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••'IRON ,
AUTHOR OF “THE OCCASIONAL OFFENDER.”
“THE WIRE TAPPERS." “GUN RUNNERSETC
NOVELIZED FROM THE PATHE PHOTO PLAY OF THE SAME NAME
COPY RtCHT, IPI3. »y ART HVR. STRING* .v
SYNOPSIS.
On Windward Island Palidorl Intrigues
Mrs. Golden into an appearance of evil
which causes Golden to capture and tor
ture the Italian by branding hiß face and
crushing Ills hand Palidorl floods the is
land and kidnaps Golden's little daughter
Margery. Twelve years later in New York
a Masked One rescues Margery from Le
gar and takes her to her father’s home,
whence she is recaptured. Margery’s moth
er fruitlessly implores Golden to find their
daughter. The Laughing Mask again
takes Margery away from Legar. Legar
sends to Golden a warning anti a demand
for a portion of the chart of Windward
Island Margery meets her mother. The
chart Is lost In a fight between Manley
and one of Legar’s henchmen, but is re
covered by the Laughing Mask. Count
I>a Kspares figures iri a dubious attempt
to entrap Legar and claims to have killed
him. Golden’s house Is dynamited during
a masked ball. Legar escapes but Da
Espures Is crushed In the ruins
NINTH EPISODE
Arrows of Hate.
Doctor Anstett stared down at the
bundle of delicately carved arrows.
They were as slender as a bistoury
blade and scarcely longer than a darn
ing needle. Then he looked up at his
visitor.
“So you really object to telling me
your name,” he said as he carefully
restored the fragile darts to their re
ceptacle of capped bamboo.
"Unless it’s essential, I’d prefer not '
to,” was the stranger's quiet-toned re
ply
“Then why did you bring these
things to me?” asked the doctor.
“Because I understood you were the
most eminent toxicologist in America.
And I was anxious to know whether
or not those innocent-looking arrows
in your hand were really poisoned.”
The doctor’s smile was a grim one.
“Well, they were poisoned, all right!
It is difficult, of course, to say just
what the nature of this venom is. Rut ;
that does not'lnterest me as much as
the question of where you obtained j
possession of such remarkably deadly
little missiles.”
For a moment or two the stranger
remained silent.
“To be quite candid, doctor, these
arrows were stolen."
"But from whom?"
"From the foreign valet of a man
who has unmistakably proved himself
an enemy to society."
"And is that why you have asked
me to clean and neutralize them with
such scientific exactitude?”
“It is."
"And now that their fangs have
been drawn, so to speak, what do you
propose to do with them?”
“Return them to their owner.”
"To what end?”
"To the end that any nefarious plan
which he may be about to execute will
not bring death where that criminal
desires to bring it!"
The abstracted-eyed doctor watched
his visitor as the latter prepared to
take his departure.
Had Doctor Anstett been less inter
ested in remarkable poisons and more
interested in remarkable persons, he
might have kept on the trail of this
mysterious stranger, and, in doing so
he might have discovered that these
envenomed arrows of mystery were
the rightful property of one unright
eous Mauki, the personal servant of
that elusive master criminal known as
Jules Legal*.
Legar's campaign to discredit the
Laughing Mask was a characteris
'
The Huge Slatternly Figure Hurled It
self Upon Him.
tically audacious one. It even em
braced a number of artfully forged let
ters, duly signed by the Laughing
Mask and left in surroundings which
caused both perplexity and alarm to
the city police.
One note, found beside the body of
a murdered miser, briefly explained
that crime by the declaration that the
dead man had always robbed the poor
and so earned the end which overtook
him —even though ti. s included the
carrying away of a not inconsiderable
portion ot his worldly wealth A gam
bler and a government inspector met
ram
a similar fate. The complex machin
ery of the law was set in motion and
far-reaching efforts were made for the
rounding up of this somewhat too au
tocratic laughing Mask.
One of these efforts Included a visit
on Enoch Golden by Lieutenant Kibby
and three of his men from the detec
tive bureau. Golden, the lieutenant
pointed out, was in a position to help
the authorities out of a predicament
by telling all he knew about this same
mysterious stranger.
“But I don’t know any more about
| this Laughing Mask than you do!”
i protested the old financier.
“Surely you have at least some the
! ory as to the identity of the man.”
“I thought I had, once or twioe. And
my daughter thought she had. But wo
were off the track, each time.”
“One moment, please,” cut in the
lieutenant as he suddenly rose to his
feet and strode across the room. He
stepped out through the portiered
doorway, stared down the hallway, and
returned to the room again. “Are you
aware of the fact that a young woman
has been standing there listening to
every word we said?”
The deep-lined face of the aged finan
cier showed no perceptible change.
‘My daughter, undoubtedly,” retort
ed Golden. “For the girl’s about as
interested In this case, you see, as we
are ourselves!”
Margery s interest in the mysterious
case of the Laughing Mask, indeed,
would have been brought promptly
home to that somewhat puzzled police
lieutenant had he been able to give
less attention to Enoch Golden and
more to the puzzled-eyed girl who had
stood momentarily arrested at the en
trance to her father’s library. For
as she moved on down the shadowy
hallway she found herself confronted
by that interruptive but all too fa
miliar figure of the Laughing Mask
himself. He made a gesture for si
lence as she started back in alarm.
Then he nodded his dominoed head in
the direction of the library door.
“Now, perhaps, you will understand
why it has not been easy for me to
explain Just who I am!”
“But you must explain,” gasped the
bewildered girl. “They are saying
terrible things about you, things which
I know to be untrue.”
"Do you trust me?”
"I want to," was the whispered an
swer.
“Then will you continue to trust
me?” asked the man in the mask.
"I don't think I can,” was the girl’s
hesitating answer, “until you can trust
me!”
“You mean that I must unmask?”
But Margery Golden’s reply to that
question w r as never uttered. For as
she was about to speak, her volatile
maid, Celestine, stepped into the hall
behind her, bAeld the mysteriously
masked figure, and promptly filled the
house with a ringing Gallic scream.
"Mon Dieu, it is the Laughing
Mask!” she shrilled as she ran down
the hall, giving the alarm.
And her alarm, unreasoning as it
seemed, was fully shared by the
Laughing Mask himself. He swung
about, darted through a doorway, and
disappeared from sight as Golden and
his retainers and his official visitors
came flocking out to the scene of
that disturbance.
Two minutes later Margery Golden,
hearing 'a shout from Kibby’s men
above stairs, followed that officer to
the scene of the sudden tumult. There,
to her alarm, she saw three men strug
gling with a figure which she prompt
ly recognized as the Laughing Mask
himself.
“We’ve got him!” gasped one of his
captors as Lieutenant Kibby confront
ed him.
“What’ll we do with him?’’ asked his
other captor.
"First thing, tear that fool mask
off!” commanded the lieutenant.
But that command was not carried
into execution. For Margery Golden,
catching sight of the Laughing Mask’s
fallen revolver, ran to where it lay
and took of it. The next
moment it was leveled straight at the
heart of the detective whose hand had
been lifted to the yellow domino cov
ering his prisoner’s face.
"Stop!” commanded the girl.
“Put down that gun, you!” prompt
ly commanded Kibby, purple with in
dignation.
"Not until your men release that
prisoner,” was her deliberate response,
j “Yes, you, both of you,” she continued,
menacing the officers of the law with
| the revolver. “Stand back from
him! Still further back! Now you,”
she added, turning to the Laughing
Mask, "walk out through that door!
Go out, and gc at once!”
So intently did she watch that dis
appearing figure that the movements
of the adroit and much-experienced
Lieutenant Kibby, sidling stealthily
along the wall beside her, entirely es
caped her attention. When he leaped
for Margery Golden's tense figure, he
made sure of his distance and sure of
his mark in doing so. He promptly
and none too gently wrested the re
volver from her grasp, at the same
moment that Enoch Golden himself
came panting through *£g"W>en door.
THE DOUGLAS ENTERPRISE. DOUGLAS, GEORGIA.
“I hope you understand now why
you’ve never got your Laughing
Mask!” was the irate officer’s cry as
he swung the girl about so as to face
tier equally irate father.
“Well, well get him,” thundered
the grim-willed old millionaire, “or
he’ll never walk out of this house
alive!”
Even as he spoke the renewed sound
of shouts came to them from above.
It was Wilson the butler who called
to Golden and the group at his heels
as he went floundering up the stairs.
“He’s gone into Manley’s room, sir!”
j cried that vastly disturbed old serv
ant. "And he locked the door as he
went!”
"Well, Manley himself’s in there,”
panted the owner of the house as he
hurried on to his secretary’s door.
He's typing my international direc
tor's reports.”
Rut the sounds that came from
within the room in no way suggested
such sedentary pursuits as typewrit
ing.
“They’re fighting, sir!” called out
Wilson, with his old ear cocked close
to the door panel. “My word, sir, but
they're at it, ’ot and ’eavy!”
By the time one of Kibby’s detec
tives had caught up a chair and bat
tered in that door all sounds of com
bat had ceased. And the astonished
group, crowding into the dismantled
chamber, saw only an open window,
an overturned table and a room empty
of all life.
“But Manley, where’s Manley?” de
manded the still panting owner of the
house.
“Wait!” cried Kibby himself as he
crossed to the closet door against
which leaned a “high boy,” for about
this door his trained eye had detected
certain betraying tremors and agita
tions.
It took him but a moment to push
the “high boy” to one side. Then,
flinging open the door, he had the
satisfaction of beholding the recum
bent figure of David Manley, bound
and gagged on the closet floor.
Helping hands soon released the un
happy prisoner.
“I tried to stop him,” he said, a lit
tle thickly. “And this is what I got
for It!”
But Lieutenant Kibby was no longer
interested in Manley.
“Two of you men go out through
this window,” he commanded, “and
round up that man before he gets
He Knew Even Before She Spoke That It Was Margery Golden.
away! The rest of you people get a
cordon round this block before it’s too
late!”
They were off again like a pack of
beagles striking a new scent, leaving
the dilapidated and somewhat discon
solate Manley to his own thoughts and
devices. As he sat there, feeling about
his bruised body with a gently inter
rogative finger, Margery Golden
stepped timidly in through his still
open door.
“Don’t get up,” she said quietly as
she crossed to his side. But before
she could speak again the- two detec
tives came clambering and puffing in
through the open window. Their mis
sion, it was plain to see, had been a
fruitless one.
"You can be thanked for this,” cried
the heavier of the two men. “You,
flashin’ a gun on officers o’ the law
when they’re tryin’ to do their duty!”
"And you’re goin’ to pay for gettin’
free with fire-arms, young woman, or
I'll eat my hat!” avowed his equally
indignant companion.
But David Manley suddenly
staunched that flow of accusatory dec
lamation.
"You get out of here,” commanded
that irate and somewhat dilapidated
youth, "and get out quick!”
"What have you got to do with that
girl?” demanded the heavier of the
threatened ofiicers.
"I’ve got a lot to do with that girl—
as I’ll show you if you don't get where
you belong inside of three seconds!”
"Aw, leave the gink to his ravin's!”
said the shorter man, wearily, as the
two left the room.
"I guess I was wrong there, when I
started to crow about having so much
to do with you and your affairs,” Man
ley said as he looked a little wistfully
into her slightly smiling face.
"Why do you say you were wrong?”
she asked.
"Because every time I do try to help
you out I only seem to make a mess
’of things.' was his disconsolate an
swer.
"You’ve succeeded in proving that
you’re really the best friend I have,
the best friend I could have!”
“But friendship, don’t you see, is
hardly enough,” he declared as she
turned quietly away.
“Then some day, perhaps, It may
even be something more,” she called
softly back to him before slipping out
through the open door.
The Deadly Decoy.
If David Manley was blindly and un
reasonably happy, all that day and the
next, he succeeded in keeping his hap
piness to himself. It was not a
propitious time, he knew, for the air
in,, of emotions so essentially per
sonal. There was still a shadow over
the house of Golden, a shadow which
gave small promise of passing away
until fate or accident ended the activ
ities of one Jules Legar. There was,
too, a shadow in Manley’s heart, a
shadow of doubt as to how far he
was justified in accepting Margery
Golden's words as he had accepted
them. So as he talked with her the
following day he was conscious of a
vague constraint which reminded him
there were still reservations to be re
spected and confidences to be with
held.
This was brought keenly home to
Manley as Wilson carried in to the
girl sitting so close to him a sealed
note which she opened and read in
silence. That this note brought a
somewhat disturbing message to her
was only too evident. And whatever
that message, it was equally evident,
she intended to keep it to herself.
“No bad news, I hope?” remarked
Manley, rather dejectedly studying her
face.
“Not altogether,” was the girl’s eva
sive reply.
Margery Golden smiled a little as
she folded up the note. She was still
smiling as she tore the paper in two,
again and still again. One small piece
of that paper fluttered from her fingers
and fell half way between her and the
still frowning young secretary. He
stared down at It captiously, almost
sullenly. Then his eyes slowly
widened, for clearly inscribed on that
scrap of paper he saw one-half of the
sign of the Laughing Mask.
She then walked slowly across to
the open fire and tossed into it the
note which she had already torn into
fragments.
Manley stood watching her as she
ordered Train and the limousine and
then called for her hat and coat. He
had much to say, but for once he saw
that silence was golden.
The moment he was alone, however,
he quickly crossed to the fireplace,
dropped down on his hands and knees,
and there peered closely at the
charred remnants of the note which
had been tossed on the coals.
Three or four of the fragments he
even rescued w*ith the help of a brass
fire shovel. He turned them about
delicately and studied them patiently.
On one he deciphered the words "you
will come.” On another he managed
to make out "am ill.” The only re
maining portion of uncurled carbon on
which he could discover any trace of
writing had lost its center. But on
what remained of it he could read
“63 Washi re.”
"63 ’Washington Square!” he an
announced. And five minutes later
found him seated in a taxicab.
He had just crossed Fourteenth
street, sweeping south, when he caught
sight of the Golden limousine, empty
with the exception of Train at the
wheel, sweeping northwest.
This disturbing discovery, once he
had reached the square, took him up
the stone steps of a ruinous mansion
long given over to artists’ studios and
workshops of a meaner order.
He had climbed three flights of
stairs, and climbed them with all the
stealthiness of a flat looter, when he
came to a door which held out more
promise than the others. For behind
this door he could distinctly hear the
sound of voices. As he squatted down
and peered through the keyhole he
heard a girl’s muffled scream followed
by a throaty laugh of triumph. And
the moment he heard that laugh he
knew it to be Legar’s.
Yet at the same moment he made a
second and even more diverting dis
covery. This was that a ponderous j
and brawny-armed woman, advancing
with elephantine lurches along the
half-lighted hallway, was shouting out
shrill calls of warning as she came.
Manley for one brief second nursed
Leveled Straight at the Heart of the Detective.
the delusion that those warnings were
intended for his own ear. It was not
until the huge and slatternly figure
Hung itself upon his still crouching
shoulders that he awakened to the fact
that he was being attacked, the
startled eavesdropper found himself
flung bodily through the suddenly
opened door, even before he could
draw his revolver. For he knew now
beyond doubt that he was in the terri
tory of the enemy. He knew that still
another trap had been set for the un
wary. He knew it, even before he
caught eight of Legar himself and
Margery Golden shrinking close to the
wall at his side.
It was on Legar that he fixed his
eye as he whipped out his firearm and
steadied himself with one hand
against the broken wall.
Legar saw that revolver leveled -at
his body. He saw the look on Man
ley’s colorless face. He knew what
was coming.
He did not stop to argue; he did
not even turn to flee. But as he stood
there, with his deep-set eyes fixed on
Manley's face, his long right arm that
terminated in its claw of iron shot
out and caught at the arm of the girl
still crouching so close to the wall be
side him. But even quicker was Man
ley’s discovery of Legar’s intentions
to swing the body of the girl about
in front of his own as a human
shield. And Manley, while the path
was still clear, leveled his gun and
tired.
There was a shout, half of horror
and half of rage, as Legar went down
in a heap, his wooden arm-end thump
ing on the rough flooring like a mal
let as he fell. And at the same mo
ment that the brawny-armed amazon
boldly struck Manley’s right arm up
towards the ceiling, that startled band
of Legar’s followers united in a rush
for the assailant of their leader and
chief.
In the first two minutes of that al
together hopeless struggle Manley had
lost both his gun and his coat. In the
next minute he had lost his breath.
In the next his liberty itself was gone,
for those worthies lost no time in tying
and trussing him up as neatly as
a French chef trusses a capon. As
he was rudely backed away .to where
Margery Golden, equally corded and
tied, already stood, he heard one of
the men behind him speak.
"Did he croak the chief?”
“Naw, he’s still breathin’!”
"Then we gotta get him outa here.
. . . Pip, you call a taxi. We gotta
get him back to his own ‘Malina’, or
there’ll be hell to pay!”
“How about this gun boob and the
rib?”
“Gag ’em and throw ’em into that
bathroom there! And if youse turn
on the gas by accident, I guess it’s go
in’ to save us all a lot o’ trouble!”
»***•*«
The Creeping Message.
David Manley, for all the predica
ment confronting him, tried to school
himself to calmness.
Close beside him, bound and gagged
like himself/ he could feel the inert
body of Margery Golden.
But what most disturbed him was
the gas jet that stood out from the
green-papered wall high above his
head. That had been the finishing
touch at the hands of his enemies.
He looked carefully about the room,
point by point. It was nothing but a
commonplace bathroom, with a door
on one side and a small window high
up in the wall on the opposite side.
He found nothing, in that methodic
inventory of his surroundings, to re
vive the slowly dying embers of hope.
He could neither move nor call out.
But there was still a w-y of sending
a message out to the world.
He worked and floundered about un
til he was in a sitting position. Then
he worked his way closer to the
enamel bathtub, leaning, panting and
helpless over its edge, for a moment
or two, as a drunken man leans over a
cell cot. Then energy again revived
in him. He slowly and painfully edged
further and further over into the bath
tub, like a cut worm rounding a leaf
edge, until with his forehead he was
able to push and bunt the loose drain
plug into its socket. Then, once more
withdrawing from the bathtub, he di
rected his attention to the nearer of
the two taps that stood at its head, j
He had the use of neither hand nor j
foot, to turn that tap. But by the
pressure of his own skull against the
tarnished brass tap handle he was
finally able to throw the faucet open.
Then he sank wearily back to the
floor, for his head was swimming diz
zily and bands of steel seemed con
stricting his chest. j
He lay there watching as the water
from the overflowing tub trickled to
the floor, pooled in the worn undula
tions of the boards, and crawled on
again, in search of some avenue of es
cape. And he watched it as it moved,
f r on its sinuous back, he remem
bered, it carried his message of deliv
erance, his hope of life. Finding an
unused ventilator flue, the water foun
tained joyously down on the head of a
long-haired artist hard at work on a
canvas.
That artist, after speechlessly con
templating the deluge, ran shouting to
the hallway, where he was joined by
his model and by fellow artists from
neighboring studios.
When they found their investiga
tions barred by a locked door, they
broke it in. While they were sniffing
suspiciously about the outer room,
however, their efforts to reach the
source of that deluge were being an
ticipated by a more stealthy figure,
which, clambering monkeylike up the
narrow iron fire escape, climbed still
higher to the small window and
promptly broke it in.
Manley, rousing himself at the
sharp sound of the breaking glass,
turned about to behold the face of a
narrow-eyed and dark-skinned stranger
in the square of light about him. Even
as he stared up at this exotic face
with its uncanny fringe of jet black
hair he saw the unknown intruder
draw a slender tube from under his
coat. To this tube the stranger fitted
a small arrow scarcely longer than a
darning needle. Then, placing the tube
to his mouth, he sent the slender dart
whistling down through the air, where
it fixed itself in the wooden flooring
not three inches from Margery Gold
en’s head.
Instinctively, as Manley witnessed
that incomprehensible attack, as he
vaguely awoke to the meaning of the
strange performance, he crawled to
the girl’s side. There he tried t 5»
shield her helpless body with his owil
But after that he remembered little.
He awakened later to the sound of
a woman's soft sobs close beside his
aching head. And he knew, even be
fore she spoke, that it was Margery
Golden.
“It’s no use, doctor,” she was for
lornly crying out to the figure nearer
the foot of the bed. "I saw that man.
and I know it -was Mauki. And as
soon as I saw him I knew Legar had
sent him, had sent him with the same
poisoned arrows that once killed an
informer in the Owl’s Nest!”
"But this man isn’t dead,” protest
ed the doctor.
"No, but he will die.”
"Now, young lady, this won’t do, you
know,” the man of medicine tried to
reassure the quietly weeping girl.
“And if you leave me with him for a
few minutes I’ll make another exam
ination. And then we’ll know the
worst!”
“I’d rather stay with him—to the
last,” said the white-faced girl.
"But if you’ll come back, in ten min
utes!” quietly announced the man who
was not used to hairing his sugges
tions crossed. And he held the door
for the unhappy girl as she passed un
steadily out.
Manley, the next minute, lifted hie
head from the pillow.
“Say, doctor, what’s this about me
dying?” he demanded.
"That all depends on one point,"
was the doctor’s reply as he gingerly
took up one of the slender arrows, no
longer than a darning needle. "And
the point is whether or not we can
find an antidote for the poison that
was smeared on those outlandish blow
gun darts. But the next point is, how
do you feel?”
‘‘l might feel worse!”
The man of medicine looked puz
zled.
“Well, that seems to be the strange
part of this case. The infection must
be a very insidious one. Even the
wounds themselves show no signs of
toxication. So you wait here a min
ut‘ until I get my instrument bag!”
When that somewhat bewfldered
man of medicine returned with his bag
he found David Manley sitting up in
bed, poring frowningly over a sheet
of paper which he held in his hand.
"Who threw this note on my bed?”
demanded his patient, with a vigor
that was unlooked for In the dying.
It was the doctor’s turn to frown as
he took the sheet of paper from the
other’s hand.
“I drew the fangs from Mauki’s
blow gun,” read the message there in
scribed, ‘his arrows held no poison,
and yon are safe. ..... The Laugh
ing Mask.”
; (TO BE CONTINUED.)