The Domino Lady

by Lars Anderson

  “Not bad, baby!” he commented, boldly, “and not good! At least not good enough to tempt me from my duty! Get going! Let’s have a look-see at the rocks, and make it snappy!”

  Ellen retained the smile for his benefit, but her lips felt unnaturally drawn. “I lied outside,” she told him, softly, “because I couldn’t very well undress in such a public spot! The emeralds are really concealed upon my person.” She eyed Deshon, narrowly, brain racing. Every nerve, every muscle in her youthful body was strained to the tautness of a violin string. Would the gangster fall for her subterfuge?

  He laughed, evilly. “Well, now, ain’t that just too bad? It takes more time, this way, baby, but I’ve got plenty of that when there’s a swell show bein’ put on for my benefit! Peel, and let’s have a look!” A measure of self-confidence returned to Ellen as she began to disrobe, since she knew this was just the opportunity for which she had been angling. With slender fingers that were slightly tremulous, she grasped the hem of the black gown and pulled it upward, disclosing her beautiful legs and dimpled knees, gleaming in sheer, cobwebby silk. She flushed deeply, cognizant of the burning eyes concentrated upon her.

  Of course, it was a gamble; but then wasn’t all of life a gamble? And if the reports as to Fingers Deshon’s weakness for symmetrical femininity were well-grounded, she stood better than an even chance of redeeming the emeralds she had risked so much to procure! She wouldn’t really undress; yet she must trap him!

  She shot a surreptitious glance in his direction. Deshon was staring at her scantily clad body with avid eyes, and his weapon had been lowered until it was pointing almost directly at the floor! Now...

  Abruptly, the gown fluttered over her white body, and simultaneously the little automatic had sprouted in Ellen’s right hand as if my magic! Her voice cut the silence of the room like a knife thrust!

  “Drop it, Deshon!”

  The gangster was taken completely by surprise. He had been absorbed by the amazing beauty of Ellen’s feminine loveliness; the incredible speed displayed by the little adventuress in covering him was even more amazing to the gunman. He hesitated but a moment. Then, the heavy revolver clattered to the floor. Fingers cursed, softly. “What’s the idea, baby?” he demanded, hoarsely. It was Ellen’s turn to laugh, mirthlessly.

  “Idea?” she snapped, crisply, “You’re dumb indeed if you haven’t gotten it yet! The emeralds are mine, and they stay that way! You’ll...”

  “But,” broke in Deshon, wheedlingly, “I’m on a murder lam, baby! I need them rocks for a getaway! There’s a price on me, kid! Have a heart!” Ellen laughed in his face. “I have one, thank you!” she returned, “and you’ll have one with a hole in it, if you don’t move as I direct! Turn around there, and face the wall! Put your hands behind you! Snap into it! I haven’t all night!”

  Dealing in violence for years, Fingers Deshon knew when a threat was real or merely fancied. He cursed fluently, wheeled about as directed. He warned Ellen of dire consequences for thus affronting him, but he put his face to the wall and his hands behind him just the same.

  From the drawer of the dressing table, Ellen produced a tiny object. It was a small hypodermic syringe which she kept loaded with a quick-acting drug at all times. The drug, while harmless, would render a victim insensible for a considerable period of time.

  With this instrument in hand, Ellen crept close behind Deshon. Deftly, she manipulated the needle with a professional touch acquired by much practice. The quick thrust buried the sharp point in the gangster’s neck just behind the right ear! A jerk and it was free, and Ellen laughed, tantalizingly.

  “What the —! You’ve —!” began Fingers, and then his voice trailed off into an unintelligible rumble as his brain went dark. Immediately, his knees turned to water beneath him, and he measured his length at Ellen’s feet!

  Ellen was all swift precision now. She stepped to the door, locked it. As she returned, she pushed Deshon’s shoulder with a tentative toe. With a tight little smile about the cerise contours of her ripe lips, she hurried to the second of the large trunks. Unlocking it, she twisted a tiny inside key which automatically opened a tiny grilled airhole at the top. Next, she emptied the contents of the trunk upon the floor. Mostly junk, picked up as souvenirs at Waikiki, she mused, as she sorted through it briefly. Then, she walked over to the unconscious man.

  It was but short work to bind and gag the fallen gangster. She trussed him securely. Then, displaying a surprising strength for one so slender, she rolled the limp figure over to the trunk. It was a task to get the body into the container, but at last it was accomplished. She laughed softly as she pinned a tiny black card upon the lapel of his coat. On it, in white, was her customary brief salute: Compliments of The Domino Lady!

  She considered briefly. It was quite late; the ship would dock at an early hour. The airholes would prevent strangulation for hours, and by that time, Fingers Deshon would be safely delivered to his consignee! And, under the circumstances, she realized that she could trust him not to say a word concerning her!

  So, Ellen closed and locked the trunk, placed a new card in the isinglassed slot by the handle. The card was addressed to Roge McKane, her friend of the thrilling and profitable Ames Kettrick episode! Roge McKane, a struggling young private sleuth, ambitious for his own agency; the reward for the capture of the gangster would be a welcomed windfall for the tall ex-collegian!

  Tossing the few articles she desired to retain upon the dresser, Ellen opened the window. She gathered the other souvenirs together in a bundle and added Deshon’s revolver to the heap. She poised them upon the wide sill for a moment. Then, she shoved them out and down!

  The splash was loud in her straining ears. She waited with dread expectancy for some shout of alarm. None came. Only familiar sounds reached her — a mechanical hum from the engine room, a soft whisper of wind, the purr of the vast Pacific. Ellen sighed deeply, and closed the window.

  She calmly eyed herself in the tall glass, added a few deft touches to her already perfect make-up, and, for the third time that night, left the stateroom. She went directly to the salon to join the maskers, hoping that her presence had not been missed. Almost immediately, she encountered Bert Raythorne. She was surprised when he started to apologize.

  “Sorry as the deuce, Ellen,” he grinned, “but I had to see the captain on a little matter of routine before I could join the maskers. Did you miss me, honey?”

  “Yet bet!” she smiled, truthfully, secretly thrilled to realize that the gods of chance had been so kind all evening! “But I managed to get along all right!”

  They waltzed about the dimly lighted salon once before the music stopped, temporarily. Ellen thrilled to the core at the possessive grip of his strong arms as she danced with Bert for the first time since college days. And as they moved along as one in the rhythm of the dance a living flame seemed to kindle between them, igniting their emotions, and drawing them closer together. Ellen’s smooth cheeks were flushed below the black mask as the waltz ended. The next dance proved to be a racy one as the orchestra burst into the galloping strains of You Hit the Spot. Bert Raythorne correctly interpreted the look upon her face.

  “Let’s go for a stroll on the promenade?” he suggested with a grin.

  Ellen eagerly agreed. A moment later, they were strolling arm in arm along the moonlit deck. The purr of the laboring engines under their feet, and the mystic beauty of the shimmering Pacific tended to make Ellen more cognizant of the first officer’s boyish magnetism. He paused in the shadow of a lifeboat, and Ellen felt herself swaying toward him. The next instant the little adventuress was in his arms.

  At the feel of his masterful arms, a tremor coursed the full length of her body. Soft bare arms crept up about his neck, and she clung to him breathlessly. It was several moments before he partially released her.

  “You’re sweet, Ellen! Sweet!” he murmured, huskily, “You’re the sweetest girl in the world!”

  Ellen was breathing fast, her glorious bo
som tossing beneath the scanty bodice of her gown. She looked at him intently.

  “Will you do me a favor, Bert?” she questioned softly. “It is merely that my stateroom is overcrowded. I have a trunk which belongs to a friend. Couldn’t you have it removed tonight, so as to have it ready for the landing tomorrow? Then, possibly, I shall have room in which to pack my own things?”

  Raythorne laughed, shortly. “What a subject to bring up right now, darling! Why, of course, I’ll have it attended to at once. Any other favor I can offer, Ellen?”

  He attempted to take her in his arms once more, but the whisper of approaching voices stopped him. “Let’s go to my cabin, honey,” he suggested, “just for a little nightcap?” His voice held a note of appeal.

  “But why your cabin?” she asked, wonderingly. The tall officer was very handsome there in the moonlight.

  “For three good reasons,” he answered, quickly, “In the first place, the stewards will be removing that trunk as soon as I’ve told them. Second place, you have no liquor in your stateroom. And last, and best reason of all, I want you in my cabin, Ellen!” One big hand toyed with the velvety softness of her bare shoulder, and Ellen quivered, expectantly.

  “Are you sure a drink will be all you’ll want?” she breathed, dimpling.

  “It might not be all I’ll want,” he confessed, readily enough, and laughed, “but it’ll probably be all I’ll get!”

  “Well,” capitulated Ellen sweetly, “if that’s the way you feel, I suppose I’ll be safe enough!” Without another word, she caught his arm and led the way down the deck.

  Chapter 5: One Blissful Hour

  ELLEN looked about Bert Raythorne’s cabin with keenest interest. Innately masculine though it was, it thrilled her to be here with its owner. This interlude, she felt, was a fitting climax to a night of thrilling adventure! She had dreamed of it for days, and now it was a disturbing reality!

  Her host obligingly mixed the drinks and handed Ellen a tall, frosted glass. She had seated herself on a huge, bunk-like settee by the wall. Glass in hand, he dropped down beside her. Touching glasses, he quickly drained his drink. Ellen sipped hers slowly, eyeing him over the edge of her glass. He set his empty glass down, attempted to take her into his arms, but she waved him away, teasingly.

  “Don’t forget your promise Bert,” she reminded him, smilingly. “I’d like to talk. You’re too dangerous for me to allow you any liberties under present circumstances, you know!”

  He shrugged wide shoulders, lighted a cigarette. “And what would you like to talk about?” he asked, moodily.

  She tinkled a soft laugh: “Oh, just things. How would it be for you to tell me of your voyages. They must be very interesting, seeing strange sights, meeting beautiful ladies.”

  Raythorne grinned: “I’d tell you, but I don’t like the thought of my letting you fall asleep so quickly. This job is the most monotonous on earth, honey.”

  Abruptly, a sharp knock sounded upon the door. Ellen sprang erect, placed her glass upon a low table, and faced Raythorne. He waved her toward the bedroom. When she had disappeared, he opened the door. A steward stood in the passageway.

  “Yes?” queried the first officer, testily.

  “We moved the trunk as you directed, sir. The captain wants to see you immediately. It’s about a jewel robbery, sir.”

  “A jewel robbery?” Exasperatedly.

  “Yes, sir. A Mrs. Manville was discovered in her stateroom bound and gagged. Her emeralds are missing, but she can give no coherent description of the robbers, sir. The captain wants to see you.”

  The first officer silenced him with a gesture. He thought for a moment.

  “All right, I’ll see the captain as soon as possible. Is that all?”

  The steward nodded and departed.

  When he had disappeared along the passage, Raythorne closed and locked the door. He called to Ellen. She came out from the bedroom, smiling. She didn’t ask who it had been, but she hadn’t missed a word of the exchange between Raythorne and the steward!

  “I must leave here in a very few minutes,” he grinned, “to attend to a matter of some lost jewelry. Some silly society dame. Won’t you be sociable for those few minutes, honey?” His eyes were frankly adoring.

  As she laughed and seated herself upon the settee once more, he moved over and placed his arms around her. She didn’t wave him away this time, but yielded herself to his embrace. Slowly, he pulled her to him, kissed her moistly parted lips, fervently. Ellen’s rounded white arms went up about his neck. After a moment, he partially freed her, leaned back and studied her, searchingly.

  “You’re a dream-girl if there ever was one, Ellen!” he breathed; again he drew her close, and she felt his lips touch the white flesh where it swelled between the halter straps of her scanty bodice.

  An hour later, Ellen left Raythorne’s cabin.

  Morning. The ship was docking. Passengers lined the rails, waved at waiting friends ashore. Ellen bid goodbye to a tearful Lydia Manville. The officers had failed to find a trace of either robbers or their loot. The society woman was in a highly emotional state. Her blue eyes were very red from much weeping. It was plain to see that the loss of The Fabulous Eyes of Baste had been a blow, regardless of how much money she possessed. She seemed to have wilted, aged. No amount of artificial coloring could cover up her pallor. She seemed like a painted ghost, and Ellen felt rather sorry for her at the moment. Lydia Manville hastened to a huge Hispano and was driven away.

  Ellen’s trunks had been put ashore; one to be delivered to Roge McKane’s apartment, the other to be forwarded to Hollywood with its precious cargo. Ellen was in high spirits.

  Though she had looked for him, there was no sign of Bert Raythorne when Ellen started down the gangway. It was only when she was halfway down that she heard a shout, and turned to see him advancing rapidly toward her.

  “Couldn’t see you go away without a word of farewell, honey,” he said as he stood beside her. “But I had a lot of routine to attend to. Did you have a nice trip, Ellen?” He grasped her arm, helped her down the gangway to the pier.

  “Swell, Bert!” she answered. “Couldn’t have been better!”

  “I think this was the best trip I’ve ever made!” he breathed, his eyes caressing.

  “When will you be back in ’Frisco again?” she asked softly.

  “Can’t say exactly,” he returned; then looked at her intently. “Why?”

  Ellen laughed, tinklingly. “You’re not as smart as I thought you were,” she replied, teasingly, “or you’d know why I asked!”

  The smile still tugged at the corners of her red mouth ten minutes later as a cab carried her away.

  THE END

  Black Legion

  by Lars Anderson

  Originally published in the October 1936 issue of Saucy Romantic Adventures

  Chapter 1: Threatened

  ELLEN PATRICK, radiantly youthful and possessed of that intangible something which lends allure to some fortunate women, rose from the crimson chaise lounge.

  Pink-nailed fingers patted her perfect sun-touched coiffure, and straightened the blue silken kimono that she wore. She smiled up into the dark, good looking features of a man.

  “You must be very careful, Paul,” she breathed, softly, “I’m afraid this is more than a mere threat. That Black Legion wouldn’t hesitate to kill you, you know.”

  She laughed nervously, stepped closer to his side. The man could see the tiny fires of interest blazing deep in her great brown eyes, and he laid a caressing hand upon the heated velvet that was her rounded shoulder.

  Paul Cathern flashed white teeth in an engaging grin. He was of medium height, slender, wiry, and possessed more than his share of vibrant magnetism. Astutely fearless, he was known as one of the most successful special investigators working out of the sheriff’s office. His deep voice was low, passionate.

  “You’re sweet, Ellen!” he told her, his gray eyes frankly admiring her sensuous figure, set off
as it was by the filmy kimono. Lovely bosom, lithe thighs, slender calves, trim ankles, dainty feet.

  His grin widened.

  “Of course, I’ll be careful, honey. It’s part of my job. But they can’t scare or bluff me off! I’m out to get the goods on this outfit, and I’m not quitting cold when success is in sight! Why, the information on the Obispo rendezvous alone gives me a swell chance of rounding up some of the ringleaders.”

  Ellen quivered within the depths of her being. Paul Cathern had long been an intimate friend, and more. She admired him greatly, loved him not a little. Now, the mysterious Black Legion threatened his life because of his activities as investigator into their atrocities along the Pacific Coast! Theirs was no idle threat.

  Already two detectives had been cruelly tortured by black hooded creatures. Another had mysteriously vanished without a trace. And judging from their cowardly ultimatum delivered to Cathern’s apartment a few hours previously, the young sleuth was to be next on their list!

  Ellen’s brown eyes were filmed with worry as she walked to the door with her caller. There, she lifted her moist, red lips for his goodnight kiss. As Cathern bent his dark head to the pale oval of her face, he clasped her in his arms. She laughed softly at his hungry zeal.

  “You’re sweet, Ellen!” he repeated, huskily, gazing into her eyes. The little adventuress thrilled to the touch of his hands and the caress of his long fingers.

  She couldn’t resist liking the possessive embrace of his arm about her pliant waist as Cathern drew her close to him. Her ductile curves were flattened against him, and she experienced an emotion that was strangely new to her! She returned the kiss as his lips were pressed to the ripe contours of her cerise mouth.