The Living Death by Nick Carter

are only too happy to furnish him with whatever he wishes."
    "Money, too?" I asked, wondering about motives.
    "If he asks for it. He rarely does."
    "What about Maria Doshtavenko?" I asked.
    Vanuskin shrugged. "An unfortunate case, an eruption of bourgois feelings, you might say."
    "You mean humanitarian feelings," I countered.
    "Call it whatever you like," the Russian said. "She was in a position to know of our contact and the general outlines of what was happening. She wanted it halted. She had ideas of putting these few scientists before the interests of her country."
    "Bull," I corrected him. "She had ideas of putting humanitarian ideals above local political maneuvers. You got wind of it and had her killed."
    "I told you," the Russian said. "We will do everything to protect our contact and his work."
    I smiled inwardly. I actually knew more than the Russians did about their dirty little game. All they knew was they had a contact. I knew who he was, and now they had actually fingered their benefactor without knowing it. Of course, there were a helluva lot of questions for which I had no answers as yet. What made Karl Krisst run, for one. And how was he accomplishing his dirty objectives?
    "What took you so long to make your move?" I asked casually. "I've been aboard since last night, as you know."
    "We waited to see where you were headed. Obviously, you are going to Zurich," Vanuskin said. He smiled again. "Or, I should more correctly say, you
were
going to Zurich."
    Vanuskin and the others suddenly began to talk amongst themselves. My Russian was more than good enough to understand them and what I heard was not designed for relaxed riding. They were discussing the best way of doing me in. Things were getting too close. I needed out, and fast. I was safe for a few moments as the train slowed down to go through a small village. The cramped quarters of the compartment afforded me little room to do anything. Even Hugo was inadequate. I could get one, maybe two, and that would be that. I took in the situation and it was grim. The two heavyweights were at the door. Vanuskin was in front of me. The fourth man was off to the right I heard Vanuskin end the discussion with a decision. They'd take the least possible risks with me and do the job here in the compartment. A quick glance out the window showed me that we were starting to pass over a high trestle. I glimpsed blue water below, too far below. But it was my one chance. For a final moment they were concentrated on their conversation. I raised my arm slowly. The emergency brake cord hung directly overhead. I yanked and the train started its emergency halt with a terrific impact of brakes against wheels. Everybody went flying to the left side of the compartment. Everybody except me, that is. I was braced for it, and I made a running dive for the window, arms crossed in front of me to shield my face. I hit the window with full force, felt the shattered pellets of glass hitting my arms and forehead, and then I was falling, turning a slow, lazy somersault through the air. My ankles had banged against the trestle catwalk rail and flipped me sideways. I glimpsed the train above me grinding to a halt and the water too far below my falling body. It hadn't been a proper dive in any case and though I tried to condense my form, when I hit the water it was as though I'd run full-tilt into a concrete wall. My body shook and quivered at the impact. I went under and instinctively came up gasping for air.
    I was dazed, hurt, bleeding from little glass wounds, my body paining in every bone and muscle. In semi-shock, I nonetheless managed to strike out for shore, fortunately not far away. When I pulled up on the graveled, rocky ground, my head had cleared just enough for me to know how much I hurt. My muscles and my bones seemed to be things apart from each other as I laboriously pulled myself up on the rocky shoreline. I hadn't gotten far when I heard the shot and felt the tearing, searing pain