The Emperor of Death Read Online Free

stand back here. Pretend you’re upset. Act as if you’d really killed me, until I think of some way to turn this break to our advantage.”
    Havens rose and walked toward the door, while Van carefully flattened himself up against the heavy drapes near the window. Havens opened the door, and did his best to look like a man who has just slain his best friend. His hands trembled as he held the door ajar.
    His head was hung on his chest, and his voice broke as he asked:
    “What is it?”
    A burly man pushed past him, and glanced around the apartment.
    Havens clutched at him.
    “What is it? What do you want?” he demanded in a shrill voice.
    The other pushed him aside brutally. “I’m looking for a corpse,” he said callously. “Did you do your little job?”
    Havens uttered an exclamation of fear and shrank up against the wall. The visitor laughed harshly.
    “Where’s the body?” he said.
    Havens caught Van’s eye. With the air of a man who has been cornered he nodded his head toward the bathroom. The stranger took a step in that direction.
    Van Loan made a swift movement with each hand. His right whipped an automatic from his shoulder holster, while the left slipped a black silk mask over his head. Unconcerned, the intruder walked toward the bathroom and looked in. Then he turned savagely to Havens.
    “You rat! Don’t lie to me. Where’s the body? Where’s the Phantom?”
    “The Phantom’s here. Both his body and his soul. Put up your hands!”
    Havens laughed grimly. Their visitor turned an astonished face to the masked man who held the gun aimed directly at his heart. For a moment, Hesterberg’s henchman was too utterly amazed to move. Then an exclamation fell from his lips.
    “God!” he said. “God!”
    “So you’re rather surprised that I’m alive?”
    “It’s never failed before,” said the man speaking more to himself than the others.
    “But it’s failed now,” said Van. “But there’ll be another killing here that won’t fail unless you give me some information. Now talk.”
    By now the stranger had taken a grip on himself.
    “Talk?” he repeated. “About what?”
    “Just talk,” said Van softly, but his eyes were hard. “About anything. But particularly about a Mad Red called Hesterberg, or about a cripple with remarkable eyes that impels men to go gunning for their friends. Best of all, tell me, where I can meet these charming gentlemen.”
    The stranger frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He stared steadily at the gun.
    “I’m not talking,” he said laconically.
    “Yes, you are,” contradicted Van. “You’re talking or you’re dying. I don’t bluff. I mean it.”
    The other gazed at him steadily. Whatever his faults may have been, cowardice was not among them.
    “I die anyway,” he said simply. “If I do talk, I’ll get worse from someone else than you can ever give me.”
    “I’ll count three,” said Van, and his voice was jagged ice. “Then you get it.”
    He began to count in a slow deliberate voice, and for the second time that day, death was in the room.
    But the henchman of Hesterberg was not of the breed that waits for the reaper supinely. With a sudden swift motion he ducked his head. At the same moment his hand flashed to his hip. Something black and ominous appeared in his hand. Two staccato reports ripped through the room. One steel slug tore angrily through the plaster of the wall. The other crashed into human flesh, ripped a heart to shreds and wrenched a life from a body.
    Van stood over the crimson torso of his fallen foe. He spoke rapidly to Havens. “Get out,” he said. “I can handle this better alone. I’ll communicate with you through our usual channels.”
    For a moment Havens thought of protesting, but he had learned that when the Phantom issued orders it was expedient to obey. Silently he let himself out the door.
    Van Loan bent swiftly over the corpse and ran facile fingers through the other’s pockets. He piled up on