Ron Goulart - The Curse of the Obelisk

THE CURSE OF THE OBELISK 75
CHAPTER 18
Professor G.P.R. Stowe said, "That is typical of my daughter, all too typical." He was a short,
rumpled man with frizzled grey hair. "Arranges to have me rescued, do you see, and neglects to
send sufficient hands to take care of all my luggage."
"We don't have time for baggage," explained Harry. "Zaytoon is dead, but there's still a castle
filled with toadies and thugs who don't know that."
They were standing in the middle of the professor's combination bedroom and workshop. Stowe
was swaying some, a cut-glass decanter of rum in his hand. Stretched out on the unmade bed was a
nearly completed flying bat.
"Someone will come back for your stuff later," promised Jennie.
"I notice, more in sadness than in anger, that Belphoebe did not even see her way clear to—"
"She was carried off by one of your damn bats."
"Why ever did she let that happen to her?"
"It was more Orchardson's idea," said Harry. "I made sure, in a recent conversation with Bertie
Pennoyer, that Zaytoon doesn't have any of your gadgets in operation yet."
"How can he, when the first is lying yonder upon—"
"We'll go now," said Harry.
"Young man, you do not seem to comprehend— and considering you are a gentleman friend of
my daughter your denseness is accounted for— you do not understand my position. I am tired of
being kidnapped by all and sundry and each time losing more and more of my personal and
business—"
"There are two ways you can leave here," Harry cut in. "Willingly or unconscious."
The professor blinked, took a swig of rum, wiped his mouth on his lab coat sleeve and frowned.
"Are you threatening me, young man?"
Harry grinned. "You're damn right."
"See here, I . . . um . . . very well." He'd noticed Harry's left hand turning into a fist. "I, I assure
you, Belphoebe is in for a severe dressing-down."
"We have to get her back from Orchardson before you can do that," said Harry.
Harry, Jennie and the stumbling, muttering Professor Stowe were coming down a splendid
carved wooden staircase and were only a few hundred feet from the main door out of the castle
when three large, swarthy men in evening clothes entered the immense hall below.
They noted the strangers on the stairway and proceeded to draw revolvers and a dagger.
"Far be it from me to criticize, young man," said the frizzle-haired professor, "but attempting to
exit by the most obvious—"
"Been lucky bluffing so far," said Harry. "I thought we could work it once more."