The Weapon of Night by Nick Carter

leading off he saw other little circles of light and heard the tramp of feet, but in the corridor that housed the locked maintenance rooms and the elevator shaft there was nobody. He tried the doors quickly as he passed. They were still locked.
    The beam of his flashlight played over the solid door of the power-control room. It, too, was closed and locked, presumably with Security Chief Parry inside.
    He hammered on it thunderously.
    “Parry! Let me in!” he called. “It’s Carter — open up.”
    No answer. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing.
    He could have called a guard. But he was alone, and he liked to do things his way. Which was sometimes a mistake.
    This time he did not use the laser beam but his lockpicker’s special, because unlike the electronically controlled elevator door this door had a lock that he could manipulate. He worked methodically, quietly, listening for sounds from within and from the corridors nearby, but he heard only the distant muttering of guards’ voices and an occasional footfall . . . except for one small clanking sound from within that he could not identify.
    The door swung inward and he stepped cautiously inside.
    Not cautiously enough.
    His light beam probed the inner darkness for a split second while his right hand reached for the Luger in her hidden holster. And then the sudden swishing sound that whistled through the darkness ended suddenly with a vicious, exquisitely painful explosion in his head, and he saw a coruscation of shimmering lights where there had been no light before. He struck out once, savagely, with the Luger’s streamlined barrel, and felt it strike against something solid yet resilient; and then again his head exploded and he dropped.

    Bright light and harsh sound pounded at his senses and he forced his eyelids open.
    Lights blazed throughout the power-control room and in the corridor behind him. There was a uniformed guard at the bank of switches, and there was someone with him who looked like a mechanic.
    And about time, too, Nick thought groggily, and as he dragged himself to his feet he saw Parry halfway across the room, rocking wearily on his haunches and holding both hands to his head. His face was bruised and bloody and his clothes were torn. There was a man hovering over him, possibly a medic, but Parry waved him off impatiently and lumbered to his feet. Then he saw Nick.
    “Did you see him?” he cried. “Did you see who it was?”
    “I didn’t see a damn thing,” Nick said shortly. “You got here first — what did you see?”
    “That,” said Parry, and jabbed his finger at the massive switchboard. “Came in with a flashlight, had all the guards stand by and guard the passages so no one could get in or out, looked around and saw half the switches thrown. And not just thrown — damaged. Look at them!”
    Nick looked. There was not much damage, but there was some. A strange kind of damage, as though some immensely heavy object had been slammed into the bank of levers and twisted a few of them slightly out of shape. A spanner lay on the floor nearby.
    “Yes, and that, too.” Parry said, following Nick’s gaze. He was still in here, whoever he was and however the hell he got in. Don’t know if he used that spanner on the board, but he sure used it on me. Came at me in the dark just as the door swung shut behind me and I had my light trained on the panel. Skimmed me at first, caught the side of my face. I dropped the light, tried to go for my gun, grappled with him for a moment, and then — that was it. Spanner caught me, down I went. And then I suppose you came in just as he was trying to make a getaway.”
    “Knocked out the stairway guard, too, on his way out,” said the man at the control panel. “Must know some way out of here that we don’t know —”
    “What!” barked Parry furiously. “Why wasn’t I told of that at once? That means he must have gone up the stairs into the main —”
    “You just came to, Mr.