With a strangled curse the Major released the girl and stepped back. He tried desperately to raise his sword arm but it was a vain effort. His tall spare frame broke at the middle and he fell to the floor and lay still.
D’Artagnan sprang to the girl’s side and removed the tape from her wrists. She swayed against him and he held her close.
“My compliments, Athos,” he said, looking over the girl’s head at his friend. “Your hand has lost none if its skill.”
Athos saluted with his sword, “Thank you.”
The girl glanced down at the Major’s still form and a slight shudder passed over her slender body.
“Can’t you tell us now what this is all about?” D’Artagnan asked gently.
“I can now,” the girl said. “I am an agent for the Free French forces of General De Gaulle. My mission here was to pass along vital information to a British agent. When I arrived I was met by Major Lanser, whose credentials indicated that he was the British agent I was seeking. But for some reason I didn’t trust him. I stalled him off, hoping to find something in the meantime to confirm or alleviate my suspicions. He became more and more insistent that I pass over my information. I couldn’t go to the police or the F.B.I. because of the confidential nature of my work.” She looked at D’Artagnan. “That is when you arrived on the scene. Obviously the Major could afford to wait no longer for he decided to get the information from me by force, if necessary.”
“You say you are an agent for the Free French?” Athos asked.
“Yes. Sometimes we are called the Fighting French.”
“There in none other,” Aramis said. D’Artagnan looked down at the girl and his lean face was serious.
“Couldn’t we help you in some way?” he asked. “I would be happy to place my sword under the command of this General De Gaulle.”
“And I think he would be equally happy to have you,” the girl said. “There is work to do all over the world. In Tunis, in Africa, in London, everywhere there is a need for men of resourcefulness and courage.”
D’Artagnan swung about to the three musketeers.
“What say, comrades? Here is the opportunity of a fighting man’s life. The enemy is everywhere; the arena is the world; and the prize is our beloved France!”
Athos looked down at the floor, his face grave.
“Aramis, Porthos, and I have been talking this over,” he said. “We are going to fight for France — but we are going to fight for France in France, on the soil of own country.”
“But that is not possible,” the girl said. “There is no way to get there.” Athos glanced fleetingly at Aramis and Porthos and then he smiled faintly. “We shall find a way,” he said.
The girl looked at the three men for an instant and there was a strange wonder in her eyes.
“I believe you will,” she murmured softly.
Phillip watched the scene and there was a strange constriction in his throat.
He cleared his throat apologetically.
He said to Athos, “Could I go with you? I know many things about the customs of today that would be valuable. And I am sure now of not only what I want to live for, but also of what I want to die for.”
Athos smiled at him and threw an arm over his shoulder.
“Why we couldn’t get along without you!” he said.
Phillip felt that something inside his chest might burst with his happiness.
Athos turned to D’Artagnan and his smile was sad and gentle.
“This is farewell, comrade,” he said.
“Perhaps,” D’Artagnan said. “But we have parted in the past comrades, but a strange fate has always brought us together again.”
Porthos and Aramis joined arms with Athos and, with Phillip between them, they backed toward the door.
“Remember,” Athos smiled, “One for all—”
D’Artagnan’s arm tightened about the girl’s shoulder and he looked down into her shining face. “And all for one,” he murmured.
When he looked up the doorway was empty.
Genie of Bagdad
First published in Fantastic Adventures, June 1943.
Chapter I
Drake Masterson stood up and smiled with pleasure when Sharon Ward entered the room. Most men did so and he was no exception to the rule.
Sharon was a tall, stunningly built creature with a mane of bright red hair that fell to her bare shoulders in dramatically effective waves. Her eyes were green in the exciting pallor of her face but when she smiled it was like flashing on a light in a dark room.
“Hello, Drake,” she said, crossing the long, luxuriously furnished drawing room of her apartment with lithe grace. “Did I keep you waiting?”
Drake put down his drink and took one of her outstretched hands.
“Not long.” His eyes went over her appreciatively. She was wearing a strapless evening gown that fitted her slim body like a crimson sheath. “Anyway,” he grinned, “it was worth it.”
“A pretty speech,” Sharon murmured. She straightened his white tie slightly and flicked an imaginary speck of dust from the shining satin lapels of his dress coat. “It deserves another. You look like the ideal career diplomat, smooth, immaculate and imperturbable. Do you have the blueprints of our latest battleship tucked away in your breast pocket? That’s all you need.”
“Hardly,” Drake smiled, “since the blueprints of a battleship weigh about two thousand pounds. But I might have a code message or two around somewhere.” His grey eyes crinkled at the corners and his lean, dark face was amused. “Will that do?”
“Perfectly,” Sharon said. “And maybe we’ll meet a spy in a black net dress at the party tonight who’ll slip you a Micky and vanish with your code messages tucked down the bosom of her dress. That’s still the traditional place of concealment, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got me there,” Drake said. “You’ve obviously read more spy stories than I have.” He glanced at his watch. “Would you like a cigarette before we leave? We’ve just about got time.”
Sharon nodded and took a cigarette from the silver case he extended.
“What kind of an affair is tonight’s going to be?” she asked.
“Just a routine reception for the Turkish minister,” Drake answered. “There’ll be quite a crowd. Large sprinkling of important gentlemen from the East who are here on lend-lease business; our own representatives and Britain’s. That’s about all.”
He lit Sharon’s cigarette and his own, returned the lighter to his pocket and smiled at the girl.
“You look a bit worried. Anything wrong?”
Sharon made an impatient gesture with her cigarette and strolled to the windows that overlooked the row of vast white government buildings. She cupped her elbow in the palm of her right hand and stared moodily at the scene.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said at last. “Probably just nerves.” She blew a thick column of blue smoke toward the ceiling and then turned suddenly to face Drake. “It’s just that I feel so damn useless,” she said. “I’d like to be doing something important in this war instead of drifting around with the rest of the Washington butterflies.” Her eyes were bitter and dark against the pallor of her cheeks. “I missed the Air Transport because—”
“I know,” Drake interrupted with a grin. “You missed because your license was torn up by the civil commission for stunting at five hundred feet and endangering lives and property!”
“Oh, I know all that,” Sharon said, “but you’d think they’d overlook it in times like these.” She crushed out her cigarette with a vicious gesture. “I’m so bored and disgusted with myself I feel I’m losing my mind.”