Six Bearded Men
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By Elwin J. Owens
LUCIFER P. LUGENVOLL, the money lender, was alone in the spacious library of his elaborately furnished bachelor residence. Long before, his housekeeper and his private secretary had retired for the night; but Lucifer still pondered over private papers, as had been his custom during the thirty greedy, unscrupulous years he had hoarded his wealth.
Into the early morning hours he remained. His emaciated face was tensely drawn; his gray hair was disheveled by the nervous action of his long bony fingers; and his small green eyes moved slowly, studiously over the lines of the yellowish-brown document that lay unfolded on the massive walnut table. The second reading for the night.
He settled a little deeper into the comfortable upholstering of his large winged chair. For a moment his eyes were riveted upon the feminine signature—a lonely widow. The eyelids drooped, his colorless brow wrinkled, and a quiver went through the gaunt, aged form.
He clutched at his hair, and with bowed head arose from the table. His troubled mind unconsciously carried him through the folding door into the reception room and on to the great plate-glass window that looked out upon the city street.
The Egyptian darkness of the night, as compared with his brightly illuminated rooms, the deserted pavement, and the extreme quietude, turned him back.
Reluctantly, half-mechanically, he retraced his steps. Again his eyes fell upon the faded paper on the table. His lean, grasping fingers caught the much handled corner and he started to fold the document. The signature stood out plainer than ever before. His eyes closed and he crumpled into his chair.
Shortly, the door bell rang wearily. Lucifer listened. The sound of muffled voices and cat-like steps broke upon his ear. His trembling hand reached across the table and the forefinger pressed upon the button to summon his secretary. It would not respond to his touch.
He gasped weakly and waited. Again the alarm at the door, and again painful silence.
The knob turned, and inch by inch the heavy, paneled door swung noiselessly open.
Lucifer rested his head upon the tapestried wing of the chair. His hands dropped limply to his sides. He struggled to arise, but could not move.
A silent command. Six men dressed in black, all with flowing black beards, marched languidly through the portals of the outer doors
The aged money lender attempted to cry out, but words stopped in his throat; his tongue was tied.
To the library they came and formed in single line on the opposite side of the table, directly in front of him. There they stopped as if at military attention.
Lucifer cleared his throat with great effort.
The leader held up his hand for silence and averted his solemn black eyes to the man at the rear of the line.
