acted: with a bellow of rage he jerked out his own hand, which he had been holding under his coat: swinging it up he fired, then struck at the light globe with the smoking barrel.
To the "Kid" there came the sensation of suffocation and of darkness. His own gun was out, but his enemy had disappeared—and he himself was sprawled across the bed. That instant of falling had not registered in his consciousness: he had been standing, and now he was down; that was all he knew.
And he was fighting for breath—a great weight seemed to be crushing in his chest. He raised his left hand and gropingly explored the front of his shirt: it was already saturated, and from a hole to the left of his breast bone more blood was coming in a pulsing current.
"The dirty dog!" muttered the "Kid" thickly, pulling himself erect by grasping the foot of the bed. "He's croaked me—"
Then suddenly the "Kid's" whirling senses cleared. Billy the Strangler had done for him; but he would send Billy on ahead, to tell St. Peter he was coming! His yellow teeth came together. He felt something welling up in his throat and spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Not—much—time—left!" he muttered.
He dropped to his knees and for a moment everything went blank. Then he mastered himself, by a superhuman effort: and began to crawl stealthily along toward the dimly-lighted panel of the door. The Strangler had run out there after firing—now, undoubtedly, he was waiting till it should be safe for him to come back for his booty!
Slowly, the dying crook dragged himself across to the door and out into the hall. The training of a lifetime stood him in good stead now: he was as soundless as a shadow. He reached the top of the stairs and paused, leaning for a moment against the banisters—everything was going black before him: Then he pulled himself together with a disregard for his own suffering that in a better cause would have been heroic.
Inch by inch, he drew himself forward till he was sitting on the top step of the stair. He peered down into the lighted rooms below. Ah! There he was! The Strangler stood beyond the big chandelier in the front room, the "Kid" could see him plainly through an open door. His face was smiling, the crooked smile of a shark.
Resting his automatic across his bent knees, the "Kid" took steady aim at the man who had done for him.
"A little higher than the pockets!" he told himself, repeating-the old gunman's formula for a killing shot.
Next moment the pistol roared; and the man standing down there in the light jerked up his hands and staggered backward. Greedily, the "Kid's" fast glazing eyes drank in every detail of the Strangler's agony. He knew what that look meant—
Billy the Strangler began to pivot on his heels, staring with blind eyes into space.
"Where is he?" he cried. "Damn your soul and body—you—"
He pitched forward to his face. And the "Kid," leaning peacefully back, felt himself snatched up into a great red cloud that has descended out of the roof upon him.
IN AN upper room in the house of Ah Wing, the Chinaman sat at an instrument that resembled a telephone switchboard. There were on its surface eight little globes, each with a plug socket beneath.
Ah Wing had an operator's head-piece in position, and he seemed to be listening attentively to something that came to him over the wires.
There had been voices, loud and angry. He heard the Strangler denouncing the "Kid." Then came the shot—and silence.
Ah Wing waited an appreciable time, then shifted the plug from socket to socket. Not a sound from any of the rooms in the distant cottage. He returned the plug to its central position and waited.
Presently another shot sounded, and a scream. He heard the Strangler curse his enemy.
Without a word, Ah Wing removed the head-piece and glanced up at a chart fastened to the wall before him. It contained the names of five men, against one of which a black cross had been inscribed.
Now he picked up a pencil and filled in two additional crosses.
There were but two of the Wolves left!
This Fascinating Story Has An Amazing Climax. It Will Be Concluded in the Next Issue of WEIRD TALES. Tell Your Newsdealer To Reserve Your Copy.
Snatched from the Grave, Woman Tells of Death
A WEIRD adventure befell Mrs. Rafaela Mercurio, an Omaha woman who, after apparently dying, awoke in the land of the living instead of the spirit world. After her physician had pronounced her dead, her life was restored by an injection of adrenalin, administered by Dr. W. A. Gerrie.
To all outward appearance, she was quite dead. There was no indication of breathing or heart action. Prayers for the dead were started in the bed chamber where her body lay.
Then Dr. Gerrie injected the gland extract in her heart, and after several days she showed signs of returning life. Upon regaining consciousness, she was confused and puzzled, uncertain, it seemed, whether she was alive or dead. Later she described her strange experience.
"I could feel death pulling me," she said. "I was slipping. I tried to find something to hold to, but could not. I felt far away and alone, yet it seemed there was something I must do before I slipped entirely away.
"I had just a few minutes. I must straighten out in bed. I must cross my hands on my breast. I must smile. My children must know that I died in peace. From far away there seemed to be-people around me. But their voices grew more distant.
"Then there seemed to come to me the comforting words of a priest. They added to my peace and content. I was ready for death. I smiled, I think. I know I wanted to. It was the last thing I remember."
And then, days after the first injection of adrenalin, the "dead" woman regained consciousness. It was four o'clock in the afternoon.
"I shall never forget that hour," she said. "I heard the clock strike four times—and I realized I was a living person in a living world."
