The Domino Lady

by Lars Anderson

  “I’ll be seeing you in a couple of days, Ellen,” he whispered as he reluctantly released her, and opened the door.

  “As soon as I’ve investigated that hide-out a bit further, I’ll have some good news for you, I hope. Keep sweet, honey.” And he was gone.

  Ellen did not move for a little while. Her agile brain was clicking rapidly over the details of the disclosures concerning the Black Legion which Paul Cathern had given her.

  Her piquant face was grim as she moved sensuously over the deep-piled rug, procured a cigarette from a black and silver box which stood on an end table, and lighted it. Filling her lungs with the fragrant smoke, she began to pace back and forth with feline grace, her racing mind sorting and filing the information she had obtained.

  ELLEN PATRICK, known in certain circles throughout California as The Domino Lady, was nearing twenty-three.

  Just tall enough to be majestic, with a figure whose curves set men’s pulses hammering, her beautiful rounded features, crowned by a coronet of silky, golden curls, often graced the rotogravure supplements of the Sunday newspapers as one of the Southland’s prettiest debs. Yet no one connected Ellen Patrick with the notorious Domino Lady!

  Her father, Owen Patrick, had been the czar of California politics at one time.

  A murderer’s cowardly bullet had cut him down in his prime some three years before. Rumor was that the killer had been an employee of the state political machine. A small trust fund, and a wealth of wit and courage had been his bequeathal to his lovely, orphaned daughter.

  Previous to her father’s brutal slaying, Ellen had lived a life of comparative ease as befitted the only child of Owen Patrick.

  She had graduated at Berkeley, spent several glorious months in the Far East and then an assassin’s slug had robbed her of the one who meant more to her than life itself! Small wonder that her life had been dedicated to a campaign of vengeance against the murderers of her parent!

  Ruthless, roguish, Ellen at times accepted almost impossible undertakings simply for the sake of friendship and an inordinate craving for adventure! For example, her recent exploits in Santa Anita, in which she had matched wits and daring with the notorious Kilgarlin gang, and emerged victorious.

  At other times she was coldly involved in hazardous schemes, aimed at the discomfiture and embarrassment of the authorities whom she blamed for her father’s death, at the same time earning a princely income, most of which was donated to a worthy charity.

  Oft-times, her adventures were so arranged as to encompass both the friendship and vengeance angles, and those were the ones in which she gloried, particularly.

  Only a short time ago, she had retrieved a packet of compromising letters for a friend in a daring raid upon the penthouse apartment of Rob Wyatt, aspirant for political honors, and at the same time had bluffed the big game hunter and politician into a state of oblivion!

  A unique black and white, or white and black ensemble was widely recognized as The Domino Lady’s costume, and mention of it in certain circles was always productive of inward shudders! No vulpine politician or unscrupulous crook in all California wanted any part of The Domino Lady!

  NOW, as she moved back and forth about the beautifully furnished apartment, Ellen was prodding her keen mind, searching for some method by which she could aid Paul Cathern in his struggle with the Black Legion, and perhaps save his life.

  The special investigator had confided in Ellen, never dreaming that he was betraying secrets to the formidable Domino Lady! Without a doubt, leading politicians (some of them, Ellen’s sworn enemies) were members of the feared organization, according to Cathern, and especially was he convinced that this was true in the case of J. Riggs Saint, the district attorney.

  Saint, campaigning for reelection, was loud in his vociferations against the Black Legion. His newspaper editorials were heated protests against their reputed outlawry and murder.

  He cried long and loud for some scrap of evidence with which to push prosecutions, knowing full well that there was scant possibility of any such damaging material coming to light. In fact, the very storm of his indignation and threats was the moving factor behind Cathern’s conviction of the district attorney’s implication!

  Two days previously, the special investigator had chanced upon a Black Legion rendezvous in the Obispo country; a wild spot well-suited to their campaign of torture and death.

  He had kept the fact strictly to himself, but had called the district attorney for another detective to aid him in his Legion investigation, dropping the hint that he expected results, shortly. Then, he had received the anonymous death threat, commanding him to cease all operations immediately, and get out of the state!

  With typical courage, the young sleuth had squared his craggy jaw, and ignored the cowardly ultimatum! All these facts harassed Ellen as she pondered the dilemma. What an opportunity to clean-up the state, expose crooked politics, if Cathern’s information was correct! And Ellen felt sure that it was.

  A frown puckered her lovely features, and a chain of cigarettes overflowed from the ashtray as she paced the floor. The frown was still there as she peeled the kimono from her shapely body, and stepped into pajamas. And, when Ellen retired for the night, long moments passed before she drifted off to her usual dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 2: A Daring Venture

  THE odds and ends closet was small, really nothing more than a locker built into one corner of the garage.

  Slightly stooped, Ellen Patrick found it exceedingly uncomfortable. Although the door was open a few inches, it was stuffy and unbearably close within the cramped quarters. Perspiration bedewed her smooth white forehead and pert upper lip. From one beautifully-shaped hand protruded the ominous snout of a small, black automatic.

  The upper part of her face was covered by a domino mask of black silk. A form-fitting backless frock of white satin covered her shapely figure, the scanty bodice caught in a halter neck across the creamy expanse of her lovely bosom. A cape of black silk concealed bare, kissable shoulders, and her hands were gloved.

  For some half hour, Ellen had been waiting like this.

  She was beginning to wonder if she had guessed wrong. Raising a gloved hand, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a tiny wisp of lace. Then a tight little smile curved the corners of her red mouth.

  “He should be along any minute now!” she reassured herself, silently. “And I’ll get things straightened out, or give him a dose of his own medicine!”

  There was no thought of failure in the little adventuress’ mind. For two nights, she had checked on J. Riggs Saint and his movements. He always arrived home at the same hour, and alone. It shouldn’t prove difficult to get the drop on the district attorney, she mused.

  Forty-eight hours before, Paul Cathern had disappeared, vanished from his apartment and usual haunts. The sheriff’s office had hunted feverishly for their ace sleuth, but to no avail. The disappearance had spurred Ellen into action.

  Cautious inquiries on her part had been in vain. Immediately, she had thought of the Black Legion warning. Was her good friend to vanish as had other victims of the hooded organization?

  Not if the Domino Lady could help it, she decided. In consequence, she had decided upon the boldest move of her daring career; the snatching of the unscrupulous district attorney whom she was convinced was a ring leader in Legion affairs!

  The hour was nine o’clock, and it was very quiet in the residential section of town. Flattened within the tiny locker, Ellen prayed for quick action to ease the strain on her aching body and quivering nerves.

  Abruptly, the purr of a powerful engine came to her keen ears, and the whisper of rubber on concrete.

  A yellow glow of headlights shone through the frosted glass panels of the doors, dimly illuminating the inner confines of the spacious garage.

  It was impossible for Ellen to be sure that this was J. Riggs Saint, but her nerves snapped taut and her slender fingers tightened about the corrugated butt of the auto
matic. Her mouth was suddenly dry. This was one of the most crucial moments of her career! An overwhelming desire for a cigarette assailed her, but she dared not risk it. Her presence must not be suspected at this stage of the game.

  Came the sound of footsteps outside the garage doors, and a key gritted in the lock. The big doors swung gratingly open a moment later, and Ellen shot a surreptitious glance from her place of concealment. J. Riggs Saint, dapper, slender, was outlined in the glow of the headlights as he walked back to a powerful sedan! Her zero hour was at hand!

  The big car purred smoothly as it rolled into the garage. Through the crack in the door, Ellen looked closely at the district attorney.

  His features were refined, but hardened, his blue eyes icy, flint-hard. A half sneer played about his thin-lipped mouth, giving him a sinister look.

  IN THE narrow confines of the closet, Ellen caught and held her breath. A feeling of vague apprehension went through her soft body as she thought of the gigantic task that confronted her.

  Not only might Saint be a dangerous man to tackle, even with the automatic and other equipment with which she was armed, but subsequent moves would be double perilous! She shook off the apprehension, grimly.

  The district attorney slid from the driver’s seat. He was carrying a bulky briefcase which he handled carefully, placing it on the running board beside his feet. He reached within the car, drew the ignition key from the dash, prepared to slam the door. Abruptly, he tensed.

  “Reach high!”

  The cold, high-pitched command knifed through the garage as Ellen slid swiftly up behind the unsuspecting politician.

  The muzzle of her weapon formed an icy ring of menace against Saint’s neck. His hands were trembling as they shot upward over his head.

  “Who — who’re you?” he managed, struggling for composure, “and what do you want here?” His tones betrayed a mixture of astonishment and rising rage.

  Ellen laughed softly, but there was little of mirth in the sound. “Do you still desire evidence against the Black Legion, Saint?” she snapped, quickly, “so that you may prosecute? Or is it all pre-election bluff?”

  Saint snorted.

  “Everyone knows where I stand on that subject! I’m ready to prosecute whenever I get material evidence, not hearsays! But what has that to do with this high-handed outrage? Don’t you know I’ll get you a stretch in Tehachapi for this, you fool?”

  AGAIN Ellen’s mocking laughter. “I don’t bluff worth a peso, Saint!” she gritted. “So you might as well save yourself the effort! I’m going to see to it that you get the evidence you’ve been crying for! In fact, unless I’m badly mistaken, you’ll wish you’d never heard of the Black Legion before the light of another day shines upon you, my friend!”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” began the district attorney, weakly. “You’re a member of that Legion, Saint!” snapped Ellen, boldly.

  Saint laughed, uglily. “You’re taking a lot for granted!” he said. “And I wouldn’t want the job of proving such an accusation!”

  “Well, that’s exactly what I’m intending to do before I’m finished, Saint!” she returned, coolly. “Not only prove it, but see to it that you’re put where you belong! You’re a traitor to the honest citizens who put you in office!”

  Saint edged slowly forward, his crafty eyes riveted on Ellen’s automatic. “The Domino Lady is very much wanted by a great many men in this city.” He sneered. “I’d advise you to tend to your own business.”

  Suddenly he lunged, his hand outstretched. For a moment it seemed as though he’d overpowered her. Her gun hand grasped in his own hand he catapulted with her to the floor.

  For once Ellen had been taken unawares. In the uncertain light she had failed to notice his forward movement. In the moment he leaped she fired. Her bullet going, as she thought, wild.

  For she had scarce time to aim in that split second.

  Springing lithely to her feet Ellen stared at the form of J. Riggs Saint on the stone floor. He lay inert, strangely still... dead.

  For a moment panic seized her.

  Murder. Something she had always steered clear of. Murder. A vision of the gallows flitted across her remorseful mind. She noticed a trickle of blood seep from his temple onto the hard floor.

  A feeling of nausea swept over her. She reeled, and had it not been for her nervy will, would have slipped to the floor, unconscious.

  A harsh breath escaped the figure on the floor. Ellen bent, her hand retrieving the little automatic which but a moment before had slipped from her nerveless fingers. One little hand slid beneath his shirt front. He lived! His breathing was regular, though rapid.

  In another moment her fingers had flecked at the smear of blood on his temple, Only a scalp wound, a crease. But it had been that perhaps, that had saved the Domino Lady from prison.

  Swiftly her fingers dipped into a tiny pocket inside her cape, drew forth a small object which glittered in the indirect light. It was a little hypodermic syringe, previously loaded with a quick-acting drug. The drug, though harmless, was sufficiently strong to render the victim unconscious for several hours.

  A deft motion and the sharp needle sank home, its fluid finding a place beneath his skin. Ellen Patrick was coolness personified, now. Her movements were precise, and executed with a deftness that was truly amazing.

  She picked up the briefcase, opened it, and hurriedly scanned its contents. Her features lit up with an exultant smile as she read, briefly, here and there, before replacing the contents back in the case, which she tossed in the front seat of the car.

  Working with incredible speed and precision, she produced a roll of cord from the garage locker and proceeded to bind the hands and feet of the insensible man. Bending, she cut a heavy strip of adhesive from a roll taken from her handy wrist bag. This was carefully applied across Saint’s mouth.

  It was quite a task for Ellen to get the bound figure into the rear of the sedan.

  He was not a large man, but his drugged body was a limp, dead freight, and it required all the strength in her hundred and twenty pound frame to accomplish the task. She was panting softly when she had finished and closed the door.

  She backed the big car noiselessly from the garage, consumed precious moments in shutting the garage doors.

  Although her heart was churning madly from exertion and excitement, she was as cool as a Winter’s breeze as she swung the sedan about in the street, and trod the accelerator. A laugh of triumph burst from her lips as she removed the domino mask; the big car leaped forward into the night.

  Chapter 3: Danger Trail

  THE night was dark, moonless, and wisps of yellow fog had drifted in from the nearby Pacific.

  A good night for her venture, mused Ellen, as she throttled the sedan to a higher speed. Paul Cathern’s directions emblazoned on her mind, she felt no fear of missing her destination. A moment after she had crossed the city line, a new concrete highway stretched before her.

  Along this she roared at sixty miles an hour. After five miles, she slowed the car, went forward more cautiously. Suddenly, she swung the wheel, switched on to a narrower macadam road which ran off to the left into open country.

  Driving slowly, a half mile brought a winking eye of light to her attention. She cut off the sedan headlights, idled the engine to a noiseless purr. Moments later, she cut the engine off entirely, braked to a standstill. All was ominously quiet in the blackness of the foggy night.

  Ellen climbed from the sedan after a quick glance assured her that her captive still slumbered. She hesitated beside the car, drew the tiny black mask again up about her eyes. The automatic again in hand, she set off in the direction of the light.

  She moved soundlessly through the darkness. If this were indeed the Obispo rendezvous of the Black Legion, she might expect a guard lurking in any of the darker spaces, she knew.

  And this would hold doubly true if her guess concerning the whereabouts of the missing detective was well-founded. Outwardl
y, she was calm, but her heart was racing, blood pounding wildly through her veins as her crisis approached.

  At closer view, Ellen made out the outlines of a rather ramshackle building. It was but one story in height and possessed three rooms. The room on her left was lighted, the remainder of the structure being darkened.

  She crept toward the lighted side, every sense alert to her danger. At the mere cracking of a twig under foot, she paused for precious moments, pulse pounding, and a prayer for safety on her quivering lips.

  So much depended upon her this night — she just couldn’t fail. It would be tonight or never! Failure now would mean tasting Saint’s vengeance.

  Abruptly, a dark figure loomed between her and the light which filtered from the window!

  A sentry!

  The man seemed to be leaning against the wall near the corner of the building, unmoving. Ellen tensed, catching her breath sharply. She hadn’t tried to fool herself; these were desperate men, if she were caught, it would mean torture, death, or worse!

  Many another might have faltered at the obstacle now confronting her. But the little adventuress was made of sterner stuff. The sight of a guard only added to her determination to follow through with her plans.

  To one of her temperament, there was but one means of procedure. She must move directly, court the element of surprise to her favor, overcome the sentry by physical means, and as quietly as possible! She tensed, moving an inch at a time upon the unsuspecting man, the automatic reversed in her fist!

  The black-hooded sentinel was half-asleep at his post. He snapped to attention a moment too late to miss the white-clad figure which hurtled upon him from out of the blackness.

  A hurried motion toward his left armpit, a sucking intake of breath for a cry of warning and Ellen lunged forward, every ounce of her athletic frame behind the move, her right arm swinging in the arc of a swift half circle as she leaped.

  The solid shank of the automatic whammed against the side of the guard’s head. The force of her charge carried them both to the ground, this time Ellen atop the heap. She rose immediately, dusting dried grass from her clothing, and smiling grimly at the recumbent figure.