# The Wheel of Death/Chapter 11

The second Spider novel and the last by R. T. M. Scott. First printed in vol. 1, no. 2 of the The Spider, dated November 1933, a pulp magazine in the "Hero Pulp" subgenre starring the titular vigilante.
It was during such moments that Richard Wentworth depended upon his wit and his nerve. He rose casually from his stooping position beside the dead man, stepped leisurely over the body and selected a book from one of the shelves quite as if he did not know that some person stood behind him.
The book was a work on city government, a volume which had received considerable attention from the New York press because it dealt with the influence of politicians upon the government of the city. There had been talk of libel suits against the author and the publisher. But the politicians had so far failed to do anything about it.
"Interesting book?"
Wentworth recognized the soft voice of Mortimer Mack. But he read a sentence, at random, from the book before replying. "The elected officials of New York City," the author stated, "make no move and cast no vote except under the dictation of the politicians who arrange for their election or defeat at the polls."
Some of Buckley's blood, from one of Wentworth's fingers, smeared the page as he turned them, slowly, to face the man behind him.
"You may have the book if it interests you," said Mack suavely, as if they were indulging in an ordinary conversation.
The two men faced each other in silence for a few moments across the dead body of the politician who had forgotten his wife and family for the wiles of Cora. Outside the drums still throbbed and distant bursts of laughter could be faintly heard.
But if Mortimer Mack could be suave and casual, so also could Richard Wentworth. He opened the book again where his bloody fingers had kept the place and read aloud. "The politicians sway the voting of the ignorant masses and indirectly rule the city despotically. It only remains for an arch rogue to arise who will coerce the politicians and reduce the city to a state of absolute slavery."
Unconcernedly Wentworth closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. "It would seem as though the arch rogue had arisen!" he said calmly.
Mortimer Mack smiled and nodded his head as if he were too polite to contradict a guest. Casually he took an automatic pistol from his pocket.
Swiftly Wentworth took a pace toward him, ready to strike it from his hand or wrench it from him, if he should attempt to shoot. An agile man can do this nine times out of ten, if he is close enough and if he is trained to self-defense.
Mortimer Mack, however, did not raise the pistol threateningly. On the contrary, he kept it pointed toward the floor while he carefully wiped the grip and barrel with his handkerchief, evidently with the intention of removing all finger prints. Then, holding it with the handkerchief, he placed it upon the floor not far from one of the dead man's hands.
"It was with this pistol that Buckley was killed," he said. "The bullet passed through him and is lodged among the books behind you, Mr. Wentworth. The police can prove that this is the pistol which was used by measuring the lands and grooves of the rifling and comparing them with the markings on the bullet."
"I scarcely need such elementary instructions," remarked Wentworth lightly.
"There is more." Mortimer Mack pursed his lips and allowed his eyebrows to remain elevated for a moment in an expression of grotesque sternness. "A man was killed at Grogan's Restaurant by a bullet which bears the same markings that are upon the bullet in the books behind you. The pistol, of course, is numbered, and a confidential search at Police Headquarters has revealed to us the fact that it belongs to you, Mr. Wentworth."
"Stolen," laconically commented Wentworth without any trace of embarrassment.
"Not very convincing," retorted Mack acidly, "since we have plenty of witnesses that you were here tonight. In addition, the girl, Molly Dennis, can be forced to give evidence that you were in Grogan's Restaurant when the killings occurred at that place. The evidence against you is damning— my dear Mr. Spider!"
Richard Wentworth laughed. The little man may have thought that he was acting and that the laugh was mere bravado. But the laugh was genuine and came from sheer joy at the news that little Molly was still alive. The uncertainty of her fate had worried Wentworth, since he blamed himself for what might have happened to her.
Yet Wentworth's position was precarious in the extreme. It might seem a simple thing for him to pick up his pistol and take his departure from the room, leaving Mortimer Mack either dead or alive as he wished. Wentworth, however, knew that his opponent was no fool and was certain that he must have taken precautions. Had he not entered the room while the door remained closed? Certainly there must be some secret entrance to the room, probably through the bookcase, and, with equal probability, other eyes were watching the scene through some small aperture, perhaps over the sights of a pistol.
Mack seemed to sense Wentworth's thoughts. "I am not fool enough to put myself in your power," he said, "so please exercise discretion." He paused and looked down at the still form upon the floor. "I could stretch you lifeless beside your dead friend at any moment that I chose!"
"Then why do you wait?" asked Wentworth indifferently.
Mortimer Mack merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Shall I tell you?" continued Wentworth, smiling. "It is because you do not know how much I have discovered and you think that I, also, may have taken precautions." He paused and looked down at the dead man. "If I were dead, you might not be able to avoid my precautions. But while I am alive you hope to coerce me."
Suddenly Mortimer Mack turned toward the door in a listening attitude. Wentworth also stood very still, listening. Something strange had happened. The subdued throbbing of the barbaric drums had ceased. There was no more music, but there was the sound of people scurrying along the passage outside the door. Something unusual and unexpected had happened.
The little man moved nervously toward the door, puzzled and obviously disturbed.
"Just one of my precautions," taunted Wentworth, although he had no knowledge of what was happening.
A woman screamed and Mortimer Mack fumbled in his pocket for the key to the door.
Wentworth took a step nearer to the pistol which lay upon the floor. This might be his only opportunity to recover the weapon which he had lost. He placed his foot in front of the pistol and waited.
Another woman screamed, and somebody shouted an alarming word: "Police!"
Trembling with anger and excitement, Mortimer Mack inserted the key in the lock and opened the door slightly. As he did so, Wentworth sprang forward kicking the pistol to the door in his rush.
At the door he literally butted Mack out into the hall and, at the same time, scooped the pistol from the floor as he followed him out of the room.
People are always upset by the sudden presence of the police. Their invasion of a place of entertainment, no matter how innocent that place may be, is alarming. And in Mortimer Mack's extraordinary establishment there was much hurrying about by excited, frightened people. Dusky maidens of the chorus scampered barefooted, thinking the house was pinched. Guests, more dignified, considered that the intrusion of the police was an outrage.
Mack himself was almost purple with suppressed fury as he stood in the passage with Wentworth, his back to the door of the room they had just left.
"Damn you!" he exclaimed, and his voice was not at all suave. It was evident that he believed Wentworth had in some way managed to summon the law.
The police came straight and fast, three uniformed men and a plainclothesman. Without any hesitation they entered the passage and advanced toward the door before which stood Wentworth and Mack.
Behind them, half running, and dragging Ned Morris by the hand, came Nita. She was very pale, and her eyes strained to see Wentworth over the bobbing shoulders of the policemen ahead of her.
Mortimer Mack, summoning his dignity, stepped forward to meet the legal intruders. He expressed surprise and demanded a search warrant, but they brushed him aside.
"We got a phone call that Buckley's been bumped off," said the detective, placing his hand on the knob of the door. "This is the room— second on the left of the passage."
He flung open the door and stepped inside. Behind him Wentworth glanced through the open doorway. It was a quiet room, lined with book shelves and containing a very fine steel safe and a flat-topped desk. But there was no corpse or trace of any corpse!
"Geez!" exclaimed the detective. "I wonder if that was a phony call we got. The young fellow's voice was so scared that I thought it must be on the level!"