The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps: The Best Crime Stories from the Pulps During Their Golden Age--The '20s, '30s & '40s

by Otto Penzler

  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 Tehachipi 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 THREE

  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. Outwardly, 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 tast
ing 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.

  She had come prepared for such an emergency. The large roll of adhesive was put into use, sealing the man’s lips, and securing his hands and feet against his possible awakening, she quickly rolled the limp figure into a dark corner near a rickety fence to prevent early discovery.

  For a full minute, Ellen paused, tense, brown eyes straining in the direction of the lighted window.

  Her great orbs were agleam. Here was the work that she loved, and it was being performed in the cause that meant more to her than life itself.

  Adventure was her meat and danger her dessert.

  Gone were the hours of planning and fuming. Action loomed ahead on the danger trail! Ellen’s adventurous spirit leaped at the thought, confident, exultant!

  Swiftly, yet noiseless as a night shadow, she gained the side of the window. A purr of voices came to her keen ears from within the building. A ragged shade was but partly drawn, and a view of the room was easily obtained.

  Carefully avoiding the light which filtered through the panes, she looked within. She glimpsed three hooded figures seated at a table a few feet away. They were big fellows, but she could not see their features.

  A rough table and several rickety chairs went to make up the furnishings of the bare room. There was a brown bottle and glasses on the table, and the men drank occasionally as they waited, conversing in low tones, inaudible to the watching girl. The Black Legion!

  One man drinking more freely than the others was quite audible to Ellen’s straining ears.

  “Say, Chenville,” he bellowed, maudlinly, “why not get things going and get ‘em over with? No use waitin’ on the others. Old Gorsh always was a slow poke. He’ll hold the others up, and we won’t get this job done before daylight! I’m for—”

  The one addressed as Chenville interrupted with a wave of a gloved hand, but Ellen couldn’t make out his words. She imagined he was reasoning with the other man. The latter laughed raucously, and poured another drink which he tossed off at a gulp.

  “Yeah?” he sneered, loudly, wiping his loose mouth with the back of a gloved hand. “That’s what you say, Chenville! But I say different. I think we could do with less politics in this outfit. I never did like politics or politicians! They can’t be trusted! And when it comes time to do a little job, or a little bump, it ought to be hurried along. Waitin’ is only invitin’ trouble to come along! Now take this snoopin’ Cathern mug. He’s been here for hours, waitin’ for Gorsh to arrive, and superintend the job. He oughta been taken care of hours ago.”

  Ellen tensed in the darkness.

  Her hunch had been right!

  Paul Cathern was in the hands of these men, awaiting a fate she knew not what, and with no hope of rescue save through her own efforts!

  And the man’s words confirmed her belief that the politicians of the state machine were behind the depredations of the notorious Black Legion!

  She saw no point in waiting and listening to further disclosures. Time was speeding; any moment might be too late! She must locate Paul Cathern, save him, and at the same time keep her true identity from him. There was no time to lose if her plans were to be carried out with half a chance for ultimate success!

  She tested the catch of her automatic, gripped it firmly, and moved silently through the darkness toward the other side of the house.

  Obviously the thing to do was to get to Cathern as quickly as possible. She found the window on the right side of the house without difficulty, paused and listened intently. She could hear the ticking of her tiny baguette in the stillness of the night.

  The little adventuress removed a compact folding jimmy from her wrist bag, opened it into a slender sliver of steel. With this handy implement, she began jimmying the window. Using utmost caution, it required several pries to snap the cast-iron fittings. With the fifth effort, they snapped brittlely, and Ellen slid the window upwards.

  “Say!” she called in a sibilant whisper. “Is anyone there?”

  A slight, muffled groan was the only answer, but it sent a quick thrill through Ellen’s soft body. At the moment, she realized just how alarmed she had really been about the young special investigator!

  It was but the work of an instant for her to swing herself upon the sill, and agilely lower herself into the interior of the darkened room. Then, a pencil flash gave her a glimpse of the bare confines of Cathern’s prison, and of the sleuth, himself.

  Paul Cathern was tightly bound, a handkerchief mask over the upper part of his face, his mouth tightly sealed by a wide strip of adhesives. He had been tossed into a corner of the room to await torture and possible doom!

  With a reassuring whisper, Ellen sank to her knees and labored at the cramping gyves. It required three minutes of concentrated effort to free his hands and feet, and a moment to remove the tape from his mouth. A word of thankfulness seeped from his lips as they were freed from the adhesive.

  “You took a devil of a chance,” he whispered, grasping her arm, “in coming here like this. Those men were going to torture me—lash me—burn me with white-hot irons! I owe my life to you! I’m Paul Cathern, investigator with Sheriff Bonsill. Who’re you, anyhow?”

  Ellen hesitated, briefly. “No time for introductions now,” she snapped. “But I can assure you I’m a friend! We must move fast! Everything’s clear at the moment. Let’s go!”

  Abruptly, the little adventuress tensed in the darkness. Her hand went to Cathern’s lips as she caught and held her breath. A chair had scraped within the adjoining room, and heavy footsteps were approaching the connecting door!

  Her nerves jerked taut as a hand twisted the knob and swung the portal halfway open, yellow lamplight streaming across the rough flooring of the room! The automatic bristled viciously, as she aimed it at the doorway and waited!

  “Get away from that door, Lucas!” snapped someone whom Ellen imagined to be the leader, Chenville. The intruder swung about to face the giver of the command, while Ellen’s heart churned, madly. Would the drunken brute ignore the other man, and enter to discover her in the act of freeing her prisoner? What mercy might she expect at his hands if he did?

  The queries were answered a moment later when the fellow turned again toward the prison room.

  “Aw, nuts, Chenville!” he flung back over his massive shoulder. “I’m goin’ to see if the snooper’s okay, that’s all!”

  Ellen’s finger tightened upon the trigger, her heart sinking as the big man lunged forward through the doorway!r />
  CHAPTER FOUR

  A FRAMER FRAMED

  A coolness settled upon Ellen Patrick as she faced one of the most crucial situations of a lifetime of adventure.

  Her lovely bosom rose and fell with her accelerated breathing beneath the black cape which she had tightly drawn about the white frock.

  Great eyes were fixed in an unwinking stare upon the doorway. Her slender fingers trembled a little as they contacted the safety catch of the automatic to be sure it was down. She was prepared to shoot it out with the black-hooded devils, no matter what the ultimate outcome!

  But the drink-drugged intruder was spared a quick end.

  Chenville was evidently the man in charge, and a subordinate’s disregard of orders infuriated him. As Lucas came through the doorway, a heavy hand was clamped on his shoulder, and he was roughly jerked back into the other room.

  A push sent the big man spinning across the floor.

  “Damn you, Lucas!” snarled the leader, harshly.

  “You’ll obey orders or take the consequences! I’m in charge here, and don’t forget it! One more funny move out of you, and you’ll get what Gorsh gives the others!” His outburst was cut short as he slammed the door behind him, leaving Ellen and the investigator in darkness again.

  Ellen heaved an immense sigh of relief. “Whew! That was a bit too close for comfort!” she breathed, as she helped Paul Cathern to his feet.

  “You said it!” agreed the sleuth, softly. “I thought for a moment we were goners. You’re one nervy little person.”

  Paul Cathern staggered and would have fallen but for her steadying arm, so cramped were his limbs from long hours beneath the bindings.

  She helped him to the window, across the sill, and joined him a moment later. Outside, she leaned close to him, and he caught his first glimpse of her costume and the identifying mask.

  “The Domino Lady!” he exclaimed, won-deringly.

  “At your service!” she returned, evenly, her soft voice tempered to a lazy, disguising drawl for Cathern’s benefit. “And having a crack at the Black Legion, and its unscrupulous political backers! I’ve tried to help you, Paul Cathern; will you help me in return?”