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AUTHOR OF “THE OCCASIONAL OFFENDER,"
“THE WIRE TAPPERS,” “GUN RUNNERS," ETC
NOVELIZED FROM THE PATHE PHOTO PLAY CF THE SAME NAME
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SYNOPSIS.
On Windward isiand Paltdori 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. Palidori 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
mother fruitlessly implores Golden to find
their daughter. The I.auglilng Mask
again takes Margery away from Legar.
la>gar sends to Golden a warning and a
demand for a portion of the chart of
Windward Island. Margery meets her
mother. The chart is lost in a fight be
tween Manley and one of Legar's hench
men, but Is recovered by the Laughing
Mask. Count Da ICspares figures in a
dubious attempt to entrap Legar and
claims to have killed him. Golden's house
is dynamited during a masked hall. I.e
gar escapes but Da Espares is crushed in
the ruins. Margery rescues the Laughing
Mask from the police. Manley finds Mar
gery not indifferent to his love. He saves
her from Mauki’s poisoned arrows. Man
ley plans a mock funeral which fails to
accomplish the desired purpose, the cap
ture of the Iron Claw and his gang. Mar
gery is saved from death at the hands of
the Iron Claw by the Mask. An
attempt by the Iron Claw to blow up the
O’Mara cottage is frustrated in the nick
of time.
THIRTEENTH EPISODE
The Hidden Face.
Enoch Golden looked at the heavj
shadows about his daughter’s eyes.
Then he seated himself heavily in the
arm-chair which she had so abstract
edly turned about for him.
"Margery,” he said with an effort
at sternness, “are you still worrying
about that young Manley?”
For a moment or two the girl re
mained silent.
“I can’t help it, father," she finally
acknowledged. And she further dis
comfited her frowning parent by a
suspicion of tears in her downcast
eyes.
“But I don't believe David Manley is
any more dead than I am!” the old
millionaire finally and stoutly as
severated.
“Then why has there been no word
of him, no trace of him, since the
night of that awful explosion?”
This question, apparently, was not
an easy one to answer. But Enoch
Golden was not to be lightly dis
suaded from his task of consolation.
“I’ll tell you what I believe, my
girl. I believe everything's all right,
no matter what you think. Every
thing's going to come out all right.
Before the week is out, if what the po
lice tell me is true, we’re going to
have this man Legar safe behind the
prison bars where he belongs. What’s
troubling me more than David Manley,
Just now, is the problem of this
Laughing Mask person. I had nothing
less than a deputy commissioner call
me up this morning, for the authori
ties down in Center street are con
vinced of the fact this Laughing Mask
would be a better haul than even
Legar himself. They claim to have
a clear record against him, and in ten
minutes I’ve got to face a delegation
from the detective bureau and tell
them for the twentieth time just how
j
Beside the Door Was the Figure of a
Young Woman.
much, or rather, how little, I know
about that mysterious stranger!”
Later in her room Margery Golden,
looking up, saw a figure in a yellow
mask silently and pensively regarding
her.
“You are unhappy?” he quietly in
quired.
"You seem to appear only on those
occasions when I am,” she slowly and
thoughtfully replied.
“You are wondering at this very
moment if young Manley will ever
come back to you."
She colored a little as she stared
up into the masked face.
"Yes,” she finally acknowledged,
“that is something I must know.”
“Why?"
She remained silent.
"Is it because you care for him?”
"Yes, it is because I care for him —
a great deal,” she found the courage
to reply.
He turned about and tip-toed to the
door. There, carefully nursing the
knob in the palm of his band, he re
leased the catch and swung the door
suddenly inward. And crouched low
la the haiiway, close beside the door
frame, was the figure of a young wom
an wearing a housemaid’s apron.
The startled young woman, on dis
covering that she had been detected
in the act of listening at a keyhole,
sprang to her feet and fled like a
shadow down the long hallway.
“Why, that was one of our maids!”
cried the astonished girl.
“And also a secret agent of the
Iron Claw’s," announced the man in
the mask.
“But what are you going to do?’
demanded the puzzled girl.
“I’m going to show that I’m still
your friend, and at the same time
prove that this particular maid is your
enemy,” called back the man in the
mask.
But that particular maid, realizing
apparently that events were shaping
themselves into some final issue, lost
no time in loitering along the hallway
of that shadowy house. She ran
straight to the heavy folding doors
which shut off the library wherein,
she knew, Enoch Golden was already
conferring with his circle of officers
from the detective bureau. Opening
these doors, she confronted those
startled officials.
“If you’re after that man you call
the Laughing Mask,” she announced
in her shrill soprano, “you’ll find him
here in this house, at this very mo
ment.”
“In this house?” echoed the astound
ed old millionaire.
“You’ll find him,” shrilled the white
faced maid, “in Margery Golden’s
room. And the sooner you get there
the better!”
They rose as one man and moved
towards the door.
But they did not pass through that
door. They came to a pause, for the
very material reason that a man in a
yellow mask, holding a revolver in
his hand, confronted them from the
hallway.
“Just a moment, gentlemen,” this
masked stranger suavely announced,
although the suavity of his voice was
somewhat discounted by the obviously
menacing position of his firearm.
“Since denunciations seem to be in or
der, will you permit me to point out
to you that the young lady who has
just addressed you is Betsy LeMarsh,
alias Williamsburg Sadie, not only one
of the most adroit woman crooks in
the city, hut also an emissary and
agent of Jules Legar himself!”
Having made that speech, the
Laughing Mask promptly swung the
heavy folding doors shut. He did so
before one of the astonished onlookers
could interfere. Then he turned the
key in the snaplock, and ran headlong
along the quiet hall. He all but col
lided with Margery Golden herself.
“Here’s where I take time by the
forelock,” he grimly announced, as
he darted across the room to a huge old
fashioned grandfather’s clock which
stood against the farther wall. The
astonished girl saw him swing open
the door and step inside the clock.
Then she turned quickly about, for the
men from the central office were al
ready in the room. And she had no
desire to make their task easier for
them.
"That man came into this room!”
declared cne of the older men, chal
lenging the half-smiling girl with an
indignant forefinger. “Where is he?”
“How should I know?” asked the
calm-eyed young woman.
“Well, he’s here, and we’ll get him,”
declared the man who seemed to be
the leader of the others. Then Margery
Golden's heart suddenly came up into
her mouth, for she could see that he
was hurrying across the room in the
direction of the clock. She could see
his right hand go into his pocket and
whip out a revolver as his left hand
threw open the little black-walnut
door along the face of the clock. Then
she breathed again, for the clock was
empty.
But the man with the revolver had
dropped to his knees and was patting
interrogatively about the clock base.
"I thought so!” he suddenly called
out. “There’s a spring trap here that
opens through the floor. Quick, some
of you men, get down to the base
ment!”
Margery Golden was even able to
smile again.
“Wilson,” she said, “be so good as
to show these gentlemen the way to
the basement. And then be so good
as to have Miss Betsy LeMarsh come
here."
But Miss Betsy LeMarsh had com
mandeered a hat and coat belonging
to her mistress, possessed herself of a
jeweled ring or two and a small moroc
co case, which she discreetly stowed
away as she stole quietly down the
servants' stairs, and slipped out
through the shrubbery.
So preoccupied was she, however, in
putting distance between her and the
house which she had Just left that she
failed to observe a figure simultane
ously and quite as eagerly emerging
from a basement window. Yet as she
hurriedly rounded the block, in eager
quest of a taxicab, this figure showed
an unmistakable interest in her move
ments. And when she had finally
hailed a taxicab and climbed into it,
the stranger in a yellow mask so cau
tiously shadowing her made a signal
THE DOUGLAS ENTERPRISE, DOUGLAS, GEORGIA.
to the driver of a mysterious limou
sine, which seemed to be casually en
gaged in following his own move
ments.
“Follow that taxicab,” he com
manded his driver as he leaped into
the still-moving car.
The man in the limousine sat tense
and silent, watching the flight for
mile after mile. Then, realizing that
it was taking them beyond the bounds
of the city itself, he drew shut the
side-blinds of his car, reached under
the seat and took from its hiding
place a japanned tin box, remarkably
similar to an actor's make-up box.
Balancing this on his knees, he first
removed his mask of yellow cloth,
adjusted a small folding mirror to
the box lid, and busied himself with
the assortment of pigments and cosmet
ics of the make-up putty therein con
tained. The clear-lined face which
first gazed into the folding mirror
slowly but unmistakably became con
verted into something repellant to the
eye.
The next moment the limousine
came to a stop at the roadside.
"That taxicab has just turned in at
the Bellaire inn,” the well-trained driv
er called back to his master.
“So I notice. And that’s the place,
I’ll wager, where Legar himself is
trying to keep under cover.”
“There’s the woman herself, run
ning up the steps,” announced the
driver.
“So I also observe. And under the
circumstances, I think it would be
best for you to slip after her, as quiet
ly and quickly as you can.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Then come back to the car and re
port to me the number of the room
she asks for. Find out the number,
whatever happens. For in that room,
I imagine, we're going to encounter
our old friend of the Iron Claw.”
The Flash for Help.
Jules Legar was in anything but an
amiable frame of mind, and when
Williamsburg Sadie was quietly ush
ered into room 307 of the Bellaire inn,
he greeted her with a malignant
scowl which she promptly and openly
resented.
“You don’t seem exactly crazy to
see me,” she announced as she
watched Legar lock the door through
which she had just entered. His right
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“Just a Moment, Gentlemen,” This Masked Stranger Suavely Announced.
arm, she noticed, was carried in a vol
uminous white cotton sling.
“Didn't I tell you to keep away from
this dump?’’ he wrathfully reminded
her.
“Well, I didn't come because I want
ed to!” was the other’s retort.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything's wrong! Old Golden
had a bunch of flatties in his house,
and that Laughing Mask boob
squealed on me to the bunch. So 1
had to beat it.”
Legar swung about on her.
“And you beat it straight here, in
open daylight, leaving a paper-chase
trail at your heels!” There was rage
in his Voice.
“I tell you I left no trail. I’ve got
my own scalp to take care of. And if
I’ve taken a chance to beat it up here
and put you wise, it seems to me
there's more than this grouch-talk
cornin’ to me!”
“Then, for the love of heaven, wom
an, don’t holler so the whole house
will hear you! Speak quietly.”
A one-sided smile played about the
hardened face of that worldly wise
young woman.
“I guess you're kind o’ losin' your
nerve,” she contemptuously an
nounced.
“Listen to me, my girl. I’ve been at
this game longer than you have, and
I’ve learned there are times when
even walls have ears.”
The woman laughed.
“Then you’d better get earmuffs on
that window sill, for I’ve got a hunch
it’s —”
Her voice died away at the same
moment that the smile vanished from
her face.
“Dont turn around,” she said in a
sudden startled whisper as she looked
down at her feet. “For there's a man’s
face starin’ in at that window now.”
Legar remained motionless.
“What face?” he quietly asked.
“Its the man in the Laughing
Mask!” was the whispered response.
Legar continued to stare at her, still
motionless.
"That means he came up by the fire
escape,” meditated the fugitive. “And
that means Red Egan must surely
have seen him.’’
The next moment the man with his
arm in a sling had thrown the band
age aside and was running towards
the window that opened on the fire
escape landing.
On that narrow ledge of sheet-metal,
wedged in between the window sash
and the escape railing, a terrific com
bat was already taking place. Before
Legar could get the window open the
Laughing Mask, by an adroit jiu-jitsu
movement of the body, succeeded in
pinning the winded Red Egan down on
the fire-escape platform. But already
a second sentry of Legar's was swarm
ing up the narrow metal stairway,
and all the attention of the man in
the mask had to be directed towards
his new adversary.
It was while countering the on
slaught of this second enemy that the
Laughing Mask became conscious of
still another point of attack. For as
he fought there, on his knees, astride
the panting form of Red Egan, an iron
claw reached viciously out over the
window sill behind him, and fixed it
self in his shoulder. The next mo
ment he was being hauled bodily in
through the open window.
Ready hands were there to take pos
session of that battered and breath
less captive.
"Put him in that chair!” exultantly
commanded Legar.
“Now what'll we do with him?” de
manded the panting Red Egan.
“Leave him to me,” announced Le
gar, studying his captive out of nar
rowed and sinister eyes. Then the
man with the iron claw stepped slow
ly and studiously closely to the chair
in which the helpless Laughing Mask
sat, for the light in the room was none
too clear.
“So you’re the man of mystery, are
you! You’re the hero who keeps a
dead wall between him and the world,
eh! Well, my valiant hero, we’ll soon
put your visor up!”
Williamsburg Sadie, with her mouth
slightly agape, stood halfway between
the chair and the wall, watching the
man with the iron claw as he exulted
over his enemy. She watched Legar’s
hand as it reached out to the mask of
yello\v cloth and tore it viciously from
the lace which it had concealed.
Then a scream, short but high
pitched, burst from her startled lips.
For what she stared at seemed more
like a charnel-house cadaver than a
human face.
And Legar drew back at the sight
of those loathsome features. He
backed slowly away, staring at that
face, until he came to the electric but
ton set in the wall. He reached out
to switch on the electrolier, for the
struggle on the fire-escape landing had
left a curtain hanging half over the
window, and this made the light un
certain. But even as Legar lifted his
finger to the switch a sudden knock
sounded on the door of the room.
Both Red Egan and the woman
turned mutely to Legar. And as they
looked, the knock was repeated, loud
er than before.
“Lock him in that closet,” was the
Iron Claw’s whispered command.
“And throttle him at the first sound!”
Legar," who had already crossed to
the door that opened into the hall,
waited there until the closet door had
been locked and shut.
He found a chambermaid standing
there.
“Is there anything the matter, sir?”
she asked in genuine alarm.
“The matter? What should be the
matter?” inquired the sleepy-eyed oc
cupant of the room.
“I thought I heard a scream, sir,”
explained the chambermaid, already
relieved.
"Not in this room, my dear,” calmly
announced Legar.
“I’m sorry if I was mistaken,” ex
plained the maid.
It was Red Egan who stepped to
Legar’s side as the key was once more
silently turned in the lock.
"Here’s a signet ring I took off your
man in there. Would that give you
any tip as to who he is ”
Legar stood studying the ring, turn
ing it over and over in his hand.
“No,” he finally announced. “But
It’ll let me send a tip to our old friend
Golden. I’ll send him that ring to
show him we’ve got the Laughing
Mask here. With it will go a note
giving him his last chance to hand
over that chart!”
“And who'll carry that note?” asked
Williamsburg Sadie, out of the silence
of apprehension which fell over the
little group.
“You will,” calmly announced Le
gar.
“Not on your life!” was the girl’s
quavering reply. “I’m through with
those people!”
“But you’re not through with me
yet, my girl. You’re going to take this
note to Enoch Gold cm, and you're go
ing to do it without any risk. I’ll call
up Golden myself and tell him he’ll get
it back, ten to one, if he makes a
single move against you. And besides
that, we’ve got him so beaten at this
game that he’s going to cry quits the
minute he sees we’ve roped in the last
of his gang, the minute I tell him I’ll
leave the country on condition he
coughs up the paper!”
“And s’posin’ he does weaken and
hand over that paper? Where do I
get off?”
‘“You come hack here with it as fast
as wheels can carry you. And if you
move as quick as I want you to move,
you’ll just about get back in time to
see the finish of your friend in the
yellow mask!”
But Betsy LeMarsh’s friend in the
yelloW mask, for all his captivity, was
apparently preparing for that finish in
a more active manner than was imag
ined by his captors. For, the moment
he was locked in the narrow closet,
he had undertaken a systematic
search of its gloomy corners. That
search, however, was rewarded only
by the discovery of a group of insulat
ed wires running along its outer wall.
Yet these wires he examined with not
a little care. And the examination
led him to conclude, both from the
nature of the wires and the heaviness
of the insulation about them, that they
were an integral portion of the light
ing system of the hotel. That they
were not “dead” he promptly discov
ered by scraping away the insulation
tissue and bringing two of the bared
wires in contact. This resulted in an
immediate hiss and spark of light.
And that gave the prisoner an idea.
By “breaking” the current, he knew,
he could send a message needling
through all the nervous system of the
house. And at some one point, he felt
sure, that methodic play of dot and
dash in the light bulb would arouse
suspicion and cause a search to be
instigated.
It was, in fact, in the office of the
hotel itself, where High-Collar Davis,
the house detective, leisurely perused
an evening paper for certain racing
returns close beside a rotund and
robinlike room clerk in a red vest,
that an electric bulb Just above the
register began to conduct itself In a
manner that was first mysterious and
then challenging.
High-Collar Davis, looking languidly
up from his racing charts, watched
this light for several moments of si
lence.
“Well, I’ll he blowed!” he finally
ejaculated.
“What’s wrong?” a3ked the room
clerk.
Instead of replying, the house de
tective took out paper and pencil, and,
carefully watching the winking and
blinking bulb, wrote a number of let
ters down on his slip of paper.
“That’s the first time,” he solemnly
announced, “I ever saw an electric
bulb talk Morse!”
“Talk Morse?” echoed the other.
“Yes, talk Morse, or I never pound
ed the brass for two years. And here’s
what it has said, twice over. Help—-
room three—o —seven —help—help!”
The house detective suddenly stood
upright. “Say, who is in 307 in this
house, anyway?”
“That Virginian with his arm in a
sling!”
“Then it’s up to us to find out what’s
going on in that room!”
The Laughing Mask, in the mean
time, was no longer giving his atten
tion to the wires along the closet wall.
But with his pocket knife he had al
ready removed the set screw from the
door knob of the closet door. Then,
swinging lightly up to the shelf that
stood some five feet from the floor, he
seated himself there opposite the door.
By grasping the two heavy clothes
hooks screwed into this door, and by
planting his feet firmly against the
sash on either side of it, he felt that
he was not altogether at the mercy of
his enemies.
Even as he sat there he could hear
the key turned in the lock and then
the sound of Legar’s quick oath of ex
asperation as the door knob fell loose
to the floor, in response to his tug at
it. . At the same time hope rose in the
captive’s heart, for he could hear the
muffled sound of a knock on the outer
door. And still again the prisoner in
the closet could hear Legar’s oath of
exasperation. This was followed by
the sudden impact of the heavy wing
chair against the panels of the closet
door. That blow, repeated again and
yet again, was heavy enough to break
through the wood. But that dignitary
known as High-Collar Davis, being a
gentleman not given to inactivity in
moments of emergency, and being suf
ficiently persuaded of untoward pro
ceedings behind the door which re
fused to open to his knock,"-promptly
seized a fire ax from its vermilion
painted rack in the hall, and sent it
crashing through the panels of the
door which bore the numerals 307.
Legar, seeing the door giving way
before this determined onslaught, drew
his revolver and emptied it into the
half demolished closet door even as he
backed away across the room to the
open window. There he followed his
already vanishing accomplices out on
the fire escape, swarming down the
narrow ladder after them as the outer
door of the room gave way and a
group of excited hotel attendants,
headed by High-Collar Davis, came
tumbling into the room.
The man who emerged from the
closet lingered only long enough to
point out to them the fleeing figures al
ready at the foot of the fire escape.
Then he himself darted down through
the hotel hallway, took the stairs on
the run, circled out through the ro
tunda, and springing through shrub
bery and flower beds, leaped into a
limousine drawn up at the side of the
road.
“Follow that touring car those men
have just piled into,” he called out to
his driver. “Follow It until we get into
the city. Then swing past it and get
to Golden’s house before It does, what
ever happens!”
But that touring car showed Itself to
be a much speedier vehicle than its un
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A Terrific Combat Was Taking Place.
kempt appearance might indicate. And
its driver seemed possessed of a sur
prisingly intimate knowledge of subur
ban side roads, for as the black
limousine drew up on it the dust-cov
ered open car suddenly swerved to the
left, dipped into a narrow valley, and
took the rise to the railway track like
a swallow rounding a cliff head.
Then the man in the yellow mask
stood up in his car, with an involun
tary gasp of horror on his lips. For
thundering along the curving track
as the dusty touring car rose to the
crossing came an even swifter-moving
through freight, whistling its frantic
warning as it came.
But that warning was too late. The
pilot of the locomotive seemed to root
like a boar’s snout under the flimsy
body of the automobile and then toss
it and its human freight high over its
shoulder. There was a momentary
cascade of bodies and metal through
the air, a sudden discontinuance of the
whistle blasts, and the grind of steel
against steel as the startled engine
driver threw on his brakes.
“Did they strike?” asked the Laugh
ing Mask’s chauffeur over his shoulder.
“Yes, they struck! But don’t turn
back. Keep going! For there’s an
other car from that hotel following us,
and we’ve still got to get to Golden’s
house first.”
It was some twelve minutes later
that Margery Golden, as she sat dis
consolately in the quietness of her
room, found herself confronted by an
unannounced visitor.
“It’s you!” she gasped, as she rose
to her feet and found the Laughing
Mask standing, a little breathless, Just
inside her door.
“I’m sorry to startle you,” he ex
plained, “but as usual, they didn’t give
me any too much time!”
“But what has happened?”
“The same thing over again. There
are five men downstairs persuading
your father the Laughing Mask Is a
criminal, and those five men are deter
mined to make me a prisoner.”
“But why should they keep saying
this?” asked the bewildered girl.
“Because they don’t understand.”
“No, they don’t understand,” she re
peated. Then she turned and stared
at the masked face. “Nor do I alto
gether understand!”
“But surely you’d trust me enough
to hide me away here until I can es
cape from them?”
“How can you ask me to trust you
when you refuse to trust me?”
“But I do trust you. I always
have!”
“Yet not enough to remove that
mask.”
“And you insist that I unmask?”
“No, I do not insist. But if you be
lieve in my honesty I also want to be
lieve in yours.”
Again there was a moment of silence.
“You are right,” said the man in
the mask. Then he crossed the room
to the door of the white-tiled bath
room, laughing as he went. “But since
my hands are clean, I also insist that
my face shall be!”
The girl stood puzzled as she heard
the sound of a tap being turned and
the splash of water.
“What are you doing?” she de
manded.
“Washing my face,” answered a
somewhat altered voice, “and I’m
afraid I’m rather spoiling your towel
with my make-up."
The next minute the Laughing Mask,
denuded of his domino, stepped back
into the room.
"Will you trust me enough now to
help me get away?” he asked.
The girl stared round-eyed into the
smiling face above her. She started to
lift her hand, as though in wonder, to
her brow. But the man in the door
way imprisoned that hand in his own,
and drew her a little closer to him.
“Will you trust me now?” he re
peated.
“Yes,” she said, in a voice hushed
with wonder, as she felt his arms close
about her. "I will always trust you!”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)