Hurricane by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online

them again.
    “You say . . . it’s the dead, the drowned, calling for help?”
    “No, no,” said Spar, not wishing to frighten her. “Just the wind in the cliffs, that’s all. You heard Folston.”
    “But I don’t trust Folston in anything.”
    “What’s that?” said Folston behind them.
    “The lady said she thought you an excellent gentleman to provide a hut so thoughtfully,” replied Spar.
    “I imagine she did,” said Folston. “Well, here’s the summit. I’ve always despised that climb.”
    In the grayness of the night they could see the hill rising high above them even yet, but something intervened, something which could not be seen from the sea.
    It was a spreading black bulk which had the skyline of some medieval castle. No lights shined out from it, and it seemed to Spar that nothing but darkness could be embraced in so dismal a structure.
    “Capital, isn’t it?” said Folston, leading off. “I found it here, just as it is. Some old refugee from the Spanish Inquisition came here and built it. They say he died and that he wanders about but I’ve never seen him.”
    “Cheerful, aren’t you?” said Spar.
    “Oh, not at all. You see, I found his skull in the banquet hall, as no one had ever had courage enough to come up here and bury him. The skull was crushed at the back. God knows what happened to the skeleton.”
    “Quit it,” said Spar.
    “Oh, don’t you like it? I find it very interesting, myself. But then I forget that most human beings squirm at such things.”
    The scream came again, drawn out and shivering, but this time Spar knew that it came from the castle, not the sea. He stopped and halted Peg Mannering with him. They stood before a mammoth gate from which the hinges leaned, within thirty feet of the front door.
    “Miss Mannering and I are going back to the ship,” said Spar. “I don’t give a damn what the others do.”
    “You think so, eh?” said Folston.
    “Yes,” said Spar and turned to go.
    “I wouldn’t,” said Folston, evenly, his voice queerly hard.
    Spar saw a shimmer of steel in the man’s hand. He stepped nearer and saw that it was a gun.
    “Stand where you are,” said Folston, “or perhaps you’ll stay where you are a long, long time.”
    But Spar did not stand. He sidestepped with a swift motion, and Folston deflected the gun in that direction. Spar whipped back and before Folston could shoot, Spar had the man by the throat. The gun went spinning across the paved courtyard and slammed into the steps.
    Spar lifted Folston clear of the ground and shook him. “Now what the hell are you trying to do? What’s your game?” Spar shook harder when Folston failed to answer.
    Peg Mannering cried out. Bare feet slapped across the stones. Men yelled. The courtyard blazed with lights.
    Spar whirled to see a horde of men with bare chests and dark faces swirl out of the doors and down the steps. They held guns and machetes, and from their throats sprang a cry which rolled and shivered through the castle like a siren’s blast.
    Spar dropped Folston and heard the man bellow an order. The attackers deployed, and in one swift rush completely surrounded the group.
    Chacktar detached himself from the path behind them and came forward with an ugly grin, holding an automatic in each hand.
    “Now, my fine convict,” said Chacktar, “don’t you wish you were back in French Guiana? Ah, what we’ll do to you here!”
    “Shut up!” barked Folston. “Tie his arms behind him and light up the castle.”
    But Spar was not so easily taken. He sprang at Folston, but the man evaded him neatly. Chacktar, with a bull bellow, came forward waving his guns, trying to shoot.
    The crowd closed in. Spar found himself in the center of hammering fists and slashing knives. Men grabbed him from every side, and though he struck out, kicked and tried to get away, they had him pinioned in a few seconds and bound his arms close to his body.
    Then at the point of a sharp knife, they made him