Murder Trap by Johnston McCulley

Book Details

Murder Trap – three stories about the attempted abduction of a witness, a parolee’s revenge on the man who framed him, and the kill-lust of a man who wants to control a company. Criminal gangs, inmates, wanton killers, greed, vengeance, fear and murder by Johnston McCulley.

Murder Limited (1940) – Jim Thatcher Holds the Key Down on Danger When Big-City Gangsters Unleash Death and Destruction in a Melee of Double-Track Doom!
Chapter I – Shock at Midnight
Chapter II – Silent Wires
Chapter III – Guns Ablaze
Chapter IV – Another Shock
Chapter V – “Where’s That Woman?”
Chapter VI – On Time

New Year’s Pardon (1948) – When Joe Leake wins a pardon from the Big House, he plans to get a new tenant for his cell—but quick!

Murder Trap (1934) – A Corpse Flung from the Sky is a Grisly Harbinger of a Crimson Trail of Death
Chapter I – The Black Blimp
Chapter II – The Grip of Fear
Chapter III – Death Grins Again
Chapter IV – Death Trap
Chapter V – Night Visitor
Chapter VI – The Man In the Dark
Chapter VII – More Trouble
Chapter VIII – Another Five Spot
Chapter IX – Fingerprints
Chapter X – Discoveries
Chapter XI – An Arrest Is Made
Chapter XII – One Little Error
Chapter XIII – Desperation Rules

Johnston McCulley (1883-1958) was the author of hundreds of stories, fifty novels, numerous screenplays for film and television, and the creator of the character Zorro.

Murder Trap has 28 illustrations.

FIles:

1. MurderTrap.epub

Excerpt: Murder Trap

Chapter I

The Black Blimp

DESPITE a night with a hint of mist in the air, and a freshening breeze which betokened the coming of a storm, the thousands were gathered around the music shell in the public park, listening to the band concert, promenading, flirting, gossiping.

From the music shell came the strains of a military march, with brass and drums sounding a rhythm to stir the blood. The martial music effectually drowned the low hum of motors up in the sky.

The music ceased. People moved around as the bandsmen rested, preliminary to the next number.

“Look! Look!”

The shrill cry came from a woman standing at the edge of the wide walk. She was looking upward, pointing, her manner that of intense excitement.

Others looked, too, and echoed her exclamation. Necks were craned as musicians and audience alike glanced toward the heavens.

Out of the dark sky and down toward the earth descended a spreading blue light, a ghostly cloud of wavering color. It was something similar to a molten ball surrounded by a mass of eerie vapor.

It drifted lowly with the wind, seemed to hover directly above the music shell for an instant. And suddenly it burst, and dazzling white light blazed and streaked through the black night.

Men and women cried in alarm, crashed into one another as they turned to run to places of safety. The blazing white light half blinded them.

It was there but a moment, then was gone, and there remained only the scattered light along the walks and across the front of the music shell.

“Flare dropped by some aviator— that’s all!”

Some man shouted that reassuring intelligence. Men and women laughed, ashamed of their moment of fright. The musicians began picking up their instruments.

And then, high in the air above the park, there was a sudden burst of amber sparks. They cascaded toward the earth in a beautiful fireworks display.

And down through that amber shower floated—something. It passed swiftly through the dying fireworks and came on toward the earth in darkness.

There came the hum of motors— and the crowd could hear it now. Far up in the sky there was another flash of light. For a moment, those below could see a dark bulk with a smaller bulk.

A dirigible! A black blimp! At least it looked black to those below.

Tensely, the crowd waited. There was no further display of fireworks. The humming of the motors died away. Something seemed to be drifting down out of the sky.

Something billowy white was coming to earth near the bandstand. It was draping across the wide walk and over the bushes as it fell.

“A parachute!” somebody cried.

The crowd started to surge forward. It was some advertising stunt, they supposed. Not a bad idea—to drive a blimp over the park during the band concert, and drop some sort of advertising matter.

A woman screamed.

Park policemen began fighting to get through the crowd and to the spot where the parachute was coming to rest. Now the wind was spilled from it, and it stopped, a white mass, against a tree and over some of the shrubbery.

More screams came from those near it. The crowd surged backward, away from the spot. Policemen got through, their night-sticks held ready. Then, they saw.

It was a parachute, as they had thought. But nobody had come down with it to advertise something. Attached to the parachute was a corpse!”

IT was the corpse of a middle-aged man, well-dressed and prosperous-appearing. Pinned to the front of his coat was a playing card—the five spot of hearts. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood. His eyes were open, fixed. An expression of agony was in the dead face.

The crowd surged forward again, agog with curiosity, morbidly interested. But the policemen drove them back. One of the officers started for a telephone, to call Police Headquarters and make a report of the affair.

Up in the dark sky, motors hummed again as the black blimp, aircraft of death, moved rapidly away through the night.

Excerpt From: Johnston McCulley. “Murder Trap.”