THE KAHM SYNDICATE

Waipa Post, Volume 48, Issue 3468, 19 May 1934, Page 9

THE KAHM SYNDICATE

CHAPTER X. For many seconds there was silence, so far as Oliver Manx could hear. Then came the sounds of feet running up the stairs. “Th’ key’s not ’ere? Blast it! W’o’s got it? I swear I left it in th’ lock w’en I bumped ’ini in!” “Well, it ain’t ’ere now. W’o’s got it?” The voices in the corridor accelerated'into a series of accusations and denials, well bespattered with oaths. Within the room Oliver Manx stood by the window and cursed under his breath-. He had acted on impulse in coming to that room; and had run himself into a cul-de-sac. Tucking the light torch he had acquired from the insensible gangster, the secret agent examined the automatic he had acquired. There were seven shots in the magazine and one in the chamber. He shrugged; still he had a fighting chance, if he could get out of that room, into the open. Pocketing the gun, he turned his attention to the window. A low whistle of amusement came to his lips. The boards were only intended to exclude light. He felt in his pocket again, bringing out the gangster’s large, stiff-bladed claspknife. Working as silently as possible, he edged the blade between the two lower boards covering the window. A small pressure, and the boards creaked. Oliver Manx increased the pressure—and the blade broke with; a loud snap. The secret agent swore under his breath. Had he flung away, in his haste, his best chance of success ? He stood listening for sounds from the passage. All that came to his ears were low rumbles 'of voices. Suddenly one voice came clear: “ Listen, feelers ! I believe the mongrel’s free. I can hear him moving about the room ! ” A volley of oaths broke the momentary silence that followed the announcement. (Suddenly a heavy body thudded against the door. “ Come on, you blokes ! Break the blasted door down ! ” Again came the sound of a man’s body thrown against the door, followed by another, and yet another. The door- shook on its hinges, but still held. For a moment the secret agent was undecided. Should he wait for the door to fall, and then attempt to fight his way through the building to the street ? Had he sufficient amjmunition for that ? Beyond the cartridges in the gun he had a couple of magazines he had found among the other articles in the crook’s pockets. Would that he sufficient ? He did not think so. The men on the other side of the door were armed, he was sure of that. He turned again to the window, almost despairingly. The light from his torch showed that he had moved one of the boards out of place before the knife broke. He picked up the knife and examined the remains of the blade. He might be able to get sufficient purchase with what remained of the blade. He could tr|y; and if he failed, or the crooks broke down the door before he had freed the window, he could still try to fight h‘s way out of the house. The door was shaking violently under the gangster’s continued assaiilts, yet held. Flashing the light of the torch on it, Oliver Manx saw that the panels were splintering badly. He turned again to the window. He could now wedge his fingers in the widened crack between the boards. A sudden jerk, using every ounce of his strength, and the bottom board came away. . “ Now, then ! All together ! "Wjho-

o-o ! ” The door shivered violently, and one of. the hinges started from its screws. Again came the thud of heavy bodies at the door, and one of the panels broke, falling into the room. “iStruth ! The blighter’s got the lyindow open ! ”

Ol’iver Manx glanced back. He could see a face showing amid the splinters of the panel. A hand was working at the remaining fragments, tearing at them to make a way into the room. A hand came through the opening, fumbling at the lock for the keiy.

h The secret agent flung up the sash of the window and peered out. As he had expected to find, he was on the top story of a tall building. The wall from the window to the ground was smooth, broken only by the window embrasures. He glanced towards the roof. A few feet above his head ran the guttering. Could he reach it ? If he could, would it bear his weight? - A shejt from the door hit the edge of the window, volleying out into spaceT Another shot followed, the second unpleasantly-close to Oliver Manx’s head. He waited no longer. Pushing the window up as high as could he crawled on to the sill and sfretched up cautiously. Very cautiously he straightened, '-holding on to the . angle of the brickwork. The guttering was still above so far as he could see, 12 or inches;Would that guttering

SERIAL STORY (In 15 Instalments.)

By AIDAN DE BRUNE.

(Copyright.— All Rights Reserved.)

hold under his weight if he sprang up that small intervening space ?

He had to chance that. Crouching slightly Oliver Manx sprang up. His fingers caught and held the guttering. He swung clear of the window embrasure, and then back to it. As he swung out the second time a hand clutched at his ankle. “ Got ’in*! ”

A gasp of triumph came from the room. In desperation Oliver Manx kicked vigorously with his free foot. The man was pulling strongly, trying to wrench the secret agent from has hold, indifferent if the result precipitated him to the roadway below. Would the guttering hold ? Desperately Oliver Manx kicked out. His foot met an object that was not wall oxspace. A man yelled frantically, and the secret agent was suddenly released. He jerked himself up quickly, getting his elbows on the guttering. It creaked protestingly, shaking ominously.

“ The hound! I’ll get him for that! ”

A fusilade of shots sounded below the secret agent. A few hit the guttering, but Oliver Manx had already squirmed up on the roof. Furiously angry at the men’s utter disregard for life, Oliver Manx thrust his hand into his pocket and withdrew the automatic. Peering over the edge of the i-oof he saw heads peeping out from the window he had just left up at the guttering. Without aiming, the secret agent sent a couple of bullets towards the window.

A curse, loud and turgid, answered the shot. Again Oliver Manx peered over the edge of the roof. The window was now vacant. But how long would the gangsters allow him to keep them at bay in the room below ? If he moved awaiy from guard over the window one or more of the men would certainly attempt to gain the roof. He believed they feared Alec Grosse more than the bullets in his automatic.

He could not stand guard over the ■window all night. To do so would be to allow the gangsters some opportunity of gaining the roof by some other means. He squirmed round, facing the centre of the roof.

On the roof of the house ! Curiously he scanned his surroundings. From where he lay the roof rose in a- somewhat steep slope for a few yards, then spread out into a large, square flat. From where he was he could see no signs of a trap-door; yet there must be one. In the case of repairs being necessary to the roof, it would he impossible to rear ladders from the street level to that height. From the roof territory the secret agent’s eyes wandered into the near distance. A short survey, and consideration, and he believed he knew where the house was located. He was in Darlinghurst. Away to the right he could see what he believed to be the glare of lights from the Picture Palace.

One backward glance at the window from wfh’ich he had escaped, and he crawled up the slope of the roof to the centre square. He cared little now if any of the crooks tried to follow him. That would be a mad act. He could pick them off at leisure as they crawled up the slope of the roof.

Yet he had to watch the length of guttering above the window from which he had escaped. He sat down on the roof, away back on the flat, square, but efficiently close to the slope to command a view of the roofedge. Something trickled warmly down his left leg. Then he remembered; as he had drawn himself up on the roof a pain as from a sear of red-hot iron had struck up his leg. He pitied up his trousers. A bullet had grazed his leg, but the wound was not serious, although quite an amount of blood had escaped. Winding'his handkerchief round the wound he set it firmly in place with his garter. That would have to suffice for the tinfe. As he pulled down his trouser leg, he glanced at the roofed ge. A hand was groping along the edge. It paused, and gripped something. Another hand came into view. Whiting until it had obtained a firm grip, Oliver Manx aimed carefully at it, and fired.

The sudden disappearance of both hands, a stream of lurid oaths from the darkness, and a yell told the secret agent that the shot had been effective. He had little compunction in shooting, believing that the men were holding the climber from below. He listened, hut the men in the room were now silent. Had the gangster been precipitated to the street below there would have been turmoil. The silence lasted for some considerabe time. Curious at its duration, Oliver Manx slipped down the slope to the guttering over the window and peered over the edge. There was no one looking out of the window. So far as he could see there was not a light in the room. Then, where had the gangsters gone ? What new trick to recapture him were they preparing ?

A sudden thought came. llh'ere

were other rooms and windows on that floor. Had the gangsters gone to those other rooms, with the intention of climbing on the roof from different angles, and taking him unawares ? That was a possibility. Quickly he lowered himself from the edge of the roof and clambered up to the flat square. Lying prone on the 'roofing, he scanned the edges of the building. So far as he could see in the dark, no attempt was yet being made by the gangsters to gain the roof.

For the time he was safe. But how long would he be unmolested ? For the moment he dominated the roof, but the gang held the balance of the house. He had proved that it would be expensive in lives to try and storm the roof; it would be.suicide to return to the room and try and fight a way through the house to the street. Yet surely they would not allow him to remain on that roof until daylight. That would be to surrender the victory to him. He had only to wait until the streets were full of people and then use his bullets to attract attention. The rumour would soon spread that a madman was on the roof of the building, shooting with a gun at passers-by—and he would make that sufficiently realistic—and the police would come. That would scatter the gang. Whoever was in charge of the gang would certainly think of that. Again Oliver Manx scanned the roof-edge. Moving as quietly as he could, he passed from point to point, making sure, so far as he could, that no attack was developing from any quarter.

As he was crossing a section of the roof, to examine one of the slopes, he stopped abruptly. At his feet was a dark patch, slightly raised above roof level. Pulling out his torch, he flashed the light on it. He had found what he sought—the trap-door from the house to the roof. He wondered did the gang know of this. He thought not or surely they would have long since tried to force a way up through it. Keeping a careful watch along the edges of the roof, Oliver Manx knelt and tried to lift the trap-door. It refused to move; evidently it fastened on the inside. A series of embedded bolts showed where the hasp lay. He tried to force them, hut they had rusted into their places, and resisted the poor tools he had to work on the task.

He could not open the trap-door, and its presence on the roof was an, added danger to him. He wondered why the gang had not thought of a trap-door to the roof. Or, had they known of it, and deliberately avoided using it until he came to disregard it as a danger spot ? That might be possible, but he hardly gave the gangsters credit for such subtlety.

A sound of rending timber behind him made Oliver Manx turn quickly. A sheet of the roofing, over one of the rooms against the slope on the north side, was bulging ominously under some strain applied from below. Standing over the trap-door, the secret agent fired a few feet from tlie bulge into the iron of the roof. Immediately the iron subsided, and there was again sillence. A shot came from the far end of the roof. Oliver Manx fii-ed in the direction from which the shot had come, but he could not see anyone. Almost before his shot ceased to echo on the night air. another shot, from a different direction, whizzed past his 'ear. He dropped prone to the roof, beside the trap-door. He could not leave that unguarded to go and see what was happening on the slopes. A few seconds and the trap-door creaked slightly. Oliver Manx put liivs hand to it; he could feel strong pressure being applied. Hardly had he withdrawn his hand when a shot passed through the woodwork, and then another. So they had found that entrance to the roof. For a moment he wondered; then, as another shot came through the woodwork, he realised that the trap-door was locked and the gangsters were attempting to shoot off the lock.

The secret agent waited. Two shots cam'e from edges of the roof, but the sectret agent pjaid no attention to them!; a quick gkmce had shown him that the men were shooting to distract his attention, and not preparing to storm the roof. Again the trap-door moved, rising slowly and silently. Waiting until there were about three inches of space showing on the edge, Oliver Manx thrust in the muzzle of his automatic and fired a couple of quick shots. He had to wrench his automatic from the quickly closed door. From inside the building came a loud cry and a volley of oaths.

Something dark showed on the edge of the roof. Oliver Manx took quick aim and fired. A click only sounded from his gun—the automatic was empty. Flicking open the magazine the secret agent felt in his pocket and brought out a magazine; he loaded the gun. Now only remained another magazine in his pocket. W‘hen he had used that he would have to surrender—if help did not come previously.

He looked up at the sky. There was a distinct lightening of the deep blue of night. Over to the east the light had turned grey. Now, if dawn came, and pepole came on to the streets !

But he dared not go to the edge of the roof to attract attention. He had to stay by that trap-door. So long as he remained there he was safe; to leave the trap-door was to have the roof stormed by the men who waited under it.

• He had to be constantly watchful. His neck ached from the strain of

continually turning it to survey all parts of the roof. Some sense told him. that matters could not remain a's they were much longer. A little co-ordination and the gangsters would storrni the roof from every side—and the trap-door. It was impossible that he could shoot every man who came to the roof. He might shoot some, but eventually he would be captured, and capture by Alec Grosse was unthinkable ! The sky was now distinctly lighter. That was in his favour, apart from the fact that it made his watch lighter. He could see the surrounding houses, and the sky-line. Surely he was in Darlinghurst, as he had suspected earlier that night. At any moment now he could attract attention from the street, or from one of the surrounding houses. For some moments he remained standing, ponderibg which was the best course to pursue. If he dared go to the edge of the roof and look down on the street ! He might see an early riser on the way to work. He could get his attention and signal for him to bring the police. Yet, to leave the trap-door, to get on the slope of the roof, was to forfeit the advantage of the central position he hdld.

He had to chance that. Moving as noiselessly as he could, he went to the roof- edge and peered over on to the street. There was no one on the road, as far as the line of his vision went. He turned, and started to climb the slope of the roof, to watch the trap-door. As his head came over the rim of the flat part of the roof, a voice spoke briefly: “ Put ’em up, Kline ! Drop that gun ! ”

For a moment Oliver hesitated. He was showing little mark to the man now lying beside the trap-door. He cursed under his breath. Why had he abandoned his point of vantage ? The gang must have been listening for some false move from him. They had heard his steps on the resonant iron, and guessed his thoughts. Immediately they had heard him at the roof-edge one of the gang had climbed up through the trap-door. He was in a-n imposisble position, on one slope of the roof. The gang commanded all the rest of the space. As he watched, another man came up through 1 the trap-door; and away on' the right-hand slope a man crawled up to the flat square.

He could hold out for a time yet if he shot to kill. But would that serve hint ? Would the sound of shots on the roof attract attention from elsewhere ? That was more than problematical. Darlinghurst had become accustomed to gang warfare. The sounds of shots were now only an incentive to the average citizen to get under cover—to proceed as quickly as possible on business that would take him outside the area- of disturbance.

Again, the roof of the building- was high from the streets. If anyone passed in the streets they might heed the shooting, but would they be able to locate the direction from where the sounds came. He turned to watch the men gathered round the trapdoor, and froze. A man was bending to the opening, hauling something through it from the hands of men he could not see. A moment, and he realised that he had reached the 'end of his tether. The gang was bringing a sub-machine gun to the roof—and all he had to contend against that weapon were five shots in the automatic he held.

Desperately, Oliver Manx looked about him. There were no means of escape now. With that sub-machine gun on the roof, and the number of men the gang had on guard, they could wait until he was starved into surrender, or, making some desperate efforts to escape, was shot to pieces. As he turned again to look towards the surrounding houses something lying’ on the gutter caught his eye. He slipped down the roof again and sought the strange object. It was only a short bar of iron. For the moment he wondered how it could he of use to him. He glanced down from the roof again. On the opposite side of the street, far below the level of the roof on which he stood, was a low house—a shop, and lights glimmered in it and in the window of the single floor above the shop. For a moment Oliver waited; then, turning and bi’acing himself on his precarious foothold, he flung the iron bar out into the greying dawn, aiming at the roof of the low house. The iron curved in the air, falling straight for the roof. It struck truly, and the loud clatter of iron on iron filled the morning air.

“Come on, Kline! You can’t do anything ! Wie’ve got you set. Don’t ■be a fool, man ! ” The voice came from the flat top of the roof—from a man he could not see.

The secret agent recognised the truth of the words. With a shrug of resignation he started to climb up to the flat roof-top. As his head camie over the edging of iron half a dozen automatics, as well as the muzzle of the machine gun. were pointed at him.

“ Careful, now ! ” A man standing a few steps before the trap-door spoke sardonically. “We don’t want you to have a serious fall, just yet. You may later —a regrettable accident, and all that. But we want to talk with you before you go. You’ve certainly shown us the way, Joe.” . There was a significance in the cold tones that sent a cold chill down Oliver Manx’s back. For a moment he waited, almost out of sight of the men on the roof, and in that time the automatic disappeared into a secret holster in the cuff of his sleeve. Two bullets remained in the weapon. If

he could retain the gun he still had a chance; but the men would certainly search him when he surrendered. Would they miss the bulge under his cuff ? If he raised his hands promptly they might. They would pat his body and legs—would they miss his arms ? That was possible. He climbed up the slope slowly, and immediately he stood on the flat roof raised his arms above his head. “ Good ! ” The voice that had spoken before, spoke again. “ You’re sure giving us trouble, Joe.” Oliver Manx straightened himself, glancing about the roof. There were at least twenty men gathered there, some about the edges of the roof, the majority about the sub-machine gun just beside the trap-door. Then from the trap-door came the big bulk of Alec Grosse.

“ Well, Joe, had your bit of fun ? ” The master-gangster spoke with heavy good humour. “ You’re sure some monkey. Now, what about coming downstairs and having a yarn ? Breakfast’ll be ready. I told ’em to get it when I heard you were up here. The early morning air makes a man ravenous, doesn’t it, Joe ? ” The secret agent did not answer. For a moment Grosse stared at him stonily, then backed to the trapdoor.

“ I’m going down now, Joe, and you’ll follow me. Where’s your gun? ” “ Didn’t you hear it ? ” Oliver Manx laughed. “It made clatter enough, surely ? ” u ISO that was it ? ” The m'astergangster smiled slightly. “ Now, what did you think to do with that ? ”

“ Wake the bloke ! ” Oliver Manx spoke vindictively. “ I sure roused ’em. The police will be here, and what will you do then ? ” “ The police ! They’re friends of yours, then, Joe ? I had quite a suspicion of that. Well, I won’t stop ’em finding you. They shall—in the flat of a half-awakened man with a revolver in his hand—and a dead burglar, well armed, at his feet. You can’t—they can’t complain of a man defending his property and his life ! ”