With a wild laugh, he thrust out the pistol and fired.
The Trail of Death
“Over Abbeville,” the second in this remarkable series, includes oneof the most unusual and exciting scenes ever described—a fight to thedeath waged in the narrow cabin of a London-to-Paris passenger plane.
Durant stood at the rail, watching the gleam of the Land’s End lighttwinkle across the night. The Tyrania was on the last leg of hervoyage; at dawn she would be just off Plymouth, and all those whocould change at the last moment would go into the lighter instead ofon to Cherbourg, for dirty weather lay ahead of her. Durant hadchanged, but for other reasons.
A light step, and Durant turned to find the slender figure of BaronessGlincka at his side. Known aboard ship as Mrs. Robinson, her unhappystory was hidden with her name; only Durant knew how her deadhusband’s cousin, Boris Makoff, held her gripped in tentacles ofblackmail, forcing her to aid his little schemes, making her anunwilling but helpless member of his Paris coterie of genteel crooks.It was for her sake that Durant had wormed his way into thisorganization, getting the confidence of Makoff—waiting!
“You got the message?” she asked in the darkness.
“Yes, and changed. You’ll get off at Plymouth too?”
“Yes. Boris is planning something at London, before going on. I’m notsure what; but the victim is that white-haired man who keeps tohimself. Larson, the name is. Boris introduced him to me tonight,using my real name. He’s a nice old man.”
“And a game’s on, eh?” Durant knew Larson by sight—a stiff, bronzedman with white hair and mustache, and shrewd, kindly old eyes,traveling alone.
“Something. Boris wants you to come into the smoking-room, and meetLarson. I think he’s a Dane who’s made a fortune in America and istaking a trip to Denmark—that’s my guess. I suppose Boris means towring his neck in London by your help and mine.”
“Pleasant prospect,” said Durant.
“What will Lewis say when he learns the truth?”
“He won’t learn it. I’ve arranged—at a little expense. You’ll see inthe morning.”
“Then you’re a magician!”
“Borrowed magic—from your beauty.”
She laughed a little and was gone into the darkness. Durant stared outat the gleaming light on the horizon, and thought over the past, backto those Paris days when he, a clerk in an American branch bank, poor,half-starved, struggling for life and health, had seen the beautifulBaroness Glincka come in three times a week to the next window.
And now he knew her, was fighting for her—was a crook for her sake! Anodd turn of destiny. An almost forgotten relative dead, a legacy ofalmost forgotten land in Florida, a trip home—wealth! Then he headedback for Paris, to take his ease where he had starved and fought andsweated. So he had thought—but work had come to him.
“That you, Durant?” It was the voice of Lewis, who came quietly out ofthe darkness, a cigar-tip glowing redly. “First sight of England, eh?I’m leaving you in the morning.”
“But I’m going up to London too, instead of on to Cherbourg.”
“Good! Shall I see you in London?”
“No. Wiser not—wait for Paris.”
“Right. I’ll give you my address there. I’m going right on—taking theafternoon plane over tomorrow.”
Lewis fumbled for