Free Hurricane by L. Ron Hubbard

it.
    Presently his scouts came back with doleful tidings. This was Saturday night. The one night the Saint should not have picked. And all his plans seemed doomed to fall because of that unwitting choice.
    “Saturday night,” rasped the Saint. “They’re at the Bal Ludu! And Perry? Where is Perry?”
    “That I do not know,” said Chacktar.
    The Saint thought for several minutes and then, with a brightening manner, said, “Very well, it is better that way. Chacktar, your staying here would excite no suspicion. Very well, we enter the place.”
    They went into the glittering living room and from there into Perry’s office. The Saint, drawing on a pair of rubber gloves in case the police should look for fingerprints, began to rip files from their racks, papers from the drawers, until he had made a fine clutter on the floor. Then he knelt before the safe and proceeded to open it, referring from time to time to a paper he held, using the numbers he had often watched Perry use.
    In the safe he found the made-out partnership deed. He found another paper giving details which were unpleasant to him. This he destroyed. He pocketed the deed to half the moneymaking plantation and then rose up with a smile.
    “Chacktar, place young Perry and Captain Spar in a good, solid room. It is close to midnight now. Perry will soon be home. Chacktar, when Frederick Perry enters the house, slit his throat, toss down the knife and fade away. We will go back to the Venture .”
    At that last remark, a faint smile twitched Spar’s lips. But he was hurried away with Tom to a bedroom. The shutters were barred, the door was locked upon them, and they were left alone.
    “Remember, I shall be watching for you,” said Chacktar from the garden.
    They heard the Saint say, “Come, ladies, we go a-sailing once more.”
    An instant later they heard the sound of an engine coming up the hill. Perry was returning!
    The Saint’s clear tones were heard again, as though he spoke into a telephone. “Police?” he said in patois . “ M’sieu Perry is dead! Yes, yes! Dead! Come instantly!” The phone clicked.
    Footsteps sounded and then, except for the roar of the approaching engine, all was silence.
    Perry sank down upon the bed, moaning, “They’ll get me now! They’ll get me! They’ll think I killed my father. They’ll put me in jail for killing those men. They’ll hang me! And nobody will believe a word I say.”
    Spar was suffering the same thoughts, but he did not voice them. Added to his misery was the fact that Peg Mannering would be lost to him forever. Folston was faultless in his plotting. The police would come, recognize two men they already knew to be criminals, and refuse to believe a word told them.
    A corpse, two men, an opened safe, and the conclusions would be perfectly drawn. And Folston would present his deed in due course, claim the other half by partnership laws, and reign supreme.
    It was all so neat, so flawless. The car was stopping. The police were already on their way. But nothing could be worse, thought Spar. Even his own death.
    He aimed a solid kick at the shutter. It shivered and remained intact.
    “Why do that?” moaned Tom Perry. “Folston will be gone in the Venture before anyone could stop him. Even if . . .”
    Yellow so-and-so, thought Spar. Not even worried about his own father’s imminent death.
    The shutter caved suddenly. Spar leaped through and hit the ground on his hands and knees. He scrambled up.
    He saw Chacktar standing in the headlights, automatic raised, aiming at the occupant of the machine. Spar sprinted forward, yelling as he went.
    Chacktar twisted about, undecided, two tasks suddenly confronting him. Spar raced in under the gun just as it fired. The flaming powder scorched his cheek. He struck solidly and sent Chacktar reeling back.
    Spar aimed a second blow and missed. Chacktar hammered down with the automatic barrel, kicking and squirming to get away. His eyes flashed white.
    Then Spar’s