The Hydra Monster Read online

  "I made a few modern improvements," said the Phantom. He took off his raincoat, dropped it over a chair.

  Smiling, Diana picked up the coat. "Closet's over here as I remember." She opened a white door, hung up his coat and her cardigan. "Now, if the kitchen is still in the same place, I'll fix us some lunch."

  Devil barked once.

  "Better let him have that steak we got for him first," said the Phantom.

  The dark-haired girl beckoned to the wolf. "Let's go, boy. Give me some help in the kitchen."

  The Phantom shed his civilian clothes. He felt more comfortable in his tight-fitting costume. Adjusting his mask, he sat on a low, leather sofa. There were several things going on in the world that he wanted to keep up with. While Diana was in the kitchen, he'd catch the news on the radio.

  The big radio hummed a while before it began talking. "... in the wake of the latest cholera epidemic in this little Mideastern country has come a wave of looting. Government officials have called up the army and instituted martial law. And in San Francisco, the police believe the so-called 'Hydra' murder may be linked with the Underworld. That story in a moment."

  The Phantom jumped from the sofa, went back

  to the radio. He squatted in front of it, one hand

  resting on the cabinet, waiting out the people who were singing about potato chips.

  You have a choice of either . . said Diana from the doorway of the kitchen.

  "Quiet a minute," the masked man told her.

  "San Francisco police announced this morning that they believe the informer slain last night on a waterfront street was the victim of underworld bullets," said the deep-voiced announcer. "When asked to explain the murdered man's last words— which consisted of the single name, 'Hydra'—the detectives in charge of the case said it was probably only the babbling of a dying man. They attach no importance to it."

  "They're wrong," said the Phantom.

  "Lt. Gores, speaking for the department, promises an early arrest."

  The masked man clicked the radio off, stood up. "I thought they'd been wiped out," he said, mostly to himself.

  Diana watched his face. "We're not going to be able to stay here, are we?"

  "What?" he glanced in her direction.

  "I said, this is something important, isn't it? So we won't be able to stay here."

  "Yes, it is important," replied the Phantom. "If the Hydra is back in operation it means ... it means some very big trouble."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lt. Gores looked up from his desk as Sgt. Pron- zini walked into the office with his forefinger stuck between the pages of a thick, blue book. Gores was a stocky man in his forties, grey flecking his crewcut, dark hair. There was a pair of barbells resting on the floor beside his desk. "You usually read paperbacks?" he said.

  Pronzini was a tall dark man of thirty, his hair moderately long. "I had another idea on that Estling kill," he said. He stepped over another set of weights and slumped into a chair. "You still weight lifting?"

  "I'm going to start again at any moment." Gores rubbed at his slight paunch. "I'm going to get back the shape I had when I was your age."

  Resting one foot on the bar of the weight, Pronzini flipped the volume of the encyclopedia open to the page his finger had been marking. "Suppose that was all he really did say?"

  "What was all?"

  "Well, you had the notion what this cab driver heard was only part of a word," said the sergeant. "That maybe Estling was trying to say hydrophobia or hydrochloric, something like that."

  "I said maybe', since Hydra' by itself didn't start any chimes ringing inside my head," said the stocky lieutenant. "Or in the computers."

  "There's quite a history to the word," said Pron- zini. "I looked it up here and . . ."

  Gores' phone buzzed. "Yeah?"

  "Call for you, Lieutenant, from a David Palmer in Santa Barbara."

  "Dave Palmer?" said Gores into the phone. "That's right, he is vacationing down there. I guess you can go any place once you retire. Put him on."

  Dave Palmer was Diana Palmer's uncle. Before retiring a few years before, he had been a police commissioner in the East. His reputation, a good one, was still known in most of the country. "Hello, Joseph," said Uncle Dave. "Still lifting those weights?"

  "Going to start again any day now, Dave," replied Gores. "What can I do for you? No trouble, I hope."

  "No, everything is serene with me at the moment," answered Uncle Dave. "I just had a call from a friend of mine. He's up in your neck of the woods. He'd like to drop in and talk with you."

  "What about, Dave?"

  "He'll explain that. The point is, I want you to know that I think a great deal of him. I'd appreciate any help you can give him."

  Gores nodded. "Well, sure, if you vouch for the guy . . . he's not a reporter for some underground paper is he? I had one of those guys here last year and his story made me look like . . ."

  "No," laughed Uncle Dave, "he's not a reporter. But he is a very good friend of mine. His name is Walker."

  "Okay, Dave. I'll be happy to see the guy." They talked a few more minutes before the lieutenant hung up. "I wonder what this is going to be about."

  "What?"

  "Friend of Dave Palmers wants to come and see me," explained Gores. "Well, get back to what you were saying."

  Pronzini cleared his throat. "'The Hydra, according to Greek mythology was a sea serpent with nine heads. When one of the heads was cut off, two new ones grew to replace it,'" he read. " 'Hercules, as one of his twelve labors, had to slay the Lernaen Hydra. Accompanied by his servant lolaus, he ...'"

  "Okay, okay," came in Gores. "So what's this got to do with a stool pigeon getting himself knocked off on the waterfront?"

  Slapping the thick book shut, Pronzini said, "Maybe nothing. I only thought it was an interesting sidelight to the case. Since the guy probably said 'Hydra'."

  "Maybe it was a sea serpent that killed him," said the lieutenant. "Or maybe Estling has a sweet little old aunt back in Greece named 'Hydra', or maybe . . ."

  "It's an organization calling itself 'Hydra' that you want," said the man who stepped into the office. "At least that's a good possibility."

  Lt. Gores came half up out of his swivel chair,

  staring at the man in dark glasses and trench coat. "How the hell did you get in here?"

  "Nobody outside stopped me," answered the Phantom. "My name is Walker."

  "Well see about . . ." Gores shot a hand toward his desk phone. "Walker, you say?"

  "Yes, Dave Palmer was going to get in touch with you." Far off in the Phantom's native Ban- galla, the peoples of the jungle called him the Ghost Who Walks. When he moved among more civilized men and needed a name, he called himself Walker.

  The lieutenant let go of the phone. "Yeah, I just got off the horn with him," he said. "Next time you come visiting though, Walker, have yourself announced. This is Sgt. Pronzini."

  The Phantom held out a gloved hand. "Glad to meet you."

  Gores asked, "Who are you working for, Walker? Dave didn't..."

  Smiling at the stocky policeman, the Phantom replied, "You might say I am an amateur criminologist, Lieutenant."

  "And exactly what did you want to talk to me about?"

  "I wanted to discuss the Hydra murder."

  "That's something the papers made up, Walker," said Gores. "All we really have is another killing between crooks of one kind or another."

  The Phantom glanced at the sergeant. "The last thing the dying man said was 'Hydra', wasn't it?"

  "We think so," said Pronzini.

  He turned again to Gores. "According to the

  news accounts, this man Estling was an informer."

  he gave us tips now and then, yeah," answered gores. "Nothing very important ever."

  "But this time, he knew something," said the Phantom. "Something important enough to get killed for."

  The lieutenant laughed. "Unlike you, Walker, I'm a PROFESSIONAL criminologis
t," he told the Phantom. "People get killed for very unimportant reasons most of the time, especially people on the level of Estling."

  "Wait a second," said the sergeant. "You acted like you'd heard of this Hydra thing before, Walker. What's that all about?"

  "Over three hundred years ago," said the Phantom, "there grew up in Europe a secret society calling itself the 'Hydra'. They took the mythological name because they had many branches and it was their boast they could never be stopped. For generations, the Hydra grew, infesting all of Europe, then North Africa and even parts of Asia. They engaged in every sort of crime, from the meanest to the most complex and lucrative."

  "Like the Mafia," said Pronzini.

  "Much more powerful than that at the height of their fame," said the Phantom. "And even more vicious, much more fanatic. The Hydra had almost a mystical dedication to crime. They took incredible risks. Even when plagues raged, the Hydra was there, looting and pillaging."

  "Hey," said Pronzini, "I was reading in the EXAMINER the other day about looters hitting some Mideast country after a cholera . . ."

  "You're talking about ancient history, aren't you?" cut in Lt. Gores.

  "A few days ago, I might have thought so," answered the Phantom. "I was certain Hydra had been wiped out by my . . . had been completely destroyed nearly a hundred years ago."

  "Maybe they didn't get all its heads," suggested Gores, chuckling. He leaned back in his swivel chair, locked his hands behind his head. "Well, Mr. Walker, I appreciate the opportunity you've given me of broadening my intellectual horizons. But I really don't see what this has to do with our case."

  "I admit," said the Phantom, "this may be simply a coincidence. The dying man may have had a hundred other reasons for saying 'Hydra' as he died . . ."

  "Or he may have been trying to say something else altogether," added Gores.

  "Yes, I've taken that possibility into consideration," said the Phantom. "But if there's any possibility the Hydra is in operation again, I want to find out about it."

  "Well," said the lieutenant, "You go right ahead, Walker. And if you find any mystical secret societies lurking around town, you be sure to let me know."

  The Phantom asked, "Could I talk to the officer who was first on the scene?"

  After a few seconds Gores replied, "Sure, why not? ItH add a little spice to his day. Sergeant, why don't you go along with Mr. Walker and see if you can round up . . . Nolan, wasn't it? . . . yeah let him talk to Nolan."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant," said the Phantom.

  "Oh, any time, Mr. Walker."

  As Pronzini went out with the Phantom, encyclopedia volume under his arm, he said, "I'd like lo hear some more about Hydra."

  Lt. Gores shook his head as the door of his office shut. "Secret society," he muttered, chuckling again. He eyed the barbells beside his desk, then shook his head and swung his feet up to rest on the blotter.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The house was near the top of one of San Francisco's seven hills. A narrow Victorian structure whose front window faced the Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. The Phantom, in his mask and tight- fitting costume again, was standing at the window as night began to settle on the city. The lights of the bridge glowed a pale gold in the waning light.

  "You haven't said what you think of the place."

  The masked man continued to stare at the new night. "What's that, Diana?"

  "This house," said Diana. "I think I was very lucky that an old, college friend was taking off on

  a two week vacation the very day I arrived here, looking for some place to stay."

  He turned to face the girl. "It's a very nice old house," he told her, smiling. "She didn't object to Devil?"

  "They have two kids," said Diana. "She didn't think Devil could be any more destructive than they are. Of course, I had to tell them he was a police dog." She nodded at the grey wolf stretched out in front of the empty fireplace.

  The Phantom laughed. "You're sure you don't want to go back home? I don't know how long I'll have to be here in San Francisco."

  "No, I'm quite content," said Diana. "What have you found out so far?"

  "Well, I've found out the police think I'm a crank," he said. "At least I'm pretty sure Lt. Gores does. There's a Sgt. Pronzini who's a little more open-minded about the Hydra."

  "You really believe this . . . this ancient gang is back in business?"

  "It's too soon to tell," answered the masked man. "So far I have only a few facts and a large hunch. The hunch tells me Hydra is very much in business."

  "You didn't learn anything new from the police?"

  "Only that the dying man, pretty definitely, did say 'Hydra'. I talked to the officer who got there immediately after the killing. He didn't have anything new to contribute, though. I'm going out shortly to find the cab driver who might have witnessed the shooting."

  Diana asked, "The Phantom has fought the

  Hydra before?"

  "Yes," he said, "on several occasions over the centuries. You've been to SKULL CAVE in the DEEP WOODS, Diana. You know about the Phantom chronicles?"

  "Every Phantom since the first has recorded his exploits in those books," said the girl. "So it was there you first heard about Hydra?"

  He nodded, saying, "The Phantom of his day fought the Hydra when it first emerged three hundred years ago. And it was a later Phantom who destroyed the last remnants of the group in the middle of the last century. So, you see, if the Hydra is back in existence . . . well, it's my duty to wipe it out."

  "I understand," said Diana. "And you're going out again tonight?"

  "Yes, I have to," he said. "IH be taking Devil with me."

  The big grey wolf rose to its feet and trotted over to his master's side.

  Mac saw the man in the trenchcoat and the dog. They were standing on the corner in a swirl of fog. The man hailed him. The young, black cab driver hesitated, then slowed and pulled up at the curb. "Hey, is that dog housebroken?"

  The Phantom didn't get into the cab. Instead he walked around the front of the car, stopping beside the driver's open window. "You're MacQuarrie, aren't you?"

  Mac touched at a sore, scraped spot on his

  cheek. "Look, I'm in business," he said out into the night. "My business is driving this cab. You want to go someplace, get in."

  "I want to talk to you."

  "Nope, no sir." Mac reached up to shift the car back into DRIVE.

  The Phantom caught his arm. "You found Est- ling near here the other night," he said. "I want to know if . . ."

  "You don't want to know nothing," said Mac. "Because I got nothing to tell. I found a stiff, he was already dead. He didn't say a single word. Not one word to me. Now come on and let loose of me, man."

  The Phantom asked, "What happened to your face?"

  "I fell down on the sidewalk."

  "Somebody got to you. Somebody told you to keep quiet about Hydra."

  "I never heard that name before," insisted Mac. "Go away from me, man."

  "Who worked you over?"

  Beside the Phantom, Devil snarled.

  The Phantom tinned to see a young man in dark glasses moving through the night mist toward him. "Having a little round table discussion, are we?" he said, smiling evenly. "I'd like to join in."

  Mac licked his lips. "We weren't talking about nothing. This guy's drunk or something, doesn't know where he wants to go."

  The young man had one hand, his right, inside his coat. "Is that so?" he asked the Phantom.

  Mini's funny, because I had the impression you two were chatting about something that is none of| your damned business."

  "I'm keeping my mouth shut," said Mac. "You guys got no need to follow me around, man."

  "Me? You must have me mixed up with someone else," smiled the young man. "I've never laid eyes on you before."

  The Phantom reached out, took hold of the man's shoulder. "You're more than welcome to join us. I'm sure you can tell me all about Hydra."

  The hand sna
pped out of the coat holding a .38 revolver. "No, no," he said. "That's really not a safe topic for anybody to talk about. I'm really sorry you . . ."

  Devil gave no warning growl. He leaped straight at the gunman, sinking his sharp teeth into the man's wrist.