get trapped in an office like this. Get us out.”
    Already the patter of running feet could be heard without. Hesterberg’s voice demanding information as to where the quarry had fled boomed through the panel.
    “Hesterberg —” Ruby repeated the name and her voice was pregnant with hatred and loathing. “Quick! Here!”
    She turned, walked to the south wall. Her slim hand lifted a lithograph from its place. Her finger touched a small button imbedded in the wall. Slowly a huge bookcase moved outward. Then with a jerk it stopped, revealing an aperture some five feet square in the center of the wall behind it.
    Van shoved Havens into the black opening. Then he stopped a second and took the girl’s hand in his.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll repay you for this some day.”
    Her shapely lips were distorted by an evil smile.
    “If I’ve crossed Hesterberg.” she said bitterly, “that’s payment enough.”
    Van squeezed her hand quickly, and a moment later joined Havens in the pitch black of the secret exit. The bookcase swung into place behind, just as Hesterberg’s imperious knock crashed against the locked door.

CHAPTER VIII
THE MAD RED STRIKES
    VAN LOAN’S flashlight picked out a yellow path through the labyrinth of underground passages beneath Cokey Day’s dive. Of course, Van realized that if Hesterberg knew of this exit, he would post his men at all its adits, and the pair of them were no better off than they had been in that top-floor room.
    Yet, he reasoned, it was unlikely that Cokey Day had told anyone of the passage. In fact, he was a little surprised that Ruby knew of it. In Cokey’s precarious position — that of playing fast and loose with both the underworld and the police — he had to be prepared for any emergency.
    The flashlight revealed six wooden steps leading to a trap-door. Van preceded Havens up the stairs and cautiously pushed the trap open. A gust of clean night air swept into his face. His eyes strained into the street beyond. They saw nothing.
    “Come on,” he said to Havens.
    The publisher followed him into the dingy, deserted street of tenements. The trap-door slammed shut behind them. They walked in silence down the street. A vagrant taxi passed, and Havens hailed it. He gave the driver an address, then turned to his savior.
    “I’m still by no means sure what happened to me tonight,” he said, “but I do know that I’ve you to thank for getting me out of it. You must come home with me and tell me who you are. Perhaps I can do something for you.”
    Van laughed, then for the first time that evening spoke in his natural voice.
    “You can give me a drink and a bath, Frank,” he said with a smile. “I can’t think of anything else I want just now.”
    Havens gasped. His jaw fell, his eyes gleaming mirrors of utter amazement.
    “Van!” he exclaimed. “You! But how? What —?”
    “I’ll tell you all about it over the drink,” said Van, grinning at his friend’s stupefaction. “I can talk better with this wax out of my handsome features.”
    Van peered carefully through the rear window of the cab to make sure that they were not being followed, then gave the driver the address of the secret apartment which he and Havens kept for just such exigent occasions as these.
    In fact, even now, they had the cab stop a block or so away. In their position they could afford to take no chances.