The Sword of Aradel by Alexander Key

fear. But he had Merra to protect, and he clenched his teeth and prepared to charge the new group.
    Lights flashed in his face. A man shouted, “Put down that sword, you fool! We’re the police!”
    Even then he might have charged, for the word meant nothing to him. But Merra’s urgent cry stopped him in time, and he made no resistance when the men with badges closed in on him.

8
    Prisoners
    B RIAN PROTESTED HOTLY WHEN THEY TOOK HIS sword and equipment away, then became grimly silent when he realized the uselessness of argument. He and Merra were herded to a roadway in the park and forced into the rear of a wheeled machine. After a bewildering ride into the city, they stopped at a towering building and were taken upstairs to a large untidy room full of noise and hurrying people.
    His anger broke out anew when a man at a desk began questioning him over and over, and refused to accept his replies. The man was an impatient person with a broad, red face who was called Sergeant Sykes, and he spoke a kind of English so different from his own that understanding was anything but easy.
    â€œWe’ll start all over again,” Sergeant Sykes rapped out. “Now listen carefully. I want your full name, your age, and your father’s name and address. Is that clear?”
    â€œBut—but I have given thee my name—not once but thrice! It is Brian. Hast thou not ears to hear?”
    The broad face of Sergeant Sykes became a darker red. “Cut out that silly lingo and give me a straight answer! I asked for your full name and your address. How long is it going to take you to give it to me?”
    Brian glanced at Merra. Her face had tightened with worry and fury. His hands clenched. “What right hast thou to question us and hold us prisoner? We are not thine enemies! Where is my sword and our belongings? I demand that thou returnest them and release us!”
    â€œShut up!” The chill eye of their questioner turned icy. “You’ll be lucky to be released in the next ten years if you don’t get wise and cooperate. Do you have any idea of the spot you’re in?”
    â€œSpot?”
    â€œYes, spot! You’re in real trouble! Joe,” he spoke to the uniformed man who had been silently watching the questioning, “bring me that junk you found on these kids.”
    The man—it was one of the guards who had captured them—stepped through a door and returned presently with the sword and scabbard, the knives and pouches they had worn at their belts, and a curious metal object on the order of the ones some of the men in the room were wearing.
    â€œYou won’t believe this,” said the guard named Joe, “but the boys have checked out this stuff, and it’s real . The sword and scabbard are museum pieces! Lord knows what they’re worth, but Brady figures the jewels alone would bring fifty grand on today’s market.”
    Sergeant Sykes whistled softly. A small crowd began to collect around them.
    â€œAnd that’s not all,” Joe hastened on. “Look at this!” He opened the pouches and dumped their golden contents upon the desk. “We’ve no way of knowing if the coins are authentic, but they are pure gold, and Brady says they might be a thousand years old. If so, they’re collector’s items and worth plenty.”
    Men fingered the sword and the gold, then looked at Brian and Merra. Sergeant Sykes said, “And the pistol, Joe. What about it?”
    â€œWe picked it up at the girl’s feet,” the guard replied. “Dippy’s boys—the two that were able to talk before the ambulance came—say the pistol belongs to the girl and that she was shooting at them with it.” He shrugged. “Could be. The tough chicks are coming young these days. Anyway, we can’t prove it by the fingerprints. They’re smudged.”
    â€œH’m. Any word from the hospital?”
    â€œNot yet. But