The Devil—With Wings by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online Page A

for matches and then touched flame to the wick of a table lamp. The saffron flood spread out through the darkness, pushing back the shadows and finally driving them shivering into the farthest corners.
    The light blinded the captain for a moment or two and he wrestled irritably with his greatcoat, getting it off. Finally he managed all the buckles and buttons and cast the weight of it from him to a low sofa.
    Shinohari looked around then and froze into the paralysis of shocked surprise. His obsidian eyes bored across the light.
    The Devil With Wings was seated indolently in a soft chair against the far wall. He was carelessly turning his .45 around and around in his black-gauntleted hands. An amused smile played in the corners of his mouth—the only visible portion of his goggle-masked face.
    If Shinohari had been confronted with death personified, the agony of his amazement could not have been greater. He felt hot sweat start forth from his body and run, chilly, down his yellow flesh.
    He felt all his energy draining from him as the sawdust comes running from a doll, to leave it flabby and shapeless. He began to rock slightly, trembling with the onset of hideously nauseating reaction.
    Abruptly he collapsed into a chair behind him.
    â€œDidn’t you expect me, Honorable Captain?” said Forsythe. “I hardly thought you could do less. The fine boasts you have been making about hanging my head in the main street of Port Arthur were not, I hope, without point. You appear pale. Do not alarm me by saying you are in poor health.”
    â€œYou…you are a devil !”
    â€œOh, come now. Can’t I make a casual call…?”
    â€œHow did you get here?”
    Akuma-no-Hané smiled and the goggles flashed.
    Shinohari’s brain was beginning to function smoothly again. He glanced toward another red-covered couch and saw there the coat and uniform cap of a Manchukuo irregular officer. That took the superstition out of it.
    â€œI am so sorry,” said Shinohari, himself again, “that I had no slightest knowledge of your arrival. Oh, of course I knew you were in the vicinity, but to come here to the center of our strongest military post… You wished to honor me by requesting some small thing?”
    Forsythe stood up, a terrifyingly tall figure to Shinohari. He still handled the .45 with lazy assurance. He did not pay Shinohari the compliment of keeping steady watch on the belted Luger at the officer’s side. A bottle and two glasses stood under the lamp and Forsythe slowly began to pour out the drinks.

    Forsythe stood up, a terrifyingly tall figure to Shinohari. He still handled the .45 with lazy assurance.
    â€œThe patrol may look in,” said Shinohari. “Or headquarters may send a runner for me. Perhaps, for your own safety, you had best depart.”
    â€œThank you for your consideration,” replied Forsythe, knowing now that he ran little chance of being disturbed. He pushed a glass across the board to the Japanese. “Drink?”
    â€œCertainly,” smiled Shinohari, the color almost wholly back in his pitted face. He took the glass delicately and raised it in solemn salute. “May I drink to your success?”
    â€œAnd may I drink to yours?”
    They drank.
    â€œAnd now,” said Forsythe, “you are probably curious about my visit, wondering why a man would risk running the lines even if his goal was to talk to such an important officer as yourself.”
    Shinohari acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow. “I admit there is some slight curiosity lingering in my mind. Won’t you have another drink?”
    Forsythe poured it out. “Again to your success, Honorable Captain.” He put the empty glass back on the table. “You are having a bit of sport with the Russians, I see.”
    â€œOh, not much more than usual. A few shots, a few men dead. Nothing of importance.”
    â€œNo, of course not. What is a world