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(TIRON
CWW
author, of -the OCCASIONAL OFFENDER,”
-THE WIRE TAPPERS,” “GUN RUNNERS," ETC
NOVELIZED FROM THE RATHE PHOTO PLAY OF THE SAME NAME
BVNOPBIB.
On Windward Islanu Palldori intrigues
Mr* Golden Into an appenranee of evil
which causes Golden to capture and tor
ture the Italian by branding his face and
crushing his hand. Palidorl 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
gery. Twelve year’s later In New York a
Masked One calling himself "the Hammer
of God” rescues an elghteen-year-old girl
from the cadet Casavantl, to whom Jules
Legar has delivered her, and takes her to
the home of Enoch Golden, millionaire,
whence she Is recaptured by Legar. Legar
and Stein are discovered by Manley. Gol
den’s secretary, setting Are to Golden’s
buildings, but escape. Margery's mother
fruitlessly Implores Enoch Golden to
find their daughter. The Masked One
again takes Margery away from Legar.
Legar loots the Third National bank, but
ngaln the Laughing Mask frustrates his
plans Legar sends Golden "The Spotted
Warning,” demanding a portion of a chart
of the Windward island. Margery meets
her mother. The ( hart is lost during a
fight between Manley and one of Legar’s
henchmen.
SEVENTH EPISODE
‘THE HOODED HELPER.”
Margery Golden's serenely self
willed Aunt Agatha disliked animals
almost as much as she disliked mys
teries. And about her tranquil Ce
dar home she felt were transpiring
events altogether too inexplicable to
remain long to her liking.
So when Hannah, the plump but less
practical-minded caretaker of that
erstwhile abode of tranquillity, trem
ulously announced that a stranger in
a yellow mask had left a bright-col
ored parrot, answering to the name of
Tito, at the door for Miss Margery,
the bird in question was viewed with
open disfavor, and Margery was sub
jected to many disturbing interroga
tions.
None of the girl’s answers proving
satisfactory, however, her firm-willed
maiden aunt proposed that they pro
ceed with their interrupted game of
‘‘Preference.’’ But a green parrot’s in
stinct and enigmatic cry of “Look
out for the Iron Claw” proved in no
way consistent with so tranquilizing
a game, and the owner of the house
finally and firmly commanded the de
parting Hannah, who "slept out,” to
carry the disturbing creature off to
her own cottage for the night.
This Hannah did, with much mum
bling, and deposited it in her chicken
coop.
There Tito would have spent a quiet
and uneventful night, in all likelihood,
had not a certain mlldly-predacious
negress answering to the name of
Jemima Watson, returned all but
empty-handed to her suburban home.
For one of the by-products of this
dusky lady’s activities as a scrub
woman was the gathering of those
trifles which find their way to the
waste baskets and refuse cans of of
fice buildings. And her only harvest,
on this occasion, w»b a half portion
of a time-yellowed code chart and
map, which bad blown from the dizzy
balcony of the Central Tower building.
19B&1 &
She Was Sitting in Front of the Suit
of Japanese Armor.
Rastus Watson, Jemima's lord and
master, flung the sheet of paper down
on their kitchen table in disgust when
it was placed before him as the
extent of a day's “pickin's.”
Now, Rastus, who was of much port
lier frame than his spouse, was a firm
believer in the efficiency of forced
feeding. And since the day’s harvest
had been a lean one, and the larder
showed disturbing signs of emptiness,
that plump-bodied negro possessed
himself of a worn gunnysack and an
nounced his determination of acquir
ing a few pullets while hunger ran
high and the moon swung low. In
stinct combined with fate to lead Ras
tus by the nose, take him stealthily
over the backyard fence of the afore
mentioned Hannah, and from there to
the door of the padlocked coop.
If in the excitement of the moment the
lightness of one bird tossed into the
W^mrn
bag escaped his attention; it was per
haps due to the haste with which be
had to make ofT with his prisoners. He
was blinking cautiously about, to
make sure the coast was clear, when
a voice startlingly close to his own
portly carcass called out with a sud
den warning;
‘ Look out for the Iron Claw!”
‘‘How's dat?” was the answering
cry of the tingling Rastus.
"Look out for the Iron Claw!” re
peated the voice so close behind him.
"Wha—what iron claw?” demanded
the sweating Rastus.
"I’ll get you!” announced the bode
ful voice behind him. And at that
threat utter and unreasoning panic
seized the terrified Rastus, who, with
a throaty bellow of agony, charged
across a newly-dug garden and bound
ed like a rotund Jackrabbit down a
moonlit alley bordered with shadowy
fences.
At the end of this alley Rastus
plunged through a narrow gate, and
charged bodily into the peaceful beer
garden belonging to the roadhouse of
one Antonio Dibello, where sat four
men in quiet conference about one of
the little iron tables well out of pub
lic ken.
These men showed prompt resent
ment at this unheralded interruption
to their talk. But as the parrot, with
its head thrust through a hole in the
gunnysack, repeated its shrill cry of
"Look out for the Iron Claw,” these
men rose in a body to their feet.
Their leader, who in even the dim
light from the garden lamps showed
himself to be a one-armed man with
a strangely-scarred face, sprang for
the terrified negro. Rastus, however,
was in no mood for either interruption
or argument. He merely emitted a
whoop of reawakened terror and head
ed for homo.
There he burst in upon the astound
ed Jemima and collapsed with a
quavering groan of exhaustion. But be
fore Jemima could either understand
the nature of his ailment or investi
gate the contents of his gunnysack, a
second and even more violent irrup
tion took place. Legar and his men
dragged the quaking and gasping Ras
tus to his feet, shoved him into a chair,
and snatched up the gunnysack. From
it they took out the loudly-protesting
green parrot aud wonderingly ex
amined it.
“Where did you get that parrot?”
was the quick demand of the man who
wore an iron hook where a hand ought
to be. Rastus merely wheezed and
shook in the legs and showed the
whites of his eyes. It was indeed,
several minutes before he was so
much as awakened to the fact that he
was not in the grip of the law. But
once convinced of that fact, he became
voluble enough in his protestations to
oblige the “white gen’l’men” with any
information they desired. He even led
those white gentlemen back to the
neighborhood of Hannah’s chicken
coop.
So engrossed were they in their dis
coveries that they thereupon paid
scant attention to Rastus himßelf,
who took advantage of that diversion
to disappear.
There were certain phases of that
hurried pursuit, however, which had
not entirely escaped the attention of
a circumspect stranger who had mo
tored casually about the quiet streets
of Cedarton earlier in the evening.
Aunt Jemima Watson, in fact, had
scarcely recovered from the shock
consequent upon the sudden invasion
of her cottage when she discovered
herself confronted by still another
stranger. And the fact that this
stranger wore a yellow mask did not
add to her immediate peace of mind.
“All I want to know, my good wom
an, is where those men are taking
your husband.”
“Dey’s takin’ him back t’ whar he
done got dat bird,” explained the ne
gress. The stranger started for the
door. Then he stopped, dead short.
For lying overlooked on the floor,
close beside a battered water bucket,
he caught sight of a familiar-looking
oblong of yellow paper. In another
moment he had possession of it.
“Where did that paper come from?”
he demanded. For he knew that it
was the long-sought Golden chart
which he held in his hand.
“Dat done come from mah offus
sweepln’s,” explained the other. “But
mah Rastus allows it hain’t even wuff
a green tradin’ stamp!”
“Your Rastus may be right,” was
the stranger’s quiet reply. “But it’s
worth this much to me.” And Aunt
Jemima found a ten-dollar bill thrust
into her astonished pink palm. "That
is yours, my good woman, if you do
Just one thing, and do it quickly. I
want you to go to the sheriff's, wake
him up, and get him to the house
where that woman called Hannah
works. Tell him to get there in a
hurry, and to bring his men, or there'll
be murder done in this village before
the sun rises!”
The man In the yellow mask waited
for nothing more. A minute later he
was off, running shadowlike through
the darkness. Shadowlike, too, he ap
proached an ivy-bowered bungalow in
which three women were quietly play-
Ing "preference” In the light of a
green-shaded reading lamp. But the
man in the mask, preferring to leave
that peaceful game undisturbed, stole
quietly in through the back of the
house, locked himself in a small room
above stairs, and there adroitly but
quickly made a facsimile of the map.
Before that map could be completed
though, strange events were already
transpiring directly beneath where he
sat. For Margery Golden, glancing up
from her game, stared Idly into the
old-fashioned mirror of bevel plate
facing her from the opposite wall.
And peering in at the window reflect
ed in that mirror she saw a bearded
face seamed with an unmistakable
scar.
She did not scream aloud, as her
first Impulse had prompted, but she
sat staring down at her cards, trying
to study out the dilemma which con
fronted her. For the face she had
seen was Legar’s.
The move she quietly decided upon
was to call the strangely reticent
chauffeur of her strangely elusive de
liverer and ask him to make ready for
an immediate flight to the city. She
watched that chauffeur as ho threw
on a heavy bear-skin coat and cap,
wound a muffler about his neck, and
started for the garage. She watched
him as he stepped out into the dark
ness. Then the bear-skinned figure
became the center of strange and un
looked-for activities, for it was plain
that several men, lurking there in the
darkness, had sprung upon him. It
was equally plain that they lost little
time in overpowering him, for before
the startled women could rise from
the card table they found that home
of peace invaded by a group of au
dacious-eyed ruffians headed by Le
gar himself.
The latter bowed ironically to the
white-faced girl as he confronted her.
His advance towards her, though, was
interrupted by the suddenly renewed
struggles of the chauffeur, who, as he
tried to break away from his captors,
called loudly for help. Legar, looking
Mr 1 '" silJfl 1 ),i 1 n m/mW 'i, fi|T IflT i ~ 'JUn * JalS-i
nonchalantly about, crossed to a door,
swung it wide, and saw that it opened
into a closet.
"Throw that grizzly in here until he
learns how to keep quiet!” was their
leader's crisp command.
"And now, my girl, I guess it’s your
turn again!” was his next sinister ex
clamation.
At the same moment that these
words were spoken still another unex
pected intruder entere the room.
Only this time It was the oddly inter
ruptive figure of that man of mystery
known as the Laughing Mask.
"Not a move from any man here!”
he cried out as he faced that threaten
ing circle, gun in hand.
It was Legar himself who stepped
back a pace or two, closely watching
the automatic.
“Before we start any shooting
around here,” the Laughing Mask
calmly suggested, “I want just a -word
or two, Legar, with you. I know what
you're after. You want Golden’s por
tion of a Windward Island chart.
Well, I have that chart, and I have it
with me. But there is no reason why
women should be dragged into this
fight. So the first thing you have to
do, if you want that chart, is to al
low Margery Golden and her mother
here to return quietly to the city with
my chauffeur, and return tonight!”
Legar's lip curled.
“And then you’ll as quietly hand
me over the paper, I suppose?” he
scoffed.
“Til hand you over the paper,”
agreed the Laughing Mask, for above
all things he knew it was necessary
to play for time.
’ The gun and the map together,”
was the prompt demand.
“And then what?” Inquired the
Laughing Mask.
“Then you wait in this closet until
I make sure it’s the map I’ve got," an
nounced the audacious Legar.
“I await your decision, gentlemen,
in the jury room," mockingly an
nounced the latter as he stepped into
the closet.
Quick as a shot Legar shut and
locked that door.
"We’ve got him. whatever his game
is!” he announced as he across
the room to the green-shaded lamp
and placed the sheet of yellow paper
down on the card table close beside a
second piece which he had already
drawn from his pocket.
“By God, I’ve got it!” exulted Legar.
“Let out that driver in the bear
skins first,” he commanded, "and if
“Where Did You Get That Parrot?”
that fool In the mask tries to move,
plug him one.”
He handed the automatic to one of
the men and motioned to him to un
lock the closet door. Then he or
dered the chauffeur to step out.
“Now, you beat It with these ribs,
and beat it quick!”
That chauffeur had not taken six
steps across the rcom before a sud
den cry broke from one of the men
standing close beside the card table.
‘‘Your map’s gone!” was the be
wildering message that fell on Legar's
ears as he leaped to the table side.
The man in the bear skins at the same
moment stepped out through the door.
‘‘That guy gave you a copy, a fake
copy done in disappearing ink.”
Legar gave one glance. Then, with
an oath, he leaped for the closet door,
flung it open, and sprung bodily on
the masked figure, dragging it out to
the light as he tore away the band of
yellow that covered the latter’s face.
"That's the chauffeur!” cried one of
the men. “They switched makeups
In that closet, and the main guy’s got
away! ”
Then came a sudden trample of
feet, a chorus of shouts and the
charge of armed officers of the law
through the house. For the sheriff had
at last arrived.
Legar, knowing what that meant,
with one sweep of his hooked arm
flung the green-shaded lamp from its
table, Jumped through a window and
vanished from sight.
**•*•••
The Shell of Deceit.
Margery Golden, all things consid
ered, was once more in very excellent
spirits. There were even moments
when young David Manley considered
those spirits as both deplorably and
disturbingly excellent.
For the girl’s happiness, he felt as
sured, was due to the presence of young
Count Lugi da Espares.
He had come, as more than one im
poverished young nobleman had come
to America, to dispose of those can
vases and curios which, if they had
not once graced his own ancestral
halls, bad at least been conscientiously
made, on the far side of the Atlantic,
after models bearing every earmark of
the authentic. And one of the treasures
which he had succeded in disposing of
to Enoch Golden was a full suit of
medieval Japanese armor, complete
even to the long-bladed Kagisakl dag
ger and grotesquely fashioned metal
face mask.
That leering metal face David Man
ley had hated from the first moment
he saw it in position at the far side of
the somber Golden library. The ugli
ness of that metal monstrosity, in fact,
seemed accentuated by the soft-toned
canvas painting which stood immedi
ately behind it.
“Just what do you see to like about
that thing?” he somewhat brusquely
inquired. The girl’s face grew seri
ous.
That leering metal face makes me
think of the Laughing Mask, and now
I’m almost certain I know who this
Laughing Mask is.”
“Who?”
‘Count Luigi da Espares himself!”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Yes, but listen: Quite by accident
yesterday, when we were having tea
together, a yellow domino dropped
from his pocket. He was confused and
seemed unwilling to make any real ex
planations about it.”
"Even a count could afford to invest
in a ten-cent domino,” was Manley's
retort.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked as she
swung the armor about. "You see it
is quite open in the back. The couitt
says they were made that way because
they were worn only by heroes. And
a hero must always be brave enough to
stand facing his enemies!”
“Well, swing it round then, for I’m
its enemy all right! I hate the
thing!”
Three hours later he was peremp
torily summoned to the billiard room,
where he found Enoch Golden In slip
pers and dressing gown feverishly
pacing the floor. Manley stared In
terrogatively down at the paper which
the older man held in slightly tremu
lous fingers.
“It’s another of Legar's Spotted
Warnings!” explained Golden, in a
voice heavy with apprehension.
“Did you speak to Da Espares about
this?” Manley asked.
“No. Da Espares went to bed an
hour ago.”
“And Margery?”
"Margery is with her mother. ’
“Are you sure?”
“They were there thirty minutes
ago.”
‘‘But are you sure?”
‘‘Yes; I saw them.”
“Then the first thing to do is to
make sure that she is still safe.”
Yet hurried as Manley's flight was
through that quiet house, he took time
to circle about to his own room and
there thrust an automatic pistol into
his pocket. Then he called Celestine,
who was promptly sent to investigate
Margery’s boudoir. She returned with
the disquieting report that the girl
was not there.
Manley, with a sinking of the heart,
continued his search through the low
er regions of the house. And he did
not breathe freely until, quietly open
ing the side door into the library, ho
caught sight of Margery herself, in a
narrow-backed Jacobean chair, bent
low over a book which lay open on
her lap.
She 6at clearly outlined In the
bright fulcrum falling over her care
lessly-posed body, leaving her in a
luminous shower from the single wall
light, which she had left turned on
Immediately above her. This silvery
shaft of light brought out the beauty
of her heavily-massed hair; it brought
out the tender lines of the white
throat and neck, the wistful girlish
ness of the slender figure. Then Man
ley for the first time noticed that she
was sitting directly in front of the
suit of Japanese armor. He could see
the polished metal of that armor flash
venomously in the strong sidelight.
As he stood there, clinging to the
portiere and continuing to 6tare at
those two strongly-divergent figures,
he found something almost hypnotic
in the virulent brightness of the pol
ished metal. Then a gasp of Incred
ulity burst from his lips. For as he
stared at the metaled hand holding
the long-bladed dagger, he saw, or
thought he saw, that hand slowly
raise, as though some miracle had en
dowed its insensate links and plates
and vambraces with life. Then the
very blood in his body seemed to cur
dle with sudden horror, for now there
was no doubt about it. The mailed
hand holding the glimmering knife
blade above the softly-breathing girl
was slowly but surely being lifted,
higher and still higher. And in an
other moment, Manley felt* it would
surely strike.
Quick as a flash he caught the au
tomatic from his pocket, swung it up,
and trained the barrel on the glinting
high lights along the mailed fist. Then
he fired.
There was a muffled shout of pain,
a short scream of terror from the
startled girl, and answering calls from
above-stairs as the uproar echoed
through the midnight house. But to
all of these Manley paid scant atten
tion. With ten steps he had crossed
the room. Then he flung himself on
the suit of mail, twisting it about and
sending it toppling from its stand.
But one glance showed it to be empty.
The framed canvas that stood behind
it he jerked from the wall. Then an
exclamation of wonder burst from his
lips. For, in the wainscoting at each
side of where the canvas had hung he
discovered two holes cut, not a yard
apart, and sufficiently large to adjust
of a man’s arms being thrust through
them. And as he saw them, and be
gan to batter on the dark-wood wain
scoting with his heavy pistol-butt, he
realized what had taken place.
Some enemy, secreted behind that
wainscoting, had thrust an arm into
the metal shell of an arm holding the
dagger, and had lifted it to strike
down the girl so close beside it. And
that enemy, Manley resolved as he
battered down the panel and crowded
his way through into a narrow pas
sageway, he would discover and cap
ture or know the reason why.
Yet that passage, which led to the
abandoned conservatory and from
there back to a long unused butler’s
pantry, proved to be entirely empty.
All that rewarded Manley's frantic
search was a sleeve button and a
shred of cloth torn from a service
coat, caught on a nail where the pas
sage itself ended against the wain
scoting. And by the time he had
pushed his way back to the library
Golden and Da Espares and Wilson
were already there.
“Where’s Wrench, that new foot
man?’’ he demanded.
"I saw Wrench in the upper hall,
sir, two minutes ago,” was Wilson's
prompt reply.
“But monsieur, what has happen’ to
my beautiful armor?” demanded the
softly-speaking Da Espares.
"I’ll tell you that when we find
Wrench,” was Manley’s curt reply.
“Wilson, you guard the front door,
and you, sir,” added Manley, turning
to Golden, “I’d advise to watch the win
dows there.”
“And I, monsieur, what may I do to
be of assistance?” inquired the imper
turbable Da Espares.
“You go up those front stairs and
stop anybody who attempts to come
down. And mind you. stop them! I'm
going up by the servants’ stairs. And
somebody watch the elevator!”
He was off the next moment, run
ning with all his speed through the
house, with his automatic in bis hand
as he went.
It was not until he had mounted a
second and then a third flight of stairs
that he came to a stop. That was
close beside the door of Wrench’s own
room. " And listening there he heard
the sound of movement within.
He did not even try the door. Back
ing quickly away, he shouldered
against the wooden panels with all his
weight. The lock gave way and he
went staggering into the room.
There, bent over a suitcase, he
caught sight of Wrench himself. One
glance at that startled and pallid face.
one glimpse at the sle«y» ot the sei ►
ice-coat from which a button had
clearly been torn away, convinced aim
that all his vague suspicions ot the
past week had been only too well
founded. And he wasted no words on.
argument.
He leaped to that startled figure,
thrust his automatic against the waist
line of the service coat and command
ed Wrench to back up against the wall.
As be did so a sudden shout sounded
from the doorway behind him and in
stinctively he glanced about to ascer
tain the meaning of this shout.
Wrench, seeing his chance, knocked
r -,. r , |.
HRSpyJ
Sprang Bodily on Manley.
the menacing automatic-barrel to one
side and sprang bodily on Manley. As
he did so an unexpected and strangely
mantled figure glided into the narrow
room. It was a figure wrapped and
hooded in heavy velour and only a sec
ond glance at its strange coveries
would have revealed the fact that it
was a portiere quickly torn from its
fastenings and improvised Into &
mask to conceal its vrearer’s identity.
But Manley, as he fought with Wrench,
had small time to register this fact, or
the further fact that a rent had been
made in the portiere to serve as an
eye-hole for the head which it so com
pletely covered.
It was not until that hooded figure
had joined in the contest that Manley
became aware of the second portiere
which his newer opponent carried. For
this portiere was deftly thrown over
the young secretary’s head and sudden
ly drawn tight about his arms. The
white-faced and stniggling footman,
realizing that his final chance had
come, promptly took advantage of Man
ley’s momentary helplessness to fall
back, leap for the open door and make
good his. escape.
Manley himself, maddened by the
thought of that culprit’s escape, swung
about on his hooded assailant with a
fury that sent the latter also retreat
ing towards the hall. That unknown
enemy even sought to escape as his
colleague had done, but at the stair
head Manley overtook him. Together
they went down the stairs, a tangle of
limbs and striking fists and portiere
ends. They fought and rolled along the
lower floorway, fought until Manley
had freed himself from the other's
clutch and was struggling to tear the
drapery from about his mysterious en
emy’s head. But that enemy, fran
tically bent on remaining unknown,
fought back with an added fury which
brought the two swaying and clinging
bodies full force against the stair
railing. That railing, under the strain*
suddenly gave way. Manley, clinging
desperately to the portiere folds, felt
that voluminous drapery follow after
him eb he fell gasping over the well of
the Btairs.
He fell sprawling, tangled up in
many yards of velour, and landed on
the cowering head and shoulders of the
astounded Wilson, who, at that sudden
assault, promptly nnd vociferously
shouted for help.
When Manley, stunned for a minute
or two by the fall, once more opened
his eyes and blinked inquiringly about
him, he saw both Golden and his wife
and Margery herself clustered at hie
side.
“Did you get him?” he demanded.
“Get whom?” asked Enoch Golden.
“That murderous blackleg, Da Es
pares!” was Manley’s reply.
“But Count da Espares has nothing
to do with this,” protested the girl,
with a frown of bewilderment. “He’s
only been helping us, as he always
helped us!”
“As he always helped you?” scoffed
the incredulous Manley.
“Yes, as he will tell you himself!”
For at that moment, suave and smil
ing, the count joinei the wondering
circle.
“Ah, monsieur, I keep watch above,
as you ask,” he explained with a shrug.
“But nozzing happen. 1 see nobody.
Then, mon dieu, I hear the tumult,
and come down to you. But I cannot
comprehend. So tell me, monsieur, I
beg, what has happen?”
Manley rose stiffly and slowly to his
feet
“You don’t understand?" he asked
as his fixed stare met the mildly ques
tioning eyes of the count.
“No, monsieur,” was the other’s
softly spoken answer, as he still gazed
with solemn wonder into the scoffing
face of the American.
“But what do you mean by this, any
way, Manley?” demanded Enoch
Golden.
“Oh, I guess he’s merely the guy
that put the Laugh in the Laughing
Mask,” was Manley’s embittered yat
enigmatic retort.
tTO BE CONTINUED)