It was not enough. Nick shook his head angrily. Perhaps he was looking for a trap or a plant where there was none.

  “How did the girls get to know him?”

  Pam shrugged. “I guess they went with him sometimes. I don’t really know. But I believe them. One or two of them got postcards or letters, I think. Maybe there was something in those.”

  Killmaster nodded. “Maybe. Probably.” He had to smile at himself. It was that simple. Paulus Werner had slipped. Or someone else had slipped. A girl sneaking out of a hotel at night to post a letter, or paying to have one smuggled out. As simple as that. A tiny thing, yet now it was going to do Paulus Werner in. Nick still stood looking down at the girl, thinking, and the look on his face frightened Pam again.

  “Okay, Pam,” Nick said finally. “We have to get moving. Do you think you can find the man again?”

  Pam was hesitant. “Maybe … He goes to that pub a lot, I think. It’s the Blind Beggar in the East End. A tough place.”

  Werner must have realized that his welcome was wearing out in Soho. He had changed his hunting grounds.

  “Do you think, if you do find him, he would go with you?” asked Nick.

  “I don’t know. I told you—I really think he likes boys.”

  Nick gently squeezed her round little knee. “He might go with you if you offered him some special inducements,” he suggested.

  “I won’t!” she said fiercely. “He’s a horrible, greasy beast, and I wouldn’t let him touch me again for all the money in the world.”

  “He won’t touch you,” said Killmaster. “Not intimately. I promise you that, Pam. But you’ve got to get him to your place! He wouldn’t come here because the neighborhood is wrong. So it has to be your place. Get him there! Now. Tonight! I don’t give a damn how you do it, but do it. You must!”

  Pam was looking at him wonderingly. “Why? What’s he to you?”

  He had to tell her something. “I want to put that man behind bars,” he said officiously. “For a long stretch. I’ve been looking for him for a very long time. I can’t tell you any more than that. It wouldn’t be good for you to know, anyway. You’ll just have to trust me, Pam. Will you do it?” That was enough. Let her think he was some sort of cop—maybe from Interpol. It wouldn’t blow the mission.

  At last, she said: “All right. I’ll do it. I don’t know why, Nate Conners—if that is your name—but for some reason I trust you. I don’t think you’d let any harm come to a girl.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he said, and kissed her again. This time she clung to him. To his surprise he tasted the salt of tears on her cheeks. “It’s just my rotten luck,” she said, “that I couldn’t have met someone like you before I went bad.”

  Nick gently pulled her to her feet. “You’re not all that bad,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. And maybe your luck is due for a change. Now, let’s go to work.”

  Pam had a squalid room in Pulteney Mews. Nick took one look and decided that it would do.. The bath was down the hall, but there was a closet. That was all he would need.

  He gave the girl last-minute instructions. “Try to get him to drink—but not too much. I want him just tiddly but not dead-drunk. I have to make him talk, you see? Be sure that nobody else comes with you. That’s very important! Now, when you come in with him, be careful to lock the door. Make it look natural.”

  She nodded. “It would be, anyway. I always lock the door when I bring a man up here.”

  “Good.” Nick handed her some money, but not very much. If Werner saw her with a lot of money, he would get suspicious. He would be as wily as the snake he was.

  They rehearsed again what he had told her on their way over in the taxi: She had not had any luck in London, she was broke, and she had been thinking over his offer. Werner might just go for that, especially if he were a little drunk.

  Nick went to the door with her. He patted her firm little fanny “You’ll have to be a pretty good little actress. Think you can handle it?” he asked.

  She smiled at him. It was the first genuine smile he had seen on her face all night. “I think so,” she replied. “I’ll try ever so hard. But suppose I can’t find him?”

  Nick shrugged, his big shoulders straining the cloth of his jacket. “Then we’ll just have to try another time. But I’ve got a hunch that our luck is going to be in.” It was true. He was not much of a hunch player, as a rule, but now he had a strong feeling that the tide was running in his direction. Meeting this particular girl, on this particular night looked a real break.

  On the verge of leaving, Pam turned to Nick again. Once more there was a shadow of doubt in the big violet eyes. “You—you really are a policeman? You’re going to arrest him? Not k—not hurt him?”

  He had foreseen that she was going to ask more questions. She was too intelligent not to. So he would just have to lie and keep feeding her bits and pieces of information to keep her happy.

  “Yes, I really am a policeman.” In a way it was true, of course. He gave her a little push. “Out, now. Let me worry about the rest.”

  When Pam had gone, he gave the room a fast check. Nothing. It was pitiful. The usual barren squalor of a rooming house in Soho. In the taxi coming over, she had told him that she had been in the place barely a week. That was good for what he had in mind. There would be no easy way to trace a girl like Pam, and the London police didn’t license prossies.

  He sat on the tarnished brass bed and checked the Luger. He put his hat and the Burberry in the closet, took off his suit jacket and checked the spring mechanism of the chamois sheath strapped along the inside of his right arm. The stiletto dropped hilt-first into his palm, ready for action. Just for the hell of it, and to flex his muscles, Killmaster threw it once at the opposite wall. It pierced a square of brown paper that was stuck there with cellophane tape.

  Nick recovered the stiletto and looked at the paper. It was a picture of the Queen, torn from a magazine. He grinned. These Limeys! They love their royally and ritual.

  It was two hours before Pam came back. Nick had waited patiently, his tensions under iron control. Occasionally, he had heard high heels click down the hallway, and loud, drunken laughter. Now and again, the toilet down the hall had sobbed, groaned, and finally gurgled.

  He was standing in the closet, with the room dark and his eye to the tiny crack of the door, when he heard Pam’s key in the lock. She was speaking to someone. A man’s voice muttered in thick accents. Nick smiled in the darkness. The trap had worked. She had found Paulus Werner.

  Nick gave her just time enough to lock the door before he came rushing out of the closet. The man in the center of the room, who had been studying Pam’s trim behind, whirled silently. His right hand whipped inside his light topcoat. His gun was halfway out when Nick took him— with the most terrible hold in the world!

  Killmaster crashed full-face into the shorter man as though he were going to kiss him. His right arm snaked under the man’s left armpit, his left hand took the man’s right arm just below the elbow and forced it back. His right hand, groping now behind the man’s back, caught the man’s right wrist and pulled it back and around and up. Nick was much stronger, and he had a double lock on the man’s right arm. He applied pressure mercilessly. The shoulder came out of the socket with a tearing sound. The man screamed horribly. Nick butted him brutally with his head to silence him. Then the man slumped in Nick’s cruel embrace.

  Nick dropped him to the floor and looked at the girl as he picked up the man’s gun, a small Browning, and stowed it in his own pocket. He kept looking at her as he gave Werner a quick going-over. She was back against the door, her violet eyes wide with terror, one hand to her face. He hoped to Christ that she wasn’t going to scream, too!

  Paulus Werner was out cold. He had no other weapons. Nick went to the girl. She shrank away from him, trembling violently. He tapped her lightly across the face with his open palm, then pulled her into his arms, turning so he could keep an eye on Werner.

  He spoke gently into her ear. “Come on now, Pam. Cut it out. You know you don’t care what happens to a man like that. And I know, honey, I understand. It’s shock. You aren’t used to violence. But you’ve got to snap out of it. There’s still a lot to do tonight.”

  He shook her. “Okay now?”

  Pamela Martin nodded against his shoulder. “I—I think so. B—but I never saw anything like that before except in the flicks. It—”

  Nick’s smile was cold. “It isn’t quite like the movies, is it?”

  He got rid of her fast. He gave her the fifty pounds and the key to the flat in Kensington.

  “Go there and wait for me,” he instructed her. “Don’t open the door, don’t even answer it, until you hear me whistle this.” He softly whistled a few notes of an old French folk tune. “Got it?”

  Pam nodded. She was still badly shaken. He indicated the room with his hand. “Anything here you particularly want? Any keepsake, anything like that? If so, take it. You won’t be coming back.”

  “My clothes?”

  “Leave them. We’ll get you others. Okay now? Then take off.”

  He checked the hall, then let her out. As she slipped past him he patted her round little rear and said, “Don’t wait up for me, honey. I might be late.”

  Pam glanced back at the unconscious mac on the floor. Nick saw a question forming on her lips. But she repressed it and went clicking off down the hall. Over her shoulder she threw him a soft “Ta,” the “thanks” and “goodbye” of the south country. Now there was something different about her walk, something rather jaunty. It puzzled the AXEman, but he liked it. Pam was beginning to accept matters.

  When Killmaster turned back into the room and locked the door his manner changed abruptly. He surveyed his quarry, who now was beginning to moan softly, with the eye of an expert, Of a man who knew exactly what he was about.

  Werner stirred as Nick bent over him. Nick hit him. lightly behind the ear with the edge of his hand. He didn’t want him conscious yet. He picked up the heavy man and tossed him onto the bed. Then he stripped him naked, tossing all his clothes in one pile, all his personal possessions in another. Werner was one of those oddballs who wore both belt and suspenders. That suited Nick fine. He spread-eagled Werner on the bed, face-up, and tied the man’s hands over his head to one of the brass rods. He used the man’s belt on his feet.

  Nick carried Werner’s personal things to Pam’s battered dresser and began to go through them. As he was starting he noticed a snapshot stuck into a corner of the glass. It showed Pam, in work clothes, with a man and another girl. In the background was what appeared to be an old stone farmhouse. Pam was not smiling. Nick did, briefly, and thrust the snapshot into his pocket. It was going to explain a lot of things about Pam.

  Werner had the usual things that are carried by a man who travels a lot. Plus a few that were not so usual, such as photos of young men in homosexual poses. Nick whistled softly and shrugged. It took all kinds. Pam had been right about the man.

  There was a lot of money. Nearly a hundred pound notes and even a couple of fivers. The man had two passports, one in the name of Paulus Werner, the other in the name of Hans Gottleib. Both were heavily visaed. There was an international driver’s license and various cards. Of the few other odds and ends, nothing was going to be of use to him—except the money. Nick put that in his pocket. He was going to have to buy Pam some clothes and it pleased him that Werner would pay for them.

  Nick left the rest of the things on the dresser and went back to the bed. It was time for the party to start. Before he began he screwed off the heel of one of his shoes and took out a small paper seal. It was the size of a large postage stamp and bore the symbol of AXE. A cruel little hatchet. It was the only identification he was carrying. He thought it would be enough.

  He took off his jacket and tossed it on a chair. He moved the new belt holster around to the small of his back—Werner just might try to grab it with his good hand—and snapped the stiletto down into his palm.

  After two or three minutes Paulus Werner awoke to the new pain. His piggish little eyes opened and he stared in dawning terror at the needle blade that was pricking his jugular.

  “Hello,” said Nick. “Feeling better?”

  Werner moaned. “Wasser—wasser! Bitte!”

  “No water until we talk. And speak English!” Nick prodded him with the stiletto.

  “Ach—Lie be Gott! Stop! Who are you? What do you want of me?”

  “I’ll ask the questions. But first I want to show you something, Paulus. Look hard.” Nick held the little AXE seal close to the man’s eyes.

  Werner’s face, already livid, now turned green. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Mein Gottl Der Amerikan-ische Mordklub!”

  Nick’s mouth twisted in a cold little smile. “Exactly, Paulus. The American Murder Club. And you are in a great deal of trouble, my friend. But there just might be a way out for you. And I said—speak English!” He jammed the stiletto half an inch into the man’s flesh.

  Werner screamed softly. “No—no! Bitte—Please! Do not hurt me again What is it you want?”

  “Information,” replied Nick. “And it had better be the truth.”

  Werner moaned softly. “But I know nothing. Nothing about anything—I am only a poor, simple German businessman.”

  Nick went to the foot of the bed. He put the point of the stiletto just beneath the nail of one of the man’s big toes. “You are only a poor German procurer and pimp! You recruit women here and elsewhere and you take them around to various places. But you always end up in Budapest. I want to know what you do with the women when you get them to Budapest, who takes them off your hands, how and where.”

  Killmaster was an expert at reading faces, one of the very best in his business. Otherwise, he might have missed the fleeting expression of puzzlement that crossed Werner’s face, an expression that was followed immediately by one that Nick felt certain held an element of relief. It was almost as though Werner had been expecting questions of another sort, Nick thought.

  Werner’s doughy facc now was expressionless although there was a hint of terror in the pig eyes, and Nick knew that he had missed something. Well, it couldn’t be helped He had to get on with it. He pushed the stiletto’s point under the toenail—just a bit.

  “Aie! Don’t! Please! I will tell you everything. All right? Then you will not kill me?”

  “Kill you? Of course not, Paulus. I never had any intention of killing you. Now, listen carefully, Paulus, and because I like you and admire you, I will tell you how it is going to be. You’re not going to be set free, of course. After we have our little talk, some men are going to come here to help me. They’re going to smuggle you out of England to an AXE cell in the States. You will be well treated and comfortable, and you will be able to swell that paunch a little more, while we check out the information you are going to give me. If your answers are true, you will shortly be freed. If one lie turns up—one single lie … Well, you know the answer. Ready to go now?” Nick pressed the stiletto a little more.

  Werner screeched. “I will talk! I will tell you everything.”

  “I’m sure you will, old friend,” said Nick Carter.

  When Paulus Werner began to talk, words flowed from him in a wild and frantic gush.

  “Once again, now,” Nick said finally. “Where do you take the girls when you get to Budapest?”

  “To the Hotel Hungarian Ir,” Werner repeated quickly. “It is a small place only, a cheap place. Many writers live there.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I get my money and leave. I do not see the girls again.”

  “What happens to them?”

  “I do not know, I-oyee-ee … Liebe Gott!”

  “One more he, and I will cut out the toenail,” Nick threatened icily. “You do know what happens to them, you bastard. They are used to make dirty movies in a studio somewhere near Budapest.”

  “Mein Gott—you know everything! You AXE people are magicians.”

  “Yes, we are. Now, where is that studio?”

  “I do not know—” He uttered a gurgling, choking screech. “Stop! I really do not know. I have only heard rumors that it is in Buda, across the river. That is all I know—I swear!”

  Killmaster removed the stiletto. He realized that Werner probably did not know the exact location of the studio.

  “Who pays you for the girls when you get to Budapest?” Nick asked.

  “A man named Kojak, Bela Kojak. We meet elsewhere —never at the hotel—and I get my money, and I go.”

  “Back for another load of girls?”

  “Ja—yes. It is business only, you understand.”

  Nick laughed harshly. “Yes, I understand. I also understand that you do not like girls. So why did you come here tonight?”

  Werner’s flabby face fell. His thick lips trembled. “I—I was a fool! I came only because the girl promised to do some very special things for me. Also, she had agreed to go on the tour, and there were arrangements to make.”

  Pam had done very well indeed. Nick was pleased. But What a dirty job for her. Perhaps he could make it up to her in some way.

  “That brings up another point,” he said now. “You’ve got no girls in London. But I know that you do have a troupe stashed away somewhere. So you weren’t depending only on girls you might find in London. Where are the others?”

  By this time Paulus Werner was well past the point of no-return. His moon face was glistening with sweat, and his fat mouth was drooping! He licked his wet lips. “They are waiting in Gibraltar. They come across from Tangier, Where a friend gets them for me.”

  “Where are they staying in Gibraltar?”

  “The Rock Hotel.”

  Jab. “Ayeek! Please! I swear it is true. We must, you see. It is expensive and very swank, the Rock, but we must keep up the good appearances, you understand. The British are very correct, very suspicious.”