The surviving gunman was on his feet, moving toward the door from the bed, firing toward me as he went. The slugs chewed up the wood on the front of the chest. I stayed down, but as he headed out the door I managed to fire another round at him. Unfortunately I missed.
I jumped to my feet and sprang for the door, just in time to see the gunman disappear around the corner in the corridor. He was heading for the back stairs.
I swore under my breath as I stepped quickly back into the room. I grabbed a small attache case and took out a spare magazine for Wilhelmina. I thumbed the old magazine out and then jammed in the new. Then I raced out into the corridor, past a small gathering of wide-eyed hotel personnel and guests, to the back stairs.
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs and moved out into the alley behind the hotel, the second gunman was nowhere in sight. I ran to the mouth of the alley, looked right then left — and spotted him just turning a corner. I started after him.
I was gaining on him when we emerged into High Holborn, at Euston Square and he saw the entrance to the Tubes — the London subway — and dived into it.
I was there in a moment. As I reached the stairs, I saw him at the bottom, aiming his gun at me. He pulled the trigger but the only sound was a futile click. Apparently the gun had misfired. He swore and threw it down.
"Hold it!" I yelled.
But he disappeared around the bottom of the stairs. I stuck the Luger into my belt and followed.
We hurdled barriers and then I was racing after him along the station platform. An elderly man standing at the edge of the platform, waiting for a train gaped at us as we raced by.
At the end of the platform my man started climbing stairs to another level. He turned and I got a good look at him. He was young and tough; there was both anger and desperation in his face. He bolted up the steps with me close behind.
At the top of the stairs he turned and waited for me. As I closed the distance he kicked out viciously. I fell back a couple of steps and almost lost my balance completely. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, the gunman was already halfway down the platform. I ran after him, trying to regain the ground I had lost.
A train roared into the station but my man made no attempt to board it. Apparently he felt he had a better chance in the station. At the end of the platform, he plummeted down into another stairwell.
A train was just pulling away here. A middle-aged couple had gotten off and seated themselves on a bench. They looked up placidly as the gunman, after a glance back at me, began running again down the platform. But I caught up with him just past the bench. I made a diving lunge and brought him down.
We fell heavily, rolling at the feet of the couple on the bench. They sat there, watching with mild interest, as the man grabbed for my throat.
I broke free with a chop to his forearm, then delivered another chop to his neck. He fell backward. I struggled up on one knee and punched a fist into his face.
He grunted under the impact, but he was not finished. He kicked out at me as I threw myself at him, the blow knocking me sidewise to the edge of the platform. I almost went over.
He saw how close I was to the edge and decided to give me a little help. He kicked, aiming for my side, just as a train came into the station. I grabbed his foot and held on. He tried to jerk free, lost his balance and cartwheeled off the edge of the platform, nearly dragging me with him. His scream was drowned by the train as it roared over him.
The couple who had watched us so placidly were on their feet now, the woman shrieking like a stuck factory whistle.
I turned and headed quickly up the steps. I did not want to explain all this to the police. Not just at the moment.
Eight
"I've got it!" Heather said as I let her into my room. "I've remembered about that emblem!"
I rubbed sleep out of my eyes and followed her inside. She stopped short and stared. Thanks to my uninvited visitors, the place looked like a disaster area.
"What in the world happened here?"
"You'd never believe it."
"Try me," she said.
"A good guess is that the assassin knows I'm on the case and has decided he doesn't want me breathing down his neck. He sent a couple of big fellows with big guns to deliver a one-way ticket to the morgue. I had to get Brutus to pull the police off my back at three a.m."
"But how would the assassin know who you are and what you're here for?" she asked, puzzled.
I shrugged. "A leak in Brutus's office?" I suggested.
"Impossible!" She was indignant.
"I hope so," I said. "Anyway, it means we're getting warm so — what about that emblem?"
Her face brightened again excitedly. "Let me see that paper."
I handed it to her. "Yes," she nodded, "I'm sure of it. It's part of a design for an auto emblem. I just can't remember which one."
I pulled on a shirt and buttoned it. I was beginning to get excited too. "Let's go back and talk to that fellow at the Royal Hotel again," I said. 'That may just be faster than trying to get a list of emblems from the AA."
"I have a taxi waiting."
We drove through a dissipating fog along Millbank, past the massive edifices of Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. I knew the House of Commons was in an emergency session at that very moment, debating how to best implement the Prime Minister's decision to comply with the assassin's demand for a fortune in sterling.
At the Royal Hotel, Heather told our man, "We think we may have identified the symbol on the paper we showed you. It seems to me that I've seen it in connection with an automobile."
The hotel clerk thought a moment "You may be right," he said, finally.
"Have you had any guests recently who might have been in London representing some auto firm?" I asked.
He gave us a big smile. "Not a fortnight ago we had a convention of auto makers here."
"Really?" Heather said.
"Quite!" The man was getting as excited as we were. "I can give you a list of all the firms that were represented. In fact, I believe we still have some of the literature they passed around in back, waiting for pickup. Would you like to take a look?"
"Yes we would. Thanks," I said.
He took us to a small storeroom at the rear of the main floor. There were boxes of pamphlets and note paper stacked in a corner. A couple of boxes bore insignia but none that seemed to fit ours.
The desk man went back to his work and we were alone. Heather started looking through one cardboard carton and I took another. Suddenly Heather gave a sharp cry of recognition.
"We've got it, Nick! Look!" She was holding a sheet of paper the same manila color as ours. I moved over to her and studied it.
"Well," I said. "Well, well, well."
The complete emblem showed a scorpion on a field of vine leaves set on a crest shield. We looked at the name of the company printed in an arc above the shield, then at each other.
"Jupiter Motors Limited," Heather said, her face suddenly changing. "Yes, of course."
"Jupiter," I said. "Isn't that your friend?"
"Elmo Jupiter isn't my friend," Heather said flatly. "But he does own Jupiter Motors. Now I know why the emblem seemed familiar. I've been to one of his showrooms. His plant and offices are on the outskirts of London somewhere."
"Interesting," I said. Something about Elmo Jupiter was tugging at the edge of my mind but I couldn't bring it into focus. I stuck the sheet of note paper, along with the original scrap, into my pocket and steered Heather out of the storeroom and back to the desk.