Death's Dark Domain by Kenneth Robeson

Author:Kenneth Robeson [Robeson, Kenneth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure
Publisher: Altus Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Harpy Out of Hades

GETTING OUT OF the royal suite proved more challenging than Monk, Ham and Long Tom Roberts expected.

Two police officers stood outside their door when they attempted to exit the suite. Each wore broad web belts which supported a holstered revolver on one hip and a long ceremonial sword on the other. At the sound of the door opening, hands went nervously to hilts, knuckles whitening.

“You cannot leave,” one told them firmly.

“Why the heck not?” demanded Long Tom.

“You are under house arrest.”

Ham Brooks stuck his head out and said, “I happen to be an attorney. There has been no formal arrest. Therefore, we are free to go.”

The police changed their minds about drawing their swords. Two pistols were produced and aimed at the dapper lawyer’s aristocratic nose.

“Consider this official notification of arrest,” he was informed.

Ham retreated. There was nothing he could do in the face of the twin muzzles.

“Monk, you reason with them.”

Monk emerged next. The sight of the great hairy chemist whose long arms dangled gorilla-like to his knees gave the officers momentary pause. Prudently, they trained their pistols on him.

“We’re kinda bumfuzzled,” Monk confessed. “Maybe you boys can explain what the charges are.”

The other spoke up. “We do not know. We have orders only.”

“Do you have orders to shoot us if we escape?” wondered Monk.

The two officers of the local law looked momentarily nonplussed. It was plain that their instructions did not go that far. It was written all over their features.

“Sounds like you boys got hold of a powerful dilemma,” suggested Monk.

The American word was unfamiliar to them. They said so.

“A dilemma,” said Monk expansively, “is a conundrum with horns.”

“What is conundrum?” one wondered.

“Why, it’s a— Hold on. I’ll show you an example of one.”

Monk ducked into the suite only long enough to unship his supermachine pistol from his underarm holster. When he emerged, the spiky muzzle was trained directly on the two police officers, who had crowded a little too close together in their efforts to block the door.

“What is that?” one gulped.

Monk said breezily, “A kind of a conundrum. You have one pistol each. Right?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“I have only one pistol. Correct?”

“That is correct.”

“Your pistols are loaded with six shots apiece. That makes twelve, all told.”

“Yes. Twelve. More than sufficient to shoot you,” the other officer reminded.

“On the other hand,” Monk said flatly, “this pistol of mine holds sixty shots in the drum and can spit lead faster than a Tommy-gun.”

The two police officers did some mental math. It told them that if the hairy ape of a fellow menacing them so casually should pull his trigger, it would take only four seconds to empty the drum into their unprotected bodies.

“Are you asking us to surrender?” asked one man, thick-tongued.

“Because if you are,” said the other, “that is strictly against our orders.”

Monk eyed them. “Your orders that don’t allow you to shoot us. Is that right?”

The pair exchanged uneasy glances. In that moment, their muzzles wavered.

That was sufficient opening for the hairy chemist.

Monk

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