Detective Story Magazine/The Yellow Note

by Johnston McCulley

The Yellow Note

^by Walter Pierson
Author of “The Grim Purpose,” etc.

CHAPTER I.

Realization.

RICHARD SANDLEY threw back his head and laughed until the tears started from his eyes and his sides ached so that he was forced to hold them with his hands,

Attorney Marger frowned a bit at the younger man's hilarity, and waited patiently for the fit to come to an end so that the conversation could be resumed. Sandley's laughter turned to a soft chuckle after he had regained his breath, and there was an expression of merriment around his eyes.

“So you do not believe it?” Attorney Marger asked. “You are convinced that I am talking nonsense?”

“N-n-nonsense, yes,” Sandley managed to gasp. And he was off in another gale of laughter, seemingly unable to control his emotions, though he attempted to do so.

“Well, Richard, those are my deductions, and I stand ready to wager that in the end I'll be proved right,” Marger told him, leaning back in his chair and assuming the expression of a man who knows what he is talking about. “It is rather an astonishing thought, I suppose, but we meet with such things continually in this day and age.”

Attorney Marger was a strong, healthy-looking fellow, whose hair was just turning gray at the temples. He was a lawyer of State-wide reputation, a man who had often refused to accept political honors—honest, sincere, hard-working, clever, almost a genius.

Marger was Sandley's confidential man of business, and a warm personal friend besides, though Sandley was only twenty-five and Attorney Marger almost twice that age. Marger had been a companion of Sandley's father, and when he had passed away and left a million or more to his son, he had left also the suggestion that Marger be allowed to handle the estate—and so it had been.

“Nonsense, Marger, old bear,” Sandley said again, trying hard to cease his laughter. “Your love for me is too great; that is the trouble. You are almost like a second father, your friendship is so firm. Let some little, insignificant thing happen, and you can see in it a conspiracy to put me down and out or rob me of my wealth, health, good name, and friends. Now, suppose that we look at this thing in a sensible manner.”

“Do you suppose I would have bothered you about it and said what I did if I hadn't already looked at the thing in a sensible manner, and from every viewpoint?” Marger asked. “I tell you, Dick, that you have some powerful enemy, or enemies, and that there is a deliberate attempt being made to cause your ruin. There's not the slightest doubt about it.”

“And what have I ever done to cause such enmity?” Sandley wanted to know. “You are handling my estate, so you know that I have not raided the market and made financial foes, or anything like that. I have wronged no man or woman. I have not even had a minor controversy of any sort with anybody. I have a host of good friends, and no enemy of whom I am aware. It—it is just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence, you call it?” Attorney Marger asked. He bent forward across the table and tapped it with the tips of his fingers as he talked. They were in the library of Sandley's magnificent country place at the edge of the city. “Let us examine this coincidence, as you call it, Dick.”

“Very well.”

“Three weeks ago,” said the attorney, “in some mysterious way your yacht caught fire and burned to the water's edge, and two of the crew perished.”

“Yes.”

“A few days later two of your polo ponies were found dead. They had been poisoned.”

“Oh, I say! They died from some stomach trouble that overtook them during the night, I grant you that. But the veterinary said that it might have been caused by something in the food—I forget the exact words he used.”

“It was done cleverly so that it would appear the ordinary food was to blame.”

“I cannot agree with you, Marger,” Sandley said. “But continue the recital.”

“Very well,” the attorney replied. “Your rooms in town were gone through and many objects of value taken.”

“Some burglar was responsible for that. There have been a lot of burglaries recently.”

“Last week you were driving your high-powered roadster to the races, intending to enter the gentlemen drivers' free-for-all. Just before you started your car was wrecked. Somebody had tampered with it. If that accident had happened during the race, while you were driving at high speed, you'd have been crippled or killed.”

“Oh, heavens, Marger!” Sandley gasped. “An auto may fail one at any minute—flaw in the metal, you know. Very simple. It just happened that the steering gear——”

“Laugh it away, if it pleases you,” Marger said. “That is not all.”

“Go ahead with the evidence,” said Sandley, sitting back in his chair as though amused.

“Always glad to accommodate,” Marger answered with a trace of anger in his voice. “You have a big cattle ranch in Texas, and a nice slice of your annual income is from that. Last week your superintendent reported by wire that some mysterious disease had appeared, and before it could be controlled it had carried off three thousand head of yearling steers. That was a big loss, Dick; it will make a big difference in your income this year.”

“Cattle are liable to diseases, aren't they?”

“Certainly. But this particular disease is to be found in no other place in the entire State, and the conditions on the ranch are such that it could not develop there, according to experts, unless the germs were deliberately introduced.”

“You mean that somebody deliberately inoculated my stock?”

“That is what your superintendent thinks, and what the State expert of Texas thinks, and both men certainly know all about stock. It was a direct blow at you.”

“Any more evidence?” Sandley wanted to know.

“I have an abundance of it,” Marger replied. “So much that, in the interests of the estate, I have seen fit to take certain precautions.”

“Of what sort?”

“I have engaged Philip Blane, the well-known private detective and criminal investigator,” Marger replied. “He has often done work for me, and he's a shrewd and clever man. Moreover, he keeps his business to himself. If there is something behind this—and he thinks there is—he'll find it; if there is not, he will so report, and nobody will be the wiser. And it isn't only the estate, Dick; it is yourself. This unknown enemy may seek to do you bodily injury.”

“I'm ready for him, whoever he is!”

“But he is the sort to strike from the dark, the kind who would never fight in the open. I merely ask that you be on your guard, even if you do not believe——”

“Which I do not.”

“Perhaps you'll be convinced in time, Dick. For the present, do me the favor of assuming a belief in what I have told you, and talk to Mr. Blane.”

“He is here?”

“I brought him with me.”

“Very well; we'll have him in here.”

A minute later Blane entered the library and greeted them. Sandley had met him before, for the detective held a high social position, and his work was as much for amusement as it was for profit. He did not look at all like a criminologist; the casual observer might have put him down for a young man-about-town. He was thirty-five, of medium size, well dressed, and pleasant.

“So we finally come together in a business way, Sandley,” Philip Blane said. “I have been given to understand that you do not believe you have an enemy lurking in ambush.”

“I don't—frankly.”

“Suppose we consider for the moment that you have. Will you aid me?”

“Certainly.”

“Have you had any trouble of a serious nature with any individual in the last year or so?”

“Not the slightest.”

“No financial deals that might have aroused the spirit of envy or revenge?”

“None. I have made no move in the market; have had no big losses and no big gains. The bulk of my estate is in securities, and there I leave it.”

“I see. How about women?”

“There is only one woman,” Sandley replied. “I am engaged to Miss Regina Mallen, and we expect to be married in about four months.”

“Um!” Philip Blane grunted. “I know the lady slightly; have met her several times. Were there any rivals?”

“Several,” said Sandley, smiling.

“Any in particular?”

“Again, several. But 1f you are entertaining the idea that one of my rivals may be trying to wreck me because I emerged from the contest victorious, you may as well drop it, Blane. My rivals are gentlemen of my own social set. I suppose that they were sorry to lose; but none of them is the sort to do such a thing as Marger intimated.”

“As far as you know, your father left no enemy who might now be trying to square things with the son?”

“I am certain that he did not,” Sandley replied instantly. “My father inherited his money and invested it securely and increased the family fortune. He was a student, a scholarly man—quiet, docile, given to study more than to anything else. He did not have a life of storm and stress in any meaning of the words.”

“It does seem rather puzzling,” Philip Blane admitted. “But I am convinced that you have an enemy and that he is powerful. What his motive is, I do not know as yet, but I'll try to find him and show him the error of his ways.”

“And I'll help you all I can,” Sandley said; “but I honestly think that you are wasting your time. These recent troubles happened at the same time—that is all. Trouble never comes singly, somebody has said. Of course, I've had quite enough, and hope they are at an end.”

 

Attorney Marger went away with Detective Blane, and for a time Sandley walked around the gardens in the rear and of the house, then went inside dressed to go to the city. He ordered a closed car, and went to the gardens again to wait for it. Gregory Krale found him there.

Krale was a man of Sandley's set, a bit older, fully as wealthy, and eligible, according to mothers with marriageable daughters. While Krale and Sandley never had been warm friends, they found their acquaintance agreeable. They belonged to the same clubs, were guests at the same affairs, and had many tastes in common.

“Going out to the country club, Sandley?” Krale asked. “Thought I'd stop and see.”

“Not to-day. I am going to town.”

“I understand that you have suffered a loss on your Texas ranch. Sorry to hear it.”

“Who told you that?”

“The boys were speaking of it at the club,” Krale replied. “I don't know who started the story. They were speaking about the run of bad luck you have been having.”

“Every man has it now and then,” Sandley replied. “It hasn't worried me much.”

“You'd better watch out!” Krale warned him. “It is bad medicine for rumors to get around that a man is having ill luck. Some people will get the idea that he is marked for financial slaughter. You'd better grin whenever you talk about it.”

“I intend to, Krale.”

“Let the general public get the idea that a man is frowned upon by bad luck, and they'll see in him nothing but a wreck and a failure thereafter.”

“Why croak about it?” Sandley asked. “A man would think that you were trying to sow the seed of failure in my mind. Great Scott! I lost a yacht that was fully insured, a couple of polo ponies I miss very much, and a few head of cattle.”

“Let us hope that it ends there,” said Krale. “Come along to the club with me.”

“Not to-day, thanks.”

“And you'd better assure the future Mrs. Sandley that your ill fortune is only a temporary streak. I know Regina well, remember—knew her before you did, and would have won her myself if I could. I still think she is one of the most splendid women in the world, Sandley, but that doesn't make me blind to one small failing that she has.”

“And what is that?” Sandley asked. He did not take offense at Krale's words, for it was the truth that Gregory Krale had known Regina Mallen long before Sandley had made her acquaintance.

“She is a bit superstitious—inherits it from that grandfather of hers, I suppose,” Krale replied. “Let a black cat cross her path, and she'll go back home and lock herself in her rooms.”

“I've noticed that. But it only makes her the more adorable as far as I am concerned.”

“Nevertheless, Sandley you let her get the idea that you are in for a run of reverses, and Heaven alone knows what she may do.”

“Do you think that she would break the engagement,” Sandley asked, smiling, “if she feared I was headed for the rocks?”

“I hope not. I want to see her happy, and know that she can be, with you. Well—I must hurry along to the club. See you to-morrow?”

“Yes.”

“By!”

 

Gregory Krale left the garden, mounted his horse, and galloped down the highway toward the country club. Sandley started toward the front where he knew the car would be waiting, when the butler called to him.

“Telephone, sir,” he reported. “Gentleman says that the call is very important.”

“Did he give his name?” Sandley asked.

“Oh, yes, sir. It is Burt, sir, your man out at the hunting lodge.”

Richard Sandley hurried into the house and went to the telephone. As he put out his hand to pick up the receiver he seemed to feel a premonition.

“Hello!” he called. “That you, Burt? Anything the matter out there?”

“Yes, this is Burt, sir. There—there has been a fire, sir—a bad fire.”

“What?”

“The lodge is in ashes, sir.”

“What's that, Burt?” Sandley cried.

“It happened this morning, sir. I got up early and went to town to get some supplies. I'll swear that everything was all right then, sir. I built no fire, for I intended to give myself a treat and eat breakfast at the village restaurant. As I was coming back I saw the flames, sir. Half a dozen men were there already, but they were too late to do anything. The lodge burned to the ground, sir.”

“Was anything saved?” It seemed to Sandley that some other man was asking the question, that he was a disinterested spectator.

“Not a thing, sir,” Burt replied. “Not even your hunting trophies, sir. I—I am very sorry, of course, Mr. Sandley, but it was not my fault at all. And it all looks very mysterious to me, sir. I'd say the fire was set.”

“Very well, Burt. I'll send somebody down there to make an investigation. You are to remain in the village until you hear from me again.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a thoughtful expression in Richard Sandley's face as he turned away from the telephone. The hunting lodge, as it was called, was a magnificent structure in the mountains on the shore of a lake, a building quite pretentious in its way.

Sandley's father had been in the habit of going there for months at a time to study. The loss was considerable, in spite of the heavy insurance. What hurt Sandley most was the loss of valuable books that had belonged to his father, which had been left in the lodge library, and some of the family records and portraits.

Thinking that perhaps he did have an enemy lurking in ambush, although the thought seemed ridiculous, he decided it would be the wise thing to remain on guard continually.

He went out upon the veranda again, saw that the car was waiting on the driveway, and started to cut across the lawn toward it. Beside a clump of brush in his path he saw a folded yellow paper. It was unusual for such a thing to be there, so he stooped and picked it up.

It was a letter, he saw at a glance, but the envelope was missing. Sandley unfolded the brilliant-yellow sheet and read the typewriting on it:

If you are agreeable toward the enterprise regarding which you were sounded recently, kindly obey the following instructions. Be at the mouth of the alley behind the National Theater, in the city, Wednesday afternoon at two o'clock exactly. A well-dressed man, short, heavy set, with long black mustache, will stop there at that hour and light a cigar. He will wear a red carnation in his button-hole. Brush against him and say, “I beg a million pardons!” He will reply, “Make it two millions and we'll call it square.” Follow him when he walks away and he will take you to a place where you will receive further instructions.

Sandley gasped in astonishment, read the note a second time, turned it over and inspected it closely, and then thrust it into his coat pocket.

“Peculiar rot!” he told himself. “One of the servants, I suppose. Yes, one of the servants must have dropped it there. Wonder what it means? 'Agreeable toward the enterprise, eh?' Wonder if it has anything to do with my troubles?”

He shrugged his shoulders and went on toward the car, but gave a start of surprise when he noticed that the regular chauffeur was not at the door.

“Why are you driving?” he asked the man, who was his mechanic. “Where is Williams?”

“He is ill, sir,” was the reply. “He has not been feeling well for several days, and this morning he went into the city to see a doctor.”

“Um!” Sandley grunted. “Very well! Drive me into town, and to Miss Mallen's home first.”

“Very good, sir.”

The man touched his cap and closed the door of the car, then hurried to get behind the wheel.

Sitting comfortably in a corner of the big car, Sandley took the peculiar yellow note out of his pocket and began inspecting it again.

CHAPTER II.

Exposure.

IT is enough to say of Miss Regina Mallen that she was a spoiled daughter of society—pretty, refined, accomplished superficially in music and art, very much used to having her own way, and very desirable to a man in the same position.

Sandley had fallen deeply in love with her, and had conducted his wooing with such persistence and ardor that he had been successful. He adored her openly, yet he knew that she had a few minor faults, as any girl reared in the same environment might have had. Regina Mallen would have been highly indignant, perhaps, had anybody called her narrow-minded or mentally weak in some respects, yet she was in that condition.

Sandley entered her home, had himself announced, and waited eagerly for her to appear. When she did come into the room, in the company of her mother, Sandley knew instantly that there was something wrong. Regina had been weeping, and had been unable to disguise that fact with the aid of that which was on her dressing table.

She greeted him as though preoccupied, and sat down on the divan beside him. Her mother acted peculiarly, Sandley thought, and after greeting him left the room. Regina and Sandley found themselves alone for a private and confidential chat.

“You do not look well,” Sandley said to the girl, glancing at her swiftly.

He was astounded to see her lips tremble and the tears start from her eyes. As a usual thing, Regina did not show emotion.

“If there is any trouble—anything in the world that I can do to help you——” Sandley began again.

“I—I have been fighting myself all morning, Dick,” she said in a quivering voice. “It has been a terrific battle—and it isn't finished yet.”

“Fighting yourself?”

“Yes. I am a weak, foolish woman, I suppose, but I do not seem to be able to help it. Perhaps that is because I never have wanted to help it before.”

“May I know the cause of the trouble, Regina? I've never heard you talk this way before.”

“You—you have been having a great deal of misfortune recently, haven't you, Dick?” she asked, looking across the width of the big room instead of into his face.

Sandley tried to laugh, but the effort was a poor one. “A few minor troubles that happened within a few days of one another,” he replied.

“Your yacht, your cattle ranch, your roadster, the robbery of your rooms in town—Dick, it looks very bad! And now—your hunting lodge!”

“My hunting lodge?” Sandley gasped. “How, in Heaven's name, do you know anything about the hunting lodge? I didn't know about it myself until a moment before f left home, when my man, Burt, telephoned the news—and I have told nobody.”

“That is what ts puzzling me, too, Dick,” Regina Mallen answered, looking up at him again. “Some man telephoned a short time ago and insisted on talking to me. He said that it was very important and concerned you, and, naturally, I hurried to the telephone. He told me about the hunting lodge burning and remarked that it was another piece of bad luck for you. I—I failed to recognize his voice, and he hung up and broke the connection without telling me his name.”

“I'd give a lot to know it!” Sandley exclaimed with a trace of anger in his voice. “He seems to have had instant information. My man thinks that the fire was incendiary, and I am beginning to think the same thing, though I scoffed at the idea at first.”

“And that is not all. I have received an anonymous letter that troubles me.”

“May I see it?” he asked.

“Yes, Dick.”

She had it ready, and handed it to him. It was another yellow note, typewritten and inclosed in a common, white envelope, upon which the name and address had been printed with a pen. Sandley read the thing quickly.

Miss Mallen: We have nothing at all against you, except that you are concerned in the fortunes of Richard Sandley. You perhaps are aware that he has suffered several misfortunes recently. He is to suffer many more. A wise young lady would think at least twice before allying herself with a man marked for destruction. If you persist in remaining his friend and betrothed, you may expect to have troubles of your own, as will every one who is associated with the man.

There was no signature. Richard Sandley felt his anger growing as he read, and when he had finished he looked up quickly to find Regina watching him closely. Her lips were trembling again, and she seemed to be on the verge of tears.

“You know that I love you,” she said. “I have admired many men, but until you came along I did not take a deep interest in the affairs of any. I knew at once that you were the one I wanted. But I am such a little coward, Dick. I want to stand by you, and I am almost afraid.”

“My dear girl, never be afraid of an anonymous letter or the person who would write one,” Sandley told her.

“It is not that altogether, Dick. It is your bad luck, too,” she replied. “When a person begins to have a run of bad luck it usually lasts.”

“Nonsense!” Richard Sandley exclaimed. “This note proves that it is not bad luck at all, but that some unknown enemy of mine is working the mischief. I do not mind telling that you, Regina, it has been suspected and that a well-known private detective is already working on the case. There is nothing to be afraid of, my dear. It is a crime to have you bothered with it.”

“But it worries me so, Dick,” she said. “How can I help worrying and being anxious?”

“Ignore it, Regina. Try to forget the entire thing,” he told her. “Get your mind fixed on something pleasant. We'll fight this out, and, of course, I'll take instant steps to see that you are well protected night and day.”

“I want to be true to you, Dick, to stand by you. I want to conquer my cowardice,” she said. “The easiest thing, of course, would be to break the engagement.”

“If you wish to do that——” Sandley began, his heart heavy at the thought of it.

“But I don't want to do it, Dick!” she protested. “My love for you is deeper than that, you see. If you have to fight some enemy, I want to fight that enemy, too.”

“Then we'll defeat him, whoever he is!” Sandley declared with conviction. He took her in his arms for an instant, and then got up. “I must see to things,” he continued. “I'll have you well cared for, and in such a manner that you'll not be annoyed at all. You must go ahead as though nothing at all had happened; keep all your engagements, and do not feel afraid. I don't like to see the tears in your eyes, you know.”

Out in the car again, and on his way to the club, Sandley felt the old fighting spirit dominating him, and was glad that it was so. What bothered him most was the fact that he could not guess at the identity of his hidden enemy, nor the motive for the enmity. He went over his past life carefully, especially the last few years of it, and couldn't remember a thing that might lead another person to take such elaborate steps to wreck him and his fortunes.

At the club he got into communication immediately with Philip Blane. When Blane reached his side Sandley told him all that he knew and showed him the two yellow notes. Blane promised to take immediate steps to have Miss Mallen protected, and carried away with him the note that had been addressed to her.

Then there was nothing more for Sandley to do, except hold a telephone conversation with Attorney Marger and tell him the new developments and admit that Marger had been right. He did not care to go to the country club for a round of golf, as he had no desire to meet Gregory Krale and the others.

After a time he realized what was troubling him. He didn't care to sit idly on the side lines and let Detective Blane and others fight his battles. He wanted to get into the fight himself.

Once more he made an effort to think what man could be his enemy, and was forced to give up the problem. Perhaps, he thought, it was a case of Richard Sandley being made to suffer for the offense of somebody else.

He took from his pocket again the yellow note he had found on his front lawn and perused it. Again he wondered who could have dropped it on the grass near that clump of brush. It indicated that somebody close to him was in league with his enemies, and Sandley did not like that thought.

Then it flashed upon him that he could get into the fight himself, that here was the way open for him. He could keep the rendezvous mentioned in the note and see who met the man wearing the red carnation. The principal thing, as Sandley saw it, was to learn the identity of his enemy, so that the fight would be more fair and even.

He ate luncheon at the club and then went to his rooms and dressed in a dark suit and put on a cap. Having made a mental note of what was on the yellow scrap, he slipped it into his pocket and started downtown.

Five minutes before the hour mentioned Sandley walked past the mouth of the alley behind the theater, crossed the street at the corner, and came back on the other side, watching carefully.

He saw the man with the red carnation finally, but did not see anybody else in the vicinity. He could tell that the man who wore the carnation was puzzled because nobody approached him. Then another idea came to Sandley. Why not play the game himself? He could play it for a time, at least, until discovery came, and possibly he could find out something of interest.

He stepped briskly across the street and eyed the man who wore the red carnation. Immediately that man began lighting a fresh cigar. Sandley brushed against him, said the words as the letter instructed, and received the proper answer.

“Be on time after this,” growled the man who wore the carnation. “The big boss doesn't care for men who aren't punctual.”

Then he started up the street, and Sandley followed him at a distance, as instructed. After several blocks the man ahead turned off the main avenue and went along across street for a short distance, doubled back to the avenue again, slowed down as he approached a taxicab stand, and indicated clearly that Sandley was to come nearer and overhear his directions.

As he walked past, Sandley heard his man give an address to a chauffeur. He engaged a cab of his own and gave the same address, and told the driver to take plenty of time. He did not want to arrive ahead of the man with the carnation.

The cab lurched through the busy streets and went toward the poorer section of the city. Sandley had known it well years before, but it had been some time since he had visited it. Here was a maze of cheap shops and cheap lodging houses, corner resorts that had been watched by the police in the old days, and some of which were still under surveillance.

He left his cab at a corner and walked along the street toward the address. The locality looked innocent enough. Foreign children were playing, pushcart men were crying their wares, women were calling to one another from the windows.

Sandley saw his man a short distance ahead. The other turned and saw him, raised his eyebrows, went up a flight of steps that led to the open front door of one of the old houses, and Sandley followed without the slightest hesitation.

He found the fellow waiting for him just inside. His only greeting was a grunt, and then he led the way toward the upper floor. Sandley, following at his heels, found his nostrils assailed with a thousand unpleasant odors. The halls were narrow and dark, and the stairs rickety.

On the second floor a gas jet was burning. They passed it and continued to the third floor. Here they walked the length of the hall and came to a stop before a door there. The man who wore the red carnation knocked peculiarly, and the door was opened. Sandley followed him inside.

“You'll wait here for a few minutes, until the big boss is ready to see you,” the man whe wore the carnation said.

He went to a door, knocked upon it, and was admitted to another room. Sandley observed that in some manner the hall door had been closed, and he did not doubt that it was locked. However, he made no effort to ascertain. He imagined that his actions were being watched from the other room, and he endeavored to act in a natural manner.

Holding his cap in his hands, he walked once around the room like any man interested in his new surroundings, and then sat down to wait. The room was small and dark and poorly furnished. It did not look like the headquarters of a man powerful enough to be a formidable enemy.

Sandley caught himself thinking that perhaps he was on the wrong trail, that the yellow note he had found had nothing to do with his unknown foe. And then he remembered that the anonymous note to Regina had been written on the same sort of paper.

He would have to be very cautious, he knew. He would have to be guarded in his speech and actions. The slightest wrong move, and his attempt to fight his own battles would end in disaster.

The door opened, and the man with the carnation came back into the room.

“You are to go inside,” he said. “The big boss will talk to you. Mind your business, now!”

Sandley got up and walked across the room, went through the door, and found himself in another and larger room in which he could scarcely see the furniture. If there were windows, they had been fitted with shades that were opaque or nearly so.

The door closed behind him, and half the little light in the room was gone. There was a moment of silence, then a bright shaft of light came from one corner and bathed Sandley in its brilliance. It blinded him, and he closed his eyes against its glare.

The light was snapped off, and appeared in another corner, a dim light, over which he could see the masked face of a man.

“Sit down in the chair at your right,” a deep voice commanded.

“Yes, sir.” Sandley adopted a respectful tone when he spoke, found the chair, and seated himself. He glanced toward the corner again. All he could see was two glittering eyes through slits in the mask, and if he had hoped to make an identification, he was to fail.

“What is your name?”

Here was the first trap. Sandley cleared his throat. “Is it necessary to mention names?” he asked.

“I see that you are cautious—very good! I know your name, of course, Williams!”

Sandley was glad that the room was in semidarkness, for his face might have betrayed what he felt. Williams! His chauffeur! So it had been Williams who had dropped the yellow note. And Williams was ill and had gone to the city to see a doctor, the mechanic had said. It was plain enough; the story of the illness was to cover the absence of Williams while he kept his rendezvous.

“So you want to come in with us, do you, Williams?” the man in the corner asked. “We have been looking up your record, and we think that you will make us a good man. You have skill in several lines, you are an excellent mechanic, and you possess courage. How about your conscience?”

“I don't think I have one,” Sandley replied.

“Very good; a conscience is a nuisance at times. Are you sure that you understand everything? Did my man who approached you and sounded you explain everything?”

“I'd rather get it here, right at headquarters, sir,” Williams said.

“Another proof that you are cautious. I'll give you the explanation you wish, Williams, for I think that you are coming in with us. If you don't, the knowledge will be of no avail. If you were to lead the police here, they would find nothing. This is only a temporary headquarters, you understand. It is changed half a dozen times a month.”

“I understand, sir,” said Sandley. “If I don't come in with you, I'll forget everything.”

“By so doing you'll probably live longer,” said the man in the corner. “Did you ever read history? Did you ever relish the romance of early days, when life was much more worth the living than it is now?”

“I've read a great deal, sir.”

“Ever hear of the bravos? They were gentlemen who lived by their wits and their courage. A nobleman who had an enemy he wished out of the way went to a bravo and paid him so much to do the deed. If he wished a house burned or a man's character destroyed, he hired the bravos to do it instead of taking the trouble himself.”

“I understand,” said Sandley.

“Our organization is nothing more or less than an organization of modern bravos. In fact, we call ourselves 'The Bravos.' Only we cannot work as openly as the boys did in the old days. The police to-day are very inconsiderate at times.”

“They are, sir.”

“Men who want to have other men annoyed or destroyed get in touch with me and our organization does the work for a fee. It goes without saying that the fee is huge. From what I have heard, Williams, I can use you. Do you really want to come in with us?”

“What arrangements could be made?” Sandley asked.

“Still cautious? However, I do not blame you. If you come in, you'll be expected to obey orders without question. Take a case we are handling at the present time, for instance. It is that of your employer, Richard Sandley. I am going to speak freely to you because you can cause us no harm. We are thoroughly protected, I assure you.”

“But how can that be?” Sandley asked.

“For instance, could you identify me ten minutes from now? Of course not. Every member is supplied with an alibi constantly. We have a hundred schemes for protecting ourselves. So do not let the fear of detection bother you.”

“And what about Mr. Sandley?”

“We have orders from a client to wreck him, if possible, financially. We have already annoyed him, as perhaps you know. His yacht was burned, his hunting polo ponies poisoned, his stock on his Texas cattle ranch done away with, and only early this morning his lodge was fired.”

“I've heard about those things,” Sandley said. He was glad that the man in the corner could not see his face clearly, for his blood was boiling at the matter-of-fact way in which this man spoke of the affair. “You mean some man is paying your organization to do those things to Mr. Sandley?”

“Exactly. The Bravos do the work and they get excellent pay. Are you so much an admirer of your employer that you would not help us annoy him?”

“Nothing to stop me, I guess,” Sandley said. “What about wages?”

“I can guarantee you at least twice what you are getting now per month, and there will be a handsome bonus whenever you succeed in carrying out the orders given you. We handle a dozen cases at a time, of course.”

“And will you put me to work right away on that?” Sandley asked him.

“You wish it?”

“Maybe I'd like to get square for a few things.” Sandley spoke like a disgruntled employee, and he imagined that the man in the corner chuckled.

“I understand. If you have a grudge against your employer, it is all the better. You can do the work and work for him at the same time for a while—draw two salaries. How does that suit you?”

“Suits me,” Sandley said. “Who is the man that's after Sandley? He must want to get him bad.”

“That is something you are not to know,” said the man in the corner. “That is something no man knows except myself. The clients deal with me alone. I guarantee them that protection and they pay well for it.”

“Then you won't tell me?” Sandley asked.

“Certainly not! It is none of your business. Well, do you want to join us, Williams?”

“It looks good to me.”

“I warn you that we have a way of dealing with traitors.”

“Don't worry about my turning traitor,” Sandley said. “If I go into this thing, I'll stick to the end; that is, as long as I get good pay.”

Sandley was wondering how it had happened that Williams had not kept the engagement at the rear of the theater, and he thought it a bit of good fortune that he had kept it himself. Here he was with a chance to get on the inside, a chance to find out the identity of the man who wished him ruined. But he would have to play a careful game, he knew.

The man in the corner was speaking again. “I suppose you have to hurry back to Sandley's country place?”

“Yes; I pretended that I had to come into the city to see a doctor.”

“Very good. The man who approached you before will give you orders and carry you your pay. Probably you'll not see me again for months to come; but the moment you have to leave Sandley's employ we'll have something else for you to do.”

“Then there are no orders now, sir?” Sandley asked.

“None at present. You'll probably be given some to-morrow by the man I mentioned. Forget this place and me as soon as you leave. I had thought that our friend would be here this afternoon while you were present, but probably he has been detained.”

“Our friend?”

“The man who first approached you, I mean.”

“Oh!” said Sandley. It came to him that if he went away now, knowing no more, it would avail him nothing. This unknown go-between would see Williams, and Williams would explain that he had not kept the rendezvous. Then The Bravos would be on their guard, knowing that the wrong man had been let into the secret, and if they ceased their activities, Sandley never would know the name of the man who had sought to wreck him.

“I'd like to get to work right away, sir,” Sandley said. “If Mr. Sandley is the man you're after, you can't give me orders too soon to suit me.”

“You don't like him particularly, is that it?” asked the masked man.

“Maybe I've got a few old scores to settle with him,” Sandley replied.

“And possibly you'll have the chance to settle them,” came the reply. “We are being well paid to persecute Sandley, and we are going to give our client his money's worth. What has happened already to Richard Sandley is nothing compared to what is going to happen.”

Sandley started to speak again, to make a last effort to find out something before being dismissed; but there came a peculiar knock at the door. The masked man raised his head suddenly, as though listening. The knock was repeated.

“Remain where you are,” he directed Sandley.

The light in the corner was extinguished and the room was in darkness. There was a soft click, and the door flew open. Another man entered the room, but it was still so dark that Sandley could not see his face.

“I couldn't get here before, boss,” the newcomer reported. “That business kept me a lot longer than I thought. Did Williams get here all right?”

“Yes, he is here. I've been talking to him and telling him that you would give him his orders and pay and watch how he handles himself.”

Once more that brilliant shaft of light came from the corner and struck Sandley. The newcomer gasped, then swore.

“Williams?” he cried. “That man isn't Williams, boss! That man is Richard Sandley himself!”

CHAPTER III.

A Helpless Prisoner.

HIS masquerade exposed, Richard Sandley sat for an instant as though stunned. Because of that bright shaft of light he could see nothing. He could not guess what his foes were doing; and he knew that it was imperative that he make some move himself. He sprang to his feet, trying to shade his eyes from the glare with one arm.

“Steady, Sandley! I've got you covered.”

The masked man in the corner was the one who spoke, and his voice was low and tense. Sandley did not doubt that he was menaced with a weapon of some sort and that this chief rogue of The Bravos would not hesitate to use it if he thought that the future of himself and his organization was imperiled.

“Sit down again!” came the command. And Richard Sandley sat down, because there didn't seem to be anything else to do. The glare was still upon him, but now it was turned off, and an ordinary light appeared in the ceiling over his head. He blinked his eyes and looked quickly at the newcomer. But again his hopes were broken. The other man was also masked.

“I knew you, Sandley, from the first,” said the man in the corner. “I intended to send you away and then clear out myself, so when you reported to the police they would find nothing here. We are not through with you yet, you see. But now we shall have to think of something else, possibly something worse for you. I suppose your chauffeur tried to double cross us?”

“He happened to drop the yellow note that was sent him, and I found it. I answered it in person, thinking I might discover something interesting.”

“And have you?”

“At least I have discovered that my chauffeur was ready to join my enemies. And I have been greatly interested in learning of The Bravos. I'll have a personal interest when you're brought to trial.”

The man in the corner laughed loudly. 'It will be a long time before we are brought to trial,” he replied “The few men who know of the existence of The Bravos are careful not to speak of it. As far as you are concerned, if you were given your freedom this moment, you could not harm us. If you told such a wild story, people would call you insane. If an investigation were made, nothing could be learned. Give me credit for being prepared against emergencies.”

“Do you realize what you are doing?” Sandley thundered. “For pay you wreck a man!”

“Because some other person pays the price,” came the reply. “No man is wrecked, then, unless he has some enemy eager to have him wrecked.”

“You do it for a price,” Sandley said. “There is nothing personal in it?”

“Certainly not, my dear Mr. Sandley. So far as I know, you are an estimable gentleman I would be proud to call my friend. And, so far as you know, possibly you do meet me on the basis of friendship every day or so.”

“You work for pay, then,” Sandley said. “I am rich. Will you work for me?”

“Always open for engagements.”

“Then name your price and I'll pay it!” Sandley cried.

“What is the job?”

“It will take you less than a minute. Give me the name of the man who is fighting me from the dark.”

“Oh, my dear sir! Turn against a client? We couldn't do that. In a way, we strive to be honorable. I wouldn't think of telling you his name.”

“It is money, nothing else, with you, you have said. If I were to pay you, would you attack that man, too?”

“Certainly.”

“Yet you will not name him?”

“Certainly not.”

“Suppose I offer you a big sum?”

“No betrayal of clients, Mr. Sandley, for any amount. There is nothing to prevent us fighting him on your behalf, however, except that you'd have to take our word for it that we were injuring him. You might guess, of course, by ordering us to do certain things and then seeing upon what man our hands fall.”

“And what do you intend doing now?” Sandley asked. “Are you going ahead with your work against me?”

“Assuredly, unless our client orders otherwise.”

“When I know the game?” Sandley asked.

“That will not make the slightest difference, Mr. Sandley. Warned as you are, we can do our work just the same. There are many ways in which we may strike at you.”

“Do you realize that you are sitting there and telling me to my face that you are trying to ruin me because another nan pays you to do it?”

“Ah, you have the gist of the matter, Mr. Sandley!”

“And do you think I shall stand idly by and let you do it?”

“I am not worrying about you at all, Mr. Sandley. Since this has occurred, I shall be obliged to keep you prisoner here, of course, until I can communicate with our client. He may feel that he is in danger and wish to—er—put you where you will no longer be a menace.”

“You mean you would have me murdered?” Sandley gasped.

“If our client paid the price—certainly. One man, more or less, is nothing. There are many men in our organization who would do it cheerfully for a thousand dollars.”

Sandley could scarcely realize the reality of it. Less than two hundred feet away was a busy city street, filled with vehicles and pedestrians. There children were at play and women were discussing the affairs of humdrum, everyday existence. And here, in this dingy room, he was facing a situation almost beyond belief.

It seemed ridiculous. It was not natural. It savored of the theatrical. Yet he knew from the tone in which the man in the corner spoke that everything was as he had said. Here was a band of men who did as they were ordered if a person paid the price, robbed, wrecked, even killed.

He was quiet for a moment, considering his predicament. He had come here unarmed, and now he was at their mercy. What would they do with him? Could he hope to escape? And who hated him enough to pay for his ruin?

“When you answered that yellow note you made yourself liable to capture,” the man in the corner told Sandley. “And you had reason to believe that capture would mean something worse. You have only yourself to blame, Mr. Sandley.”

“If this is a mercenary organization and nothing more, can I not buy my freedom?” Sandley asked.

“I must communicate with our client first, and see what he wishes to do in the matter.”

“And in the meantime——” Sandley asked.

“In the meantime you'll be kept a prisoner in this room.”

Suddenly Sandley sat up straight in his chair and began laughing. The two men in the room looked at him in amazement.

“You are bluffing!” Sandley declared. “The whole thing is a bluff! Keep me a prisoner in this room, within two hundred feet of a busy street?”

“The easiest thing in the world,” said the man in the corner. “If necessary, we can bind and gag you.”

“And how long do you expect to play this game without getting caught?”

“It has been played for several years already, Mr. Sandley, and we are still at liberty. If I were to write my memoirs, they would be highly interesting, I assure you. Many mysteries of the past few years would be explained.”

“You have too much confidence in yourself and your organization,” Sandley sneered. “Take my own case, for instance. Unless you had me killed or my country place destroyed by fire, you have already done all the damage you can to me.”

“My dear sir, we have already planned several things in your case, and I don't mind relating them to you. We are even powerful enough to touch some of the securities you own and make them almost worthless. Then there are other ways.”

“You convince me that this unknown enemy of mine is indeed a powerful man,” Sandley said. “Thank you. If he has money enough to pay you for doing all that, he is one of the first hundred men in the city financially.”

“Possibly. But which one of the hundred, Mr. Sandley?” The man in the corner chuckled as he spoke.

Sandley felt that he was getting nowhere. As a matter of fact, he merely had been making conversation while he tried to think of some way out of his predicament; and he could think of no way except to make a fight for it.

The man in the corner had not changed his position. The other was standing before the door, his arms folded across his breast. He had taken no part at all in the conversation and seemed to be awaiting orders.

“Then I cannot buy from you the name of my enemy?” Sandley asked.

“You cannot.”

“Can't I buy you off? If I pay the price, will you cease troubling me at the orders of this enemy of mine?”

“I'd like to, but we must carry out our contract, you see. Put yourself in his place, Mr. Sandley. Would you want us to turn against you?”

“Tell me this much—what is his object? Why is he trying to ruin me?”

“I do not know for certain, and it is really none of my business. but I have an idea, of course.”

“As far as I know, I haven't an enemy in the world,” Sandley said.

“You have this one.”

“And I can think of no reason for his enmity. I have done nothing to incur it.”

“Pardon me, but you have,” the man in the corner said. “And let us not discuss it further, Mr. Sandley. You understand the situation, I am sure, being a man of intelligence.”

“Then you intend to hold me here until this enemy informs you what he wishes you to do?”

“You have guessed it.”

Sandley sprang from his chair and dove straight at the throat of the man in front of the door in an endeavor to tear the mask away. Then, if possible, he would break through into the other room and dash to the street.

He found that he had pitted himself against a powerful antagonist. The man before the door was a giant in size and his physical condition was excellent. Sandley found his arms gripped and thrust down at his sides, rendering him helpless. The other man thrust him against the wall and held him there.

“Violence is only foolish, Mr. Sandley,” said the man in the corner. “Even if you got into the other room, you would still be a long way from freedom. Go back and sit down.”

Sandley felt himself released, and the man returned to his position before the door. Stumbling a couple of paces away, Sandley rubbed at his sore arms. Some peculiar wrestling hold, he knew, had rendered him powerless for a time.

This thing was commencing to get on his nerves. It was all so unreal, this matter-of-fact talk about unlawful acts. He couldn't force himself to realize the reality of it. He felt like a rat in a trap, with mischievous boys poking sticks through the wires.

Once more that peculiar knock came at the door. It was opened, and the man who wore the red carnation entered the room.

“There's a fellow outside, boss, who says that he is Williams. He didn't get to the theater in time, but saw the man with whom he had had dealings and followed him here.”

“Show him in,” said the man in the corner.

Richard Sandley stepped forward. So here was his chauffeur, the man he had trusted. He promised to ask Williams a few questions.

Williams stepped into the room, and the door closed behind him. The chauffeur blinked and looked toward the masked man in the corner. Then he turned his head to take in the rest of the room and caught sight of Sandley.

“You—Mr. Sandley” he gasped.

“Quite so!” Sandley said. “Quite so, you crook. If I never know another thing, I'd like you to answer just this: What did I ever do that you should want to join a gang who are trying to ruin me?”

“I'm not talkin',” Williams said, looking away.

“You traitorous cur!” Sandley said. “I am surprised that even these professional criminals have anything to do with a man of your stamp. I've treated you like a human being, given you presents, and raised your wages. I've never spoken a harsh word to you, that I can remember, yet I find you in league with my enemies.”

The man in the corner cleared his throat and broke into the conversation.

“Williams, how did this happen?” he demanded.

“I was a little late gettin' to the theater, sir. I couldn't help it. I was in the other end of town, and there was a street-car jam——”

“I expect my men to avoid such things. Mr. Sandley found the yellow note you carelessly dropped and came in your place. Do you know what that means, Williams? It means that he has learned some things about our work and that you were about to join us. If he escapes from here, you will have considerable trouble, although in reality you have not joined us yet.”

“I—I couldn't help it,” Williams said. “I don't know how I came to drop that note. And I couldn't help being late.”

“It has caused considerable annoyance,” said the man in the corner. “You will go back into the other room, Williams, and remain there until I send for you.”

The door opened—Sandley guessed that the man in the corner operated it with a spring button—and Williams went back into the other room.

“You will remain here, Mr. Sandley, with this friend of mine to guard you,” the man in the corner continued. “I shall communicate at once with our client and ascertain his wishes in the matter. It shouldn't take me more than ten or fifteen minutes.”

Sandley watched carefully. The dim light in the corner was snapped out, and all he could see was a dark shadow that seemed to disappear in the wall.

He walked back and forth across the room for a time, and once he glanced at the man before the door and saw that now he held an automatic pistol ready for use. Sandley sat down and looked him deliberately.

“You'd shoot me if I tried to get away?” he asked.

“I'd advise you not to try it,” was the reply.

“How long have you been associated with these fellows?”

“I do not feel like answering questions, Mr. Sandley.”

“You'd do anything for money, I suppose?” Sandley asked.

“Almost anything. Money is a necessary commodity for a man who likes to live well.”

Sandley lowered his voice when he spoke again. “If you were to help me out of this, I'd make it worth your while. I'd give you enough to get far away from here and live like a gentleman.”

“It would be risky. And I live like a gentleman now. This sort of work is more profitable than you think. Besides, I wouldn't betray my friends.”

“Then earn my money in another way. Tell me the name of the man who is fighting me.”

“The fact of the matter is, I don't know it, Mr. Sandley. No one knows but the big boss and a lieutenant of his; a sort of outside man whom we have never seen. It is much safer that way.”

“So I've got to fight the crowd! Very well. But don't get it into your head that the battle is over.”

“I rather think you are helpless.”

“Perhaps you'll think differently after a time.”

“It is very simple, Mr. Sandley. The boss will communicate with the client and state the circumstances. If the client is afraid of exposure and wants you—er—removed, you'll be removed. If not, you'll be turned loose.”

“And then——”

“And then we will continue with our work. Why not? You wouldn't know where we intended striking you next. Guard yourself and your possessions as you could, we'd get you. Bit by bit your fortune is to be torn away; and our client will order us to stop only when a certain stage is reached.”

“What more could you do to me, except chip away at my fortune or burn my country house?”

“Ruin your reputation so that your friends would ignore you. Make your name a by-word so that good women would shun you, and attack your fiancée until she would be afraid to have anything more to do with you.”

“Beast!”

“Oh, it is merely a business proposition with us, Mr. Sandley; but if you feel like calling somebody a beast, why not so name the man who pays us to do these things?'”

The light in the corner of the room was snapped on again. Sandley whirled around to find that the masked man was once more sitting beneath it.

CHAPTER IV.

The Truth.

SANDLEY felt as he imagined a defendant on trial for his life would feel while waiting to hear the verdict of the jury. He wanted to say something, but could think of nothing to say. Presently the masked man raised his head and spoke to the one by the door.

“Bring Williams in,” he commanded.

The door was opened and Williams entered.

“Williams,” said the man in the corner, “you have intimated that you have no love for Mr. Sandley. You were ready to join us, share our dangers and our pay. How do you feel about it now?”

“I'm here,” responded Williams.

“If Mr. Sandler leaves, it will be with the knowledge that you are subject to arrest; and undoubtedly he will report the entire affair to the police. It won't bother us, of course, for we'll be gone.”

“But—what about me?” Williams stammered.

“If you still want to join us, you can do so, and at the same time make sure that Sandley won't tip you off to the police. There is a way.”

“What is it?” Williams wanted to know.

“If you take it, you will be bound to us forever. If you do not, we shall have to deal with you, for you know too much to be allowed your liberty.”

“I'm ready for your game, whatever it is,” Williams said.

The man in the corner turned his head and looked squarely at Sandley.

“I have communicated with our client,” he reported. “He is much alarmed at what has happened and is afraid to have you regain your liberty. I regret to have to say it, Mr. Sandley, but he desires your death.”

“My death!” Sandley exclaimed.

“He pays for it, of course. And that is where Williams will have his chance.”

“What do you mean?” Williams cried.

“Merely play the part of executioner on Mr. Sandley. It can be easily arranged. You'll be well paid, and then we'll know that we can trust you.”

“How——” Williams began.

“Listen closely, please. We're going to get out of here before things get too warm. We'll simply bind and gag Mr. Sandley and leave him in this room, then we'll give you a loaded automatic, Williams, and leave you with him.”

“And then——” Williams asked.

“Fifteen minutes after we have left you will do your work. Nobody will pay the slightest attention to a shot in this neighborhood. In fact, I doubt if it could be heard as far as the hall. After you have done it, simply walk out of the building and return to the Sandley country place as if nothing had happened. You will receive further orders from us there.”

“And—and Mr. Sandley——” Williams asked.

“Don't worry about that. There will be no danger. His body will be found some time, I presume, and there will be a great deal of speculation regarding how he met his death, and perhaps a little scandal. We have nothing to do with that. The affair ends, as far as we are concerned, when we leave this building.”

The man in the corner spoke as though he had been instructing some minor clerk about filing papers, and with no more feeling in his voice. Williams seemed to shiver, and stood back against the wall.

“Understand, Williams, you will be protecting yourself,” the man in the corner said. “A dead man will be unable to inform the police about you.”

“I—I understand that, sir,” Williams said.

“A single shot will do it, if you are careful. Just keep thinking that you are protecting yourself—something that every man has the right to do.”

During this conversation Richard Sandley had experienced a variety of emotions. He was trying to tell himself that it was real, that they were speaking of making him a victim, snuffing out his life to prevent discovery of their nefarious pursuits.

He had been watching Williams, too, and trying to read him; and he had decided that Williams was the type of man who, frightened because he might be sent to prison for a minor offense, would commit a greater one in an effort to avoid it.

It came to Sandley like a flash that his position was more perilous than he realized. He thought of the many splendid things he had expected to do during his lifetime; he thought of Regina and the happiness that awaited him there. Was he to lose all this, and life itself, because cold-blooded men calculated that they would be safer with him out of the way?

Anger came to him then, blind anger that causes men to do things beyond their strength. As the man in the corner finished speaking, Sandley sprang out of his chair and sprang at him, knocking the automatic out of his hand before a shot could be fired.

Sandley was putting up a better fight now than he had before. He struck his man like a whirlwind, kicked, wrestled, fought like a maniac. His onslaught caused the other to give way for a moment, and Sandley was at the door. He found that there was no knob on this side of it, and realized that it slipped into the wall when operated. He had guessed that it was worked by a spring in the corner. The man was upon him again.

It all happened in a flash of time. Williams had remained standing against the wall like a man turned to stone. The man in the corner gave a cry of rage and darted across the room. Sandley felt himself gripped from behind and bent backward. Something was clapped over his mouth and nostrils, a pungent odor assailed him. He was seeing red now, and his breath came in gasps. He realized that he was growing unconscious. He tried to cry out, and could not. And then he slid to the floor, and darkness came.

How long he had been unconscious was a question. He heard voices as from a far distance, then he opened his eyes and took in the scene.

They had bound him to the chair, and everything else in the room seemed to be the same. The man in the corner sat beneath the dim light again, the other stood in front of the door, and Williams was against the wall.

“So—so——” Sandley began.

“We have you!” said the man in the corner. “You put up a pretty fight for a moment, Mr. Sandley, and I regret that it is necessary to have such a man removed; but business is business, you know.”

The man in the corner chuckled like a fiend. The one before the door laughed softly.

“All ready, Williams” the man in the corner asked.

“I—I guess so.”

“There can be no uncertainty, Williams. If we leave you in this room, you know what we expect, and if you try to play us false, you know what will happen. We'll run you down if it takes ten years.”

“I—I'll do my part,” Williams said.

“Very good. And we'll communicate with you later at the country place. There'll be plenty of money for you and plenty of work in the future. You see, we'll know that you're a man of nerve and can carry out orders. What are you to do, now?”

“Wait for fifteen minutes after you go.”

“That is correct. And be sure that you wait that long, Have you a watch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And at the end of fifteen minutes, Williams?”

“I—I'll do it. Then I'll leave the building and go back to the country place.”

“Correct, Williams. We'll gag Sandley before we leave, so he won't make a noise and disturb you. You don't want to listen to him talk, do you?”

“No; gag him.”

The man in the corner motioned to the one before the door. Sandley saw him approach with a gag. He could not resist. They had bound him so that he could scarcely move.

“You beasts!” he said. “Don't think that you'll escape paying for this!”

“We are not at all alarmed,” said the man in the corner.

The gag was forced into position with little trouble. Sandley almost choked at first. All he could do now was to glare at them, and that had no effect. He wondered why he didn't feel more horror, more fright. His sense of emotion seemed to be numb, save for a dull anger that now he could not express.

The man in the corner called Williams to him. “Do you see this button in the wall?” he asked. “”After you are done, press this, and the door will slide open. Then you can walk through the other room, unlock the door there, and go into the hall. Here is the automatic.”

He handed Williams the weapon and beckoned to the other man. Behind him an aperture yawned in the wall; they passed through, and the space was closed again. Richard Sandley, bound and helpless, sat in his chair. Across the room Williams stood against the wall, the automatic held in one hand and his watch in the other.

Sandley found that his brain was active now. A host of visions seemed to crowd it. He remembered all the events of the day, his interview with Attorney Marger, with Detective Blane, with Regina Mallen. What would they think when his body was found in this building, in this part of the city? Could Marger and Blane make the world believe that he had been slain by his unknown enemy?

He struggled to get the gag out of his mouth, but found that it was impossible. He looked across the room toward Williams, who held the automatic in one hand and his watch in the other, counting off the minutes, the seconds of life that Richard Sandley had left to him.

It seemed to Sandley that it had been an hour since the masked men had left. The room was stifling, and the perspiration poured from his body. He felt that he was trembling.

Then Williams snapped shut the case of his watch and returned it to his pocket. With the automatic held ready, he advanced toward Sandley, walking swiftly and almost silently across the room. He bent forward and whispered, and Sandley could scarcely believe his ears.

“Easy, sir! I had to wait the fifteen minutes to be sure that they had left the place.”

He removed Sandley's gag, and began fumbling with the ropes that bound him to the chair.

“What does this mean, Williams?” Sandley asked.

“Don't speak aloud, please, sir. I'll explain later, but just now the thing is to get you out of here. Relax, sir, so I can get these knots loose. Those devils tied them tight.”

A sigh of relief escaped Sandley. He did not pretend to understand all this, and he didn't care at present. As Williams had said, the principal thing now was to get out of the building, where it would be safe.

The first knot slipped, and Williams began to unwind the rope. Then the door to the other room crashed open, and the two masked men rushed in.

“So that is it?” cried the “big boss.” “Still faithful to your employer, are you, Williams? I had my doubts, and so I watched you. Didn't have the nerve to do it, did you? Well, it simply means that we'll have to dispose of you, too.”

Williams had given a cry of rage and darted back, then forward again, the automatic ready.

“Back against the wall, and up with your hands!” he commanded. “Make a move, and I'll plug you! Your little game is over, gents.”

There was a quick rush. Williams darted to one side, threw up the automatic, and pulled the trigger. Two explosions rang out in the room; but neither of the masked men fell.

They stopped in their tracks, and the “big boss” spoke again.

“No use, Williams,” he said. “Nothing but blanks in that automatic I handed you. I half expected this, and prepared against it, you see. Had you shown that you intended carrying out my orders, I'd have given you a more serviceable weapon. However, there are real cartridges in this!”

As he finished speaking, an automatic appeared in his hand, and he stepped toward Williams. The voice he had been using, evidently disguised, took on a deeper tone.

“Since you think so much of your employer, you can die with him.”

Terror shone in Williams' face for an instant, then he ducked and sprang forward. A shot rang out, a bullet crashed into the wall, and Williams was upon his man. They crashed to the floor, fighting like demons, while the other hurled himself upon them.

Sandley worked like a maniac, trying to free himself of the ropes that bound him. They gave a bit, but he knew he could not get them off in time to go to Williams' aid. He was fighting against odds that were too great.

Then Sandley heard a commotion in the hall, the crash of a door, and feet pounding across the floor in the other room. The two masked men sprang to their feet with cries of fear upon their lips. Williams, on his knees, grasped the arm of the man who had been trying to hold him, in time to jerk it downward and prevent a dead shot.

Philip Blane was the first in the room, and behind him came half a dozen others. There was a moment of violence, dull blows, shrieks, and cries, and then the two masked men wore handcuffs. Williams was saying something to Blane, and Blane was hurrying across the room to Sandley.

“Well, Sandley, we were in time,” Blane said. “We'll have those ropes off in a jiffy.”

“How—how——” Sandley was gasping.

“Take it easy. I suppose you have been through an ordeal. I'll explain in a moment. But answer one question first: Did one of these men act as the head of this establishment?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

Sandley pointed him out.

“You're sure of that?” Blane asked.

“Yes, I'm sure. He told me he was the head of a gang called The Bravos.”

“That's the man we want. Steady, now! There! Get up and stretch yourself.”

“But how——” Sandley began again.

“It's all very simple, Sandley. I've been on the trail of The Bravos for some time. You see, we knew of the existence of the organization, but could find out nothing about it. When Mr. Marger consulted me about your misfortunes, I decided right away that some one had hired The Bravos to do the work. Then Williams was approached by a fellow who talked and acted suspiciously. Thinking somebody meant harm to you, he pretended to listen to him. He told Mr. Marger, not wishing to annoy you with it, and Marger told me, so I instructed Williams to go ahead with the case.”

“I begin to understand,” Sandley said.

“At the theater this afternoon I was watching with a couple of men. Williams was to answer that letter, and we were to follow him and find out what we could. But you got ahead of us—and so we followed you instead. I assumed that you had taken matters into your own hands.

“I sent Williams in here later, and told him to play the game. We were ready and waiting, and when we heard the shots just now we thought it time to do our bit. We've got the head of The Bravos, Sandley. But I doubt whether we'll ever learn the name of the man who hired them to go after you. However, we may.”

He turned to the two prisoners, took a couple of steps in their direction, and spoke to the one Sandley had designated.

“It may interest you to know that we have picked up half a dozen of your men this afternoon,” he said. “And you would have had a sweet time getting out of this building. We were waiting for you. So you are the head of The Bravos, are you? Now that your game is at an end, do you care to tell us the name of the man who hired you in the Sandley case?”

The head of The Bravos made no answer.

“You might as well,” said Blane. “I assure you that we have enough good evidence to send you and your gang up for life, if not to the electric chair. We've been gathering it for some time, and we have persuaded one of your men to talk a little.”

A curse came from behind the mask. Philip Blane stepped forward and extended his hand.

“And now we'll take a look at that face of yours,” he added. “I am interested in learning what sort of man would do such things for hire.”

The chief of The Bravos drew back, but it availed him nothing. Blane's hand went up, and the mask was torn away. Several gasps of surprise followed the act, but Sandley's cry was the loudest.

“Krale! You?”

“Yes, it is Mr. Gregory Krale,” Blane said. “I suspected it, but was eager to have it proved. Mr. Krale formed The Bravos a few years ago for the purpose of dealing with the enemies he always was making. He had ample funds for the purpose, of course, and he actually took on outside jobs through a lieutenant, whom we already have in custody. The game is ended, Krale. This means a life sentence for you.”

“But why did you try to ruin me, Krale?” Sandley cried. “What wrong have I ever done you? Even this morning you pretended to be my friend—wanted me to go to the country club with you.”

“That was to put you off guard,” said Blane, before Krale could answer. “He has been leading a double life for so long that he is adept at it.”

“But why attack me?” Sandley asked again.

“Because you had won the woman he wanted, Sandley,” Blane replied. “He thought he could turn her against you by subjecting you to a run of bad luck, and he was prepared to go to any limit to keep you from marrying her. He was one of your close rivals, wasn't he?

“And even now he may triumph,” Sandley said. “When this comes out—and all the scandal——”

“I doubt whether you will be mentioned,” Blane said. “We have enough evidence—more than enough—without dragging you in. You can explain the affair to Miss Mallen, of course, and quiet her fears as to your future. And now you'd better go to the club, get your own car, and let Williams drive you home. We'll attend to these bravos.”

Sandley looked at Gregory Krale, and then turned away. He glanced at Williams, and extended his hand, which the chauffeur grasped.

“It was hard lines, boss,” Williams said. “I hated to act like I was down on you, but it was necessary. And I wouldn't have got you into this if I hadn't been careless and dropped that yellow note. Maybe you'd better fire me.”

“Instead, I'll sentence you to a life job, with a substantial increase in salary,” Sandley said. “Come on, Williams—let's get out of here. There is only one thing I regret—old Marger will have the laugh on me. It'll give him a chance to say, 'I told you so!'”