The second Fazoql had walloped him over the head with the leg of a chair. The lights went out. Joan screamed. Jaro felt her hand torn from his arm. He thought, "Mercurians!"
Something hit him over the head.
After a while Jaro came to. He stood up, bumped his head against the ceiling. It was dark. He felt about with his hands. He seemed to be in a cubical cell about four feet square and not much higher. He could neither stand up nor lie down. It was so deep beneath the city, he couldn't hear the flutes. His head ached. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the cell, he discovered by the sense of touch, were stone. He sat down, his back to the wall. He wondered dully what had happened to Landovitch and Joan. Did Albert Peet or Karfial Hodes have the girl?
He thought ruefully that Peet probably had her. The presence of the Earthmen and the two Venusian Fazoqls convinced him that Peet was behind the attack. Then he too must be a prisoner of Peet. He was faintly surprised that he hadn't been killed.
He closed his eyes to shut out the absolute darkness which pressed in on him from all sides. With a touch of panic he considered the possibility that he might be blind. He shuddered, refusing to think about it, speculating on the fine collection of rogues which Albert Peet had gathered in support of his collapsing economic empire.
He was not surprised that the Latonka Czar had hired the Fazoqls. The caste of Venusian killers were active all over the Universe. Like the Greek mercenaries of ancient times, it was a respected profession on Venus. As long as Peet fulfilled his side of the contract, the Fazoqls would be loyal. But the Earthmen!
Earthmen gone bad were more feared than mad dogs and given a much wider berth. They were just as apt to destroy Albert Peet as his enemies. When he thought of Joan Webb being left to their tender care, he writhed mentally.
There was something fresh, likeable, wholesome about the girl. He made no melodramatic vows of revenge to himself should he discover that the girl had been harmed. Instead a coldness crept over his mind. He would, he knew, hunt them to the outermost ports of the Universe's far-flung frontiers.
His head was no better. He felt that a drink of Latonka would clear his mind. After a while he went back to sleep.
When he awoke he was very thirsty. He set about exploring his cell with his fingers, encountered a jug and a pan of food. They must have been placed there while he slept. He ate and drank. His head didn't ache so badly, his mind was clearer. He felt his chin. He thought he would like a bath and a shave.
He shifted position, leaned back against the wall, felt it give slightly beneath his weight. He scrambled around, feverishly ran his hand over the smooth blocks of stone. One of the blocks, he discovered, had been pushed back in the wall about an inch. He shoved outward against it. The stone receded further, leaving a hole scarcely large enough for his broad shoulders.
Jaro squeezed into the hole, wriggled forward, pushing the stone ahead of him. It ran in grooves. This was not the regular door he felt sure, but a secret entrance of whose existence he doubted that even his guards suspected. After about four feet, he felt himself clear of the wall. The stone came to a stop. He could push it no further. He had come through into a second chamber or passage, he didn't know which as still no glimmer of light relieved the intense darkness.
He stood, cracked his head against the ceiling. He recalled the small stature of the Mercurians, grinned ruefully.
He bethought himself of his captors' surprise when they discovered his escape, got back down on hands and knees, pushed the stone back into the exit. It came to a stop with a small click. The hole was plugged. He tried to move the stone. It was latched fast. He realized that the lock must not have been caught or else no amount of pressure would have moved that stone. Backing out into the passage behind the cells, he stood up again. He was free.
Stooping painfully he crept along the wall. He had taken five hundred and twenty-three steps when he stumbled up a stair. Recovering his balance, he climbed up sixteen steps which wound back on themselves, came out in another passage. This second corridor he judged ran directly above the one he had just left. There was still no light. With increasing confidence he began its exploration.
The first thing his groping fingers encountered was a narrow alcove inset in the wall. Like a blind man he passed his hand across the back wall of the alcove, felt a knob-like protuberance, pulled. A small stone plug came out, revealing a peep hole. A ray of light streamed through the aperture. He wasn't blind!
He put his eye to the peep hole, saw a large, delicately furnished room. In the center was a bed on a dais. Several luxurious chairs, fashioned like chaise lounges and upholstered in white fur, squatted invitingly about the floor. A deep-piled aquamarine carpet covered the cold stone blocks under foot. The walls were a solid mass of bas relief. The ancient sculptor had exhibited a robust sense of realism in his choice of subjects.
He felt about the walls, sure that there must be some means of ingress. His fingers discovered a second handle. He pulled. A section of the wall swung back.
For a moment he hesitated like a gray wolf coming into a clearing, then crossed the chamber to the door. Cautiously, he inched it open. A long corridor met his eyes. It was lighted like the chamber with the pale green globes of the Mercurians. Like the chamber too, it was deserted.
He stepped back in the room, drew the door shut, bolted it. With growing curiosity he set about examining his surroundings. If this belonged to Albert Peet's establishment, he surely did himself proud. He discovered a closet full of rich feminine apparel, then a second door leading through a mirror paneled dressing room into a bath with a sunken tub.
Jaro sighed. He stripped off his clothes, filled the tub, let himself into the warm water. Having bathed he searched a small built-in cabinet, found a hair remover used by the Mercurian women on their legs. It doubled for a razor quite successfully. He ran his hand over his chin, laughed, returned to the main chamber. Unlocking the door to the hall in order not to create suspicion, he retreated into the secret passage, shut the door, plugged the peep hole.
A dozen steps further along the corridor, he found a second alcove identical with the last. There was a corresponding peep hole. The room he looked into resembled the other except that its appointments differed. It too, was deserted. He thought everyone must be above celebrating the Festival. He wondered where he was. The last two chambers had held no clue.
A third alcove revealed a room similar to the others except that it was occupied. A pale Mercurian girl was asleep on the bed. Her black hair lay on her white shoulders like stains of ink. A broad band of green metal encircled one naked ankle.
Jaro drew in his breath sharply. A temple priestess, one of the ex-brides of Nemi. He was beneath the temple of the rain god. Albert Peet's men had not captured him after all. The thought induced a new chain of reasoning. He remembered the lights flashing out back in the grog shop. His thought at the time: "Mercurians." It dawned on him that Karfial Hodes' men must have rescued them from Peet's hired Mercenaries. But why? He put the plug back into place.
The following two chambers were empty. At first, he thought the next one was too. He was about to insert the plug when a girl entered from the dressing room. His lips formed an inaudible whistle. The girl was Joan Webb.
Jaro, observing Joan Webb through the peep hole, saw that her tawny brown eyes were strained, frightened, her shorts and blouse rumpled as if slept in. He wondered suddenly how much time had elapsed since the fight in the grog shop.
Joan turned and went back into the dressing room. Jaro, with a broad grin, found the handle, swung back the secret panel. He squeezed through the narrow aperture, drew shut the panel behind him.
Joan came back into the room.
He said: "Hail, fairest of all maidens. I am Nemi come for my bride."
Joan screamed, sprang back into the dressing room, peered at him wildly around the edge of the frame.
"You!" she said. She came out. "Where did you come from?"
Jaro bounced up and down on the edge of the bed. "How did you rate this?" he asked. "You should have seen my cell. You've been imprisoned in the lap of luxury."
Joan repeated, "Where did you come from?"
He waved his hand airily. "Out of the nowhere into the here."
She observed him dubiously, said, "Listen Nemi, if you can get in and out as you please, let's not loiter."
He grinned, led her to the secret entrance, pushed back the panel.
"Oh!" said Joan. "You almost had me believing that Nemi stuff."
"Come on." He squeezed through the exit, disappeared.
Joan hesitated, peering with alarm into the black hole. "The way I have to trust you!"
Jaro reached out a hand, pulled her through, pushed the panel in place. They were immediately in darkness so thick, so dense that they could feel it.
"Where are you?" said Joan, a panicky note in her voice.
"Here," Jaro laughed.
"Oh!" she ejaculated. "Really, Mr. Moynahan."
"What happened back in the grog shop?"
Joan hesitated, said, "It's all kind of foggy. I was simply petrified with fright. When the lights went out, someone grabbed me. I tried to cry out for you only someone had his hand over my mouth. I couldn't do anything but gurgle. They dragged me toward the back of the shop. I thought.... Well, never mind what I thought."
Jaro chuckled.
"It wasn't funny," said Joan, indignantly. "They hauled me down some stairs, into an alley. I saw then that they were Mercurians, and I wasn't so scared. They brought me here, and here I've been ever since. But I still don't understand how you found me."
He said, "There seems to be a regular network of these secret passages running through the walls. It was the merest accident that I stumbled into them. Where they lead, though, I don't know any more than you."
"What are we going to do?" she wanted to know.
"Find Karfial Hodes. I've a hunch that he's hidden here."
"I was afraid of that," she said in a plaintive tone.
Jaro found her hand, led her to the next alcove, applied his eye to the peep hole. The room, he saw, was identical with the one in which Joan had been imprisoned. On the bed lay the red-headed singer ofMercury Sam's Garden.
"The Red Witch," he whispered. "We're getting hot."
"Who's she?" said Joan. She pushed Jaro aside, put her eye to the peep hole. "Wheredoyou meet these people?" she asked.
Jaro said, "I'm going in and talk to her. Wait here."
"What?" cried Joan, "Leave me out in this dark hole? I should say not."
"All right," he replied. He glanced again through the peep hole. The woman was asleep. She lay on her side, her red hair turning the pillow to blood. She still had on the abbreviated costume she had been wearing on Mercury Sam's stage.
Jaro opened the panel, crawled into the room, Joan on his heels.
He went up to the bed, looked down at the sleeping woman. He thought she looked hollow cheeked, unhappy in her sleep; nothing like the flaming wanton who was known throughout the Universe as the Red Witch. He touched her shoulder.
She opened her eyes. They were a vivid green. Recognition swept her features.
V
"Jaro!" she cried, a note of fright in her voice. She jerked up, swung her bare legs off the bed onto the floor. "What do you want? How did you get here?" Those amazing green eyes flicked past him, discovered Joan. She wasn't too frightened to raise her eyebrows.
"There are a few questions I'd like to ask," he replied coolly. "Just who is behind this revolution?"
There was the faintest hesitancy in her reply. "Hodes. Who did you think?"
He looked skeptical, waited.
She said, "You don't believe me? When I talked with you, I exaggerated perhaps. But there is very much money involved, very much indeed. Should the Mercurians be successful, they would take possession of the Latonka Trust, the plantations, and the mines. The Earthmen would be dispossessed. Naturally, they are very anxious to frustrate the revolution."
"But the Mercurians are in the right," Joan burst out. She had been swelling up like a toad in the effort to contain herself. "Albert Peet and his kind, stole everything in the first place. They deserve to be kicked out. Mercury has a right to self-government."
The Red Witch shrugged. "I'm not curious about the ethics. I'm paid by the Earthmen, not the Mercurians. Are you with us or against us, Jaro?"
He ignored her question, asked, "Are you being held by Karfial Hodes?"
She nodded.
"Why?"
She exhibited surprise. "Karfial Hodes knows that I am the principal agent of the counter revolutionaries. But if he thinks that by eliminating me he can block the forces opposing him, he's overestimating my importance."
"Eliminating?" said Jaro mildly. "Are you in any danger?"
She shrugged again. "The Mercurians aren't butchers. They merely hold me until the revolution begins."
Jaro said: "Where does Karfial Hodes keep himself?"
She shook her head.
"That little pianist, the gunman, how did he escape?"
"Stanley, you mean Stanley. Did he get away?" she asked him eagerly.
He nodded.
Her eyes narrowed; she bit her lip.
"That's all you want to tell me?" he said.
The look of fright reappeared in her green eyes. "What do you mean, Jaro?"
He said nothing.
"You know as much as I do," she assured him. "You believe me now, don't you, Jaro." Her voice was eager.
"No," he replied calmly.
"What are you going to do?" she whispered.
"Who are the others in this with you?"
"I can't tell you." She bit her lip, looked more frightened than ever.
"Who are the others?" he repeated mildly.
The red-headed singer leaped to her feet. Her figure was full, strikingly beautiful. She was well aware of her appeal. "Jaro," she cried, "I can't tell you. It would be as much as my life is worth. Not until I know what side you're on."
Jaro regarded her calmly. At length he said, "You'll excuse us if we lock you in the dressing room?"
"But Jaro," she said; "aren't you going to take me with you?"
He shook his head.
"You're going to leave me here?" she repeated. She couldn't keep the relief out of her voice.
He laughed, said, "I'm afraid so."
A great weight seemed lifted from the red-headed singer's mind. With a resumption of her old bravado, she shrugged, walked into the dressing room. Her hips moved from side to side. Jaro shut the door, pushed the bed in front of it.
"The hussy!" said Joan.
Jaro wasn't sure but he thought he detected a feline note in her tone. He led the way back into the passage, closed the exit.
Joan clutched his hand again. "That woman!"
"Attractive, isn't she?" he said with a chuckle. "Ouch!" he said. "That wasn't very lady-like."
"What wasn't?" asked Joan sweetly. "I didn't do anything."
"Well, someone kicked me," he replied.
"You don't think I'd do a thing like that? Do you?"
"Yes," he said. He inched ahead along the lightless passage.
"Jaro."
There was no reply.
"Jaro!" cried the girl in panic. "Where are you? Wait for me, Jaro. I'll never kick you again."
"Is that a promise?" he asked from the darkness right at her ear.
"Eeek!" she gasped. "Yes, it's a promise, though I regret it already."
He chuckled, said, "Give me your hand," led her forward.
They had gone only a few yards, when his foot struck an obstacle. "Careful," he warned. "Here's a stair." They crept up to the next level. The familiar alcoves began again along the right hand wall. He tried the first one. It revealed a rectangular tank of water some ten by twenty feet. The walls were a mosaic of hand painted tile depicting Nemi, the rain god, descending to Mercury in a shower, Nemi searching for his bride, Nemi at the nuptial feast. The fourth wall was the one through which they were looking; and they couldn't see its decoration. From the realism of the ancient artist and the sequence of events, Jaro decided it was just as well they couldn't.
"Whew," he said, "what a bathroom!"
Joan put her eye to the peep hole. Jaro gaped in amazement. From a circular hole in the ceiling poured a curtain of rain. The shaft, he realized, must lead straight up through the different levels and through the roof. A raised dais with a rim around it received the rain in the center of the room. The surface of the dais he saw, was composed of a springy wire mesh through which the water drained into some subterranean channel.
"The bed of Nemi," said Joan. "That's where the queen must sleep on her wedding night. Nemi is supposed to visit her in the rain."
"What a clammy way to spend your wedding night," Jaro said, putting his eye back to the aperture. The appointments of the chamber were magnificent. It glowed with a rosy, pulsating light. The floor was carpeted with a shaggy white rug; a divan large enough to hold at least six people rested against the left hand wall. Around the walls ran murals depicting the exploits of Nemi: Nemi touching the red egalet which burst into flower, Nemi squeezing the juice from a cluster of Latonka grapes.
The next room proved to be an ordinary sleeping chamber, obviously the bedroom of the queen for the remainder of the year. Jaro saw a beautiful Mercurian girl packing clothes and trinkets into a chest. The green band about her ankle marked her as a temple priestess. She was singing a lilting, happy refrain in the odd language of Mercury as she went about her work.
Joan put her eye to the hole.
"That's the ex-queen," she informed him. "She's getting ready to move to the apartments of the temple priestess."
"She doesn't seem unhappy at her approaching bereavement," said Jaro.
Joan sniffed. "Not likely."
"I'm going in to talk to her," said Jaro.
"Are you crazy?" cried Joan in alarm. She tugged at him arm, but he was already pulling back the secret entrance.
The queen had her back to them. Jaro closed the entrance, coughed discreetly. The girl spun around, her hand to her mouth.
"How should I address her?" He whispered over his shoulder.
"I don't think you need bother with formalities," observed Joan in a bitter voice, "not after your entrance."
The queen said, "You are an Earthman."
Jaro said, "Yes, your majesty."
"Majesty?" echoed the Mercurian girl. Her eyes were golden, oblique, curious, her hair a fine graven ebony. She had long, black lashes, bright red lips. Her skirt and jacket were green. "I don't quite understand. I am not very familiar with your language."
Jaro grinned. "I suppose our entrance was not exactly orthodox but the fact is that we are escaped prisoners." The queen raised her fine black brows.
"How did you get here?" Her voice had an odd foreign flavor. Jaro couldn't put his finger on it, but it was there. He said, "That is unimportant. We are searching for Karfial Hodes. I know of no one more apt to be informed of his whereabouts than you."
"And what is it that you want with Karfial Hodes?"
Jaro had the impression that she was stalling, listening expectantly. He said, "Where is Hodes?"
Before she could answer, the doors on either side burst open. A dozen priests of Nemi burst into the room. Jaro caught a triumphant smile on the queen's face, then he kicked the closest Mercurian on the knee. The priest screamed, doubled to the floor. He lifted a second bodily, hurled him into the press, bowling over several others. A priest lit on his back. He flipped him over his shoulder. He rammed an elbow into someone's eye, smashed his fist against a mouth. He kicked another priest on the knee. He got hold of one of the fellows by a leg, whirled him around like a club. He caught a glimpse of the queen, her expression registering frightened dismay. She was stabbing a button on the table, obviously the means by which she had summoned her defenders. A whole horde of priests crowded into the room.
Behind him Joan screamed. "Jaro," she cried. "Help!"
Jaro laid the poor fellow he had been using as a bludgeon on the floor.
"All right," he said. "I surrender." Everyone, especially the priests, appeared relieved.
"Take them before Karfial Hodes," directed the queen. Her yellow eyes regarded the gaunt Earthman with amazement, tinged with respect. The priests laid hold of him gingerly, urged him toward the door. He stood head and shoulders above the Mercurians.
He looked at Joan quizzically, said: "All roads lead to Rome."
"Oh dear," said Joan. "I'm not fitted for this kind of a life. I'm a secretary, a darned good secretary. I don't know how I ever got involved in this mess."
From the queen's apartment they emerged into a broad passage. A concourse of Mercurians moved in streams all about them. They flung eager questions at their guards, chattered, laughed. The flutes, too, were audible once more: thin treble pipings, like the pipes of Pan, Jaro thought.
"How long does the Festival last?" he asked Joan.
"What?" she said. "Oh. Roughly a week. It's half over now."
They came to the end of the corridor, mounted a broad staircase. Jaro sensed that they were still deep in the bowels of Mercury. At length, they were halted before a massive door. A priest stood at the entrance. There was an exchange of words between their captors and the solitary guard. Satisfied, the priest stood aside, flung open the door. Jaro and Joan were motioned inside. The portal clanged shut behind them.
"Caught again," said Joan. "I'll never feel at home now unless I'm behind bars."
Jaro chuckled. "This isn't a jail," he pointed out. "The cells are below us. I think we are about to see Karfial Hodes at last."
The room in which Jaro and Joan found themselves was a large, bare, vaulted hall. At the far end, Jaro saw an imposing door. He advanced curiously toward it.
"Are we just supposed to wait?" asked Joan. "How does Karfial Hodes know we're here?"
"He's probably been notified by visoscreen," he assured her. He pushed experimentally at the massive door. It moved easily beneath his touch. "Hey!" he said. "It's not locked." His voice echoed hollowly in the vaulted antichamber.
"Are we going in?" asked Joan weakly. "As if I didn't know already."
Jaro gave the door a push. It swung wide.
"Look!" cried Joan. "My god, look!"
He saw a magnificent room, the floor of polished marble. A row of fluted columns ran down each side. There was a desk, a modern desk, strangely out of place in the antique setting, opposite the door through which they had entered. Across its polished surface a man sprawled limply, just as if he had fallen forward from his chair in sleep.
With a bound Jaro sprang across the room, felt the man's withered wrist for any signs of pulse. He was a very old man, he saw, and he was quite dead.
"Karfial Hodes!" murmured Joan in a low frightened voice. "I saw him once in a street procession. Is he dead, Jaro?"
Jaro nodded. From the back of the old man's neck, he plucked a tiny metallic splinter. "They got him with a poisoned dart gun. He's still warm. It couldn't have happened but a minute before."
"Oh, Jaro, and he was such a nice old man. Who could have done it?"
Jaro straightened, said, "One of Albert Peet's renegade whites."
"Ugh! And to think I worked for that man."
But Jaro wasn't listening. He had gone behind the desk. "This is how they got him," he said, excitement in his voice. It was, Joan sensed, the excitement of the man hunter when he grows hot on the trail of his quarry. There was a cold and ruthless edge to his voice which she had not heard before, and for the first time she found herself a little afraid of this strange man about whom she really knew so little. Hesitantly she edged after him.
Behind the desk, she saw a panel gaping ajar in the stone wall. It was the same kind of panel which gave admittance to the secret passages on the lower levels. Jaro was nowhere in sight.
"In here," he called, and Joan thought of the baying of wolves running strong on a hot scent. She bit her lip, slipped into the blackness after him.
"Jaro, where are you?"
"This must be how they got him," he said from the darkness beside her. "When that gunman—the little one who was abducted along with the Red Witch, you remember—when he escaped he must have stumbled on these passages, I suppose that was the important information he had for Albert Peet."
"They couldn't have gone very far," suggested Joan.
"No," said Jaro. "Not very far, I hope." He closed the panel. At once the darkness gathered about them, pressed in on them from every side. It was so dark that the girl could bring her hand right up to her face without being able to distinguish a thing.
A ray of light jumped from the panel as Jaro extracted the plug, applied his eye to the aperture. He could see the back of the dead Mercurian leader crumpled across the desk and beyond him the open door into the vaulted antichamber.
As he looked, a Mercurian, the priest who had been on guard at the entrance, appeared in the doorway. Other Mercurians were staring over the priest's shoulder. Consternation was written large across their usually impassive features.
"Sehr Karfial Hodes!" the priest cried, and then uttered a string of Mercurian words quite unintelligible to the listening Jaro.
Suddenly, it seemed to dawn on the priest that there had been foul play. He ran across the floor, turned up his dead leader's face. The benign, peaceful, half smile on the old Mercurian's lips seemed to belie his tragic murder. Jaro put back the plug.
"We're in for it," he said grimly. "The Mercurians must believe that we murdered Karfial Hodes."
"What will they do?" the girl asked in a small voice.
"I don't imagine they'll pin any medals on us," he replied dryly.
"Why did they have to kill Karfial Hodes?" There was a puzzled, tragic note in the girl's voice. "He was such a harmless old man."
"Albert Peet can answer that question," Jaro said quietly. "In fact, he can answer a lot of questions that I intend to ask him. But where can I hide you?"
"Hide me!" ejaculated Joan. "If you get three feet away I'll scream. I don't know why I should feel safer when you're here—I've been shot at, abducted and jailed since I met you—but I do."
For a moment Jaro hesitated, then he fumbled for her wrist in the dark, found it. "Come on," he said. "We'll see where this passage leads."
They crept ahead, encountered a stair, descended thirty-two steps. Again they felt their way along a passage, went down a second flight of steps.
"If this keeps up we'll come out on the under side of Mercury," he said. "Ouch!" There was a dull thud.
"What was that?" cried Joan.
"Me. I cracked my skull on this confounded ceiling." He paused. "Joan, we must be on the same level as my cell." He got down on hands and knees, crawled along the passage, running his fingers across the stones.
"Ah!" he said. His questing fingers had discovered a hole close to the floor.
"Where are you?" Joan cried.
"Here."
She moved up cautiously until she bumped into him. "Whatever are you after, groveling on the floor?" she asked greatly relieved.
"I've a hunch," he replied. "Wait here!"
He wormed his way into the hole, found it blocked by the stone. Delicately, he ran his fingers over its surface seeking its mechanism. A catch? There it was. He released it, hauled. The stone slid towards him. Backing out of the hole, he drew the block after him. Joan stifled a scream as he bumped into her.
With the block clear of the wall, he wriggled back into the hole. If possible the Stygian blackness was thicker than ever. There should be a cell on the other side of the wall. He lay still, listened. The silence was as absolute as the dark. He wormed his way ahead. With a shock he felt his fingers come in contact with bare flesh. A hand flicked across his face, clutched his throat with a grip of iron.
Jaro wrenched backward, tried to call out, but that unrelenting grip on his throat held like a vise, choked off his words. His antagonist never uttered a sound. Silently, blindly they fought in the four foot square cell.
Jaro got his hands on his antagonist's wrists, wrenched. His lungs were on fire, he thought wildly that no sensation was as agonizing as not being able to draw a breath. The man had succeeded in getting both hands on his throat. Jaro drew up his legs, kicked. His feet struck flesh, the iron fingers were torn from his throat. Blessed air poured into his lungs.
Dimly, he realized that Joan was calling his name from the passage. Then she screamed.
A man's voice beside him said: "Jaro! My God! Is that you, Jaro?"
"Yes," panted Jaro, recognizing Landovitch, the T.I.S. agent. "I was looking for you. There's a hole here some place." His fingers were wildly running across the cold stones. "Joan's outside in the passage. Something's happened."
Again the girl screamed.
"Here it is," said Jaro with relief, dived through. Once clear of the walls, he stood up, cracked his head on the low ceiling.
"Joan!" he said. He could hear Landovitch grunting and puffing, trying to squeeze his big frame through the narrow aperture. The girl did not answer.
"Joan!" he called louder. His voice came back to him hollowly in the pitch black corridor. "Joan!"
There was no answer. The girl was gone.
VI
Jaro hesitated undecided which way to go.
"Pull me out of here," Landovitch pleaded. "I'm stuck."
He felt around, seized the big T.I.S. agent's wrist, tugged. Landovitch came free, stood up, cracked his head against the roof with a thud.
"It's a low ceiling," said Jaro.
"This is a fine time to be telling me."
"They've got Joan," said Jaro. "Which way could they have gone?"
"Joan?" echoed Landovitch dubiously. "Oh, you mean Miss Webb, that pretty girl who was with us when the fight started in the grog shop." He paused. "Who's got her? Where are we anyway?"
"Shut up!" said Jaro impolitely. "I'm trying to orientate myself. We're in the Temple of Nemi."
Landovitch whistled softly. "The rain god."
But Jaro was paying no attention. "There must be a set of stairs at each end of this corridor," he mused. "We just came down one. That leads to the apartment where Hodes was murdered. I think it's a blind alley. But the other stair goes up to the chambers of the temple priestesses. That must be the way they've gone. Come on." He started off along the corridor.
"Hey!" Landovitch said plaintively. "Which way are you going?" He reached out, clutched Jaro's arm, hung on. "Who's got the girl?"
"Peet's men," Jaro grunted. "It must have been Peet's men who got Joan. They murdered Karfial Hodes just a few minutes ago and escaped through this corridor. We were trailing them. I don't think the Mercurians even suspect the existence of these passages." They reached the steps, ascended to the next level, hurried blindly along the corridor of the alcoves.
"But how do you figure Peet's men knew about these passages?" asked Landovitch in a puzzled voice.
"That gunman of Peet's," said Jaro. "The one who was captured along with the Red Witch. He must have discovered them. It's the only way I can figure he escaped."
Again they stumbled up a flight of steps.
"This ought to be on the same level as Nemi's apartment," volunteered Jaro. Suddenly his fingers encountered space in the right hand wall.
"What's up," said Landovitch, bumping into him.
"There's a corridor branching off here," he replied. "Which way? Which way?"
"One's as good as another," said Landovitch.
Without replying, Jaro pushed ahead along the left hand corridor. He had not gone fifty paces before he halted again, began to curse. The words flowed out, cold, furious.
The hair on the back of Landovitch's neck crawled. He'd never heard Jaro vent his anger before. "What is it now?" he asked.
"The corridor splits up into three different passages. This rotten place is a rat-run." He drew a breath. "We might as well try to find our way out and hunt up Albert Peet."
He led the way along the center corridor, fell up an unexpected flight of steps, resumed his cursing.
Landovitch wanted to laugh but decided against it. He had never known Jaro to be as wrought up over anything as he seemed to be about the girl's abduction.
Jaro scrambled to his feet, mounted the steps with Landovitch still following. The head of the stair was blocked. He fumbled a moment in the dark, found the omnipresent plug, extracted it.
The room into which he found himself looking was an ordinary Mercurian apartment of the lower strata of the city. It was untenanted, bare, dusty. He worked a moment at the panel, discovered the catch, swung it back. He and the T.I.S. agent stepped into the apartment.
"Whew!" said Landovitch. "What a relief. I was beginning to think I might rot down there." His blond hair was a mass of clotted blood and dirt. One eye was black, his clothes torn and stained.
"You look as if you'd been blown from a rocket tube," commented Jaro dryly, as he made for the street door.
"You don't look like a gay Lothario yourself," Landovitch retorted.
Jaro opened the door, peered out cautiously. The vaulted burrow which served as a street between the apartments was deserted. The green globes were dim. They must be on one of the lowest levels of Acecia.
"Irving," said Jaro, turning to the T.I.S. agent. "I'm going to pay Albert Peet a visit. He's going to talk whether he wants or not. I'm afraid it won't be strictly legal, and I don't want to embroil you in any difficulty. I think we'd best part."
"Never mind that," began Landovitch, then halted, seized Jaro by the shoulder. "Listen!" he commanded.
From up the street came faintly the noise of shouts and screams, then the unmistakable zizz-boom! of a rocket gun. The two men looked at each other. The silence was immediately punctured by a scattering rattle of dum-dum fire.
The firing drew closer. At the end of the street, a party of Colonial guards trotted into sight. They were dragging the rocket gun and were still in an orderly retreat.
Half way up the arched passage they made a stand. Jaro watched them set up the rocket gun. All except the gun crew faded into doorways. Jaro swung his eyes back to the head of the street. A company of Fazoqls, the killer caste of Venus, were advancing in short dashes from doorway to doorway. The rocket gun went zizz-boom! The street ahead was suddenly clear of Fazoqls except for a few sprawled figures.
"The revolution!" said Landovitch: "They've started the revolution."
The Venusian mercenaries had begun to snipe at the guards again with the dum-dum rifles. Several of the Earthmen slumped to the pavement. The Venusians, Jaro guessed, were crawling through the apartments, flanking the little group about the rocket gun. In a moment the Colonial guards were forced to retreat again.
Pulling their rocket gun after them, they took up a position directly in front of the apartment where Jaro and Landovitch watched, wide-eyed.
"Back! Get back!" Jaro pulled Landovitch into an adjoining chamber. A string of dum-dums exploded against the outer wall as some Fazoql raked the building with his rapid fire rifle. The door burst open. A burly Colonial guard, his gaudy uniform soiled and ragged, stumbled inside, took up a position just within the doorway.
"Hey!" said Jaro cautiously.
The guard swung around, his finger on the button of the Dixon Ray Rifle. Jaro noticed that sweat had traced paths down his grimy face. His hat was gone. Slowly his features relaxed as he recognized the two men as Terrestrials.
"What's coming off?" Jaro asked.
The guard grunted, glanced out the door. "The Mercurians have risen." Up the street a Fazoql moved in a doorway. A yellow ray leaped from the bell-shaped mouth of the guard's rifle, bathed the doorway in a saffron glare. The Fazoql tumbled into the street.
"They've hired the Venusian mercenaries," the guard continued. "We're outnumbered ten to one."
"Who's leading the revolution?" asked Jaro.
"Karfial Hodes, the patriot," replied the guard. He flung the words over his shoulder, keeping his eyes up the vaulted passage.
"But Hodes is dead!" expostulated Jaro.
"Not so you could notice it," grunted the guard. Outside the rocket gun went zizz-boom! "How do you explain this?" He took a scrap of paper from his tunic, tossed it to Jaro.
"What is it?" Landovitch said.
The paper, Jaro saw, was a declaration. It read:
"To the Mercurian People:"The time has come to cast off the yoke of Earth. All loyal Mercurians are called upon to purge our ranks of the greedy Terrestrial parasites who have been exploiting our resources. Arise and take back that which is rightfully yours."
"To the Mercurian People:
"The time has come to cast off the yoke of Earth. All loyal Mercurians are called upon to purge our ranks of the greedy Terrestrial parasites who have been exploiting our resources. Arise and take back that which is rightfully yours."
It was printed in both Mercurian and English and signed: "Karfial Hodes, Imperator."
"Those have been stuck up all over the city," the guard informed them. "They've stormed the Spaceography Station and sent an ultimatum to the Earth Congress."
Landovitch whistled. "But it's race suicide," he said, aghast. Both he and Jaro were thinking of what must be transpiring back on Earth at this minute.
File upon file of huge battle spacers would be floating free from their sheds. Slim cigar-shaped corvettes, tenders, all the countless craft that comprised Earth's fleet, the mightiest fleet in the Universe, would be jockeying into position for their dash across space. Even now Earth's Sun Patrol must be hurtling upon the city of Acecia. The little uprising would be quelled almost before it got under way, martial law declared, the revolutionists hunted out, destroyed ruthlessly. Earth had experienced four such uprisings in different parts of its far-flung empire within the past decade and she would not be inclined to be lenient.
"They haven't got the chance of a snowball in hell!" Jaro said bitterly.
The rocket gun exploded: zizz-boom! Again the guard sprayed a doorway with the yellow ray, cursed. Three distorted figures huddled about the carriage of the rocket gun, but it was still being served.
"They gutted the palace of the Governor," said the guard, "and hung the Governor from his own doorway. They've wrecked the offices of the Latonka Trust too."
"What about the Terrestrials?" asked Jaro.
"Most of them got away in the spacers before they captured the port." The guard spat, wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "The Mercurians aren't fighting. It's mostly Venusian mercenaries and a few renegade whites."
Something exploded in the guard's chest. He fell half in, half out of the doorway. Outside the gun captain blew a whistle. The pitiful remainder of the Colonial guards struck their rocket gun, retreated down the passage at a trot, drawing it after them.
"What does it mean?" Landovitch asked in bewilderment. "They couldn't have formed an alliance with Venus."
"Hardly," replied Jaro. "They would have had to sign agreements with about seven hundred and fifty different states, principalities and democracies." He yanked the T.I.S. agent back into the chamber again. "Don't let those birds lay an eye on you," he cautioned.
The Fazoqls had begun to stream past outside. They were lean, bearded men, for the most part armed with rapid fire dum-dum rifles. They all had the blue star of the Venusian caste of killers tattooed on their foreheads. The noise of fighting waned, died down the vaulted passage.
"I can't believe it." Landovitch shook his head. "The Mercurians are throwing away any chance for freedom. The Earth Congress will never grant them their independence now."
"I don't believe it," said Jaro grimly. "In fact, I don't put any credence in it at all."
The T.I.S. agent looked at him, perplexed. "But...." he began.
"Come on," Jaro interrupted savagely. "The answer to any number of things lies at the office of the Latonka Trust, if I'm not mistaken." He stooped over the dead Colonial guard, relieved him of his Dixon Ray Rifle, stepped over him into the street. Shaking his head bull-like, Landovitch followed. He obviously wanted to ask questions, but the set, grim expression on Jaro's face forbade it.
As they approached the Terrestrial quarter, the signs of bitter street fighting grew more apparent. They passed a barricaded corner where a pile of dead Colonial guards attested to the stubbornness of their defense. The street beyond was littered with the bodies of Fazoqls and an occasional renegade Earthman. There were no signs of Mercurians anywhere. Jaro imagined that they had retreated deep into hidden burrows and rooms until the fighting was over.
Two Earthmen came out of an apartment just ahead, dragging a pretty Mercurian between them. They spotted Jaro and Landovitch, halted, their hands creeping upward towards shoulder holsters.
"Who are you?" one asked, and his voice was death itself.
"Have you seen the Red Witch?" said Jaro, on a wild gamble. "We've got news for her. It's important."
"Naw," growled one of the renegades suspiciously. He turned to his companion, said: "Let's get going." Between them, the gunmen hustled the frightened girl off a bisecting alley.
Landovitch was frowning. "This is a wild goose chase," he said. "The Mercurians have wrecked the Latonka Trust building. Albert Peet was probably one of the first men to escape from Mercury when the revolution broke."
"I'm gambling," replied Jaro, "that he's got a hideout in the building some place. I think he's waiting for everything to blow over." He set off down the corridor at an easy lope. With a shrug, Landovitch panted after him.
VII
The Latonka Trust building was a wreck. When Jaro, with Landovitch at his elbow, prowled the gutted offices he was shocked at the extent of the damage wrought. He paused in what had been Albert Peet's private office. The desk was smashed in, the carpet ripped to shreds. The entire contents of a filing cabinet which lined one wall had been dumped on the floor.
"I give up," Landovitch said in disgust. "We've been over this building with a fine toothed comb. Albert Peet isn't here. He's probably halfway to Earth by this time."
Jaro regarded him sadly. "How you obtained your present eminence in what is supposed to be the most intelligent of intelligence services is the biggest unsolved mystery in the history of the T.I.S." He paused, raised his hand. "Quiet!"
The noise came again. It sounded like a mouse gnawing at the wainscoting behind Albert Peet's wrecked desk. Both men had their eyes glued to the polished wood paneling. Slowly, a section of the wainscoting was sliding aside. A Venusian Fazoql stepped out, caught sight of the two men, whipped a dart gun from a shoulder holster.
The bell-shaped ray rifle in Jaro's hand flamed yellow. The Fazoql was wrapped in a blinding glare. He fell like a stone, the death ray destroying the very life forces of the man.
Jaro picked up the Fazoql's dart gun, tossed it to Landovitch.
"Here, I've a hunch you're going to need this."
Landovitch whistled. He said, "Next time I contradict you, kick me." He tucked the dart gun in his waist band. "Lead on, camarade. Last Ditch Landovitch is right behind you."
A flight of steps yawned just beyond the false wainscoting. Warily, the two men descended the stair. There was a second door at the foot. It wasn't locked. Jaro flung it open, covered the room with the ray rifle.
An elderly Venusian sprang halfway to his feet, sank warily back in his chair. He was seated directly across a desk from Albert Peet. The third occupant of the room, Jaro saw with astonishment, was the Red Witch.
For a tense second they observed each other narrowly. Albert Peet hunched his shoulders.
"Don't try anything, Albert!" cried the Red Witch, her voice shrill with fright. "You fool, that's Jaro Moynahan!"
But Peet was tugging at his pocket. Before Jaro could press the button of the ray rifle, something went "pop!" just behind him. Albert Peet slowly toppled sideways onto the floor. A small dart gun dropped from the dead Latonka Czar's fist.
"Thanks, Irving," said Jaro without removing his eyes from the elderly Venusian or the red-headed singer.
The Venusian, he noticed, had two blue stars tattooed on his forehead. Probably, Jaro thought, he was the leader of the mercenaries.
The Venusian said, "That was a very neat shot," in perfect English. He turned to Jaro. "I think we have met before."
Jaro frowned.
"In the services of Chaldmar, Zealot of the Venusian state of Zeld," the Fazoql prompted. "You were Captain of the Imperial Guard at the time."
Jaro's eyes lighted with recognition. "Certainly, Colonel. How stupid of me. I'm really very sorry that we're on opposing factions."
"Fortunes of war," the Colonel smiled. "Though with Albert Peet dead the game is up, anyway."
During the conversation the Red Witch's green eyes had first widened, then narrowed. "You getting ready to sell me out, Colonel?" she asked angrily.
The Venusian turned to her, said, "Miss Mikail, I couldn't possibly sell you out. I was never cognizant of any contract between us. My men were hired by Albert Peet. So were yours. With him dead, our bargain ends."
"Colonel," said Jaro, "would you mind telling me what was the nature of your agreement with Peet."
"Not at all," said the Venusian. "We were hired to fake a revolution—a convincing revolution, you understand—in order that the Earth Congress would abandon the idea of giving the Mercurians their independence. Mr. Peet, I believe, had extensive holdings here that would have been jeopardized had the Mercurians recovered their freedom."
Landovitch whistled softly.
"Who wrecked the offices of the Latonka Trust?" asked Jaro.
The Venusian smiled. "That was my idea. An artistic touch to divert suspicion. You see, before the Earth forces could arrive my men were to escape aboard a space liner. The entire blame for the revolution was to be cast on Karfial Hodes."
"Colonel," said Jaro, "I regret the necessity very much, but I'm going to ask you to command your men to lay down their arms."
The old Venusian smiled, said: "Hardly that, Captain. As I said before, with Albert Peet dead, so is the revolution. Our job is done. If you'll be good enough to excuse me I'll recall my men and get them aboard the space liner." He stood up slowly.
For a moment the two men were silent, then Jaro moved aside from the door. "Good luck, Colonel. You know that you'll be outlawed by the Earth Congress."
"Yes," said the Colonel. "Thanks for the sporting chance." He shook hands with Jaro, nodded to Landovitch, passed out the door.
"I suppose you know what you're doing," said Landovitch when he was gone.
"Don't be so conscientious," Jaro grinned. "You couldn't arrest all the Venusian mercenaries by yourself. The Earth Patrol can hunt them down. Anyway, I owed the old gentleman that. If it hadn't been for him I still would be rotting in a Venusian jail."
"What about me?" said the Red Witch.
"You?" said Jaro grimly. "You are going to be the star witness in the greatest case on Landovitch's record." He paused, added; "for which you might get off with a light sentence—say five years."
The red-headed singer obdurately set her mouth. Landovitch looked startled.
Jaro turned to the T.I.S. agent. "You heard the Colonel say that Karfial Hodes was to be the goat for the fake revolution. There was only one fly in Peet's ointment. As long as Karfial Hodes was alive, he could present himself before the Earth Congress, denounce the revolution, and the whole scheme would blow up like a dum-dum shell. Hodes simply had to be put out of the way. But the Mercurian patriot couldn't be found. Peet was desperate. His campaign of propaganda had been started. That was when I was called in."
"I never wanted to call you," the red-headed singer broke out. "I told Albert he was a fool, that you were utterly unpredictable."
"By the way," said Jaro, "why did Karfial Hodes have you abducted?"
She shrugged. "He had the wind up, but he didn't know Albert Peet was behind the scene. He had learned, though, that I was one of the principal agents. He wanted to question me. I suppose he thought he might as well keep me out of mischief while he had me."
"Red," said Jaro coldly and catching the girl's eye. "Where is Joan Webb?"
"Joan Webb?" The Red Witch's eyes narrowed. "I suppose you mean that attractive brunette my men caught in the secret passages of Nemi's Temple when they came to release me."
Jaro said nothing.
The red-headed singer looked frightened, but determined. "She's my ace in the hole!"
Jaro took a step toward her.
"Don't touch me," she cried, "you'll never get her if you do!"
He halted in mid-stride.
Landovitch said: "Turn State's evidence. I can guarantee you complete amnesty."
"Not just a light sentence?"
"Complete amnesty," he assured her.
She hesitated, said, "Your words."
"You've my word," said Jaro. His voice was cold. "I don't threaten, Red, but if she's been harmed you won't come to trial."
The girl pulled her eyes from Jaro's, turned to Landovitch. "Yours," she said, "yours too."
"I give you my word, of course," he replied.
With a sigh of relief she sank back in her chair. "In there, boys." She motioned towards a door at the left of the chamber.
Jaro sprang forward, swung it open, revealed a large closet. Joan Webb, gagged, bound to a chair, regarded him from wide brown eyes. Behind him, the red-haired singer burst into laughter.
"She's been there all the time," she laughed. "You were bound to have found her. Jaro, Jaro, that was the most magnificent bluff I've ever pulled. And you fell for it. You, Jaro Moynahan, fell for it."
The abortive revolution had brought the Festival to an abrupt conclusion. The city of Acecia licked its wounds and fretted under the grip of martial law, but negotiations for Mercurian independence had been reopened. Landovitch's report had exploded a bombshell in the Earth Congress, and it looked very much as if the negotiations might be successful at last.
"How does it feel to be famous?" Jaro asked. He and Joan and the T.I.S. agent were sitting in his room, sipping Latonka.
Landovitch said: "I wish you would have let me give credit where it was due."
"Publicity in my line," Jaro replied, "is not very good for business."
Someone rapped at the door. He opened it, revealed a small Mercurian boy in the uniform of the Spaceography Station.
"A spaceogram for Miss Webb," said the boy.
"Me?" cried Joan. "Who could be sending me a spaceogram?"
Jaro took the envelope, handed it to her, tossed the boy a coin. She tore it open eagerly.
"Why, it's from Prince Radnick of the Imperial Martian Court," she said with a puzzled frown. "He's offering me a post as secretary at two thousand notes a year. Two thousand notes a year! Think of it!"
Jaro started, said, "Two thousand notes!" He glanced angrily at Landovitch who was listening with a bland expression.
"Irving!" cried Joan rapturously and threw her arms about the blond T.I.S. agent's bull-like neck. "You're a perfect darling!"
"Let me see that spaceogram," said Jaro Moynahan darkly. He read: "You have been highly recommended by a dear friend of mine, Mr. Irving Landovitch of the T.I.S."
"Jaro," cried the girl, "should I accept it?"
"What? Oh. Yes, of course. As it happens I know the prince very well. I think you'll find the work delightful. If I were you, I'd run down to the desk and get a spaceogram off to him right away." He almost shoved her out of the room. Then he went to the visoscreen, clicked it on, said: "When Miss Webb comes to send a spaceogram, take it, but don't send it. T.I.S. wishes to examine it. Yes. That's right. The T.I.S." He clicked the visoscreen off, turned to Landovitch.
"Now!" he exploded. "I told you to make that one thousand notes a year, not two thousand."
"I thought she was worth it," said Landovitch blandly.
Jaro glared at his friend, trying to keep the amusement from his eyes and face.
"That's as much as a general in the Martian army makes." He ran his fingers upward through his crisp black hair. "It's going to be difficult enough persuading the prince that I need a secretary at all as head of his army, let alone get him to pay her two thousands notes a year. When I asked you to send that fake spaceogram, if I'd...."
"But what a secretary," Landovitch interrupted, rolling his eyes.
"And that line," Jaro snorted. "'Recommended by a very dear friend of mine, Mr. Irving Landovitch.' The prince never even heard of you."
"He will, he will," Landovitch assured him.
Jaro stopped short. "What do you mean? What's coming off here?"
"I've been attached to the Terrestrial embassy at the Martian court."
"You couldn't by any chance, have applied for that post?" asked Jaro darkly.
The T.I.S. agent grinned. "As it happens, I did."
Suddenly both men laughed. Jaro glanced at his watch. "We've got to hurry. The ship leaves in forty-five minutes."
The door flew open, Joan sailed back into the room.
"Why so much amusement?" she said suspiciously. "We starting thatcomradestuff again?"
"Get your hat on," Jaro said. "We have but forty-five minutes to make that Super Liner for Mars. We can stop by your rooms for your trunk on the way to the spaceport."
Joan drew back in amazement. "Forty-five minutes," she gasped. "But I haven't got a ticket."
"Oh, I've got the tickets," Jaro and Landovitch both said in unison. Then they closed their mouths, stared at each other.
A look of comprehension dawned on Joan's face. "Look, boys," she said grimly. "This isn't a put-up job, by any chance?"
The two men recovered. Jaro said with wounded dignity, "'Put-up job.' No. Whatever gave you that idea?"
"No. Of course not," Landovitch echoed.
"I see," said Joan, amusement glinting through her eyes in spite of herself. "It's just by the purest sort of coincidence that we're all three going the same way."
Nodding, Jaro and Landovitch came forward—and laughing, the three began to walk. Somehow, the future looked promising—and dangerous.