The Slickers by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online Page B

closed in like a madman. Clark stepped aside and snapped another blow to the jaw. Davis wavered—then seemed to go mad.
    Shouting wildly, he clawed at Clark’s face with talonlike fingers. Viciously he jabbed his knee up toward Clark’s groin, but the detective stepped aside.
    Clark circled his opponent until the other’s back was toward the rail. Avoiding the wild blows with deft sidesteps, the detective’s heavy fists beat a relentless tattoo against Davis’ face. A left shot home to the point of the jaw—was followed by a stunning right.
    Davis tottered, and then slumped inert to the planking. Clark sprang back to the rockets. He lit another match and held the wavering flame to a fuse.
    With a sizzling rush, the rocket stabbed up into the night, trailing an arc of fire behind it. A second followed, reached halfway to the zenith before the first exploded with a loud report. The third was the end of the series. At two-minute intervals, Clark sent off the others.
    Then Clark dragged the still-unconscious Davis into the salon. Many passengers were there, talking excitedly, their voices husky with fear. Clark found a steward and ordered him to guard Davis. Clark hurried up the companionway to the boat deck. The heat there was terrific. Through the choking smoke, Clark made his way to a lifeboat. To make certain that the boat was in good working order, he pulled himself up on the davit and glanced down into the uncovered hull. Everything seemed all right.
    But as he dropped back to the deck, something still troubled him. He turned and grasped the davit, the cranelike arm which was supposed to swing the cutter out over the side so that it could be launched. The davit did not move.
    Clark kneeled beside its base. His mouth became hard and set. The joint had been welded tight. The davit could not be moved!

CHAPTER FOUR
    â€œIsland Product Samples”
    D ESPITE the heat which seared his cheeks, Bob Clark stood staring blankly, completely baffled by the puzzle which confronted him. The man who had done this thing would lose a million and a half dollars through it; the dope would be consumed with the ship, a total loss. At the same time, he had trapped himself utterly by rendering these lifeboats useless.
    Was he a senseless fool? Clark did not think so. There was something else in back of all this.
    Harrington, face lit up with anxiety, came reeling through the smoke and jostled against Clark.
    â€œHave you found my wife?”
    â€œI wasn’t looking for your wife,” Clark told him. “Have you been in the reading rooms and the salons?”
    â€œAll of them!” cried Harrington, suddenly unmanned. “All of them! She’s gone, and we’re sinking! We’ll die, all of us, like rats! Why don’t they take to the boats? Why don’t these officers do something?”
    â€œQuiet,” admonished Clark. “You’ll start a panic.”
    â€œPanic! Panic! What do I care for that? She’s gone, and they’re letting us die!”
    Harrington’s bloated features quivered with grief. He staggered away, lurching drunkenly, blinded by smoke and tears.
    Clark started forward to find Holt. The chief mate was black and disheveled, sweating with a hose line.
    â€œThe pumps are petering out on us,” he wailed. “There isn’t any steam in the lines. That damned engineer—”
    â€œYou’ll have steam,” snapped Clark.
    He whirled and started down the companionway toward amidships, intending to head for the engine room, but the sight of Morecliff stopped him. Morecliff was standing in the background, watching the losing fight against the flames. Clark heard the man laugh. He grabbed Morecliff by the shoulder and spun him about.
    â€œYou’ve been getting a big kick out of this, haven’t you?” Clark rasped. “What’s so funny about it?”
    â€œWhy, I … I … you see, I have some tankers; and the West