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SYNOPSIS.
On Windward island Palldori intrigues
Mrs. Golden into an appearance of evil
which causes Golden to capture and tor
ture the Italian by branding his face and
crushing his hand. I’alidora opens the
dyke gates and floods the island and in
the general rush to escape the flood kid
naps Golden’s six-year-old daughter Mar
gory. Twelve years later in New York
one’ calling himself "the Hammer of
God" rescues an eighteen-year-old girl
from the cadet Casavantl, to whom Jules
Legar had delivered her.
SECOND EPISODE
The House of Unhappiness.
Enoch Golden, with all his millions,
•was a hard man. Those closest to him
contended that he had experienced
much to make him hard.
The one person who stood in any
way intimately and personally con
nected with Golden was his young pri
vate secretary, David Manley. For
young Manley, often enough known to
his associates as "Davie,” was both
incorrigibly youthful and engagingly
irresponsible. Golden, oddly enough,
secretly liked this youth for his fool
ishness.
Golden smiled a little as he stepped
into his massively furnished library
and found young Manley curled up
in one of the great leather chairs
intently working over a pocket
camera and quite oblivious of the tele
phone bell shrilling from the rosewood
desk beside him. Golden, as he seated
himself at this desk and curtly an
swered the phone call, blinked with
mock disapproval at the youth bent
over the camera.
It was not until he heard Golden's
great fist smite the rosewood desktop
that Manley looked up. The man of
millions was frowning over the letter
still in his hand.
"The condition of these tenements
is shameful. Times are hard, and
many, we find, are out of work. If you
insist on raising the rents, as you
threaten, our settlement workers claim
that hundreds of the poor will have
to leave their homes. So, for the sake
of the mothers and children alone, J
implore you to reconsider your earlier
decision.
"Sincerely,
"AMOS SCHOFIELD, D. D.”
“The fools!” said Golden aloud.
"They know as much about business,
Manley, as you know about bond is
sues! Not raise my own rents! I
guess Enoch Golden still knows enough
to run his own business!”
He stopped and looked at Manley.
“What’s that gim-crack you’re wast
ing your time on?” he demanded.
"Gim-crack?” laughed Manley. “It's
the neatest thing In cameras that ever
came Into America. That’s a new
Swiss telescopic lens I’ve just been ad
justing to it. Take a snap of a flea
biting your ear eighty paces away!
And your income on those tenements,
by the way, amounts to an annual re
turn of just 43 per cent of the capital
Invested! ”
But Golden's patience was exhaust
ed. “Get out of here!” was hi 3 brusque
Intently Working Over a Pocket
Camera.
command. “Get down to Griswold’s
bank with these checks, and be quick
about It!”
Whereupon Manley meekly took his
departure. Two minutes later, how
ever, yet another figure was passing
through the gloomy silences of Enoch
Golden’s home. It was a more purpose
ful figure than that of the lazy-eyed
young secretary. And over the face
of this intruder as he cautiously made
his way through the great house was
an odd-looking band of yellow cloth,
cut in the form of a mask. The center
of this, drooping apronlike almost to
his upper lip, was marked by an in
verted crescent, which at first glance
lent to the partly-covered face the
faint suggestion of an ironically laugh
ing mouth. Yet the unknown stranger
was serious enough as he stopped be
fore a door at the end of the second
hall and pushed on one of a row of
mother-of-pearl buttons. The door slid
noiselessly back at that signal, and an
electric elevator rose automatically to
the level of the floor where he stood.
Inside the elevator, he touched still
another button, whereupon the cage
rose noiselessly. Once it had come to
a stop, he leaned against the appar
ently blank wall of the elevator shaft
and studied it closely.
His exploring plainly found there a
secret spring, for the next moment a
panel slipped noiselessly to one side
and he stepped into the room so art
fully fireproofed with pressed steel
panels and grained to look like oak,
which Golden had once used as his
bondroom.
That room, although not used for
years, was at the present moment far
from empty. For pacing restlessly
back and forth, as the stranger quietly
entered, was a golden-haired woman
of little more than twenty. The face
under the mask smiled a little at her
sudden movement and gasp of sur
prise as he confronted her.
"Are you still afraid of me?” he
asked.
“N-no!” hesitated the girl.
"I’d give a good deal,” declared the
other, "to know who you are!”
“I’m—l’m afraid I can’t help you
any, in that,” she finally told him.
"Why not?”
"Because I don’t know myself.”
“I want to take you to a man who
may be interested in you. who may
even prove to be very kind to you!”
The pale face with the haunted eyes
suddenly hardened.
"I no longer ask for kindness from
men,” was her almost passionate re
tort.
“Oh, this old scoundrel won’t be too
dangerously kind, especially until the
ice is broken. I warrant you that
much. But with him, I’ll also warrant,
you’ll face none of the affronts that
you may have faced in the Owl's
Nest.”
“But why should he be interested
in me?”
“Because you may remind him of a
daughter he himself once had.”
"Then what must I do?”
“You must put on a dress 1 have
ready, one exactly like the one his
own daughter used to wear. And I’d
like you to let down your hair.”
So the girl, still touched with won
der, was cautiously led to another part
of the great house, where she let down
her hair and dressed herself in a girl
ish little frock which she found al
ready laid out for her. And the won*
der was still in her eyes as the masked
stranger smuggled her quietly down
through the house, and, as the aged
millionaire bent low to unlock the bot
tom drawer of his desk, motioned her
noiselessly into the library and into
an armchair facing the desk.
By the time Golden had raised his
head again the mysterious stranger
bad slipped out of sight.
Golden, as he sat upright, stared for
several moments of silence at the
strange figure in the armchair.
“Who are you?” the grim-faced old
financier finally demanded. But the
girl remained silent.
Golden, studying her more closely,
rose unsteadily to his feet.
"How did you get here?” he asked.
And passing a hand across his mois
tened brow he asked still again: “Who
are you?”
“I don’t know,” answered the girl.
Golden rose to his feet, and still
staring hungrily at that mild yet cloud
ed face, crossed to her side.
He held her face between his hands,
peering into it. Then, with a weary
shake of the head, he dropped his
hands.
"It was too much to expect,” he
huskily murmured. "Too much to hope
for!”
His grief-stricken face touched the
girl’s heart.
"Oh, sir, what had you hoped for?”
she managed to ask.
“I hope for nothing,” was the
broken man's reply. "But once 1 had
a daughter, and I lost her.”
"How did you lose her?”
"She was stolen from me, as a
child.”
"And what became of her?”
"God only knows! Yet, for a mo
ment I was mad enough to think, to
hope. But I have no longer any right
to hope,” he added with sudden pas
sion. "All I ask is that once before I
die I meet face to face that one-armed
devil with hia scar of shame!”
“One-armed, and with a scar?” cried
the startled girl, leaning suddenly for
ward in her chair.
Golden wheeled about at her cry.
“What does that mean to you?”
“Why, it was a one-armed man with
a scarred face who kept me a pris
oner! It was he, Legar, who always
told me my parents were dead.”
“Legar!” repeated the bewildered
millionaire. “Legar? But my man’s
name was Palidori.”
“Girl, let me see your arm!”
With trembling fingers he thrust up
, the flimsy sleeve, staring breathlessly
tut nnrcf.-AS ENTERPRISE. HOTTGLAS. GEORGIA.
at the milk-white skin. Then a groan
of disappointment broke from his
throat.
“No the mark is not there!”
“What mark?” asked the wondering
girl.
"My daughter carried a scar on her
right arm. My men, when she was a
child on Windward island, caught and
killed a shark. The child, when no one
watched her, thrust a hand in between
the brute’s jaws. Those dying jaws
closed on the flesh, and an iron bar
had to be used to open them again.
And they said that scar would always
stay with her.”
The girl, wide-eyed, dropped back
into the armchair, p
"Why, I seem to remember,” she
said, staring before her. “I seem to
remember years ago, rows and rows
of sharp teeth and the sudden pain as
those teeth came together.”
“But the scar!” cried Golden.
"There is no scar!”
“I seem to remember about that,
too. It was long ago, after Legar had
brought me across water, and then
miles and miles in a railway train. I
remember him taking me to a man
who wore round eyeglasses, and show
ing him my arm. This man gave me
something to make me sleep. But
when I wakened my arm was sore
again, for weeks and weeks. And
when it healed the scar was gone. I
remember— v But she stopped sud
denly, for the telephone bell close be
side Golden shrilled out a sudden call.
Mechanically the man at the desk took
up the receiver, his eyes still on the
girl facing him.
“This is Eastman of the central of
fice speaking,” said the voice over the
wire. "A short while ago a young
woman was seen entering your
house.”
“Well, what of it?” was the impa
tient inquiry.
“Our office merely wants to warn
you that the girl is Blondie Casey, the
ccme-on for the Cookson gang. She’s
the smoothest swindler In the busi
ness. And as long as that baby-eyed
she-crook Is in your house, Golden,
your house will be In danger!”
Golden hung up his receiver and sat
Holding His Breath, He Crept Closer and Still Closer.
studying his desktop. Then with his
grim mouth fixed he crossed to the
rear door and opened it, stepping out
into the hall and peremptorily called
for his butler as he did so.
Manley, returning from his errand,
at the same moment stepped into the
room from another door. He stared at
the girl as he stopped to pick up his
pocket camera.
“Who are you?” he pertly inquired,
as Golden re-entered the room.
But his eyes, the next moment, were
on neither Golden nor the girl. His
gaze passed beyond those two strange
ly diverse figures to yet a third, the
crouching figure of an eavesdropper
clinging to the wistaria vines that
framed the huge window on the far
side of the room.
Manley, crossing the room on the
run, took the window, glass and all, in
one leap. He landed on a hydrangea
bush even as the burly eavesdropper
dropped to the grass beside him. The
next moment the two men clinched.
The fight was an uneven one, but
Manley stuck to his man. He stuck
to him until that worthy, with a sud
den blow on the jaw, sent the lithe
bodied young secretary staggering to
the ground.
Before Manley could recover him
self, tfle mysterious eavesdropper
broke away, vaulted to the street and
signaled to a waiting automobile.
Then Manley’s senses came back to
him, and rolling over into the open
roadway, he took the camera from his
pocket and held it between him and
the disappearing touring car. He
pressed the spring, knowing that
his telescopic lens would carry to the
waiting film the secret of that mys
terious car's license number.
• •*•••*
The Arrows of Conflagration.
Jules Legar, in his role as a master
of underworld activities, was both
adroit in his engagement of the serv
ices of others and painstaking in the
preparation of the field wherein they
should labor. Like the humble weasel,
he held that every warren should have
both an exit and an entrance.
So when Legar and his scientific
friend, Dr. Herman Stein, engaged
their triple-floor office suite at the top
of the Centra! Tower building, they in
sisted on certain structural altera
tions in those offices. Not only was
one of the largest windows comman
deered for the installation of a
strangely complex apparatus used in
Stein’s electric wave-projector (which
was announced to be the latest im
provement on wireless), but the upper
and lower floors of the suites were
connected by a smooth-walled shaft
which, it was explained, would make
easier the passage back and forth of
chemicals and apparatus needed by
the illustrious Doctor Stein in his
carefully guarded experiments.
Equally well prepared was Legar’s
second base of activities, the secret
subcellar beneath the Owl’s Nest. This
second warren, deep as it stood un
derground, was also provided with a
secret passageway leading into a wa
ter-gate opening on the East river it
self.
It was from both these points that
Legar was conducting his campaign
against his old-time enemy Enoch
Golden. And both of these points
might have remained as well hidden
as their user still dreamed them to be
had it not been for the casual agency
of a pocket camera. For less than an
hour’s work in the office of the regis
ter of automobiles had duly shown
Manley that license No. 6249 belonged
to one Prof. Herman Stein of 42 Maple
avenue. Yet Manley, armed as he was
with the knowledge of this car’s iden
tity, showed no undue haste in inter
fering with its movements. For still
another hour of cautious shadowing
on the part of Golden’s private secre
tary provided him with the knowledge
that Doctor Stein was in the habit of
motoring from Maple avenue to the
Central Tower building, and from that
prosperous skyscraper to an humble
point within a block of the Owl’s Nest
itself. Thirty minutes later found
Manley in a telephone booth, talking
to his employer.
“Have you received any message
from that man Legar?” asked the
younger man, after impatiently ex
plaining who he was.
“I have received a message, but I
don’t know it came from Legar.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“It was thrown through my house
window folded up in a beer bottle.”
“Will you please read me that mes
sage. And quickly, for this is impor
tant.”
“Here it is,” answered the bewil
dered voice over the wire. “ ‘You are
keeping Blondie Casey a prisoner in
your house. Unless you liberate her
within an hour your house will go up
in flames. And after that house, your
next house, and the next.’ It Is signed
‘The Cookson Gang.’ But what am I
to believe? What am I to do? And
what is the answer to all these mys
teries?”
“Whatever you do, don’t let them
get that young woman away from
you! ”
Faintly the listener could hear the
sound of sudden calls, of quick ques
tions and answers and counter-ques
tion. Then the voice of Golden was
once more frantically calling him over
the wire.
“Manley, Manley, is that you?
You’ve spoken too late. Wilson, my
butler, has just hurried in to me here.
Ten minutes ago a stranger claiming
to be a meter inspector got entrance
to the house. Do you hear me, they’ve
taken that girl! She’s gone!”
“Gone?” echoed Manley. “Then I
haven't time to stand here talking.”
Yet. Enoch Golden, even as Manley
himself, had little time for talking
over that strange abduction. For two
minutes later his still flurried butler
announced the arrival of James Gris
wold, the president of the Union-
Traders’ bank, on urgent business.
“Golden,” began that visitor almost
as soon as he had crosse4,the thresh
old, “I have counted myself among
your friends. But when I receive a
note like this, threatening me and my
business, I regard it as about time to
see you, face to face.”
Golden took the sheet of paper from
the banker's hand. He stood regard
ing it with troubled eyes. For it read:
“You are a friend of Enoch Golden,
the oppressor of the poor, the scaven
ger of unclean gold. The blow that is
about to fall on you and your bank
falls because of this alliance with evil
doers. You are warned.”
The grim-jawed millionaire turned
on his visitor.
“That is not all,” declared the bank
er. “Nor is this afternoon’s paper,
with its bitter attack on you and
your tenements all. But three hours
later my fellow banker, Gresham of
the Third National, received a warn
ing identical with mine, and already
the building of the Third National
bank is in flames! And what, I want
to know, sir, is the meaning of it all?”
The telephone bell interrupted Gold
en as he was about to speak.
“Yes, this is Mr. Golden’s house.
Yes, Mr. Griswold is here. What’s
that?” He leaned forward for a mo
ment, listening. Then the receiver fell
from his flaccid hand. “My God, Gris
wold, your building is on fire! The
Union-Traders’ bank Is burning.”
The next minute Griswold was hur
rying from the house and leaping into
his waiting limousine.
Golden, sitting at his desk, stared
startled and vacant-eyed before him.
Yet that young secretary who was
so foolishly accepted as feather-head
ed was, at the time being, anything
but idle. Ten minutes after his talk
over the wire with Golden he was in
a taxicab speeding towards the Stein
house on Maple avenue. A block away
from that house he dismounted, saun
tering casually up to the home of
Legar’s confederate as a tradesman's
delivery wagon stopped before it.
“Boy,” he said to the youthful
driver of the wagon, “that housemaid
at the door there is my steady. But
we scrapped and she won’t even see
me. Here’s a dollar if you let me hand
in that box of groceries for you!”
“Sure,” said the boy, as he pocketed
the bill. Manley, whistling blithely,
carried his armful of parcels into the
tradesman’s entrance.
“My driver says these things weren’t
paid for,” he coolly announced.
“Dey vass paid for, ef’ry-ding vass
paid for!” cried the German girl.
"Then you go and tell him that,”
was the other’s calm suggestion. And
as the belligerent-eyed maid strode out
to the wagon, Manley slipped in
through the still open door, dropped
his parcels and stole quickly yet
guardedly up through the silent house.
When he came to a large room, half
library and half laboratory he stared
in wonder at the strange apparatus
which stood on a table in the center of
this room. He heard the sound of ap
proaching steps. He saw a door on
his right and darted through it. He
realized, as soon as he had done so,
that he had committed the fatal error
of diving into a trap.
As he peered out through the still
partly opened door he saw that it was
the German maid who had entered the
room. Then she crossed to the closet
door itself, straightened the edge of
the disordered rug, closed the door
and turned the key in the lock.
A moment later, Manley, with his
ear against the panel, heard the sound
of heavier steps. Then came the even
more interesting sound of voices.
“Veil, wat do you say of Oldt Stein
now, maybe? You still t’ink he talk
foolish ven he claim dose actinic rays
in conjunction mit converging wireless
impulses couldn’t maybe start a leetle
combustion von or two miles away,
eh?”
"A little combustion, Stein?” said an
unknown voice, “you’ve peddled ’em
out like gunfire, all over the damned
city.”
Manley suddenly ducked back be
hind a waterproof, smelling acridly of
acid burns, for footsteps had ap
proached the closet door and the key
was being turned in the lock.
The fugitive stood close against the
wall, draped by the waterproof, as the
spectacled scientist groped blinkingly
about for his housecoat.
"Und you, Legar, If you blease, show
me on der map choost vat remains to
be done. Vlch buildings vill you have
viped out, ven der viping is still goot?”
Manley, emerging from under cover,
saw that the old German had left the
closet door a trifle open. So moving
cautiously forward, he peered out Into
the room. Clustered about the table,
bent close over the map, he could see
Stein and Legar and two of his un
known accomplices. Manley advanced
silently into the room, crouching low
as he went. For on the table he had
already caught sight of the blueprint
of Stein’s projector apparatus. So,
holding his breath, he crept closer and
still closer. He had the blueprint in
his hand, but before he could slip
back from the table edge his presence
was detected and his retreat cut off.
He darted for the window, going
through it like a circus rider through
a paper hoop.
A minute later the conspirators
were after him. But Manley, rolling
through a. clump of shrubbery and
doubling rabbitlike on his pursuers,
dodged under cover. By the time he
had recovered his breath and his wits
he slipped unobserved from the
grounds, rounded the block and
climbed into his waiting taxicab.
“Police headquarters!” he told the
driver.
Brief as was Manley’s visit to police
headquarters, that call resulted in
sudden and startling movement from
the great gray structure in Center
street. For the mysterious fires were
now breaking out even in crowded
tenements on the East side, keeping
a bewildered fire department shut
tling impotently back and forth.
The attack on Legar’s skyline quar
ters was a feverishly hurried and yet
a surprisingly orderly one. It was not
until the police reached the top floor
that the elevator came to a stop.
At the same moment that they
poured out into the narrow hallway a
mechanician in his shirt sleeves
opened the door leading from Legar's
private workroom and started down
the hall. Before he could retreat or
slam shut that door the lieutenant’s
revolver was covering him. Reach
ing back to his hip, his hand was al
ready on the butt of a blue-metaled
automatic. Before he could whip out
that weapon, however, the lieutenant’s
quick eye comprehended the move
ment and his own firearm spoke first.
The shirt-sleeved figure fell in a
heap, where he had stood in the open
doorway.
At the sound of that shot, from
within could be heard sudden calls
and shouts and hurrying steps.
“That’s Legar,” cried Manley, as ha
caught sight of the one-armed figure
side by side with a bespectacled Ger
man striving and fighting to pusb
shut the intervening door. But the
fallen man’s body lay in the way, and
He Slipped Unobserved From the
Grounds.
the door refused to close. Before that
body could be dragged to one side,
the lieutenant and his men were in
through the door, wielding night
sticks and flashing firearms.
It was Manley himself who caught
up a chair and brought it crashing
down on a strangely complicated mech
anism standing squarely in the light
of the Tower window.
But Legar himself had not been
idle. At the first wild charge into hia
tower room, the master criminal had
dropped crouching behind a work
table, darted across to his parcel
chute and there touched a hidden
spring. The next moment the chuto
stood open and Legar was descend
ing like a plummet to the floor below.
But not before Manley had caught
sight of his vanishing head and start
ed in pursuit.
Manley was joined a minute later by
the police. In the meantime Legar
had escaped to the street by way of
the fire escape.
He hailed a taxicab and hurried
eastward to the Owl’s Nest. Two
minutes after Legar went rocking and
swerving eastward he was followed
by a stranger in a second cab. This
stranger drove straight to the water
front, two blocks to the north, dis
missed his taxi, and earnestly con
ferred with a roughly-dressed long
shoreman, who later rounded the slip
in a rowboat and took the stranger
aboard.
• ••••••
Legar, in his quarters beneath th»
Owl’s Nest, was in anything but an
amiable mood. He stared about at
his coterie of unsavory confederates.
A gleam of triumph showed in his
narrowing eyes as he spied a white
faced girl in a chair near the fireplace.
“So we’ve got you back, little one?*
he mocked.
She winced as he wheeled her
roughly about, but remained silent.
A sleepy-eyed parrot, standing on
its perch beside the empty fireplace,
stirred uneasily at Legar’s rough
movements. The girl, rising slowly
from her chair, stared into Legar’a
evil face.
“What are you going to do with
me?” she demanded.
Legar laughed.
"You won’t be asking questions
about it, when you find out!”
"Courage, little one, courage!” said
a low yet distinct voice.
Legar, at the sound, wheeled sud
denly about.
"Who taught that damned bird to
talk?” he demanded. There was a
stir of uneasiness about the room.
“Why, cap, that parrot can't talk,*
declared the tremulous coke-snuffer
at the end of the table, “it never
could talk!”
“Then who said ‘Courage’?” called
out the irate master criminal.
"I did,” said the same distinct yet
ghostly voice. And had that wide
eyed group stared closer into the fire
place, Instead of at the silent and
motionless bird on its perch, they
might have noticed where a small
stone, little bigger than a man’s hand,
had been worked loose and lifted
away from the heavy wall separating
that unseen watcher from the room
into which he had been peering.
Yet that stone was once more in
place before Legar and his worthies
peered, squinting-eyed, about the
smoke-stained masonry. Only, the
hands of the girl, sitting silent and
thoughtful in ner chair, were no long
er trembling. The cowering look had
faded from her eyes. For to her that
voice had not seemed an altogether
unfamiliar one.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)