by Lester Dent
The black coffin of a house bulked bigger and bigger. Nace neared it from the rear. Bushes, small trees, dotted the grounds. A concrete drive down to the beach, walled with a low hedge. Moon shadow lurked in the lee of the hedge like shapeless black animals.
Nace drifted into the shadow, but did not go far. He crouched in the murk, drew softly on his unlighted pipe, and did some pointed wondering.
The trio at the Plaza had been afraid to venture near this place. They were not cowards—their attack on Nace at the bungalow showed that. Therefore, there must be deadly danger about this casket house.
Nace was going in. But he was going to use some care.
He retraced his steps to the beach. A rowboat was drawn up on the sand. It held oars. Nace got one.
Probing ahead with the oar, he advanced along the hedge, keeping low and out of sight. The black house grew even more in size as he came nearer. It was of some expensive dark brick, roofed with black tile. On one side was a garage large enough for four or five cars, and tool houses. On the other side lay a commodious swimming pool.
There was a macabre air about it, as if the place encased a gigantic, deadly corpse. Nace stopped suddenly.
He punched gently with the oar. It came again—the thing that had halted him. A sharp, ugly tap on the end of the oar!
From his bag, Nace produced a flashlight. This light was peculiar in that it threw a beam of unusual shape—a thin rod of light, no thicker through than a finger. He streaked the ray at the end of the oar.
His scalp crawled. Cru-n-c-h! went his teeth through the new pipe stem.
Before him, a loathsome cone of yellowish-brown coils glistened in the light, squirming and heaving. A hideous hood waved like a gently moving fan.
Nace had no trouble recognizing the species of the snake. It was the likeness of just such a reptile that he was doomed to wear to the grave as a scar upon his forehead. A scar, fortunately for his association with the rest of mankind, which only became visible when his skin flushed with anger—the scar which had given him his nickname of the Blond Adder.
The cobra was picketed with a small wire, tied tightly just below its hood and running to a steel peg thrust in the ground. Like a frightsome watchdog!
NACE struck at the blunt, venomous head with the oar. The single blow put the thing out of commission, and without much noise.
He went ahead, somewhat more cautiously, leaving the reptile lifeless behind. It was not without reason that the three watchers in the Plaza had feared to come near this place, he reflected.
The sepulchral shadow of the vast black house enwrapped Nace. He kept probing with the oar, not knowing what other death traps might await.
Reaching a window without incident, he drew his listening device out of the canvas bag, stuck the microphone to the glass and clamped on the headset. Tiny sounds within the house assumed gigantic volume.
He could hear two or three clocks ticking, a radiator bubbling, and a drone that probably came from an electric refrigerator in the kitchen regions. If there was anyone in the house, they were keeping very quiet. Nace replaced his listening apparatus.
From the bag he took a bottle of chemical and a fine brush. Wetting the brush in the chemical, he ran it around the puttied edge of the window pane. Almost at once, the putty was softened to a paste.
Nace had put in many hours of experimenting in his own laboratory to perfect the ingredients in that chemical concoction. He pulled out small brads around the pane, using pliers.
Applying a rubber suction cup to the pane, he lifted it out.
But he did not go through. Instead, he daubed another chemical on a long, slender, stiff wire and passed it up and down and from side to side in the opening.
Nace knew burglar alarms utilizing a beam of invisible ultra-violet light impinging upon a photo-electric cell were in common use. Interrupting the unseen light beam operated the alarm. The chemical on Nace’s wire was one that fluoresced, or glowed, when exposed to ultra-violet light. It did not glow now.
Apparently there was no unseen alarm. He entered.
The room, a parlor of some sort, smelled of an Oriental incense. His unaided ear could now detect the ticking of one clock. The gurgling radiator was in this room, also. Evidently the heat was on so as to dispel the cool dampness of the sea breeze.
Out of the capacious zipper carry-all, Nace picked a small cardboard carton. He strewed the contents of this on the rug behind him as he crossed the room. It was ordinary corn flakes, which would crackle loudly if stepped upon.
The darkness was intense; the overpowering strength of the incense made breathing unpleasant. Just as the exterior of the strange house was coffinlike, so was the interior like an Oriental sepulchre.
Nace calculated, decided the room where the orange light burned was to the right, and headed in that direction. He was resolved to wait there for the return of the mysterious Reel and Hoo Li. They seemed the only link to the woman—Rosa Andricksen.
He entered a hallway. Ahead, he discovered the light. A crack of it marked the lower edge of a door. He advanced, still strewing the corn flakes.
He was reaching for the knob when there came a faint crunching sound behind him. Some one stepping upon the corn flakes!
HE twisted the head of his flash, which prepared it for the throwing of a wide beam. He extended it. His thumb sought the button. But he did not press it.
Instead, he leaped high in the air.
The encounter with the cobra had sharpened his already keen alertness. He had heard a scraping noise underfoot—his first thought was to get somewhere else as soon as possible. It might be another snake.
An instant later he knew it was no reptile—the thing slapped noisily against a wall. A disgusted gasp followed.
Nace guessed that a loop of wire had been spread on the hallway floor. His jump had saved his ankles from being trapped.
He sprayed his flash beam. But he was off balance, and the light spouted in the wrong direction. It did disclose the wire loop, however, still squirming and dancing where it had fallen after being jerked. It was common wire clothesline.
Nace’s flash splattered a door just as it was shutting. He caught no glimpse of the person who had gone through. A key rattled in the door lock.
Nace took two fast steps, a jump—hit the door feet first, legs stiff. There was a crack. The panel, shucking free of its hinges, lowered like a drawbridge—and carried Nace, sled-fashion, down a flight of stairs, finally dumping him on a cool concrete basement floor.
He had bargained on nothing like this—he only wanted the door open. He came to his feet like a sprinter, high-jumped the first six stairs of the flight down which he had slid, barked his shins, swore, and made the top in two more jumps.
Drawing a tear-gas gun, constructed to resemble a fountain pen, he fired it down into the basement.
Some of the gas was bound to swirl back into the hallway. He ran to the door behind which burned the orange light. Might as well take a look there while there was time!
He entered, blinking owlishly, eyes roving.
The place seemed a combination of a sleeping room and study. There were a desk, smoking stands, easy chairs, in addition to a bed. The bedstead was big, old-fashioned, a fourposter affair with a canopy.
On it lay a sheet-swathed form.
Nace advanced, saw a cane lying on the desk, picked it up and used it to lift an end of the sheet.
The body underneath was that of a man of rather stout build. He was perhaps fifty. His hair and close-clipped moustache were gray.
Upon the man’s chest lay an assembly of green bones—the framework of a human leg. The tips of the toe bones, filed sharp, bore sticky brown smears. The points were not, however, embedded in the man’s rather swarthy features.
Nace lifted the bones gingerly, using his handkerchief to keep his hand from contacting them. He sniffed of the brownish stains. There was an almond odor, very faint.
“Some poison with prussic acid in it,”
he decided. “Prussic is usually blue, but this is mixed with some brown stuff, maybe molasses.”
Shuffling steps, a series of choking gasps, came from the hallway.
Nace, smiling fiercely, the adder scar on his forehead glowing red, fished a pair of handcuffs from a hip pocket. He was careful not to let the links chink together. The bracelets were the type that closed and locked automatically when slapped against a wrist.
He dashed the manacles against the wrist of the man on the bed—wrenched hard and snapped the other ring to the stout headpost of the bed.
The prone man came to life, emitting a frenzied scream.
HE must have screamed in hopes of startling Nace, for his eyes, open and dark, looked quite sane. Whatever his object was, it did him no good.
“Damn you!” he shrieked, and kicked at Nace. The gaunt detective dodged.
The fellow on the bed flounced about. He grasped the green skeleton leg and flung it at Nace. Nace dodged. The bones, hooked together cleverly with wire, clattered loudly against the wall and fell to the floor.
The man continued to convulse like an animal in a trap. In an instant, his free hand came up with a gun. He had been reposing upon it.
The weapon tangled in the bed clothing. Lunging, Nace captured the gun wrist. He twisted. The man on the bed screamed again. This time he had a reason, for Nace’s bony hands were capable of opening horseshoes.
Nace had the gun when he backed away. He unloaded it as he backed to the desk. He struck the weapon, broken open, upon the desk. The blow was terrific. The steel bit deeply into the hardwood. Nace hit again. That smashed twisted barrel and cylinder upon the frame so they would not close together properly. He flung the useless revolver into a corner.
Moving swiftly, Nace went to the door.
There was a girl in the hall, blinded by the tear gas. It was obviously she who had fled into the basement after trying unsuccessfully to snare his feet in the clothesline loop.
She was trying to get out through the front door.
There was some tear gas in the hall, seepage from the basement.
Shutting his eyes, Nace ran to the girl, captured her arm and jerked her back into the room where the orange light glowed.
She struck madly at him. Her fists landed twice before he ducked away. He shut the hall door.
The girl was worth the look he gave her. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a trace of suntan. She had an excellent figure.
“Rosa Andricksen?” Nace asked sharply.
She said nothing, but rubbed briskly at her eyes, accelerating the tear flow in hopes of soon clearing her vision. She wore a gray sport dress, very trim.
Nace waited five minutes, seven, ten. The man on the bed squirmed, fought the handcuffs. But there was scant chance of his getting away. He said nothing, except to vent hisses of rage.
Once Nace asked him, “Are you Reel?”
The man only snarled.
The girl began to be able to see.
“I am Lee Nace!” Nace told her.
She did not answer. Turning slowly, she eyed the man on the bed. Her movements were graceful.
Then she sprang headlong at Nace.
Chapter IV
Sinister People
HER struggle was silent, ferocious. She took Nace a little by surprise and he was on the floor before he recovered himself. She was strong. He had fought lots of men who were easier to handle.
Too, he did not like to paste her one on the jaw. That handicapped him. She clawed at him, tore the pocket of his coat. His pipe and tobacco and other articles spilled across the floor.
“Cut it out, sister!” he roared. “I’m Nace! If you’re Rosa Andricksen, I’m the guy you sent for!”
The effect of this was surprising. She stopped struggling, held her head up to bring her ear close to his lips.
“What did you say?” she asked in a very pleasant voice. “I’m a little hard of hearing!” It was the voice that had phoned Nace!
“A little!” Nace snorted, then, very loudly, “I am Lee Nace! Sometimes people are kind enough to call me a private detective.”
“Oh!” The girl disentangled herself. “I thought you were one of Reel’s men!” She pointed at the man on the bed. “That’s Reel!”
She seemed contrite, although there was a queerly set, vacant look about her face. Moving over, she picked up his pipe, tobacco and matches. She thrust the articles in his trouser pocket, as if he were a little boy.
“What’s behind this mess?” Nace yelled.
“I don’t know,” the girl replied in the queerly soft voice the hard-of-hearing sometimes use.
Nace gave her a hard eye. “Now don’t start slipping me fast balls, sister!”
There was something he did not trust about her manner.
“What?” she asked in her gentle voice.
“Tell me the truth!” he shrieked. “Was it you who called me?”
“Yes!” she breathed gently. “It was I.”
“Why did you do it?”
“What?”
The adder glowed purple on his forehead as he bellowed, “Why did you call me?”
“Oh! This man,” she pointed at the fellow handcuffed to the bed, “came to my apartment tonight and seized me. He took me to that bungalow. I got to the phone and tried to call you. I didn’t think I had gotten you.”
“What did he take you to the bungalow for?” Nace roared.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Did you know Jimmy Offitt?” The bellowing was making Nace hoarse.
Her answer surprised him.
“No,” she said gently.
Nace scowled. There was something wrong here. It did not hook up. He eyed her wrists, her ankles. Purple marks showed where she had been tied recently.
That gave him an idea. He swept into the hallway, got the clothesline wire with which she had tried to snare him, and came back.
Although she squealed and struggled, he tied her wrists and ankles. He did not bind so tightly as to cause pain, but when he was done, he was sure she would not get away.
He left her sitting on the floor, glaring at him, and went out to investigate the rest of the house.
THE place was big, like a castle. Nace put a fresh stem in his pipe, thumbed in tobacco, and lit up. He left tobacco smoke in each room, mingling with the Oriental incense odor.
There seemed to be no servants. In two of the rooms, he found cobras picketed. He found the snakes because he was looking for them. Had he been prowling, burglar-like, he probably would have been bitten.
One upstairs bedroom was fitted with Chinese ornaments—a dragon tapestry, idols, and such.
In one corner was a trunk, plentifully plastered with steamer labels. The trunk seemed to have gone over most of Europe. Some of the customs stamps bore dates. They ranged over a period of the past three years.
Nace opened the trunk. It seemed to hold curios—timetables, hotel advertisements, bottles of perfume, bits of lace. The things most travelers pick up. But the Oriental nature of the things indicated this was the room of the Chinaman, Hoo Li.
On a dressing table was a picture of a plump Chinese. In the drawer of the table was a passport with the same picture. It was Hoo Li.
With the passport was the printed sailing list of an Atlantic liner that had docked in New York some three weeks ago. Nace ran through the list. As he came to names that interested him, he underlined them. When he was done, he had seven names.
M. J. REEL
HOO LI LUNG
BARON VON AUSTER
MOE MEVINSKY
JOHN HEAVY
JIMMY OFFITT
ROSA ANDRICKSEN
Nace swore, fingered his notched left ear.
“The whole outfit came into the States on a liner three weeks ago,” he grunted. “And the black-haired queen told me she didn’t know a thing about this! The hell she doesn’t!”
He barged for the stairs. Somewhere outdoors, an automobile engine started. Nace took
the stairs, six at a jump.
The girl sat in the hallway. She was still wired hand and foot. But the door behind her was closed.
Nace tried the door. It was locked. There was no key in it.
The automobile engine was receding rapidly down the driveway. Nace plunged through the front door. Tires screamed as the car skidded into the street. Nace caught a glimpse of the machine as it scudded under a street lamp. No one but Reel was in the vehicle.
Nace knew his chances of catching the car were nil. He did not try. He swung around the side of the house, fanning the ground with his flashlight, lest there be more anchored cobras.
A window in the coffin of a house was open. It gave into the orange-lighted room. Reel had departed by this route.
Entering, Nace inspected the handcuffs. They had been unlocked off Reel’s wrist.
Dark-faced, Nace glowered at the source of the orange light. The base of this was a weird green skull. He went over, seized the light and smashed it on the floor.
The green skull was only plaster. It flew all over the room, a myriad of pieces.
He went to the door, hard-heeled, made sure no key was in this side of the lock. He kicked the lock out. That eased his anger somewhat. But the scarlet serpent was still hot on his forehead when he towered over pretty, dark-eyed Rosa Andricksen.
His voice a low, tearing whisper, he said, “Are you going to give me the handcuff key and the key to that door, or do I have to hunt for them?”
His voice had been pitched very low. Had she been the least bit deaf, she could not have heard him.
“I’ll give them up!” she said, proving there was nothing wrong with her hearing. She had, it was plain, faked the deafness so as to enable Reel to overhear Nace’s words.
NACE threw the keys away. His hair was down over his eyes, and his jaw was knobby. His stubby pipe was sunk deep in his jaws.
“You jumped me that last time to get the key to the handcuffs from my pockets,” he said grimly. “I’ll hand it to you, sister! You’re the slickest dip I ever ran into.”
She smiled impishly up at him. “You don’t seem to like me!”
He scowled. “That means you won’t talk?”
“I did talk,” she replied. “I told you that Reel came to my apartment tonight, got me, and took me to that bungalow, and I called you. Then Reel brought me here. I got away—I was tied in the basement. I set that wire loop on the floor of this hall. I was after Reel. But you came along.”
