Saint has handed in his written resignation, but cannot be reached for a statement. One report has it that he is confined in a private hospital, suffering from mysterious injuries that threaten his life. Another that he is taking an extended sea voyage for his health. Mr. Gorsh is reported as flying to Mexico City on business. In any event, both gentlemen will find a warm welcome awaiting them when they are located and turned over to the newly-appointed District Attorney, Mr. John Smithson. This is one of the most startling exposés in the history of the state, and politicians both big and small are leaving for parts unknown by rail, water and air. Mr. Smithson, interviewed at his office today, promises a thorough cleanup, and in taking every step to apprehend the fleeing higher-ups of the Black Legion...
THERE were columns more of lurid details, but Ellen turned to her visitor without reading them. Her great eyes were gleaming. Her plans had worked out to perfection! This was her most successful and far-reaching master stroke against the state machine which had brought about the death of her father! It all seemed too marvelous to be true, and, she leaned toward Paul Cathern, lovely bosom tossing with emotion.
“Oh, Paul! It’s wonderful!” she cried softly, “Almost too good to be true! It’s simply great to think that you accomplished so much where all others have failed.” She leaned closer, kissed him lightly upon the cheek. He grinned.
“It’s great, all right, honey!” he told her, enthusiastically, “but I’d never have accomplished anything without help. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the timely interference of a mysterious lady, I wouldn’t be alive now!”
Ellen looked at Cathern, intently. “A mysterious lady?” she repeated softly, “I don’t understand, Paul. It fails to mention her in the news.”
The investigator’s gray eyes focused upon her piquant face, the grin fading. “Last night,” he said, slowly, “I was a prisoner of the Black Legion, facing torture, or worse. A fearless woman, The Domino Lady, seized the D.A., rescued me from under the noses of my guards, and substituted Riggs Saint in my place! That no doubt accounts for his ‘mysterious injuries’ referred to in the Express! The Domino Lady likewise turned over to me incriminating documents she had taken from Saint. Those documents furnished the exposé you’ve been reading about, yet she insisted that I take full credit, and leave her name out of it! Don’t you agree that I owe the lady much, Ellen?”
She smiled, “Why, yes, of course, Paul. But I thought The Domino Lady was wanted by the police? How could you permit her to go free?”
Cathern’s eyes softened. “Ellen,” he said, “I recognized The Domino Lady!”
The little adventuress’ body went rigid. With a great effort she fought down the panic that welled within her slender frame. She raised guileless eyes to meet his probing glance.
“So what?” she managed, precisely.
For a moment his eyes held hers, in an effort to read her calm gaze.
“Don’t you see I couldn’t betray her, honey?” he murmured, “after she’d saved my life, and accomplished so much good for the state? Besides,” he went on, grinning again, “the credit she bestowed upon me has assured me a fancy promotion! If the authorities wait on me to reveal the identity of The Domino Lady, they’re going to have a mighty long wait!”
She breathed a deep sigh of relief, leaned against Cathern. She smiled at him, her great eyes filled with admiration for the conquering male.
“You’re tops, Paul!” she breathed, “A grand person! Any woman would be lucky to have you for a friend, I’m so glad of your success and promotion, darling! Shall we drink a toast to them?”
Paul Cathern smiled, understandingly, and manipulated the decanter. He handed a drink to Ellen, then dropped down beside her again, glass in hand. They touched glasses, lifted them high.
“To the future!” she toasted, softly, brown eyes starry.
“Of The Domino Lady!” added Paul Cathern, meaningly.
He rose, replaced the glasses upon their taboret without looking at her. Then he turned. Ellen Patrick laughed throatily as she went to his open arms.
THE END
The Domino Lady’s Double
by Lars Anderson
Originally published in the November 1936 issue of Mystery Adventure Magazine
Chapter 1: International Murder
EBONY midnight. As though an invisible hand had brushed gauzy cobwebs away, a rift appeared in the cold fog that shrouded San Francisco. In the murky gloom, a slender, feminine figure might have been seen gliding through a narrow side street which flanked the Japanese Legation. The swirling mist quickly descended again, however, shrouding the nocturnal figure like a shielding armor.
But the girl went purposefully forward, high heels clicking on the pavement, and, a moment later, paused before a narrow doorway which gave access to the Legation quarters. She cast a furtive eye over her shoulder, then laughed softly; the density of the fog lent perfect concealment to her movements.
A quick manipulation of a master key, and she entered the narrow hallway, climbed a dark stairway that wound upward toward the private offices. A tiny flash was in her hand now, its bright rays moving ahead on the deep nap of the rug which covered the stairs. The clamminess of the fog must have penetrated her clothing for she shivered slightly as she stopped before the door of the inner offices, and again brought the master key into play.
While so engaged, the flash was placed on the rug nearby, thus serving as an illumination to her efforts. And its rays likewise brought into sharp relief the crouching figure of the petite midnight intruder.
There is no gainsaying that the girl was perfectly beautiful. A jaunty black hat partially covered a cap of sun-touched curls which gleamed like molten gold in the beams from the flash. A cape of black silk was drawn about bare, milk-white shoulders. Beneath the folds of the cape, a backless frock of white silk sheathed her lovely body like a glove! It was daringly cut and accentuated the exposed loveliness of her swollen bosom, and added a nimbus of sweet aware to the perfect picture of feminine pulchritude! A shining domino mask of black silk partly covered the lovely features. To any law enforcement officer in California the costume would readily have identified the beautiful intruder as that daring mysterious creature, The Domino Lady!
A moment later, the girl was lifting the flash and gliding forward through the open portal with all the stealth of a jungle cat. Inside, she shot the beams about the large, high-ceilinged room which served as the headquarters office of the Japanese Legation. A faint smile curved her luscious, full-blown lips for a moment.
Slender, delicate, pink-nailed fingers trembled with eagerness as they began digging into the files, examining the contents of the high-piled governmental cabinets. To each piece of paper, no matter how small or insignificant appearing, she gave a hurried, though comprehensive, scrutiny. Success was not easy of attainment, although she wasted precious moments in vain search.
As she worked, a grim smile played about the curve of her scarlet lips. She was thinking of the furor that would break loose, once it was discovered that international secrets had been forcefully removed from these offices! Then, the smile faded as she recalled to mind the peril of her position, and the imperative need of utmost speed.
As she examined a sheath of papers taken from a fireproof file, the ticking of a clock nearby was another reminder of the necessity for speed. Then, abruptly, breath was trapped in her throat. Here were the very papers for which she had risked so much!
They were heavy, official-looking, and a quick examination convinced the girl of their authenticity. Coming upon them so suddenly after moments spent in vain search almost took her breath away for a little while. She straightened, held the packet in her hands, exultant.
A MOMENT of sudden victory put her off guard, and she failed to see an inner door crack slowly, silently, open or the almond eyes of the squat Nipponese that peered balefully out at her! The sleek-haired Oriental glided noiselessly forward, a wicked looking automatic appearing as if by magic in his rig
ht fist! For a moment, it looked as though the game was up for the daring intruder!
But, as though sensing peril, the girl had slipped the packet of papers beneath the black cape, and darkened her flash. With agility and grace, she gained the outer door, vanished through it like a phantom of the fog just as the office attaché snapped the lights into coruscating brilliance.
A soft laugh was wafted back to the Japanese from the corridor. He paused, looked at the looted files in a moment of indecision. Stooping, he picked a card from the deep-piled rug. Wonderingly, he glanced at it. It was a tiny square of black pasteboard with the inscription: The Domino Lady’s Compliments, in white ink written upon its smooth surface. The daring girl who had looted the offices had left it behind as a taunting souvenir!
Snapping out of his seeming daze, the little brown man made a move in the direction of the doorway.
C-R-A-C-K!
Gunfire in the outer corridor! The spiteful sing of a slug sounded simultaneously with the roar of a shot, and dirty orange flame seared the murk of the hallway. The office attaché jerked with the impact of the bullet, spun halfway around. A look of incredulous wonder ripped the mask of Asiatic impassivity from his blanching features. The automatic fell from his numbed fingers as he swayed weakly against the filing cabinets. Slowly, he slipped downward, fell forward on his face without a sound, to lay still.
And The Domino Lady’s calling card fluttered to the rug by his side, face upward, a token which seemed to indicate that the intrepid little adventuress had at last gone in for murder!
Chapter 2: Framed for a Killer
COMELY Ellen Patrick, well-known and feared as The Domino Lady, sat on the edge of her bed in a luxurious suite in Frisco’s exclusive Hotel Catalan. She yawned sleepily, enjoying the fragrant puffs of cigarette smoke which served to clear her dream-drenched brain. A robe de nuit of pale, green silk was the only concealment to her blonde loveliness.
Of course, it is most ineffective to attempt to describe wavy, butter-hued hair, a pair of provocative, cinnamon-brown eyes, a pert little nose with the suggestion of a tilt, or even a dewy mouth whose luscious invitation must have been a gift from the gods. A small, determined chin, soft, snowy throat, rounded, creamy shoulders, lovely, upright bosom — No! All this can be but a mere list. To understand the ravishing charm of Ellen Patrick, the entirely bewitching personality back of her radiant beauty, one would have to see her as she half-reclined there in the reflected rays of the sun, the light from the broad window falling most effectively over her rounded shoulder!
Innately feminine though she was, Ellen had become the most talked of figure in California through a considerable degree of personal daring, a love of adventure, and a willingness to risk life and liberty in a self-imposed campaign of vengeance against the political machine that ruled the state with an iron hand.
Her father had been one of the most feared politicians in California at one time. A killer’s slug had put a period to his career several years before, and rumor had it that the assassin had been in the employ of Owen Patrick’s crooked political enemies. A small trust fund, and a wealth of spirit and wit had been the lovely Ellen’s heritage from her father.
Accustomed to a life of ease as befitted the only child of Owen Patrick, Ellen had graduated at Berkeley, and was vacationing in the Far East when news of her father’s assassination came to her. Dashing homeward in a heartbroken daze, she had sworn vengeance against the machine which had been instrumental in robbing her of the one who meant more to her than life itself.
For three years now, she had pursued the life of a ruthless, roguish adventuress, at times accepting nigh impossible undertakings simply for the sake of friendship and the inherent love of adventure. On other occasions, she coolly involved herself in daring schemes merely to embarrass the authorities whom she blamed for her father’s untimely death.
At the same time, her schemes usually produced much in the way of loot, supplementing the meager income from the trust fund, and allowing her the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. However, the major portion of the booty thus obtained was invariably anonymously contributed to a worthy charity. And as the months went swiftly by, Ellen had become a constant threat to the peace of mind of the crooked politicians as The Domino Lady.
Following her most recent triumph over the Black Legion, Ellen had motored northward to San Francisco at the invitation of Roge McKane, debonair ex-collegian and rising private investigator. McKane had long been an intimate friend of the little avenger, and Ellen was delighted at the prospect of seeing him again.
The interlude also offered her an excellent opportunity of “laying low” for a fortnight until her recent forays in Los Angeles had blown over, so to speak. Ellen knew full well that the remnant of the political organization would be out for her blood after those coups!
So she had arrived in San Francisco two days before, registering as usual at the Catalan. She found that Roge McKane had been called to Sacramento on business the day of her arrival. But she expected to see him today.
EVENTUALLY, Ellen mashed the tobacco tube in a bedside tray, rose and stretched her lovely body felt it uncoil in cat-like grace to its greatest extent. Slowly, she peeled the green nightie from her and glided into the black and silver bathroom.
She gaily hummed snatches from Maytime, as the prickling needles of the shower quickly stung her soft body into a state of healthy energy. Still humming, and wielding a huge towel, she massaged herself to a glowing pink.
“...I know I could love someone madly,
If someone could only love me...”
The heavenly epithalamium of her dulcet tones wafted through the room as she covered her shapely charms with a blue velvet negligee which added compelling allure to her youthful body.
But her great eyes held something of sadness in their liquid depths. Devoting her life to a campaign of reprisal against the ruthless killers of her father, the amorous little adventuress had denied herself the love she craved with all her heart. To her, affection and marriage were things to avoid, shun. Although her loveliness and allure baffled description, and she was in great demand among eligible males wherever she went, Ellen’s affaires de amour were indeed few and far between!
Presently, stepping her pink-toed feet into blue Empire slippers, she moved into the boudoir where she seated herself at the orchid-tinted desk phone.
It was while she was enjoying the breakfast she had ordered that an attendant announced a visitor. Smiling, Ellen abandoned the repast, and joined Roge McKane in the living room of the suite. The young detective had removed a gray topcoat and matching, felt, and lighted a cigarette. He rose from his chair at the sight of her negligéed figure, his dark eyes alight with frank admiration and welcome.
“Good morning, honey!” His deep soft voice was enthusiastic. “Gosh, it’s great to see you again! You’re more lovely than ever, Ellen!”
“And good morning to you, Roge!” she smiled, brown eyes crescenting languorously as she helped herself to a cigarette. “Thanks for the compliment. I can see you haven’t lost your use of the usual blarney, darling!”
“It might sound like blarney,” he drawled, his glance searching Ellen’s enticing face and sensuous figure with frankly admiring candor, “but it’s the truth, sweet, s’help me! It was mighty good of you to come up, Ellen.”
“Frankly, I was glad to get away for a while, Roge,” she said, ashing her cigarette, a tight little smile playing about her red lips as her great eyes swept over the pleasing features and walking-beam shoulders of the young investigator.
“Sort of fed up with Los Angeles, you know. Besides, how could I resist the chance of seeing you again, darling? After all, if you couldn’t get away to come south, it was up to me to come north.” She terminated with a tinkling, teasing little laugh.
McKane punched out his cigarette, performed a similar function for Ellen’s. “And now who’s using the old blarney, sweet?” he returned with a grin of appreciation for her moo
d.
They chatted lightly for a little while, until the conversation veered around to the inevitable Domino Lady. McKane brought up the subject.
“Seems like our little friend, The Domino Lady, is in for it now, doesn’t it, Ellen?” he asked, casually.
Ellen started, instantly alert, cautious.
“In for it?” she repeated as though she feared she had not heard aright. “What do you mean, Roge? There’s nothing I...”
The young investigator looked at her soberly as he interrupted. “Haven’t you seen the newspapers? The little devil had enough nerve to crash the Jap Legation last night! She stole a sheath of papers of international importance. But that isn’t even the start of the pickle she’s put herself in, Ellen. She killed an attaché on her way out!”
“BUT,” interpolated Ellen, quickly, unbelievingly, “how can they be sure it was The Domino Lady? I can’t believe it, myself. Why — why, you know yourself, Roge, that she’s never killed anyone before.”
“Agreed!” McKane grinned, mirthlessly. “But there doesn’t seem to be much doubt as to her identity, Ellen. You see, she left one of her usual calling cards behind. Then, too, to cinch matters, the attaché lived long enough to describe his slayer; a beautiful little blonde, with a black silk domino over the upper half of her face, dressed in a white silken evening frock with a black silk cape about her shoulders! So you can see that there can hardly be a mistake, honey!”
“But — but,” began Ellen and stopped. She was in a daze, overwhelmed at the moment by the news brought by the detective. It was just too incredible! Why — why — it must be a frame, engineered by her political enemies!
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