The Duke Returns
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Description: John Winton Heming, 1900-1953 Heming was a compulsive writer of plays, short stories, novels and non-fiction, and managed to make a rather sparse living at it in depression era Australia. During WW2, imports of all non-essentials ceased, and that included magazines and books. Heming, like a number of other Australian writers, filled this yawning gap by churning out hundreds of Western, Romance, Science Fiction, Crime, and other genre stories and novels under numerous pseudonyms. Westerns, for example, were by Tex Barton... This is one of two known crime novels featuring gentleman crook "The Du

THE DUKE

RETURNS

John Winton Heming

1938

Published as a weekly serial in The World's News (Sydney,

commencing 19 January 1938.  Never published as a printed book.

Contents

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Chapter 21 | Chapter 22

Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Chapter25 | Chapter 26

Chapter 27 | Chapter 28

Chapter 29 | Chapter 30

Chapter 31 | Chapter 32

Chapter 33 | Chapter 34

Chapter 35 | Chapter 36

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Chapter 1

A Scream In The Night.

A SCREAM— long, piercing, and terror-stricken— rang through the silent old house. It was followed by another, and then a third, as Gresley sprang from the armchair in which he had been dozing.

For the moment he, thought he was back in the old days of a year, before, when he had masqueraded as a picturesque underworld character— The Duke— and when a terrified scream was not an uncommon thing. But since then his life had been the placid one of a newly-married man, living in a huge house with servants to forestall every wish, and nothing to disturb the romantic and law-abiding monotony of his days.

That monotony had set him thinking to-night— set him thinking of that marvellous pal, his uncle, The Shrimp― small, indomitable, a wonderful revolver shot with either hand, strong as a lion in limb and determination. And of Razor, that young man of courage who had loved the girl who became the Duke's wife— but loved the Duke still more; and the rest of the gang who had gone through such thrilling: adventures in wiping out that scourge of underworld—The Snail. He thought of Irish, who had given his life to save it of his leader... and he had thought of his quiet life now and fretted slightly at the monotony.

He had seen them, all, dancing there in the flames of the huge fire— the flashing guns, hemmed between police and crooks— the night of the big fight round this very house (then belonging to his millionaire father-in-law)— the flight from the secret mine under the city— the battles for, the girl he loved— the night she bound his wounds—the plot and counterplot.

It seemed far back now— and somehow desirable, with its constant alertness, action, and danger. But all that was over, and he had put it from his mind as he dozed. His father-in-law, who was staying with them after a world tour, had not long gone up to bed, and only a few moments before his wife had also gone up the great staircase, where once the Duke had crept on silent feet armed only with two huge darkened lamps.

Now came her scream— again and again— and in a bound the Duke was up and racing for the door.

For a moment he paused at the foot of the stairs, and it flashed through his mind that the servants would not yet all be asleep as it was just midnight. Then he took the stairs with his long legs three steps at a time. At the top he paused and looked towards his wife's room. The house was silent now, and, as he went on swiftly again, he looked right and left. He had fallen naturally back into his old role— the cunning, panther-like campaigner. Thus it was that .he looked into her father's room as he passed— and saw his wife stretched out on the carpet at the threshold.  In a moment he was at her side, but, as his first plance told him she was breathing, he stood erect , and looked over her at the open window, his body like a taut spring: From the window his eyes went to the bed, widened a moment with surprise, and then narrowed.

On the bed lay Eugene Montagu, and, straight out from his chest stood the hilt of a large dagger!

The Duke stood for a moment,, and then he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see his head butler at the door. He was staring past, at the body on the bed, and his eyes were wide with horror.

"Close the windows and look after Mr. Montagu," the Duke said. "No, I will close the windows. See if there is any life in Mr. Montagu."

The Duke crossed to the windows and switched on the terrace lights—that marble terrace upon which he had once before risked his life. Then he stepped boldly out into the light and looked swiftly around him. Neither on the terrace nor in the garden could any sign of life be seen. There were many shadows below, however, which could have held a murderer. The Duke stepped back into the room and closed the doors, leaving on the outside lights.

"He is dead," the butler said in a shaking voice. "And Mrs. Gresley—?"

"Has fainted, I think," the ,Duke replied.  "Ring the police and a doctor."

The butler nodded and went out, and the Duke crossed to the bedside and looked down at the man he had known so well and who had meant so much to him— who had taken the place of his own father— who had also died at an assassin's hand.

"Dad," he said softly, "whoever did this thing shall answer to me."

Then he bent and, brushing his hand across his eyes, he closely scrutinised the dagger. It was of an ornate, Oriental pattern. He touched the wrist of the dead man. It was still warm: Then he drew the sheet over the calm face and turned away.

Picking up his wife in his arms he carried her across the hall to his own room and laid her on the bed. On the table beside it stood a carafe of water and a glass and he sprinkled her throat and splashed some water on her forehead. She moaned faintly and stirred. While the Duke chafed her wrists his mind was busy. How he wished that Shrimp and the rest of the gang were beside him now! The murderer might still be lingering in the garden, but he could not leave his wife's side to search. He had, found it a hard task to restrain himself, but restrain himself he must or else it might be a trap to draw him from her so that she too could be murdered.

The time would come, he promised himself, when he could go in pursuit — and that pursuit could only end in one way— with his own or the murderer's death. As Florence began slowly to recover her senses he crossed the room to the panelled wall, and, after a quick glance around, slid back a panel, disclosing a cavity in which lay a bundle. He took the bundle to the bed and, unrolling it, took from it two revolvers fitted with silencers and to the butts of which hung two long springs holding two straps. Pushing back his sleeves he quickly fastened the straps above his elbows so that the guns hung down inside his sleeves in such a way that a quick jerk would stretch the spring and fling them into his practised hands. Then he rolled up the other articles in the bundle and replaced it behind the panel.

When the butler entered he found the Duke helping his wife to sit up. Her eyes were glazed with shock and she stared dazedly about her. The butler, ever thoughtful, had brought with him a glass of brandy and the Duke took it from him and placed it to her lips.

As the fiery fluid began to have an effect, into Florence's eyes dawned a look of unutterable horror. Then she screamed again suddenly and flung her arms around the Duke, crouching against him. He held her close and signified to the butler to leave him. Soft footed he went out and the door closed gently behind him.

After a few moments Florence took a grip upon herself and spoke, but her voice was a husky whisper.

"Father!" she said. "Do you— know?"

"Yes, sweetheart," the Duke replied. "But do not worry about it—of course, it's useless to ask you that."

"I will try and be—brave. Is he dead?"

The Duke did not answer and for a few moments she sobbed brokenly;

"Who did it?" she .asked at length.

"I don't know— but I shall," the Duke replied.

"You mean— you mean— you will seek— whoever did it?"

"Of course."

"But no— no— NO! They may kill you."

"They will do that easier," the Duke observed, "if I sit quiet and let them."

"Then— then you think —it was aimed— at you?"

"Indirectly. The ones I love first to make me suffer—and then me. Someone from the past. Tell me what you saw."

She took a deep breath but still remained as close to him as she could possibly get.

"I wished to ask Father if he had finished the book I told him to read," she said. "I knocked on his door but he did not answer, though I thought I heard a. sound inside. I opened the door and the first thing I saw―" She was silent for a moment. "I thought I saw a shadow at the window from the comer of my eye but I was looking at— Father. I think I screamed and— that is all I remember."

"You did scream," the Duke said, "and it was just as well, or you might have shared your father's fate. The murderer made a getaway while I came up the stairs. Now— the police will soon be here and I will take you to your own room and leave you in charge of one of the chauffeurs and your maids."

She shuddered. "No," she said. "Do not leave me— never leave me again."

"You will be well protected," he said, "and I will have much to do. Can you walk?"

She tried bravely to stand but the shock had weakened her too much and she sagged in his arms. He swept her up and stepped to the door. She felt one of the guns in his sleeves pressing on her side and she looked up into his face. He nodded.

"I thought," she said, brokenly, "those had gone forever."

"I kept them," the Duke replied, "hoping I would never need them again —with the steel waistcoat, the steel- lined hat and the burglar's tools. Now they must come out again."

Out in the passage he found a group of whispering servants.

"I want you, Mary, and you, Tess, to look after your mistress," he said to them. "And you, James, please follow me."

He led them along the hall to the room next to her father's bedroom. This room also gave on to the marble terrace and he sent James in before him. The windows were closed, however, and the room appeared quite innocent. The Duke, so soon as he would be rid of his burden, decided to search every corner, however, before he left it. He crossed with his wife to the bed, lowered her feet gently to the floor and threw back the sheets.

Then she screamed!

In the centre of the bed was a large hideous cobra and quick as a flash it coiled itself and threw up its head to strike at the man and woman beside the bed.

Then the Duke's servants blinked at what they regarded as. a miracle of speed. With a swift movement the Duke swung his wife behind him with one arm while from the end of the other came a flash of flame, a "plop" and the cobra's striking head was thrown back by the bullet which tore through its brain— making of it a writhing whip of death— its own death.

Chapter 2

The Black Box

"IT IS not a matter of revenge entirely," the Duke said to the group of men who sat around him in the library. "There is also the element of self-preservation, for, if someone has found out who the Duke was and is intent on revenge and clever enough, he can wipe us all out like sitting rabbits."

The short, stocky man who sat on the left of the Duke nodded. "We can see that," he said, "and it is up to us to strike first— and do it quickly."

It was two days after the murder of Eugene Montagu and the men gathered in the room were a somewhat motley crew. But the Duke knew them all as staunch and true comrades and men to be relied on to death. They were the members of his old gang; who had helped him clean up the greatest gang of murderers and thieves that the city had ever seen, though each man had thought himself to be a member of a criminal gang and did not know till the end that every man was simply working towards the one end—revenge on that vilest of all men— the Snail. But when the task was completed they had disbanded and gone their several ways—to be recalled now to face this new danger. All except one, who could not be found.

Truth to-tell, they all seemed somewhat glad to come out of their retirement, for those exciting days had not been easily forgotten. The man who sat next the Duke was his uncle and one of the cleverest revolver shots in the world; he was known to the gang as the Shrimp and the Duke's lieutenant. Near him sat a young man about thirty, cleanly built, tall and good looking. This was Tom Buckley, better known as Razor, who had played a large part in the vengeance on the Snail, fallen in love with the girl in the case and seen her marry the Duke. But, though he loved her he loved the Duke even more. He looked older now, a trifle more stern, but he was still the hard fighting, brave Razor of old. Lounging on the couch was a tall, rather thin young man with sleepy eyes whom the gang knew as Mossy; near him was a quiet looking, older man— Peter; a very dark square-built young man stood with his back to the mantel— Morry; a little man with a slightly Oriental cast of countenance stood near the french-windows— Tom; while the only one of the old gang absent, except poor Irish, was that tall and lean young man called The Rose— a nickname gained when he was a dirty little guttersnipe and rather smellful.  They had not been able to trace him but hoped to do so later.

"I, for one," the Duke said, "refuse to sit still and be picked off. I would like to be up and doing."

"That suits me," remarked Mossy, and the others nodded.

"I have brought you here to-night," the Duke went on, "to put the case to you and tell you what I am going to do. If you wish to leave whatever jobs you have and take the same risks as you did. in the past, then you can step in beside me, but if you don't I will not blame you in the least— it is hardly your fight this time."

"I think it is," Razor said quietly. "This would never have happened if we had not all gone out after The Snail in the first place— it is the outcome of what we all did."

"That's a fact, too," remarked Tom.

"All I can say," the Duke went on, "is that I could not hope for and could never find better comrades. Well, who's with me?"

No one answered for a moment, and then the Shrimp's eyes twinkled.

"I think," he said, "that that is what the boys regard as an unnecessary question."

"Almost an insult," Morry said with a grin. "Speaking for myself— I'm hogging to start."

"You shouldn't need to ask us," Razor said. "We're with you— body and soul. Now let's hear your plans."

The Duke looked from one to the other, and his eyes were tender as they rested on each one. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

Then― "There's nothing I can say," he said huskily.

"Then say nothing." the Shrimp, said, "and let's get on with the campaign."

The Duke leaned back and lit a cigarette. Then he leaned forward.

"There seems only one thing to do," he said. "The Duke and his gang must come back to the underworld. I will have to grow the silly little moustache again— a matter of a. couple of days— you can see it has begun already; I will have to wear the old foppish clothes, the lilac handkerchief in my sleeve, the spats and so on; I will have to talk the old drivel so that the underworld will know it is indeed myself. That seems the best protection, because then they are never sure where to find me, and when I turn up it is always too unexpectedly for them to make plans before hand, we will have to get places for secret depots once more, and start our old system of keeping our eyes on the enemy. All the old tricks must he played until we find the man or men who are out to kill us all, and then— we will decide what we will do with him."

"Have you any idea who he may be?" asked Razor.

"On the face of it," the Duke replied, "it seems only too plain. There was only one of our arch-enemies left alive, and he escaped because he had no hand in the events which caused our battle. And the dagger which caused Eugene Montagu's death was an Oriental one."

The men nodded and the Shrimp voiced every thought: "Ling Chang?"

"That was what I, thought," the Duke agreed, "and the only way to learn for certain is to find Ling Chang. If we cannot find out from him, or while we are looking for him, we can watch him until he strikes—or someone else strikes — once more."

"We need only watch you," Morry said. "If you make yourself fairly conspicuous, you will be the bait to draw him."

"No," the Duke said. "His methods are much more subtle than that. This enemy wants to make me suffer as we made the Snail suffer— he will strike first at my wife."

"Good Lord!" gasped Razor. "You will have to get her away somewhere—out of his reach."

"That," said the Duke, "is easier said than done. Where could I hide her? In any case, she says she will not leave me. That, of course, is nonsense, as this will be no game for a woman. She must leave me. but she must be constantly guarded when I drop out of sight. So, Razor, to you I entrust my greatest possession, and want you to guard her day and night with your life."

Razor's eyes filmed. "I appreciate your trust in me, Duke," he said, "but surely one man will not be enough?"

"I can hardly spare more, but if I thought one was not sufficient I would certainly double the guard. However, I know you of old and I' am quite satisfied to leave her in your hands."

Razor nodded. Although his first love for Florence had long since been dimmed, he still reverenced her, and the Duke knew' he would use every effort to keep her from harm. Also, the Duke did not wish to make her conspicuous by placing too many guards with her— men who were evidently known to- the enemy and would therefore draw attention. He knew also that she would not like it and that his unknown enemy would expect him to place two guards at least and therefore would be looking for three people; so may miss seeing two.

"Where is she now?" asked the Shrimp. "I expected to see her here with you."

The Duke smiled. "You would not know her if you saw her," he said.

The Shrimp's eyes twinkled. "No?" he said. "I think I'm the best judge of that. If you can disguise Florence so that I will not know her, then I'll make you a present of one of my old and tried pistols."

"Don't throw your pistols away like that," the Duke said dryly. "You may need them in the future."

"I don't know about pistols," said Mossy. "Pistols seem to have gone out of fashion now that they've taken to machine-guns."

"Then we will also take to machine-guns if we need 'em," the Duke said, "though I don't think we will. Bit too unwieldy to carry."

"You haven't answered my question," the Shrimp insisted.

"Sssh!" the Duke said, as a knock sounded on the door. Then he added:

"Come in."

A maid entered with a tray of whisky, soda, eatables and cigars. She was old and rather feeble and Razor jumped up to close the door behind her and take the tray.

"I thought you might need these, sir," she said in a thin quavering voice. "I know what a lot of men are, sir."

"Thanks, Biddy," the Duke replied. "Would you kindly ask your mistress to meet these gentlemen?"

"Right now, sir?"

"It you don't mind," the Duke said.

"Yes, sir," the old servant replied. And then Biddy did a strange thing. She crossed the room and quickly placed herself on the Duke's knee and her arms round his neck and kissed him.

"Does that seem like her?" she said, but now her voice was young and sweet and strong.

The men gasped, and the Shrimp leaned forward to look closer.

"You win the gun," he said, back. You tricked me nicely. I hope I find you well, Florence?"

"Allow me to sympathise—" Razor began.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I'd rather not speak of it," she said.

"This was certainly a great idea, Duke," Morry remarked.

"I thought it the best way," the Duke said. "I let it be known that my wife had gone away and we took on this new servant. But it is not so very safe— especially when she acts like she is acting now— with the blinds on the windows wide back."

Razor leapt to his feet and crossed towards the windows. He had not taken two steps when a pane of glass smashed to a thousand fragments as something flew through, passing him and rolling to a standstill in the centre of the room. Florence uttered a short scream and then all were silent—staring fascinated at the thing which had startled them.

It was a small black box and faintly on the silence from it came an ominous tick-tick-tick.

"A time bomb!" breathed the Shrimp.

Chapter 3

The Rebound.

EVEN AS the Shrimp spoke he was in movement. With one leap he reached the bomb, and, like a footballer on the run, caught it up without pausing. He kept on towards the windows, but there would not be time to open them and to throw the bomb at them, may not send it far enough, so the Shrimp took the only alternative—with the deadly missile clasped to his breast he went on without pausing. A leap— and then a crash of splintering timber and breaking glass as he flew through and from the sight of the watchers in the room.

The Shrimp landed sprawling upon the terrace which skirted this side of the house— the terrace where once Florence: had been carried, cloaked and muffled by kidnappers of the Snail— from her own birthday party. But the Shrimp had no thoughts of this. The bomb was still in his arms, and although he had no fear for his own life the box of death was still too close to his friends. He leapt to his feet and with his free hand swept the blood from his eyes, which came from a nasty gash in his forehead caused by the glass in the doors. He ran to the balustrade and saw, thirty feet away, men scrambling over the iron railings to reach a car which stood at the kerbstone outside. The Shrimp sprang on to the wide marble balustrade, balanced for a split second, then drew back his arm and with all the strength in his body, threw.

The black box described a wide arc in the air and was lost to view and then— less than a minute after it had dropped upon the floor of the library there was a deafening explosion, and the bomb-throwers' car was hidden by a blinding flash.

The Shrimp heard the others behind him.

"Come on!" he called and leapt from the balustrade to the lawn.

They found the remains of the car spread all over the roadway— a twisted mass of wreckage which appeared like a toy which had been trodden upon. Two men lay on the footpath near it— another was unrecognisable in what had once been the driver's seat— and another lay moaning in the roadway. It needed only a cursory glance to see that the first three were dead, so they hurried to the fourth man. The Duke picked him up and carried him to the footpath under a street light. As he set him down Razor gasped..

"A Chink!" he said.

"Just so," the Duke replied. "They are usually pretty clever with bombs, but they blundered very badly on the timing of this one, though they had to have time to escape— luckily for us."

"And unluckily for them," Razor said. "See if you can get him to talk."

"Yes," the Duke replied, while he cast anxious eyes about him. "But first— where is my wife? She is in your charge, Razor."

"I'm— I'm sorry, Duke," Razor said. "I think she stayed in the house— I will return at once."

He did not trouble to go round by the gate, but nimbly climbed the fence. The whole affair had happened so quickly that the habitual quietness of the street had hardly been disturbed. Running feet could be heard approaching, however. The Shrimp was bending over the Chinaman, trying to revive him. by every means he knew. At last the labouring breaths of the dying man became' a sigh and he opened his eyes,

"You're dying," the Shrimp said quickly. "Understand that—you're dying. And all because you tried to do a job for— whom? Who sent you out on this job?"

The Chinaman gazed up at the shadowy face above him with glassy eyes. Then with an effort he spoke two words:

"The Mask!"

That effort was his last, and the Shrimp rose from his knee as a policeman, followed by several people, ran up to them.

"What happened here?" the constable asked of everyone in-general as he cast his eyes over the scene.

The Duke stepped forward. "My name is Gresley," he said. "This is my home."

The constable nodded.

'Oh, yes," he said. "Your father-in-law was murdered recently— a couple of days ago."

"Yes. We were all sitting In my library— my friends and I— discussing the murder, and we Heard a terrific detonation. We rushed out— and found this. It looks like an explosion of some sort. All the men are dead."

"Have you ever seen any of them before?" the policeman asked.

"I haven't had time to look at them closely, but I don't suppose I have."

A crowd was rapidly gathering and the Duke kept his eyes alert--there may be unseen enemies right at his elbow. "I will do so now," he went on, "if you will clear the crowd back, and then, if you don't mind I will go back to the house— my wife will be worried and I suppose you will want someone to phone the ambulance and the station:"

"Yes, thanks— I will," the constable agreed and then turned to the rapidly thickening crowd. "Stand back there — stand back."

The Duke stepped to each body in turn and the constable threw the beams of his torch into each still face; then the Duke shook his head and told the truth when he said that he had never seen any of the men before.

"You will find me in my library when you want me," he added, and pushed his way through the throng, to be joined on the outskirts by the others of his party. For a moment he was close to Tom and one. word slipped from his lips "Stay!" and then Tom melted back into the pushing, morbid mob. ^

The remainder of the Duke's friends fell in around him and they went up the path to the house— to find Razor and Florence waiting for them at the front door.

"What's doing?" asked Razor, eagerly. "Nothing fresh," the Duke replied. "Let us go back to the library."

"The library!" gasped Florence.

"Yes. I do not think there will be another attack to-night and I want to get my plans in order so that we can begin our campaign at once."

"The, sooner the better by the look of it," the Shrimp .remarked,..

No one troubled to thank the Shrimp for saving their lives at the risk of his own. Such things were only part of the .game.

When all were seated, Razor rose again and walked to the shattered windows, standing facing them, looking out. The Duke nodded approval. Unnecessary risks are always foolish and he was pleased with his choice of a protector of his wife. Then he came back to the affair in hand.

"What do you make of it?" he asked his men.

"The Chink makes it look like the work of Chang," Mossy remarked.

"Added to the fact that the dagger was Oriental," Morry put in, "and that Chang wants to kill you, I would say that was it."

"And who," asked the Duke, "is The Mask?"

"Might be a fake name," said Peter. "You can never tell with Chinks— dying or not they're always cunning. Then again— the Mask, if there is such a joker, might be Chang."

"All those things admitted," the Duke said: "But there was one other thing which stands out pretty plainly— for some reason or other our enemy has suddenly become afraid."

The other men stared.

"Tonight's doings don't look like it," Morry remarked. "How do you make that out?"

"Well," the Duke began, "I think you will admit that our enemy, whoever he is, is aiming at me. He began by trying to torture me by killing those I loved off one by one before he got me. Now he has changed his plans— he tried to wipe us all out at a blow. The other plan was too good in its revenge to give up so easily, so, unless he is afraid, why should he suddenly be so drastic?"

"But what would he be afraid of?" the Shrimp asked.

"Why— the Duke, of course!" Razor said.

The Duke shook his head. "No— and yes," he said. "I think that the more plausible explanation is that he has something else in the wind— something that has just come up and with which he wants to go on without any other little matters on his hands. And he doesn't want me to have any fingers in his pie. So he acts— swiftly— drastically."

"Sounds as though you may be right," the Shrimp said. "And when and how do you intend to begin?"

"I've almost forgotten something. ; Peter, will you ring the station and an ambulance?"

Peter nodded and went to the desk phone. While he was getting the numbers the Duke called the others in closer—except Razor, who remained at the window on the alert. He could seethe milling crowd outside while the policeman was taking his notes and amongst them he knew was Tom—listening and talking and finding out all he could.

"Listen," the Duke said softly. "We suspect Chang— and we have a right to do so— several rights. In fact, so many rights that it makes me wonder. Ling Chang was too wily a bird to plant clues pointing to himself. And yet, he might anticipate me reasoning that way and therefore be really behind the whole affair. There is only one way for us to find out--and that is find Ling Chang and— if we can't trick, him into giving himself away— we can watch him night and day. Then we will know whether he has a hand in this. But first we must go into smoke— into the underworld— the enemy's country, but the only place where we can learn anything. I will be openly seen as the Duke, but you others will work in the dark."

"And when—" asked Peter, "—when do we start?"

The Duke looked at the clock. "The constable should be done with us by the time a couple of hours have passed. So should the detectives. We will not get another private moment until then. And then— at midnight the weird denizens of the Madras Cafe will get a surprise— into that underground home of vice and murder will walk the Duke and the Shrimp— Just like old times!"

"Tonight?" gasped Razor.

"Tonight!" echoed the Duke.

Chapter 4

Shorty McKay, Killer

THE Madras Cafe had not changed in a year— it was still the cesspool of vice it had always been— it was still reached in the same devious ways. One still had to give the word, enter the costumier's shop, find the secret door and go down the rough stairs into the huge cellars which were the Madras. And it had the same rough characters sitting at the tables— different faces here and there, but just as evil-looking. The Snail and his henchmen— Johnno, Mike, Lash— were gone forever, but others as bad had taken their places.

And now those in the place who were old enough hands to know the Duke gasped as a picture appeared in the doorway— taking them back suddenly to those lively days of battle.

Standing in the doorway was a tall man, with a monocle in his eye, a lilac handkerchief in his sleeve, a tiny moustache on his top lip, dressed in elegant clothes and the epitome of grace. He looked around him with bored, sleepy eyes.

A whisper went through the room like a wave, "The Duke! The Duke is back!"

Then the Duke stepped farther into the room, and in his place in the doorway stood a little man with a ginger moustache, whose hands rested easily in his bulging coat pockets, and whose wary eye missed nothing.

Pug Ryan, the chief waiter, came forward.

"Hello, Duke," he said, offering his hand. "Glad to see you. We all thought you were dead, you. vanished so suddenly— we thought the Snail's gang got you."

The Duke smiled languidly as he Shook hands. "I have come down here," he said softly, "looking for a jolly old pal of mine—a beastly yellow fellow, you know— named Ling Chang."

"You're not the only one who is doing that," Pug said. "Everybody is looking for Chang these days, but he has gone into smoke, and no one seems to know where he is."

'"And what is the jolly old reason for the sweet one's retirement?"

Pug scratched his chin. "That's another funny thing," he said. "No one seems to know that either. The cops are not after him— just his usual business associates. But Chang has gone to ground— into one of his numerous burrows, and there will be no finding him till he chooses to show himself."

The Duke nodded. The news was not good, but he guessed he would be able to make a better job of finding Chang than some of these other men—shrewd as they were. The fact of Chang going into smoke was suspicious. Was he afraid the Duke would seek him-- or was there some other reason? He glanced round the room.

"You have a lot of new and pretty faces here, Pug," he said. "Most of them highly respectable, I am sure. For―"

He paused as a hand was roughly placed upon his arm and turned to survey a man who had come up and now stood at his side. He was a peculiar man— only about five feet tall and tremendously broad— with long arms which, made him look like an ape. In his eyes was a wild, half-mad look as they glared at the Duke. His nose was broken, his mouth had a twisted leer, and his clothes were extravagantly American. The Duke turned back to Pug.

"Who is this handsome, jolly old person?" he asked.

The other man answered. "I'll tell ya," he said. "Meet Shorty McKay— killer. Wanted for murder, 'old-ups, and who knows what else in the States. American citizen— when they let 'im be. The greatest lone-'and crook in the 'istory of crime."

"You're far too modest, old bean," the Duke remarked. "Have you ever won any beauty competitions?"

Shorty did not take any notice of this remark. "You— you're the Duke, ain't ya?" he snarled.

"They call me by that jolly old cognomen." the Duke said languidly.

"They reckon you are the fastest and cleverest crook that ever lived," Shorty went on.

"They are very kind," the Duke said, smiling, and noticed Pug move away as though he scented trouble. "I must send them a present."

"They might say it," Shorty snarled. "But I don't— see! Shorty McKay is the greatest crook that ever lived— and I'll prove it, too!"

"You certainly have a crooked nose." the Duke remarked. "And now, my jolly old publicity man, would you kindly remove yourself and have a jolly old wash. Then come back— I'd like to see what your face really looks like."

The wild eyes of Shorty narrowed and flashed. He pushed his face nearer the Duke. The room. had suddenly become quiet and several of the occupants were edging towards the exits.

"Ya tryin' to insult me?" Shorty asked, backing away a few steps.

The Duke raised his eyebrows. "Is that possible?" he asked.

Shorty looked-puzzled. He was not over-endowed with brain.

"Ya don't seem to realise," he said. "I'm Shorty McKay— gunman— killer. What I say goes."

"A very good idea," the Duke remarked, languidly drawing a cigarette case from his pocket. "You've already had your jolly old say— now go."

Shorty's eyes bulged. "You tellin' me to go?" he roared.

"I thought," the Duke said, genially, "you might wish to get a new face somewhere— the one you have is offensive."

He turned his backhand then Shorty's right hand flew to the holster under his armpit. In the twinkling of an eye a big automatic was in his hand, pointing towards the Duke's back. But it had not more than come in line than there was a sharp "crack" from the doorway and Shorty's gun flew from his hand. He swung round amazed, to see the Shrimp quietly slipping his revolver back in his pocket. The Duke walked across the room and, turning, leaned against a table and regarded Shorty.

"You are a naughty boy," he said, smiling. "You must not come out to civilised places and play with guns— it is bad for you. You might get jolly well hurt. Safety first, you know."

Shorty let out a bellow of rage, then swept a chair up in his powerful arms and charged at the Duke. The Shrimp's gun came into view again but he saw the Duke's smile and let it slip back into his pocket. Shorty pulled up within range of the Duke, who had not moved, and swung the chair. As nimbly as a jungle animal the Duke stepped out of the way—then as swiftly stepped in again and Shorty's head flew back from the force of the right uppercut which connected with his chin. But he was made of stern stuff and could stop more sledgehammer blows on the chin than most men. He staggered and went to one knee, the chair flying from his grasp. With a shake of his head to get rid of some of his dizziness he was up again and charging forward.

His wild swing was easily avoided and the force he put behind it sent him forward off his balance. The Duke's right hand came up, and Shorty flew up and over, hit the floor shoulders first and lay flat— out to the world.

The Duke looked at him with a smile and then picked up a half glass of beer from the table.

"Pity to waste the jolly old stuff," he said. "We'll give it to Shorty."

He threw the beer in Shorty's face and a second later Shorty opened his eyes and sat up.

"What a concrete chin he must have," the Duke remarked.

The Shrimp spoke from the doorway. "The whole of his head is solid rock, I should say!"

Shorty was gathering his wits. "I'll give you round one," he snarled. "But ya can't win all the time— not with Shorty McKay. I'll get ya, guy, as sure as the sun sets."

"Get a jolly old wash first," the Duke said as he strolled to the-doorway. "Come, Shrimp, we must our old college chum, Ling Chang—I have business with him."

They went out and the Madras Cafe breathed a sigh of relief. There was no doubt about it— the Duke was back.

Chapter 5

The Showdown

THE ROOM WAS blue with the smoke from the opium pipes which hung from the listless fingers of the men sprawled in the bunks. In the centre of it was a small table at which sat Wong Loo— the keeper of the place—rolling a "pill" of the drug over the small spirit lamp before he popped it into the little bowl of the pipe for a new customer.

While he manipulated the yen wok with which he held the "pill" he talked to a crony of his who sat opposite and, because in China there are hundreds of dialects which are not understandable to each other, he used the language of his adopted country and spoke English. All around him were the dirty bunks, in four or five of which lay men—drugged or preparing to be drugged or just sleeping off the last effects of the opium--while over all hung the blue haze and the sickly acrid smell of the extract of the white poppy of India.

For some little time the talk was of no interest and then Wong asked, "I no see the honourable Ling Chang welly much now."

"No," his companion replied. "He welly much gone into smoke— no see— no one see. But I— Tong How— I welly much in the great Ling Chang's seclets —I goodee man—he trustee me."

Wong looked up from toasting the treacly substance. "You mean— you know where Chang is?"

"Yes, Tong How know— know allee about Chang. But I no tell— nothing in world makee me tell."

"They say," Wong remarked as he poked the pill Into the pipe bowl, "that Chang— he hidee from the Duke."

Tong How smiled cynically. "They tell lottee t'ings— empty drum make most sound. Maybe Chang he hidee from Duke— maybe no."

Wong nodded and rose to take the pipe to the anxious customer. Then, he returned.

"The Duke," he said as he took his seat on the low stool, "go to Madras last night and he askee for Chang— lookee like makee much tlouble."

Tong chuckled. "Chang no flightened of Duke— Chang too clever. Duke fool—fight too muchee in open— Chang strike suddenly from dark— likee serpent. Chang wise man— wisest man of all. Duke no know where Chang is— Chang keep eye on Duke."

"But Duke— he been gone long timee—where he been? No one know."

"I tlink he been in another country— better for his health. Chang say he know difflent— and Chang he know everytling. And now he come back— and look for Chang. I know not why."

"I thought," said Wong slyly, "that you know all Chang's seclets!"

"Maybe so," Tong snapped. "Maybe Chang know no more than me."

"But you say Chang know everything."

"Maybe so," Tong said surlily, annoyed at being baited for his boastful talk. He rose to his feet. "I go now— I have talk with the honourable Chang."

A curtain that had been drawn across a bunk nearby the table was slowly drawn back, disclosing an old and wizened Chinaman of evil and dirty appearance. The two Chinamen turned idly to watch him as he yawned. Then he looked at them.

"Welly tired," he said softly.

"Nicee smoke?" asked Wong Loo.

"Welly nicee smoke," the old man replied and swung his legs to the floor.

"I go now," Tong How repeated to Wong and walked slowly to the door.

"You waitee little time for me," the old Chinaman said. "I welly old man and I need company."

He certainly appeared a very old man as he climbed with great exertion from the bunk. He was greatly stooped and his old clothes hung on him in folds. His hands were wrinkled and brown with age and his pigtail was long and streaked with grey.

He did not notice as he moved away from the bunk that his pigtail had caught in one of the rough nails which served to hold the curtain, and as he moved forward Wong rose to warn him that his hair was going to get a tug. Tong How waited at the door, for in China, even among the coolie class, age is regarded with great veneration, for they regard an old man as a very wise man.

Wong was a little too. late with his warning, for, even as he spoke, the old man had taken another shambling step forward and his bent head had given a sharp jerk to the pigtail.

Then the Chinamen gasped with surprise, for the pigtail did not jerk the old man's head back— neither did it leave the nail. Instead, it came away from the man's head— taking the yellow wrinkled scalp with it and disclosing beneath it a shock of brown hair!

For a moment there was silence, then Wong spoke. "A spy!" he hissed.

The old man straightened and further surprised the other men, for they could now see he was tall, which he had not appeared when bent. And he spoke.

"Jolly well looks like a spy, old slit eyes," he said.

"The Duke!" gasped Tong How, and a knife appeared in his right hand— a long, curving knife.

From the capacious sleeves of the pseudo Chinaman a revolver shot into view and the Duke's finger was on the trigger.

"Keep it for shaving, old thing," he said quietly.

But Wong Loo was not to be kept quiet so easily.

"A spy!" he yelled. "The Duke! He must not escape. Chang— he give much money— for his heart!"

His cries brought other Chinamen tumbling from the bunks, and in a moment the Duke was facing five evil faces, and the dim light was thrown back from five blades. Tong How turned the key in the door.

"I wouldn't do that, my jolly old thing," the Duke drawled. "This gun shoots straight, you know."

His eyes had only flicked to the door for a second, but it was enough. From the corner of his right eye he saw something flash, and knew that one of the other men had thrown a knife. Instinctively his right hand went up to guard the blow while his head ducked. He felt a sting in his wrist and looked down to see a long blade quivering in his arm. The next moment he fired and the only man who did not now hold a knife crumbled up and fell to the floor.

With his left hand the Duke pulled the knife from his right wrist while he kept his eyes fixed on the other occupants of the room. Meanwhile he was backing to the bunk he had just left.

He could feel the blood running from the newly-opened wound and his hand was stiffening and intensely painful.

Keeping the knife in his left hand, he faced- the lowering frowns of the Chinese, who were jabbering away to each other and awaiting another chance to catch him off guard. ^He kept the 'gun aimed at them, but his right hand had gone so numb that he could not tighten his trigger finger. For once in his. life he wished he did not keep his guns strapped to his arms, for then he could have quickly changed the gun to his other hand. The job .was too tricky a one to attempt at the present moment, however.

He could bring his left hand over in front of his right and grasp the gun that way, but it was awkward, and would tell his foes that his right hand was useless. It would be better to bluff them a little longer. But he could not hold out too long, as the blood was pouring from his. wrist, while the human vultures facing him watched it and waited for him to weaken just a fraction.

He rested his back against the bunk and smiled at them, though he was suffering agony. Something had to be done and done quickly. And the door was locked.

Chapter 6

Into Cover

THE MAN lurking in the dark doorway in a noisome alley in Chinatown raised his head sharply and looked up at the house opposite.

"Was that a shot?" the Shrimp asked himself, as his hands closed over his guns. "Is the Duke in trouble in there?"

This was no time for idle speculations, however. If the Duke were in trouble then it was up to the Shrimp to make a move. Quite casually he stepped out of the doorway and crossed the silent mysterious alley.

The door of the narrow house stood open, like a huge mouth waiting to engulf him, but the Shrimp had not time for elaborate precautions. He paused for a second on the shadowy threshold and listened.  No sound was to be heard —not even from above whence he fancied had come the sound of the shot.

He stepped inside, one hand in his coat pocket, and the other feeling for the wall. The next instant he received a terrific blow on his head, flames darted before his eyes, and consciousness was blotted out.

The man who had hit him bent over him for a second and then stepped past him. to the door and cast a glance up and down the alley. Satisfied that the Shrimp had no comrades he returned to the unconscious man, stooped and gathered him in his arms.

Then he began the laborious task of carrying his burden up the rickety stairs. The Chinese lookout knew that this man, who had quite evidently come looking for trouble, could not be allowed to lie there. He might be a detective and he must be disposed of quickly and quietly. But first the lookout must get his orders from his superiors.

He came to the door of the opium den and, finding it closed, set the unconscious Shrimp on the floor. He turned the handle of the door but it was locked, so he knocked imperatively.

Inside the room the taut nerves of every man jumped. The Duke, striving to keep his gun straight, felt a new lease of life flood through him at this welcome interruption. Although this would quite likely be a foe the interruption might , give him the chance he sought. His eyes flicked upwards at the small electric globe and marked its position.

"Who there?" Tong How asked in a low voice.

"It is I— Moy Wing," a voice replied.

"Whatee want?"

"Velly muchee tlouble," Moy Wing's voice came through the cracked panels.

Tong How and Wong Loo exchanged glances. The Duke decided to help them to think.

"My jolly old yellow-skins," he said, "you must expect trouble when you play euchre with the Duke. He never goes alone."

That was already in the Chinamen's minds.

"What kind tlouble?" Wong Loo asked the door.

"Moy Wing find man— creeping aroun' —knock 'im out—'as 'im 'ere."

The Duke's heart sank. They had evidently got the Shrimp, though it seemed incredible that such an old campaigner would be caught so easily. The only reason the Duke could see would be his anxiety to dash to the rescue.

"Who is man?" Wong Loo asked.

"Not know— too dark. Maybe him detective— maybe not."

Wong Loo stepped to the door. Wing's words had upset him as they had upset every Chinaman in the room. The fear of the police was deeply rooted in them. Wong Loo turned the key and for a moment all eyes were on the opening door. It was the moment for which the Duke had been waiting...

With a movement like lightning the Duke transferred the gun into his left hand—almost on the same instant there was a spurt of yellow flame which flashed viciously towards the light globe. The room went dark.

Then events moved speedily. With a bound the Duke was across the room, his fists hitting out in all directions as he hurled the Chinamen aside. The place was pitch dark and it was only when he stumbled over the Shrimp's body that the Duke knew he was free of the room. Behind him were the muttering Chinese— some feeling with deadly intent for him, some picking themselves from the floor where he had flung them and some hurrying away as fast as they could go and expecting a bullet in their backs at any moment.

The Duke felt a knife swish past his ear as he bent and picked up the Shrimp, and then he walked softly up the passage— away from the descending stairs towards the foot of the stairs which ascended.

As he brushed along the wall he felt a narrow door which he guessed belonged to a cupboard under the stairs. Shifting his burden a little he tried the door and found it only latched. ,He opened it and, bending low, crept inside.

He closed the door and set the Shrimp down, and, as he bent to .try and revive him, he saw a light appear through a crack in the door and knew that the search for him was on.

Chapter  7

Footsteps In The Dark

THE LIGHT WHICH shone through the crack wavered and flashed, and was doubtless the glow of a torch. The stair cupboard could not escape observation, and, therefore, search. The Duke swiftly gathered up the Shrimp and placed him farther up the cupboard and below the slope of the stairs. Then he quickly returned and stood beside the door.

The latch made a slight noise as it was cautiously turned, and then, suddenly, the door was thrown wide and the ray of a torch cut the darkness. The light fell on the bare floor and explored it and the' wall for a moment. The Duke did not breathe, and he hoped the torch holder would not detect the breathing of the Shrimp. The man with the torch came nearer, and cautiously placed his head through the doorway to flash the torch along the cupboard's length.

At that instant the Duke's left hand sliced down and the edge of it struck the man across the back of his neck with stunning force. The searcher gave a short cry and stumbled forward, the torch dropping from his hand— and then the Duke struck again and the man fell forward and lay still.

The Duke stepped into the doorway and looked up and down the passage. No one was in sight, though sounds of the search could be heard above and below. He pulled the door shut, then, groping about for the torch, he Switched it on.

The unconscious man at his feet was the boastful Tang How, and the Duke smiled with satisfaction. This man knew where Ling Chang was to be found. It was in an effort to shadow him that the Duke had left his bunk so suddenly, with disastrous results. Now, if the Duke could get Tong How, the Shrimp and himself out of the house, the disaster might lead to success.

The first necessity was to see to the Shrimp and revive him, if possible. The Duke turned the light up the cupboard and then stepped to the Shrimp's side. The Shrimp was moving, and a few deft pressings upon nerves with the Duke's fingers, a loosening of clothes, and he gave a slight moan and opened his eyes, blinking in the torchlight.

"Who's that?" he asked quietly, not being able to distinguish the shadowy person who bent over him out of the circle of light.

"It's me, Shrimp," the Duke assured him.

"Good!" said the Shrimp thankfully. "What a head I have! What's doing?"

"We're in a tight corner. This is a cupboard and they are searching for us —may find us any moment. I have one of them here."

"Don't you think," the Shrimp said, struggling up as much as the low roof would allow, "that we should be farther away from the door."

"We can't be farther away," the Duke said, puzzled, and saw the Shrimp's eyes blink.

The Shrimp reached out and took the torch from the Duke and then he flashed it on the brick wall and the Duke drew in his breath. A low door had been built into this wall, and it quite evidently led to the house next door.

"A bit of luck!" the Duke exclaimed. "It makes up for a lot of bad luck I had tonight. I wondered why this cupboard was so clear of articles― it is evidently used as communication with the house next door."

"Let's be on our way," the Shrimp said, trying the door and finding it unlatched, although a drawn-back bolt was .upon their side.

"Wait," the Duke requested. "My right hand is temporarily out of action. Give me the torch and see if you are strong enough to carry that Chink. I need him— he knows where Chang is."

"Does he?" said the Shrimp, dryly, and set about this task quickly.

He needed speed because faint footsteps could be heard in the passage. While the Duke held the communicating door open the Shrimp bundled Tong How into his arms. The Duke stepped through the door and a cautious flash told him he was in a cupboard identical with the one he had just left. The Shrimp pushed the Chinaman through the low door and scrambled through himself. Then the door was closed and the torch showed the Duke that the door also had a bolt on this side. He pushed it over and then he and the Shrimp with his burden moved up the cupboard.

Carefully the Duke opened the door and looked out. This new passage was dark and silent. He listened for a moment and then stepped forth— the Shrimp keeping close, using him as a guide. They went quietly the few steps to the top of the stairs and then, as softly as the creaking, rickety stairs would allow, they went on down into the darkness.

At the last turn the Duke paused to look over and down towards the doorway. The faint light from the street showed him the figure of a man lounging against the outer jamb, and his voice came to them sis he talked softly to someone who was in the street and out of sight.

The Duke deliberated. How many men were out there he had no means of knowing. To rush the door would be too risky to consider. The better plan was to try and cover the remaining stairs silently and in the darkness go towards the rear of the house, on the off-chance of an outlet that way.

"Not a sound," he breathed in the Shrimp's ear, and then stiffened.

Someone was coming down the stairs from above!

There was no time to lose. They must reach the bottom of the stairs before this new danger. The Duke also felt his dizziness returning. It was a few moments of heart-stopping thrill before his hand found the bottom post of the banister. Then he swung swiftly to the rear, closely followed by the Shrimp and they crouched against the wall.

The wall moving slightly from his touch the Duke felt round and discovered there was a door behind him. Evidently another cupboard.

The man from above was now at the foot of the stairs.

"Who's that?" the man at the front door asked sharply.

"It me, Ah Ming," a celestial voice replied. "Has anyone tlum?"

"No one's come out of the 'ouse," the man at the door replied. "If they do we's ready for 'em— while there's three watchin' the back doors."

"They must not escape," the Chinaman said. "Wong Loo tlay they Duke and one of his men— Chang want 'em."

The man who had come down the stairs was at the front door now.

" 'Ave yer 'ad a good look upstairs?" the doorkeeper asked.

"Velly good lookee. No there. Could not have come tloo any of the doors from nex' door. Me search this floor now."

The Duke waited no longer. They were trapped again. He swung open the door behind him and guided the Shrimp into the opening. The Shrimp stumbled.

"Sssh!" the Duke hissed.

"Steps!" the Shrimp whispered. "It's the cellar door."

The Duke followed him on to the steps and closed the door softly behind him. His questing hands found a bolt and pushed it across. Then he followed the Shrimp down into the. darkness.

"Steps end," came in a whisper from the Shrimp and the Duke flashed on the torch.

They were in a rough cellar. Piles of rubbish, tea cases and boxes met their eyes. Then the light found a dark opening.

They moved to this new door— the Duke keeping his torch on the ground so that they would not stumble, or walk into a trap.

They entered another cellar, similar to the first— even to another door. Here the Duke called a halt.

"We rest here," he said. "You must be tired."

"He's coming round," was the Shrimp's only remark as he lay Tong How on the ground.

"And I'm going off, I think," the Duke said. "I'm hellishly dizzy.".

"I'd better fix up that hand," the Shrimp remarked, diving a hand into his breast-pocket for the long narrow tin containing his small first-aid kit. He drew a small packet from it.

"Here, take this powder."

The Duke took the packet and emptied It upon his tongue, while the Shrimp took the torch and ran his hands over the moaning Tong How. The only weapon he found was a long knife which he slipped into his belt. The potent drug acted almost immediately on the Duke, and, greatly revived, he took the torch and shone it upon his bloodstained wrist.

Having no water the Shrimp washed the wound as best he could with disinfectant-soaked cotton wool, while he kept one foot lightly resting on the Chinaman's neck. The blood commenced to flow again and it was just then Tong How strove to rise.

"Keep still," hissed the Shrimp, increasing the; pressure of his foot.

The Duke's gun glinted beside the torch in his left hand and was plainly visible in the torchlight, pointed at How's head. The Chinaman subsided— his eyes glistening watchfully in the reflected light. The Shrimp went on swiftly, surely and calmly with his job— snipping with scissors, plugging the wound with cotton-wool, then tightly binding it.

The Chinaman guessed the pain the Duke was enduring and he watched the gun carefully— but it never wavered.

"That should do for awhile," the Shrimp said, tying the bandage. "Just as well, too, for that torch battery won't last much longer. Now for our friend here."

He drew the knife from his belt and, bending down, he took his foot from How's throat and replaced it with the point of the knife.

"Will I finish him?" he bluffed, and the Chinaman's eyes turned back in his head, gleaming whitely in the now direct rays of the torch.

"Not yet," the Duke said. "We may not kill him at all—if he tells us where to find Ling Chang."

How's body relaxed and the Shrimp felt the knife-move as he gulped.

"Me— not— know," he gasped.

"You forget, my jolly old piece of ginger," the Duke said silkily, "that I heard you telling your chow friend that you did know where the smellful Ling Chang is— that you were going to see him."

"I lie to him," How said.

"I'll believe you are a liar, old banana, but you are doing the lying now."

"If he can't tell us anything," the Shrimp said in a grisly bloodthirsty way, "let me finish him off."

"Wait. That silly old cabbage may talk. Will you tell?"

How regarded the two shadows above him with eyes almost expressionless except for the fear he could not quite obliterate. His cunning brain told him that these men wanted to know desperately where Ling Chang could be found and he was their only hope. If he held them off they would let him live, whereas to tell them his secret would end his usefulness and (as he thought, by his own code) his life. There was a chance of torture, but this was a dangerous place for such a thing, as a scream from him would perhaps bring reinforcements.

"Me— not— know," he said.

The Duke and the Shrimp inwardly sighed. They guessed what How had reasoned and they had no intention of torturing or killing him, though they knew he would have had no such scruples had matters been reversed. Things were at a deadlock.

The Duke stiffened and the torch went out, plunging the cellar into darkness. There had been a slight noise somewhere outside the cellar!

The men crouched in the darkness, every nerve taut and concentrated on hearing.

Then they heard light footsteps moving slowly over the ground— and getting nearer every moment.

But there was no light to guide those footsteps in the dark!

Chapter 8

The Note Of Death

THERE WAS a moment's breathless silence from the three while the footsteps went on surely. The Duke placed the sound as coming from the next cellar. Inch by inch so as not to make a sound he moved towards the spot where he imagined the cellar door, opposite to the one they had; entered, to be. He was particularly careful because he thought that any person who walked so surely in pitch dark must be blind and therefore keener of hearing than the average.

He reached the wall and felt along till his hand encountered the opening. Then he peered round the corner. There was no light in this other cellar, however, and the footsteps which had been crossing it had flow done so and had evidently passed through another door, as they were receding from hearing. The Duke decided to take a chance and flashed on his torch for a fraction of a second. That split second had been enough, however, to show him that he was looking into a long cellar from which led four doors. It was'quite plain that there was a labyrinth of cellars beneath these old houses—may be the catacombs of Chinatown.

Which door had the ghostly walker taken? He listened again and faintly a sound came back to him.

"Watch the Chink, Shrimp," he hissed over his shoulder. "I'm going to follow those steps."

"We'll both be here when you come back," the Shrimp replied cheerfully. "Dead or alive."

The Duke switched on his torch for an instant and crossed the cellar to a door. Here he paused and listened. Yes, the footsteps had gone this way and were still distinguishable. Through the door nothing could be seen but a wall of blackness. The Duke slipped round the jamb and felt his way forward. The wall ran straight ahead from the door and he put out his other hand and found a wall on that side also, showing he was in a passage. He went on more surely and quickly now, pausing ever and anon to make sure the footsteps still preceded him. They were very light footsteps— like those of a child or a girl.

Suddenly he flattened himself against the wall. A light had appeared ahead of him— a faint light which first came as a lengthy crack and rapidly widened. The walker, was opening a door into a lighted cellar. The Duke was only twenty paces back and the light into which the walker, went quite calmly and unsuspiciously gave him a fair view of her silhouette. For it was a girl, and the sight of her brought a smile of satisfaction to the Duke's lips.

It was Mo Hung— the so-called daughter and constant associate of Ling Chang. To keep her in sight or hearing was now imperative for the odds were that she would lead him to the very man he sought.

The door closed, the light was blotted out. and the Duke went forward quickly and quietly to the door. It was roughly built of timber with many cracks and seams and he bent his ear to it. Nothing could be heard except Mo Hung's receding footsteps, and he found a wide split and applied his eye to it.

From what he could see this cellar was larger and Mo Hung was crossing it to another door where a flight of crude earthen steps led upwards. At the door she turned and looked backwards round the cellar. Then her hand went up to a switch near the door and the light went out.

The Duke thought quickly. Mo Hung walked so surely through these cellars in the dark that she must have been very familiar with them. She had evidently been on some errand and had left this light for her return. Now she would need it no more and that meant she was returning to her base. Only one conclusion could be reached— she was going to Ling Chang!

The Duke gave her a moment's start, then he softly opened the door and crossed the dark cellar. He had a clear photograph of it in his mind and the darkness was no hindrance to him. Half-way across it he paused— struck by a sudden thought. It was familiar to him. Why? Of course, he had it now— it was the same cellar from which he and the Shrimp had once rescued Florence and left Ling Chang, with a bullet in each leg. But then no steps had led directly from it— only a door with a short passage, at the. end of which were steps leading up to a trapdoor, which had led into Chang's kitchen. The Duke listened. The footsteps could no longer be heard, so he switched on his torch and flashed it quickly about him. Yes, there was the other door at the end. It had been partly boarded up and boxes were packed before it. It was clearly never used now and Chang had evidently shifted into the next house. The door through which the Duke had entered and the one leading to the stairs had been made since the last time the Duke had been here— on that historic day when the Snail had died.

The Duke switched out his torch, and, crossing to the steps, commenced their careful ascent, his left hand exploring upwards before him. Suddenly his fingers touched wood and as they did so he heard a voice— and it was the voice of his enemy— Ling Chang!

"And, my beautiful Mo Hung, has aught been seen or heard of my honourable friend, the Duke? May the wrath of the gods be upon him."

"There was a rumour at Ah Sing's that be had been seen at one of our houses disguised as an old Chinaman, but that was but half an hour ago and if it be true then it matters little, as they allowed him to escape."

"Escape!" Ling Chang hissed. "They had him— and they allowed him to escape, the scum!"

"But my master," the girl's throaty voice intoned, "you have no reason to be afraid— you, who are never afraid, are far too clever for such as he."

"I know it, Mo Hung, I know it. There is no greater brain than mine. But he is nearly as cunning as I am— his brains rank next to mine in the Underworld— and should I or you or any of the others make one slip, then— that devil, the Shrimp, will send his inspired bullets ripping through my heart."

The Duke smiled and slowly retraced his steps to the foot of the stairs. Then, as swiftly as he could— for he had still to be cautious in case any other of Chang's gang was prowling through the cellars— he went across the cellar and along the passage.

He met no one, however, and, reaching the door of the cellar in which he had left the Shrimp and his prisoner, he. stood and listened. No sound came from within. He had no wish to make a noise, which may bring a leaden messenger of death to him.

"Shrimp!" he whispered.

"The wolf and the lamb still lie together," came back the Shrimp's whisper.

The Duke flashed his torch, which showed the Shrimp sitting on Tong How's chest with the latter's dagger pressed on his throat, so that a thin trickle of blood ran down his neck.

"Which is the wolf and which is the lamb?" the Duke asked.

"I am the lamb," the Shrimp replied. "Our friend the wolf tried to leave me a while ago, but he is still here, as you see. What luck?"

"All the luck in the world," the Duke replied. "I have found our friend."

"Good!" said the Shrimp. "What will we do with this piece of cheese? Will I kill him now?"

There was a gurgle from Tong How, but he kept perfectly still.

The Duke flashed the torch around the littered cellar and the light fell on some short pieces of hemp, which had been cut from cases. He got them and in a few moments Tong How was safely trussed and gagged.

"Fare thee well, old cabbage," the Duke said to him. "We must be gone, for the clock is striking midnight and Cinderella must away. Come, Shrimp, follow me— and do it quietly."

Once more they crossed the cellar, traversed the passage, came to the door and through .it to the other cellar. The Duke switched on his torch for a moment;

"Remember this?" he asked as he switched off the torch.

"If I remember rightly," the Shrimp whispered reminiscently, "we made a slight social call here once on our way to pay a visit to the Snail."

"Your memory is almost as good as mine," the Duke whispered as he led the way forward to the stairs. "Now, quiet!"

They went slowly up the stairs till the Duke's fingers touched the wood above. Then they paused— every nerve strained to hear sounds from above. Moments passed, but no sound could be heard but a faint drip-drip.

"Very quiet," the Duke breathed. "They were there a few minutes ago."

"Can you hear a dripping?" breathed back the Shrimp.

"The tap in the kitchen above."

"No, it is somewhere closer than that. We would never hear the tap. Wait a moment."

Neither spoke for a few moments as they listened to the drip-drip. Then that stopped too.

"I have found it," said the Shrimp. "Flash your torch on my hand."

Placing his hand over the glass of the torch the Duke switched it on and the dim light fell upon the Shrimp's outstretched hand.

In the centre was forming a pool which threw back the light redly!

"Blood!" said the Duke, and shone the light upwards.

The drips were coming through a crack which was plainly the edge of a trap-door.

"That's why it's silent up there," the Shrimp said. "It is the silence of death. Someone has found Chang— and reaped the fruits of their curiosity."

The Duke put his shoulders under the trap-door and forced upwards. It was not bolted in any way, but it was heavy as though there were some weigh]; upon it. Through the opening he could see into a kitchen in which a light burned, but no person was at first to be seen.

With a heave he threw up the trapdoor and the obstruction slid aside.

The Duke stepped up cautiously into the room, the Shrimp dose behind him —they gave a swift glance round and then each caught at his breath.

Across the room was an open door and hanging in the opening was the twitching body of Mo Hung— a silken cord round her throat and her wrists bound to her side. The body turned slowly and the sightless, wide-open eyes looked down on the two newcomers in a death glare of terror and agony.

The Shrimp crossed swiftly to her and felt one of her wrists.

"Still warm, but stone dead," he said. "They took a tip from her name and hanged her."

"They?" said the Duke. "Perhaps it was Ling Chang. Why shouldn't he have done it?"

"The answer is behind you," the Shrimp replied.

The Duke swung round and for the first time saw the obstruction which had lain on the trap-door and which had also been the source of the drippings.

Stretched on the floor was the lifeless body of Ling Chang, a large dagger protruding from his heart!

The Duke looked closer. To the dagger was affixed a piece of paper. He bent to it. Then he exclaimed; Freeing the paper from the handle of the dagger he passed it to the Shrimp without a word.

The Shrimp looked at the paper. Printed upon it in large letters were the words, "THE DUKE REPAYS."

Chapter 9

The Vanishing Man

"IT LOOKS," the Duke remarked, "as though someone were making free with my name— and in rather a spiteful way."

"Nothing surer," the Shrimp said, examining the paper. "They want you better known to the police than just the ghostly rumour that you are. They may be still in the house. It is not long ago―"

He turned towards the door which framed the remains of Mo Hung.

"Not likely," the Duke said, halting him. "The killer or killers would leave immediately— for two reasons."

"One to escape observation, of course," the Shrimp said. "And the other?" He paused, inquiringly.

"To get the police here as soon as possible."

"Of course. Well, you always had the brains, Duke. I never foresaw that."

"To foresee is to forestall," the Duke remarked, scrutinising Ling Chang. "We have to get out of here."

"And quickly," the Shrimp said. "Listen."

There was no need to strain their ears. A thunderous hammering on the front door accompanied by a clarion authoritative voice demanding admittance rang through the house and a moment later similar sounds came from the back door.

The Duke quickly lifted the trap-door and they slipped down. As the Shrimp lowered it behind him, he could hear an axe splintering a panel.

As quietly as speed would permit the two men descended to the cellar, crossed it and entered the passage, their bodies touching in the darkness.

"At least this proves one thing," the Shrimp whispered.

"That Ling Chang is not our hidden enemy. Yes, I thought of that. It also proves that we have a clever and ruthless enemy with whom to deal. He was clever enough to take advantage of my search for Chang, he was clever enough to find Chang himself and he was doubly clever to catch that wily Chinaman unawares. Then the note would likely lead to the removal of both his enemies at once. A decidedly clever gentleman, the Mask."

"You think it was the Mask."

"Assuredly if there is such a person. Now we have to discover who hides behind that mask and we haven't much to go on with Chang dead."

"It was only pure luck that we defeated the Mask's plans against you to-night."

"Everything is luck. It is, by the same token, somewhat unlucky that I did not stay listening under that trapdoor when I followed Mo Hung. If I had not returned for you I might have been able to catch the Mask red-handed."

"He will be somewhat puzzled when he hears nothing of the note."

"I don't think you can puzzle that gentleman for long. The thing for us to do is to try to anticipate his next move— and that is a pretty problem with such a man. And our lives hang on the answer."

"Sssh, here is the end of the passage."

They crossed the cellar to the door of the room in which they had left their prisoner.

There was no sound, so the Duke pressed the switch of his electric torch. Then he swept the beams swiftly over the cellar and switched it off, and they both quickly moved their positions.

The cellar appeared the same— except for one thing.

Tong How had vanished!

Again there was silence. After a full minute the two men moved further away from the door and round the wall. Then they crouched low. The Duke found the Shrimp's ear.

"Could he have escaped?" he whispered.

"Not a chance," the Shrimp replied.

"Wait a moment."

The Duke felt him leave his side, then a rustle in the darkness—and silence, complete and profound. Somewhere in the cellar moved the Shrimp, but not a sound could be heard. It was nerve-racking peering into the darkness and silence and the Duke was beginning to feel a sickness in the stomach —the aftermath of the drug he had taken. Also, his injury was throbbing excruciatingly.

It could not have been more than two minutes, though it seemed like hours, before the Duke heard the Shrimp whisper close to his ear.

"I found the cords—they had been cut."

"He may have got one hand free," the Duke whispered, "and cut them himself."

"I searched him thoroughly and he had no other knife than that which we took. There is no doubt of it— he was released."

"Then where are they?" mused the Duke. "He knew which way we went and could have cut us off."

"They may have been unarmed," the Shrimp remarked, "though I doubt it. I think they have cut us off!"

"You mean," the Duke whispered, "they know we cannot escape the other end and are waiting in ambush up top."

"Something like that. They may not know about the business the other end but they know we are down here and all they have to do is watch every entrance—or exit."

The Duke was silent a moment. "You must be right," he said, at last. "And they know the cellars.. They can hide in them and wait for sounds of us or the sight of our torch. It makes one feel the way a rabbit must feel when pursued by ferrets and knowing that at every avenue of escape waits Death."

"Do you feel sick?" the Shrimp asked, curiously.

"Slightly. Why?"

"Your nerves must be jangled— I've never heard you talk that way before. It is your wound, I suppose. That is another thing— we have to get out of here to have that attended to."

"It's all right to suggest," the Duke whispered, "but we haven't a map of the nasty spots. At every cellar door may be a wire noose, an upraised knife, an alarm trip-wire. There is another angle."

"Pile it on," the Shrimp replied.

"You're very happy today."

"Exceedingly," the Duke said, dryly. "The other angle is this. When the police find Chang's body they will also find the trap-door and will search these cellars for the murderer of Chang."

"And, finding us, will consider their search ended."

"Yes— but, all the same, arrest would be preferable to sudden death or torture."

"It is up to us to avoid both if possible," the Shrimp whispered. "It is time we made a move. What is it?"

"Nothing!" the Duke replied. "It is not safe for us to move— we must let them make the first move and then rely on the quickness of our wits to get us out— both of us."

"Even one of us, if possible," said the Shrimp. "This is no time for foolish sacrifice."

"Fancy you saying that," the Duke said. "Well, remember it. It suggests an idea. If there is a search part; one of us could lead them off and take the risk of an ambush— which would not be such a risk with the police close behind—while the other could hide and maybe escape to investigate."

"And what happens to the decoy if he be caught?"

"That is my affair," the Duke whispered.

"Your affair? Who said you would be the decoy? You're weak, and besides, you are a better investigator than me. Also, if I'm caught you can rescue me."

"I thought," the Duke said, dryly, "that I was weak?"

"Let's not argue about it," said the Shrimp. "I will be the decoy— and I'm starting right away. Listen!"

The sound of voices and footsteps came to them faintly from the long passage.

"They're coming," breathed the Duke, but there was no reply. The Shrimp had gone!

Chapter 10

Hemmed In

THE DUKE moved swiftly. He knew there were some boxes over to his right and he went silently in that direction— his hands outstretched.

He had not. reached his objective when he heard a crash of falling boxes somewhere close by. It was the Shrimp's first decoy move.

For a moment there was absolute silence, then a voice rang through the cellars.

"Who's that there? Stand or we fire!" The Duke recognised the voice. It was Inspector Arthur Mooney, the lazy-seeming but very clever detective who had so often harried the Duke on his previous exploits— a man who, in spite of his lazy appearance, was a quick thinker and, when the need arose, almost a faster mover. He was a policeman to be feared and the Duke silently cursed the accident which had brought him on the case. The fact was not remarkable, however, as Mooney was now the leader of the homicide squad.

The men in. the passage began to run towards the noise and then the Duke's fingers touched the boxes and he swiftly crouched behind them, hoping fervently for the Shrimp's safety.

Suddenly Mooney's crisp voice was heard again.

"Wait! Listen!"

Through the door the Duke could see the reflected beams of torches flashing over the next cellar. He could hear plainly the pattering of running feet.

"The killer was here," said Mooney. "And he must have gone that way. Carter, stay here in case he doubles back on us. The rest of you come with me."

As the party clattered in pursuit of the Shrimp the Duke cursed Mooney's forethought in leaving a sentry. He could see the reflection of Carter's torch as he flashed it jerkily about and he suspected that Carter was not feeling overfond of the dark at that moment.

The light became brighter. Carter was passing the time and keeping down his nervousness by looking around. He was now at the door of the Duke's cellar and sending the beams of his torch about inquisitively. Through a chink in the boxes the Duke could see him
mistily in the back-thrown rays of the light— also the revolver he was holding. He was making himself a perfect mark for a shot but policemen were not the Duke's game. He emulated the opossum and kept perfectly still.

The light came to rest on the boxes and the Duke could see by Carter's intent attitude that he was peering forward— wondering whether to make a closer investigation.

Quickly and silently the Duke untied the knot of the bandage on his arm and commenced to unwind it. When it was down to its last turn he stopped and tied the free end loosely to the bottom of a box.

Carter was slowly crossing the cellar, the Duke's eyes never leaving him. He cautiously approached ope end of the pile of boxes so that he could see behind and. as he came nearer, the Duke backed quietly away, paying out the bandage.

As Carter came round one corner of the boxes the Duke vanished round the other. The bandage was fully paid out and as Carter shone his torch along the narrow space between the boxes and the wall the Duke gave the bandage a sharp tug—and then moved like lightning as three boxes fell.

The fall of the boxes started the taut nerves of Carter and he leapt backwards, blinking towards the fallen boxes and away from the front where the Duke waited—and then the Duke was upon him—his pistol butt crashed home and Carter collapsed without knowing what had hit him.

The torch hit the floor with a clatter and went out but the Duke had no need of it. Feeling about he possessed himself of Carter's gun. The less guns against him the better. Tearing off the slack of the bandage and tying it roughly about his arm he crossed swiftly to the door, went into the next cellar and felt along the wall till he found the passage door. Then he paused to listen, but evidently the fall of the boxes— and Carter—had not been heard.

At the end of the passage he paused in his hurried, silent walk. There may be another sentry here. He listened. No sound could be heard—even the sounds of the pursuit had died away.

He dared not use his torch so he felt his way forward. The door was open, so he slipped through, and, keeping close to the wall and carefully feeling his way round obstacles, he gained the steps leading up to Chang's kitchen. He looked upwards. The trap-door was closed, for only a thin crack of light could be seen, but a low murmur of voices told him that someone was in the room.

For a moment he hesitated. Would he venture up the steps and try to overhear, or was it a foolishly risky proceeding? The danger was considerable, as anyone opening the trapdoor would catch him at a disadvantage, while, should the others return silently, he would be trapped between two fires. He decided to take the risk, and went carefully up the steps on hands and knees.

With his ear close to the trapdoor he could hear plainly every word said in the room above, and he immediately decided that the risk was worth it.

"It ain't a bit o' use grilling' me," a voice was saying in unmistakable American accents. "I tell you I don't know a thing about it—an', even if I did, I ain't a rube."

"All we want to know," said another voice, "is what you were doing round here, Shorty. If you were not doing anything, then say so."

"Can't a guy take a stroll any place without having to take the rap?"

"You don't pick on a very salubrious quarter to stroll."

As Carter came round one corner of the boxes the Duke vanished round the other.

"I ain't too sure what ya mean, but I ain't got any slant."

"Slant?"

"Side-kick. I work alone— I mean, I'm law-abidin'."

"Of course you are," a gruffer voice chimed in with heavy sarcasm. "You're a sainted angel. Now tell us what you , know about this murder.'"

"I know nothin' about it," Shorty said surlily. "I just got off a street car. If I'd a known there was a moider, I'd a took a run-out powder and ya wouldn't a gaffled me."

"Don't you think," a voice said, "that it's pretty queer you should be found hiding in a doorway only three doors away from the place where a man had been stabbed?"

"I wasn't 'iding," Shorty said, "I was just— er— restin'. An' I never used a sticker in me life. Dirty things, they are."

"And this gun found on you— you have a licence for, that?"

"Licence? What licence? Ain't a guy allowed to go heeled in a strange berg?"

"Not in this berg," the gruff voice said. "You will be charged with carrying an "unlicensed weapon— and it carries a heavy penalty. But I'm not promising anything, mind you, but— we may forget all about it if you tell us about this killing."

There was silence for a few moments. "Well, what about it?" the gruff voice demanded.

"Aw, boss," said Shorty, "I ain't tellin' no lies— I'd be a new-born babe to be caught on an old one like that. I'm the fall-guy in this business— I'm sneezed for wot I never did. Let up on me, will ya?"

"Well, we'll say you're innocent. Whether you are or not, we'll find out later— and we'll have your record in a few days. How long were you in that doorway?"

"About twenty minutes, more or less."

"You could see this door?"

"Yeh— but I weren't lookin' at it particular."

"Did anyone leave this house while you were watching it?"

"I tell ya I wasn't watchin' it," Shorty said indignantly.

"All right— all right. Did you see anything strange— or anyone leave this place?"

"Wot if I did?" Shorty's voice was crafty. "I ain't no stool, an'— what's the bees to me if I squeal?"

"If you give us any information which proves useful we'll do our best for you over this gun charge. Now, what did you see?"

"Plenty. But you ain't promised me much."

"We'll make it light as we can—and our word counts with the man on the Bench."

"I never knoo the word of a dick to be worth a nickel. However, 'ere's a chance on the pick-up. I was in on a tip."

"A tip?"

"A crowd," Shorty interpreted. "Don't you guys understand English?'"

"Perhaps we do—but not the argot of American thieves. Tell it in our language."

"Well, in a crowd I sees a sucker handlin' some scratch—paper money, I mean— and I tails him to a short— a street car. He gets off near 'ere and I'm tailin' close when 'e turns into a joint. I wait outside, and after a few minutes 'e skates out with t'ree other guys I was standin' right in a' open doorway— so near I could 'ear 'is words. 'Snake,' he says to a little bozo, 'you got yer money and yer job. Git to it.' 'It ain't gonna be easy,' the other gink pipes. The whole district's alive searchin' fer the Dook. 'All the better,' says the first guy. 'That fits in with our plans.' Then 'e turns and leaves 'em and I don't tail him becos he plainly ain't got the scratch—aw, hell—the money, and, besides, these other guys is standin' on the sidewalk where they'd see me.

"When the first guy goes round the corner they skates across the road to the door of this joint and the little gink knocks. The door opens and the t'ree of 'em waltz inside. Give us a drink, will ya?"

"Wait a moment. Did you ever see the first man again?"

"No— 'e never come back. In about ten minutes the t'ree guys comes out agin, crosses the road and goes into the dump they come from first. I'm wondering wot to do and decides to give that joint "a look-see when they settles down a bit. I'm just about to do it— and I would've found out a lot more— when you guys jump on me."

"What was the first man like?"

"I dunno— it's pretty dark in this street."

"But you rode in a tram with him."

"Yes— and he wore his stetson low— and his collar extra high. All I saw of him was the tip of his snozzle and that he was a guy about six foot or so."

"Umm! Nice long story," the gruff voice said, sceptically. "You should, have been an author. Come and show me this house they entered. You others stay here."

"Sure!" said Shorty, and the Duke heard his chair scrape on the floor as he rose.

He wondered if any of Shorty's story was true. Could Shorty be the Mask? Shorty hardly had enough brains—but his brainlessness might be a pose. If his story were correct then the Mask had been the first man and he had gone to telephone the police and could be miles away by this. But the Duke reflected that time was passing and he had been listening several minutes. He must retreat at once and find the Shrimp and a way out.

He began to descend the steps and half-way down froze stiff.

It was too late! A party of men, talking loudly; was coming down the passage—were nearly to the cellar door.

He was hemmed in!

Chapter 11

Captured

WHEN THE Shrimp silently left the Duke's side and slipped through the communicating cellar he continued onwards into another cellar, his hands outstretched before him to make contact with danger or obstruction. The first thing he felt happened to be a pile of tea-cases and he immediately felt his way around them and crouched down behind. He heard the police clatter along the passage and into the cellar he had left. Then he swept the boxes over, the crash waking the echoes. He heard the police turn and head his way, and, swiftly feeling round the wall to a door, he clattered through it, making as much noise as he possibly could.

Satisfied at last that he had drawn the pursuit away from the Duke, he went silently and carefully in case of an ambush. The cellars seemed endless as he darted from one to another. Even so he could not travel quickly enough, as the flashing torches were already reaching their exploring fingers into the cellar in which he now stood. It showed him a door, through which he slipped. Feeling his way around the wall he came to a ramshackle ladder and this he climbed. At the top he pressed his hands on the roof.

His fingers told him that he was beneath a trap-door but it was fastened on the other side. The pursuit sounded close. There was no time, to lose. He must risk an ambush above. Gripping the ladder he placed his enormous shoulders against the trap and heaved upwards. Now bad luck played a trick— the trap-door was securely fastened but the ladder was not. It came down with a clatter, bringing, the Shrimp six feet to the ground!

As the Shrimp rose from his sprawl his eyes were dazzled by two torches focussed on him from the doorway and a voice barked, "Don't make a move!"

The Shrimp rose slowly, his blinking eyes taking in everything within the radius of the light. The cellar was narrow and a dead end, as it contained no hiding-place and no door except the one by which he had entered. In that door now stood two burly detectives,' guns in their hands.

"It's a fair cop," the Shrimp said. "But what is it for?"

The detectives walked into the cellar followed by others. They were tremendously over-cautious and the Shrimp smiled.

"Don't be afraid!" he said. "I am harmless, I assure you."

But the detective who was in front stepped carefully around him and ran his hands over his pockets, finding the Chinaman's knife in his belt.

"You carry a sting, anyway," he said. "What's the game?"

"I like wandering around old cellars," the Shrimp said, "It is so restful on the eyes."

"Do you need a knife for such a pastime?" the detective asked with heavy sarcasm.

The Shrimp smiled. "You see such funny things in the dark," he said meaningly.

A man pushed through the doorway and the Shrimp recognised him as Arthur Mooney, their old police opponent.

"Ah!" he said with satisfaction. "Got him, eh?" He looked around and frowned. "Only one?"

"That's all there were," a detective replied. "We caught him trying to climb out."

"Where?" asked Mooney.

"Up a ladder. There's a trapdoor up there."

"Get the ladder up again, force the trapdoor and bring in anyone you find up there. Let's have a look at this bird."

The Shrimp smiled into the blinding rays of several torches. "Don't stare too long," he said. "It's rude, and, besides, I'm shy."

"I've seen your face before, somewhere," Mooney said, as the detectives were rigging the ladder under the trapdoor.

"Quite likely," the Shrimp said quietly. "I've had it for years."

"What do you know of this murder?"

"What murder?" the Shrimp asked, opening his eyes wide into the glare, beyond which the policemen were vague shapes.

Mooney grunted. "Well," he said, "answer this one: What are you doing, in these cellars?"

"It's a long story," the Shrimp began. "Years ago I lived in a room somewhere above here. In those days I had a pet collar-stud and one fateful morning I dropped it and it fell through a crack in the floor. I vowed I'd find it if it took me a lifetime. Years have rolled by and—well, I'm still searching."

"I don't think you understand," Mooney said amiably, "just how big a jam you are in. All right, I'll tell you. In a room above these cellars two people have been murdered very, very recently. The room in which they died has a trapdoor to these cellars— and here we find you. Now, no more nonsense— what about it?"

"Why should I know anything about the murders just because I'm here?" the Shrimp asked.

"Why shouldn't you?" Mooney said. "What's your name?"

"Jack Jones."

Mooney grunted. "Why did you run from the police?"

"How did I know you were the police? These cellars are not healthy for white intruders, as you no doubt know. I heard a party approaching and I ran."

Mooney grunted again. The ladder was now erected and the detective upon it was pressing on the trap.

"We'll need a crowbar here," he said.

"Put your shoulders under it," Mooney said, "and two of you others force him upwards like a battering-ram. That will shift it."

"Now, there's a fine use for a detective," the Shrimp remarked. "Why use wood for a battering-ram when detectives are so much more solid?"

"Shut up!" Mooney snapped.

Two more men stepped to the ladder's side and the Shrimp cast a glance towards the door. But two men holding torches and guns very effectively blocked it. The Shrimp sighed inwardly. The time for an attempt to escape was not yet. And there was still the Duke somewhere in the offing. He could wait.

From above him came a grunt and the splintering of wood as the trapdoor flew upwards and the detective after it. He grasped the frame and drew himself into the room, revolver in hand. He stepped out of sight.

"Follow him, Parsons," Mooney snapped.

"If you gentlemen don't mind," the Shrimp began, "I would like to go home."

"That's where you're going," Mooney said, "a nice big home with iron gates and bars to keep the burglars in. Try these on and see if they fit."

A pair of handcuffs came into the torchlight.

"I hate jewellery of any kind," the Shrimp said.

"You'll like these," Mooney said. "They fit so well. Come on."

The Shrimp held out his hands and the 'adjustable cuffs snapped over his wrists.

"Phew!" Mooney whistled. "Right out to the last tooth. What a wrist! Anyway, my friend, you would need even more strength to break those."

A head appeared in the trap.

"Empty house, Inspector," Parsons said. "Not a soul on this floor. Will I explore upstairs?"

"Let it go," Mooney said. ."We'll take in this bird. Pull to the trap-door after you." He turned his torch over the crowd as the detectives dropped from above.- "Six of us, weren't there seven?— oh, no, I left Carter on guard in the first cellar. Righto! Two of you cuff yourselves to this bird and we'll move off. Keep a torch on the prisoner."

The news of Carter made the Shrimp think speedily. How had this affected the Duke? A cuff from each side joined those already on his wrists, and the men moved forward.

The Shrimp debated the possibilities of escape as they walked, and the prospect was not bright. He was linked by steel to two men each weighing at least twelve stone, as well as having his own hands manacled. There was only one ray of hope— the Duke.

As they reached the cellar with the four doors, Mooney, who was leading, raised his voice.

"Are you there, Carter?" There was no answer. "Halt, boys, hold quiet and listen."

For a moment there was silence, then a slight indistinguishable sound came to them.

Torches stabbed through the darkness.

"Who's that?" barked Mooney. "We are police!"

There was silence. Mooney moved forward to the next cellar, and his torch fell immediately on the sprawled form of Carter near the fallen boxes. Blood ran from a slight cut in his head; a soft moan escaped his lips.

"Parsons and Evans," Mooney called. "Come here."

The two men joined him, and they set about reviving the unconscious detective.

At last Carter opened his eyes and licked the brandy from his lips. The glare of a torch seared his eyes, and even while he groped for his missing gun he muttered, "What's the game?"

"It's all right, Carter," Mooney said. "It's only us. What happened?"

Carter gripped his aching head with both hands

"I don't know," he said hazily. "I was poking about the cellar and— that's all I know."

Mooney grunted, "Help him up," he said, "and follow along behind."

The cavalcade began again, Mooney leading, the prisoner in the centre, and the injured man in the rear. They entered the narrow passage, where it was necessary for the Shrimp and his captors to walk crab-fashion. Through the wooden door and into the cellar below Chang's house they went, guided by the beam of Mooney's torch. Mooney stood aside to shepherd the party towards the steps leading to the trap-door into the kitchen. He was evidently not aware that the cellar could be • lighted, and so used only his torch. The shock was then greater when the cellar was flooded with light, and a voice said, "Don't make a move or it will be velly bad."

The voice sounded Chinese, and, as the men all swung towards the door which they had just entered, and saw the figure standing by the switch, they did not doubt his nationality, as he was dressed in a Chinese fashion, although his face and head were covered by a hood in which were cut two slits for his eyes. What was more important to every man in the room was the unwavering muzzle of the revolver in the intruder's left hand. His right hand was hidden in his clothes.

The Shrimp's heart thrilled, for he of course recognised the intruder as the Duke, though his face showed no sign of his knowledge. Parsons was a young and enthusiastic officer, and he reached for his gun with his right hand, which the one not fettered to the Shrimp.

A bullet crashed through his wrist, and the fearsome reverberations of the shot in the cellar helped the other detectives to decide to go carefully.

"Welly foolish," the Duke said, his ears strained for any sound from above. "Me no want hurt anybody. You do as I say and everyone will be 'appy."

"Go on," said Mooney, "get on with it. What's the game?"

"Me takee prisoner. You release him."

"And what if I don't?" Mooney asked. The masked figure shook his head sadly. "Welly bad business. Me no want to kill six men— and you first."

Mooney frowned. "But," he said, "you have only five cartridges left."

Chapter 12

The Limping Man

THE DUKE shrugged. "You won't worry welly much about the last cartridge after you have received the first."

Mooney's cleverness relied mostly on the fact that he could think quickly, and also understand when for the moment he was beaten. He turned to the others. "Release him," he said.

"And no tlicks," the masked figure remarked in a sing-song voice. "Splead out and keep hands most carefully away from hip."

"My handcuff key is in my hip pocket," growled Evans.

"Too bad," the Duke said. "Then use other honourable gentleman's key with injured arm."

"Mine also is in my hip pocket," said Parsons surlily.

The masked figure clucked his tongue and moved warily round them, his eyes gleaming through the slits in the hood. The eyes of all the men followed him, but to each of them it seemed that his gun was paying him personal attention. The Duke took the key from Parsons's pocket and handed it to Evans. Evans undid the three sets of handcuffs and the Shrimp was free. He made no comment, but his grin spoke volumes. He looked along the detectives' faces and found the one who had taken the knife from his pocket. Stepping to him and taking care not to shield anybody from the Duke's gun, he recovered the knife from the detective's clothes.

"This doesn't belong to me," he said, "and I'd hate to lose it." He turned to the masked figure.. "What next, my honourable friend?"

"I will be welly pleased if you will get some rope from the packing cases and wrap these honourable gentlemen in it. Or maybe their own handcuffs will do."

Mooney had had an idea. "Why?" he asked loudly.

"Sssh!" said the Duke. "If my honourable friend raises his voice like that again a bullet will lower him swiftly to the glound."

Mooney relaxed, while he listened to see if his voice had been heard in the room above, though he was afraid not, as the shot had brought nobody. The cellars were built to smother sound.

The Shrimp stepped behind the detectives and from the hip pocket of each took some handcuffs and the keys belonging to them. With these he linked each man's hands behind him so that each was joined to his neighbour by his hands being placed inside the handcuffed hands of the next man. The detectives were finally in one solid bunched circle, faces outwards. Then the Shrimp took the first-aid kit from his inside pocket, and swiftly and deftly sealed each man's lips with adhesive tape. Another handcuff joined the men to a convenient ring in the wall, which had evidently held prisoners before. Then he turned to the Duke.

"I don't think we will need the rope," he remarked.

"Velly clever," the Duke said. "Now I have an appointment which I must not miss. It is with the open air. Glood nigh', Mr. Mooney, maybe we meet again sometime."

Mooney did not answer, for the. very good reason that his moustache was joined to his lower lip. The Duke stepped to the switch and the lights went out.

The two men headed silently along the passage and into the communicating cellar.

"The sooner I get out of here," said the Duke, "the better I will be pleased, but we have to watch for ambush."

"Follow me," the Shrimp replied. "I know the way."

He led the Duke to the ladder where he had been captured, which still leant against the wall beneath the broken trap-door. A cautious survey of the room above showed the Shrimp that it was untenanted, and he pulled himself up into the room, and assisted the Duke to follow him.

"How did this happen?" the Duke asked in a whisper.

"The police did this for us," the Shrimp replied. "If there had been any ambush here the police quite effectively startled it away. You had better take off that mask and those clothes."

"Willingly," the Duke said, quickly divesting himself of the hood and taking off the robe-like garments which served for a coat. Beneath it was a smartly-put coat, and as he took off the loose, greasy trousers he disclosed another pair of finer texture and far cleaner. Except for his face he was the Duke again. From a pocket he took out a small tin of cold cream. The Shrimp held the tin while the Duke dipped his fingers into it and washed it over his face, changing his appearance from a Chinaman in a twinkling as the greasepaint dissolved. From his hip pocket he took a cap as the Shrimp put away the tin. The Duke wiped the superfluous cream and greasepaint from his face on the robe, which he had shed. Now he was his old self— the tiny-moustached, immaculate fop that the underworld knew and feared.

"Now to get out of here," the Shrimp said, looking at the rear of the chambers of a police revolver he had purloined, and noting that the gun was fully loaded.

"I don't think we will have much trouble," the Duke said. "We are now plainclothes policemen."

The Shrimp chuckled. "Go on, then," he said, "and walk heavily."

They stamped from the room, and along the passage towards the front door, in the opening of which stood two Chinamen.

"Here's a couple, sergeant," the Shrimp said, loudly. "We can ask them a few questions."

But when they reached the door the Chinamen had varnished and the street was deserted. A glance each way told them that they were in a different street from that of the opium den of Wong Loo and also a side street front the one where Chang had lived. They wasted no time, but stepped smartly away. Two blocks distant they came to where Mossy sat in a car looking very worried and debating whether he should disobey orders and go in search of the Duke and the Shrimp. The relief on his face when he saw them coming down the street was almost comic.

The car took them to another part of the underworld and stopped at the corner of a street which was no more than a cavern—dark, smelly, and evil in its suggestion of hidden things. Here the Duke and the Shrimp alighted and went forward quickly—keeping in the dark. The car turned and faded into the night.

The houses in the street were old and leant upon each other as if they needed support in their old age. Black doorways yawned open, leading to uncarpeted stairs within. Into one of these doorways slipped the Duke and the Shrimp. Swiftly they went up the stairs to the top of the house, where the Duke opened a door with a key, they stepped inside and the door was locked behind them.

When the Shrimp switched on the light it showed that they were in an attic with a low, sloping roof, in which was set some dirty windows from whence came the only ventilation and outside illumination— if such the grey light playing through the dirty glass could be called. The tiny room contained only a rough mattress on the floor, a long cupboard and a rickety chair.

The Duke dropped on the chair thankfully.

"Well," he said; "I can have a breather for a moment before my personality vanishes once more."

The Shrimp walked to the cupboard, which stood against the wall. "You take your breather," he said, "while I get the stuff ready."

In the cupboard hung many garments in an advanced stage of wear. Also a heavy stick. The Shrimp took the stick and several of the garments from the cupboard and threw them on the mattress. He then pushed the other clothes aside and forced a panel in the back of the cupboard open, disclosing a small shallow cavity let into the wall. From this he took two cigar boxes, leaving within a small tin box.

The Duke shrugged and smiled. "There is no rest for the wicked," he sighed as the Shrimp closed the panel. "Let's get to work."

Fifteen minutes later the attic still contained two men, but in the Duke's place stood a tall, bent figure in a large felt hat, a long coat, creaseless trousers —ragged at the bottoms, showing that one foot was a club-foot. He leant heavily on a stick and his face was bearded, old and lined, also not over clean. The Shrimp put the make-up boxes back onto the secret panel and closed the cupboard door. The Duke's own immaculate clothes were now in a false bottom of the cupboard.

"Meet the Limping Man," said the Duke in a mincing, affected voice. "The Duke has gone from the underworld."

The Shrimp stood off and regarded his neat work. No one would have thought that the Duke and the Limping Man were the same person— the attitude, the expression of the eyes and the voice, and every little mannerism belonged to a different person from the Duke. Again the Duke's consummate acting ability was to be used in his war against his enemies.

"You will do," the Shrimp said.

The Duke opened his mouth to reply, but the words froze on his lips. A light, cautious knock had sounded on the door!

Chapter 13

Death In The Air

IN the speeding mail plane which was winging its way to a northern city sat a very pretty girl, whose name on the passenger
list was Florence Morley.. Also, according to the passenger list, she was accompanied by her brother, Thomas Morley. They were sitting in the centre of the plane and made a handsome picture; he, tall, well built and dark; she, prettily-formed and also dark, although her fine eyes were slightly marred by a worried expression. The only other passengers in the plane were an old lady and her daughter, who sat nearby. The daughter was very blonde— almost too blonde— and the lady was stooped and wore a veil.

The girl, Florence, turned to the young man by her side.

"I wonder what he is doing now," she whispered.

The young man patted her hand. "I'd like to know also," he said, "but you have no need to worry. The Duke never makes mistakes."

Florence looked at the young man (our old friend, Razor).

"I always think," she said softly, "of the night when I opened the door and the Duke's body fell into the house. He made a mistake that night."

"But it wasn't a fatal mistake," Razor said, "for he still lives while his enemies are dead."

"Not all of them," said Florence, "or we would not be flying to another city to hide under false names."

They were interrupted by the quavering voice of the old lady. "Would you care for a cup of hot beef tea, my dear? We haven't been introduced, but we are locked up here so alone in the clouds with only two pilots who are simply part of the machine that I think we should be friendly."

Florence smiled gratefully— glad of a chance to talk to a stranger and thereby escape her thoughts. "Yes." she said. "My name is Morley; my brother and I are going to our family."

The old lady sighed beneath her veil. "You are lucky to have a family." she said. "All I have left is my daughter, Edna, here."

The four exchanged nods and Razor noticed the prettiness of the girl, and, although he had once been in love with the brunette Florence, he thought now that gentlemen had every reason to prefer blondes. The girl was about twenty-three. Her brow was high and her serious eyes were now bent upon him with unmistakable admiration.

Razor warmed under the compliment in those eyes, and, when the girl bent to a small suitcase and took forth a thermos flask, he rose to assist her.

"Can I help?'' he' asked.

"No, thank you," the girl said. "I can manage well if you do not mind all drinking from the one cup."

"I appreciate the compliment," Razor said meaningly.

The old lady chuckled. "It is quite easily seen that the young man is your brother and not your husband."

The four smiled and were friendly at once. The old lady took the top from the thermos and held it, while the girl filled it from the flask. Then she handed it to Florence.

"You, my dear, being our guest, must drink first."

"Thank you," said Florence, the appetising aroma from the beef tea stirring her hunger.

She carried it to her lips and just then a scream rang through the cabin and the girl dashed the cup from Florence's hand! Razor sprang to his feet with surprise.

From beneath the veil of the old lady came a snarl, and then her right hand shot from her cloak. It held a short knife which flashed for a moment before it was plunged into the body of the girl. Next instant Razor's hands grabbed the old lady but she tore away from him, leaving her hat and veil in his hands. Then, pressed against the cabin wall, stood a man, the revolver which was now in his hand pointed straight at Razor's chest. The girl had fallen into Florence's arms.

The pilots, who could look back into the cabin, had not heard the commotion owing to the roar of the engines before them and Razor doubted if he could call their attention without moving. He was not thinking so much of that, however, as his mind raced over the problem before him. It seemed that the Duke's enemies had outthought him, for here, was probably an emissary of the Mask if not the Mask himself, who only for the chicken-heartedness of the girl, would have poisoned Florence.

He inspected the man before him. Under his make-up he suspected his face was young or not more than middle-aged. His eyes were small and sharp, and he was no man that Razor had ever seen before. His- close-cropped hair showed on one side where his wig had been torn awry. Now a snarl was on his thin lips and the gun in his hand was raising to the level of his eyes.

Razor was not the type of young man to stand still and be shot, and just then his opportunity came. The plane ran into an air pocket and rocked for a moment. That moment was sufficient; the gun wavered from Razor's chest, and Razor's foot swung up in a wide arc and' sent the weapon spinning across the cabin. With a tigerish leap the man reached the entrance door.

But quick as he was, Razor also moved fast, and, as the door swung open, his hands grabbed- his assailant. The man had evidently an insane idea to climb out on the. wing and shelter there but now he changed his mind and aimed a vicious blow at Razor's face.

Razor ducked and the man tore free and sprang to the far end of the cabin. Here he crouched, snarling, like an animal at bay, while Razor slowly left the open door and advanced on him.

Florence had picked up the fallen revolver and was dragging the injured girl to the other end of the cabin to uncover and bind her wound.

For a moment the men faced each other and Razor wondered whether the pilots had noticed the disturbance and whether he could expect any assistance. The thought relaxed his vigilance a trifle and his enemy sprang forward, and aimed a blow which Razor took on the shoulder. For a moment Razor was thrown off balance— but that moment was sufficient for the man to leap past and dash onwards towards the women.

Chapter 14

The Mask's Name Again.

THE DUKE and the Shrimp did not move as they waited for the knock on the attic door to be repeated. In a moment it came— still lightly but more insistently. Then without a sound the Shrimp moved. The slanting roof was so low that he could reach the skylight. In a moment he had it open, had slipped out on to the roof and closed the skylight behind him. Then the Duke spoke.

"Who's there?" he said, in the mincing tones of the Limping Man.

There was no answer but the knock was repeated. The Duke tested the weight of the guns in his sleeves, to make sure the springs were running free which joined them to his arms, as he limped to the door. Then he opened it cautiously and peered round the corner. The light from his room shone upon the scarred face of Shorty McKay, American gunman, whose voice he had last heard in the kitchen of Ling Chang.

"Yes?" he said.

"Ya don't know me," said Shorty quickly, in his Bowery accent, "but if ya want to do a guy a good turn, let's visit wit' ya fer about twenty minutes, will ya?"

"Why?" asked the Duke.

"Well, to tell ya the truth," Shorty said, '!'there is a guy lookin' fer me that I don't want to meet, and I just wanted a hide-out fer a little while. I saw yer light up 'ere and I thought ya might extend the welcome flipper."

"Is this guy, as you so aptly tell me, a gentleman in a blue suit with brass buttons?" the Duke asked.

"Why?" it was Shorty's turn to ask. "Well, if it were," the Duke said slowly, "I might be pleased to welcome you."

"It is somet'ing like that," said Shorty, "but you ain't got the whole lay-out correct."

The Duke opened the door. "Come in," he said. "You are welcome to my palatial residence. Please don't use the chair. Owing to my infirmity, I find the lowly mattress rather awkward."

He opened the door sufficiently to allow Shorty to enter and then closed it and locked it. Shorty walked to the mattress and threw, himself down.

"Who are ya, bo'?" he asked.

"They call me Limpy," the Duke replied. "I live here because it's quiet and soothing on the nerves— and because it is hard to find."

Shorty grinned. "I get ya," he said, "you are a bozo after me own 'eart."

The Duke dropped on the chair and for a few seconds the two men inspected each other without appearing to do so. The Duke thought fast. Why was Shorty free? Why had he of all men come to this attic? Was he the Mask? Had they been trailed without knowing it, and, if his story were true, from whom was he hiding?

Then Shorty spoke again, "What's yer racket?" he asked.

"I follow the old and respected profession of a beggar by day," the Duke said, slowly.

"And be night?" Shorty queried.

The Duke chuckled. "At night," he said, "I mind my own business."

"Well," Shorty said, "I'm glad to know ya. You've been a friend in need to me. Just awhile ago I was gaffled."

"Gaffled?" queried the Duke.

Shorty groaned and tried to speak in English. "I was picked up be the jacks for nothing at all, but they found a gat on me and they put me in for 'avin' it. I'm a lone hand, I am, and I never 'ad any friends to spring me. I was a bit surprised when they let me go on me own bond."

"I see," said the Duke, "you weren't up to the dodges of our police, and, of course, you have been shadowed ever since."

"Ya hit it," Shorty said, "but I lost 'im at the corner of the street. I ducked in 'ere, raced up the stairs, saw a light beneath ya door and decided to take a risk. I alwus was a lone 'and and I don't like comp'ny even if it is twenty paces be'ind me. I 'aven't got a gat and I don't know for the moment where to git one."

"You cannot always be entirely a lone hand; you will need friends. I also am a lone hand but there are many times when I find myself in need of a friend. Maybe we could get together. Would it be rude of me to ask how you earn your living?"

Shorty had been intent on his words. "I like yer spiel, it hits me right on the soft spot. Now if ya could git me a rod, I might be able to let ya in on a few things. As a beggar ya could keep a look-out while I did the jobs."

"I see," said the Duke, "you are a buster. Personally I favour making hot paper and I could do with someone with your nerve to push it."

"That suits me, too," said Shorty. "That's a good game if the paper is not too hot." He paused thoughtfully. "There is one trouble."

"What is that?" asked the Duke.

"There is a guy who is givin' me a lot of bother. They call 'im the Dook and until I can send 'im to a place where he won't bother me, I won't feel just comfortable."

The Duke frowned. "My friend," he said, "you have already put me to some risk by coming here and now you are asking me to assist at murder. Very messy business."

"Who said I was asking ya?" said Shorty. "I am Shorty McKay, the greatest gunman America ever t'rew out of 'er 'ospitable shores. I'd 'ave been rulin' there yet, only for the G Men, and I'll rule 'ere before long, ya mark me words. And when it comes to killin', I can. do that solo, but I would like a li'l assistance to tip me oft as to when this Dook guy can be bumped. My idea was for you to take up a position outside a cafe called the 'Madras'."

"I know the place," said the Duke; "the entrance to it is a costumier's shop."

"I know," said Shorty, "and it is a dark spot. You could stand there beggin' and when the Dook came out you could tip me off as to which way he was comin' and I'd do the rest—not right there but far enough away to carry the suspicion from ya."

"But how will I know this fellow?"

"He is easy picked. He is a tall guy with a sissy face and a little half-a-mo; he dresses too hash and he talks like a pansy. Ya can pick 'im easy enough. Now another idea I've got is this. I'm a bit sick of playin' a lone 'and and I can never gain control of the underworld unless I 'ave a gang. Now you can be the first one and my right-'and man. Between you and me, we will rule the rest." .

"I don't like the idea," said the Duke, "there are too many stool pigeons in gangs."

"Not in a gang of mine?' said Shorty, "for the first guy that opens his mout' gits it filled with lead. We need a gang because the Dook is not the only enemy

I have."

"Another one!" said the Duke. "The prospect becomes less inviting every moment."

"This other guy don't know I'm up against 'im yet. I don't know too much about 'im, they call 'im the Mask, and 'e 'as a gang and— well, that's about all I know, but before I can take control of the underworld 'e 'as to be snuffed. Well have to find out who he is first, o' course." ,

The Duke sat in thought for a moment. Was this mention of the Mask a stall, or was Shorty telling the truth? In any case, Shorty's campaign to discover the Mask's identity was right into his hands, seeing that they were both aiming at the one target. The thing to do was to join Shorty, and in that way discover who and what he really was, and perhaps be led to the Mask.

"There seems to be too much danger in all this," he said plaintively, "for my delicate constitution."

"Ya won't 'ave to do any of the 'ard work such as bump-offs and busts. All ya'll 'ave to do is the organisin', at which I ain't too clever. Ya seem to 'ave 'ad an education and ya don't look too dumb. In fact, ya seem to be the very man I need."

"Thank you," said the Duke, "and I like the idea— so long as I don't have to do the dangerous parts."

Shortly smiled— then the smile was wiped from his face, and his hand from habit whipped like lightning to the armpit where his gun usually hung.

Upon the door had sounded another knock!

Chapter 15

The Aerial War

THE KILLER in the cabin of the 'plane had almost reached the women when Razor landed behind him and jerked him backwards. They fell together. The man was as slippery and quick as an eel, and he also had uncommon strength. Like a flick of a whip he twisted over to face Razor, who was now underneath, and his hands clawed upwards for the young man's throat. Razor was calm now— he had his adversary in a hand-to-hand fight— the others were safe for the moment, and his Irish blood warmed with the enjoyment of battle. The subduing of his enemy was not going to be any simple matter, however.

By a twist of his head he avoided the clutching hands and ' brought his wrestling knowledge into play. Again he found his match, for every move he made was countered. With a mighty effort he rolled the man over, and for a few moments there was a flurry of darting arms and legs— obtaining, breaking, and dodging holds. Then the assailant decided that close warfare was not sensible, and, with a lunging twist, he gained freedom, and sprang back down the cabin to the far end.

Again the men faced each other— torn and bleeding and breathing in choking gasps. Each was glad of the respite. Neither had spoken since the, battle began, but now the killer licked his dry lips.

"You want to save the women." he gasped out. "Then lay off me— or I'll kill the lot of us."

Razor did not reply, but moved a step nearer.

"Stop!" said the man. "I mean what I say."

Then Razor remembered that he had a pistol, and, as quickly as the thought struck him, the gun was in his hand.

"Now," said Razor, easing back the safety catch, "this means business, too. You had better submit."

To his surprise, the other man smiled and folded his arms.

"That," he said, "does not hurt me or put you in any better position. X came prepared for every emergency— and now I play my last card."

"Put your hands up," Razor growled.

The man, smiling, unfolded his arms— but now one hand held a small object which he had taken from his clothes.

It was a "pineapple" bomb!

Razor watched his assailant carefully. He guessed the nature of the object, but he doubted its genuineness.

"Put up your hands!" he said again.

"This," said the man, "is a bomb. If you are about to fire, be sure you don't hit it—there will be very little left of the 'plane if you do."

"If that is a bomb," said Razor, "why didn't it explode when we fought?"

The man chuckled gleefully and Razor made the mental note that he was dealing with a homicidal maniac. The thought was not reassuring, for it meant the man was doubly dangerous—and he had a bomb in his hand!

"It is fired with a pin," the man said. "I can flick it out with my finger nail."

"Not quite as easy as that," Razor said, while his brain raced on seeking a means to outwit his enemy. "It needs good teeth to shift such pins."

"Not this one," the man said. "I can flick it out with my nail. I'll prove it if you like."

"And kill yourself?" Razor asked dryly, still searching for a way out.

The man shrugged. "My life is as good as gone now. I failed because of that cursed girl. My master never forgives failure. Now I hold the cards. We'll wait."

"What for?" asked Razor.

The man smiled again. "You'll see," he said, and seemed to be listening.

Razor wondered if this were a new variation of the old trick of distracting a man's eyes. Razor was not going to be caught twice. The man seemed to be listening for something outside the 'plane, while a noise inside the 'plane made Razor jump. It was the clicking of a latch as one of the pilots, who had been informed by Florence of the trouble, stepped down from the cockpit and closed the small communicating door.

Almost simultaneously came another sound as the operating pilot cut off his engines and circled— seeking a place to land his battling and injured cargo. The new sound was the throb of another aeroplane's engines approaching put of the distance.

Razor was momentarily off guard again, and his enemy sprang across the cabin to open the door. A split second later Razor was upon him and they grappled together in the doorway— the man signalling wildly to a two-seater 'plane which was rapidly overhauling them— and which was painted entirely black! But Razor had no thought for 'planes just then— his every muscle and nerve was strained to get that bomb.

With his first leap he had managed to close his hand over the hand holding the weapon, but he had to hold tight to prevent the man flicking out the pin. Both of them were also half out of the door and were using one hand each to hold on. The other man was in a frenzy now as he struggled to release his bombing hand. Over Razor's shoulder he saw the pilot and he knew that he was facing defeat. But he was willing to die—so long as he could accomplish his original purpose. He released his supporting hand and balanced precariously as he tore at the hand holding his own and the bomb.

The pilot reached out for him but then the man had wrenched Razor's hand away—his thumb flicked—and the released pin shot upwards!

The maniac raised the bomb aloft triumphantly.

Razor hardly paused to think. His hand was free and he sent a smashing blow into the man's face— jolting him back and outwards—

The man screamed as his body turned almost slowly in the air and then went on— down and back— over and over

Two seconds passed, then, suddenly, in mid-air, he vanished in a sheet of flame and a faint cloud of smoke rose where he had been— while a black "something" went onwards to the earth.

Razor took a deep breath. The fight was over. He felt the pilot's hand on his shoulder, and turned with a smile.

"He was mad," he said.

"I'll agree with you," the pilot said, and went back up the cabin.

Razor searched the heavens for the black plane. It had evidently some connection with the dead man. It had swept off on a wide circle and was flying along easily above them. The pilot of the mail plane was still seeking a landing.

The black plane turned abruptly and came swooping down towards them— its engine silent. Razor watched it casually.

Then a new sound came to his ears —one which contracted his stomach and set every nerve on fire. It was the rat-tat-tat of a machine-gun and the spurts of flame stabbing viciously from the nose of the black plane told him that their machine was the target of the man at the trigger!

Chapter  16

The Plotters

AS THE knock sounded on the attic door Shorty glanced quickly at it, then at the Duke.

"Who's that?" he said.

"I don't know," the Duke replied, "but I'll soon find out."

"Where can I hide?" Shorty asked, looking at the cupboard.

The Duke followed his look and wagged his head. "No good," he said. "In any case, why worry? I won't open the door wide enough for anyone to see you." He rose from the rickety chair and limped across to the door, unlocking it and opening it two or three inches.

In the. shadowy passage stood a stooped figure. The Duke took a torch from his pocket and flashed it in the newcomer's face as he said, "What is it?"

The newcomer was a tall man, greatly bent with age, his face was old and .wrinkled, and his eyebrows so long that he had twirled them at the ends to keep them from his eyes. He had a walrus moustache and the rest of his lower face was covered with a stubble of beard. A greasy cap was pulled down over his left eye, and the rest of his clothes were dirty, while a grey moth-eaten sweater served him in place of a shirt. He answered the Duke's question in a high reedy voice, while the Duke wondered if he had not seen him before somewhere.

"It's all right, brother: take that light out of my eyes. They ain't as strong as they used to be."

"Would it be impolite to ask," the Duke said, "who you are and what you want?"

The old man chuckled. "They call me the Rat," he said, "and I'm just paying a social call, me being the bloke who lives in the room below yours."

The Duke felt the door pulled open from within as Shorty looked over his shoulder.

"I know this guy," Shorty said. "He's O.K. Let him come in. I want to talk to him."

The Duke opened the door wider. "Just as you say, old pal," he said. "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

The old man entered the attic and cast a sharp eye about him.

"Been living here long?" he asked.

"Only a couple of days," the Duke replied. "I have just returned from a— er— holiday."

The Rat chuckled. "How long did you git?"

"Only a trifle of three years," the Duke said, "because they reckoned my money was not as good as the next man's."

Shorty decided to take a hand in the conversation, as the Rat leaned against the door which the Duke had locked.

"The Rat," Shorty said to the Duke, "is also a beggar. A bit of a hard case, lifts whatever he can pick up, and does a bit of business pushin' the 'snow.'"

"Quite a busy man," the Duke said. "You must be worth a lot of money."

The Rat smiled, showing his toothless gums. "Money?" he said, spreading his hands hopelessly. "There is never enough money for a man with my expensive tastes."

Shorty chuckled. "He is also a miser from all I hear."

The Rat wagged his head. "A nasty word—miser. I have saved a little money against a day when I may need it more than I do now. Even the best of us have to pay solicitors' expenses some day."

"Well, what I was gonna say," Shorty said, "was whether you'd be in wit' us. I'm formin' a gang t' run the underworld as it should be run, and me friend here is gonna be me side-kick. Now we could use ya."

The Rat's sharp eyes darted from one to the other. "How," he said, "and, what's more important, for how much?"

"Ya'll git yer cut," Shorty said, "and how I was thinking of using ya was as a general help for me in the rough work."

"Rough work?" said the Rat. "I do not stoop to anything worse than murder."

Shorty chuckled. "Yer a man' after me own heart. If there's anything I enjoy more than another it's to see a guy fall before me slugs. There's no thrill like it."

"I don't know about that," said the Rat doubtfully. "It's certainly enjoyable, but the thing I enjoy most is going through the guy's pockets."

"And, personally," said the Duke, "I prefer to plan the rough work and to get my rake-off in a nice, quiet way."

Shorty, on the mattress, leaned back and knitted his low brow. "Now, let me see," he said, "we have the makin's of a good set here. To begin with, Limpy could make some coin and the Rat and I could push it. Limpy can find out the lay-out for hold-ups. The Rat could drive the get-away car and I could do the gun work. Why, we've got the makin's of a fortune in this here room. The only thing we need is rods."

The Rat chuckled. "That is not difficult, I know where guns can be obtained— from a lady's-sized automatic to a Thompson machine-gun."

Shorty sat up with eagerness. "Could ya really git Tommies in this country?"

"If you have the money," said the Rat.

"Yer'll git the money," Shorty said, "so long as we have one gun."

"I may be able to manage that," said the Duke, "as I carry one just for— er— intimidation."

Shorty snorted. "I wish to Gawd," he said, "you wouldn't use such funny words." He turned to the Rat. "I was just tellin' Limpy here that the first thing we want to do is to git rid of two of me enemies, called the Dook and the Mask."

"Why?" asked the Rat. "Aren't they both the same person?"

"What makes yer think that?" asked Shorty. "What do you know about dem?"

"Not nearly enough," said the Rat. "The Duke comes and goes, and is more or less an unknown quantity. Unless he knows who the Mask is or vice versa. It is my idea that they are both the one person. I've no time for either of them, as last week they sent off one of my best-planned jobs. Then to-night one "of them killed Ling Chang, who was my fence. I've now got to get another fence, whom I can more or less trust— no easy task. As far as I'm concerned, and if the money offering looks good enough, I'm in with you."

The Duke was considering the newcomer and wondering just exactly who and what he was and where they had met before. He was evidently known in the underworld or otherwise Shorty would not have been so sure of him. Yet was he all he seemed? Was he the Mask or was he just the evil cut-throat miser that he seemed to be.

"Good man!" Shorty was saying, "Now we've got t' make plans. What about it, Limpy?"

"Do you ask me to make the plans," the Duke said, "or to offer suggestions?"

"Well, before anythin' is done," Shorty said, "we must git rid of the Dook and find out who the Mask is. I've got a plan to trap the Dook if the Rat can get me a Tommy gun."

"That should be possible," the Rat replied. "Now, what's the plan?"

"Well, the way I dopes it out." said Shorty, "is this. The Dook often goes down to the Madras Cafe, an' if Limpy could hang about there, or get some word to him in some other way that he was wanted there, all I got to do is watch the door and when he comes out I can let him have it. That should be easy."

"I can try," said the Duke. "If I can find the Duke, there is nothing hard in that plan."

"And," said the Rat, "there is not much profit in it."

"Profit, me foot!" said Shorty. "What's the use of makin' a profit if that pirate can come along and take it from us? ,Ya know what his racket is— to steal from other crooks."

The Rat nodded. "There is something in that." he said. "Well, where' do I come into this?"

"Ya don't," said Shorty. "You can be out lookin' over jobs until we put dis guy where he belongs. If ya know of a better plan, then spill it."

There was silence in the room for a few moments, and then the Rat and the Duke shook their heads.

"It seems," said the Rat, "that it is the best we can do at the moment, as the Madras is the only place you can be sure of finding the Duke."

"Now we want a hide-out," said Shorty, "and for emergencies I t'ink this place would take some beating."

The Rat nodded. "Also," he said, "my room is below. It's a room which I only use occasionally but still it gives us two hide-outs in the one house. When do you expect to put the plan into operation?"

"That depends on you." said Shorty. "When can ya deliver the Tommy gun?"

"In an hour," the Rat replied. "I take it that supplying the gun will be my share, but that will need money."

"How much?" asked Shorty, diving into an inside pocket.

"How much have you got?" asked the Rat.

Shorty frowned. "I don't like the question," he said. "Would twenty be enough?"

The Rat chuckled. "Twenty," he said, "would not buy the cartridges. Make it a hundred."

"A hundred!" exclaimed Shorty. "I ain't got much more dan dat."

"Well, you have to consider the risk of the owner because he may never see his gun again if something happens to you, and those guns cost money, not only to make but to get into this country, and are therefore pretty rare."

"All right," said Shorty, "a hundred it is." He began to count out the notes.

"When will we meet again?" said the Duke, "and where?"

"As soon as I get the gun," Shorty said. "I'll go down to the Madras and you can already be there and we might even be able to do the job to-night."

"Suits me," said Limpy. "The sooner it is over the better. After the job we will scatter and work our way back here by different routes and—be careful you are not trailed. "If you are, and you cannot shake your trailers, then duck into any hole and I'll meet you here to-morrow night at eleven."

"Good plan," said Shorty, rising and handing the roll of notes to the Rat who began to carefully count them. "Now we'll be gittin' along to find this gun, for de sooner I feel a good old Tommy in me hands again the more I'll feel at home."

There was silence in the room, broken only by a crackling of the notes as the Rat thumbed them over. At last he was satisfied. They vanished into some corner of his clothes.

"Well." he said, "we had. better be going. Good-night, Limpy, see you later."

"Good-night," said the Duke, and the two men left the attic.

After locking the door, the Duke placed his ear 'to it and listened to the men talking as their footsteps faded down the stairs. Then he went to the skylight and pushed it up. Outside the stars shone down on the sloping roofs of the slum.

"Shrimp," he called softly, but there was no answer. He pulled himself up to the edge of the sky-light and cast his eyes over the roof—but there was no one in sight.

The Shrimp had vanished!

Chapter 17

The Mask!

ON THE mail plane the pilots were seeking a way out. One of them had been a war pilot and the rain of bullets from the machine-gun brought him back memories of many a dog-fight in the Great War. Immediately he put his motors into action again and began to dip and swing in an effort to spoil the aim of the gunner. At the same time the other pilot went to a holster nailed on the wall and took from it a large automatic pistol. Opening up the roof of the pilot's cock-pit he took aim and opened fire at the black plane as it swung by.

Razor immediately remembered the pistol in his own hand and took a leaf from the pilot's book. All the time the fight went on the driving pilot was keeping his eyes open for a spot to land. A line of bullet holes appeared across the fuselage and one passed so close to the pilot's ear that he put the plane into a side-skid. The machine straightened out, zoomed upwards, and banked the other way. Razor found it difficult to aim and used all his energy to hang on to the door. Down went the plane, the black plane swooping close upon its tail and bullets whining over Razor's head and ripping through the fabric. The gunner in the black plane was evidently a novice, otherwise, he could never have missed a maiming shot on such a large surface. The mail pilot, however, knew how to dodge round in a wide circle.

While the plane straightened up for a moment, the black one zoomed upwards. went into a loop, then came darting down, the machine-gun spitting and the pilot's automatic snapping back in reply. A wire strut parted with a ping and the mail plane wobbled for a moment.

The black! plane swooped past—on and down—and the mail plane turned sharply and followed it. The pilot with the gun poured a clip of bullets into the tail of the black plane, but whether the shots had any effect could not be told, as the black plane tilted sidewise as it flattened out in a wide circle and prepared to rise-for another dive. Razor turned back into the cabin and closed the door.

On the floor of the rocking cabin lay the girl who had been stabbed, with Florence bending over her and trying her best to plug the wound in the girl's side. Her nursing experience was once again becoming useful.

The rat-tat-tat of the machine gun came again and this time the gunner was more accurate as the stream of bullets tore through the roof from tail to nose and Razor heard one of the pilots exclaim in agony. He could hear the black plane zooming upwards again and then came a welcome bump as the undercarriage of the mail plane made contact with the earth. The plane taxied across the field, which was far too small for the pilot's liking, turned sharply at a corner so that one wing scraped the ground and came to a stop within a few feet of the next fence. Then Razor took a deep breath and hurried to Florence's side.

"Is she dead?" he asked.

"Not yet," Florence replied, "but we must get her to a doctor as soon as possible."

The door from the forward cabin opened and one pilot, assisting the other, came into view. The pilot being assisted had blood running from a downward bullet wound in the back of his neck. He smiled in a sickly fashion at them.

"Sometime," he said, "you must tell me what all this was about."

"Sometime," said Razor, "I will, but first we must get you and this girl to a doctor."

They heard a shouting of voices and then the door was rapped upon. Razor opened it and found four men and two boys gazing up open-mouthed at him.

"What's the trouble?" one of the men asked.

"The main trouble," Razor replied, "is to get a doctor as quickly as possible. Could someone do that?"

"Leave it to me," a man, who was evidently a farmer, replied, as he set off at a run.

Razor went back to the girl as the pilots dropped on one of the double seats.

"Is she conscious?" he asked.

"She is just coming round," Florence replied.

"For her sake and for ours that is good. Maybe we'll find out now what it is all about," said Razor.

"Why?" said one of the pilots. "Don't you know, either?"

"All we know," said Razor, "is that that madman who fell from the wing stabbed this girl before he left the cabin. That is why I took after him."

One of the pilots wagged his head. "It is always just as well to warn the pilot when you start these affairs —he is not used to his passengers fighting in the plane."

"Where is the black plane?" asked Razor.

"I'd like to know that," said the pilot grimly, "but he flew off and has vanished from view. It was not likely that it would fly down here— that's why I picked a paddock in a fairly settled district, though I would not have minded if it had come to a hand-to-hand fight. I've no love for that gentleman —whoever he was."

"I'm not too fond of him myself," Razor said, and then bent quickly as the girl on the cabin floor opened her eyes and muttered.

Florence forced some brandy between her lips, and her eyes slowly became sensible—then fearful. She moaned as she tried to rise and sank back exhausted.

"He got me," .she said.

"Yes," said Florence, "but it's only a scratch; you will be all right as soon as we can get a doctor to you."

"Who was he?" asked Razor impatiently.

The girl turned her eyes to him. "I don't know," she said.

Razor grunted. "So it's that way," he said. "You do know, but you won't tell."

The girl's eyes were frightened as she whispered, "I don't know. Where is he now?"

"Dead," said Razor callously, watching for the effect of the words. If he had expected sorrow he was disappointed, as the girl showed relief and something almost like joy.

"He was a crook—a killer," she said. "I was forced to accompany him."

"Who forced you?" said Razor.

The girl looked at him and her eyes became pools of terror. Her words were so soft, that he had to bend his ear almost to. her lips as she whispered, "The Mask!"

Chapter 18

The Opening Door

THE REASON why the Duke did not find the Shrimp upon the roof of the attic was explained by the fact that, some minutes before, the Shrimp had discovered that his roof led to another, which in turn led, by leaping across a narrow passage, to yet another. He was -seeking a way to reach the ground so that he could be in view of the tenement's front door when the two men, the Rat and Shorty, left the house. He thought it would be necessary for the Duke and himself to know exactly where, Shorty and the Rat could be found at any time.

After some trouble he found a rain pipe which was strong enough to bear his weight, and in a few moments he had scrambled down and stood in a noisome backyard. As he went towards the street he considered that, judging by the conversation of the two men, they were to accompany each other, and thus he could shadow them both at once.

But here he was wrong. When the Rat and Shorty came from the door they spoke for a few moments on the footpath and then went in separate directions. The Shrimp was hidden in the open doorway of a tenement on the other side of the street, and the Rat was the man who came his way. For a moment he debated as to which man he would follow, but it was more convenient to follow the Rat and as they knew less of the Rat than the other man, his course was decided for him.

The Rat was a slow walker— in fact, he shambled rather than walked— with a peculiar slink which had evidently given him his name. He did not look round and did not appear to be aware he was being followed. Two blocks from the Duke's tenement he stepped into a doorway and vanished from view.

The Shrimp hurried to the door and found it open and three steps leading down into what was evidently a Chinese shop, where sat two Chinamen playing fan tan by the light of a candle. As the Shrimp walked down the steps they looked up in inquiry. The Rat was nowhere to be seen.

"You wantee something?"

"My friend, the Rat, just came in here," the Shrimp said. "Which way did he go?"

The Chinaman shook his head. "No rat here—we have only cockroach."

The Shrimp smiled. "All right, old chap," he said, "I'll find him for myself."

One of the Chinamen rose to his feet, as the Shrimp stepped across the room towards a further door.

"You no go in there," the Chinaman said, and a long knife in his hand was held by the point as if for throwing. The Shrimp turned. He had no time to waste on this man.

"Have you ever heard of the Duke?" he asked.

Both Chinamen stiffened but made no reply.

"Have you ever heard of the Shrimp?"

One of the Chinamen cleared his throat. "What about the Shrimp?" he asked.

"There is only one thing about the Shrimp that you need to know," said the Shrimp; "that when he shoots he never misses and often kills. I am the Shrimp."

There was silence for the space of a full minute; then the Shrimp spoke again.

"Do I go through the door?" he asked quietly.

The Chinamen made no reply but the knife dropped to the table. The Shrimp turned his back on them, opened the door and passed through. Now he knew that he must work swiftly because it was known that he was in the house.

He found himself in a large room- which was really three rooms knocked into one. It was evidently a gambling den and from descriptions he had received he knew it to be a place called the Dive. At tables around the room sat men and women, white and yellow, playing various games or drinking, smoking and talking. At one end a Chinaman was drawing a pak-a-pu in the midst of a chattering group of his countrymen. The Shrimp swept his eyes over the assemblage but the Rat was not to be seen. At the other end of the room was another door which drew his attention because a curtain which had been drawn over it had not been replaced. Two other doors in the room or rooms, were also curtained but the .curtains did not look as though they had been lately disturbed. He walked slowly through the bluish smoke haze towards the further door. Heads were lifted and inspected him, but no one made a move to stay him until he was almost at the door; then a large man who sat near it rose to his feet and stepped before him with his back to the door. He was white and, by his battered face, he was evidently the "chucker-out" of the establishment. A gun was in brazen view in his belt.

"What do you want?" he asked the Shrimp.

"I'm looking for a friend," the Shrimp said. "He's called the Rat. I was told by him to meet him here, but as I can't see him I suppose he must have gone through the door."

The man leaned back against the door, his thumbs in his belt within a few inches of the butt of his revolver. "What makes yer think that?" he asked.

"I just thought it," said the Shrimp, innocently. "Where else could he be?"

"To tell yer the truth," the big man said, "he did go through this door— but you are not going through."

"Why?" asked the Shrimp calmly.

"Because," said the man darkly, in' a loud voice, "as he went through 'e tipped me off that 'e was bein' followed and that means that you were doin' the followin'—so you git no further. Who are yer?"

The Shrimp darted his eyes about hint and noticed that silence had fallen upon the room, and that now every head was turned their way. He also noticed that hands were seeking hips or armpits or belts. He smiled.

"What does it matter who I am?" he said, "I told you my story and you can believe it or not. If I'm not going through then I'm not going through and I'll go out the way I came in."

"Maybe yer will," said the man, "and maybe yer won't, because it's my opinion that yer a demon and we don't like demons."

The Shrimp smiled again. "I'm not a demon," he said, "If you want to know, I'm a bigger crook than any man in this room."

The big man curled his lip. "That so?" he scoffed. "And who might yer Excellency be?"

"That's my business," said the Shrimp, who knew that to say his name in this place would be to turn every hand against him, as the Duke and his henchmen were known as crooks who fattened on crooks and therefore were even more detested than the police.

Just then there came an interruption from the door which he had entered as one of the Chinamen from, the outer room opened it and stood looking into the room. The big man saw him over the Shrimp's shoulder and barked: "Why did yer let this joker through?"

The Chinaman screamed his words. "He is the Shrimp!"

The Shrimp felt the shock run through the room and immediately each crook's hand openly held a weapon. But his easy pose did not alter.

The man before him opened his eyes wide. "Is that so?" he shouted.

"That's so," the Shrimp said calmly. "What about it?"

"What about it?" the big man echoed. "You're goin' to know all about it when we finish with yer— ugh!"

His last word ended in a grunt as the Shrimp's upflung right fist caught him on the point and he sagged at the knees. In a moment the Shrimp had gripped him beneath the armpits and had swung him round so that he was a barricade for his own body against the rest of the room. The man must have weighed 14 stone, but he was a child in the powerful arms of the Shrimp. With one hand the Shrimp held him up while the other tare the revolver from his belt, and was levelled across his shoulder.

Many of the men in the room had half-risen but now they dropped slowly back into their seats; their eyes fishy with fear.

"Has anyone anything to say—or do?" the Shrimp asked, but the room was absolutely silent, while the man in his arms began to shake his head to clear the fogginess from it caused by the blow. In a moment he would be too much of a handful for the Shrimp, though the Shrimp knew that his reputation when he stood behind a gun was sufficient to keep every man in the -room quiet. He decided on a bold move.

"I'm going out of here," he said grimly, "and any man who wishes otherwise can try and stop me. If I think of it to-morrow, I'll send him some flowers."

He began to move forward but he had not correctly estimated the big man's capacity to take a punch. Evidently that individual had been conscious for some moments for now, with a quick twist, he tripped the Shrimp and threw himself backwards, pulling the Shrimp upon him. Like lightning the Shrimp hit him again, and then bounced to his feet, the gun now in his other hand. Then the lights went out, and the Shrimp had his back to the door. A bullet thudded into the door beside him and immediately he fired at the flash. There was a scream of pain and the room became silent on the instant.

The silence was ominous. The Shrimp knew that the room was too crowded for him to cross without being caught; he also knew that men must be creeping towards him from all sides. If someone were to reach his legs that would be the end. He tried the handle of the door. It was locked.

Crouching low, he pressed against the door, his eyes alert for any move or flash, his nerves atingle for the slightest touch of a hand.

The silence continued— then suddenly he heard a lock snap, a latch turn, and the door behind him opened suddenly— sending him sprawling into the darkness!

Chapter 19

The Break

THE WOUND in the girl's side was not as serious as was anticipated. The knife thrust did not sever any vital organs. The farmer had brought a doctor, who had speedily patched up the girl and the wounded pilot. The other pilot made a few rough repairs to injured struts and braces and then, after a thrilling take-off in the small field, the plane went on once more in its flight to the northern city.

Razor and Florence had decided to keep the girl by them in the plane and the doctor had agreed, saying that a city hospital was the best place for her and the quickest way they could get to one was in the plane. They made her a couch from the chairs and now she lay pale and ill. her eyes, like two saucers in her haggard face, looking at them somewhat fearfully as they whispered across the cabin. She knew that the pilot had sent a message by the farmer to the local police, who would get in touch with city police, and she would likely be arrested on her arrival. The pilots kept a wary lookout for a reappearance of the black plane, but it was not seen again. There were only a few hours of the flight to go and Razor and Florence were debating their position.

"The easiest way," said Razor, "is to let the police take the girl— then she will be off our hands."

But Florence had been touched by the girl's action in saving her life and also by something pathetic in her face.

"I do not like that idea," she said, "as she seems a decent kid. I'd like to hear her story. Maybe it would give us something to go on."

"I feel that way about it. too, but she either has no story or refuses to tell."

"Let's try again," said Florence, and they pulled their chairs up the girl's side.

"We would like to know," said Florence to the girl, "exactly how you came to be in this affair."

"You wouldn't believe me," the girl said weakly, "if I told you the truth."

"Maybe we would and maybe we wouldn't," said Razor, "but at least we could hear it."

"My father is a crook," the girl said, "he is known as the Snake and is one of the Mask's trusted men. though I honestly believe that he doesn't know who the Mask really is. My father formerly kept me from knowledge of his life and it is only lately that I found out he was a crook. I told him I wanted nothing more to do with him and he agreed, because I was a 'clean skin' and had so far done nothing crooked. But the Mask, who seems to know everything, found out about me and as he wanted a girl who did not look like a crook, he forced my father to use me on this occasion. I did not see anything very wrong in his proposal when I was forced to agree to all he told me "

"Who's he— the Mask?" asked Razor.

"Yes," the girl said; "the only time I have seen him he wore a long white mask, which completely covered his head and shoulders."

"Go on," said Razor.

"He told me that I would simply have to accompany a man dressed as a woman on a plane trip. That was all. It was not until the last moment that I realised what was about to happen. I guessed that the man had poisoned the beef-tea and that the whole stunt was staged just to kill you two, and even myself, if they felt inclined. It was then I smashed the cup from the lady's hand."

Florence and Razor looked at each other. The story sounded true. If it were true, then this girl was innocent and had done them a tremendous service.

"You know, I suppose," Razor said to her, "that when we land you will be handed over to the police as a suspect?"

The girl's eyes filled with tears. "I suppose so," she said. "Now I'll really be a crook."

Florence had been thinking. "Wait a moment," she said. "Why should this girl be handed to the police? The story you told was that a madman handed me a cup of poisoned beef tea. This girl knocked it over and he stabbed her. There is nothing except a passenger list to show that these two were in cohorts."

"The passenger list says a woman and her daughter," said Razor, "and that and the girl's own action are sufficient to place her in the position of an accomplice."

Florence nodded, and for a few moments all three were silent, thinking deeply.

"There's one way," said Razor slowly. "If, when we land, we could make a break and go into hiding, the three of us would be saved some awkward questions, and the girl would be out of danger of the Mask's reprisals."

Florence nodded. "I thought of that." she said, "but the 'if' is too big. We do not know the lay-out of the aerodrome and we cannot make plans before we reach it."

"We must rely absolutely on our wits." Razor said. "Rely on mine, and then there won't be any argument as to who and what to follow. I have a plan."

"I take, it." said Florence, "that this young lady it definitely adopted by us, which means that you believe her."

"Don't von"'' asked Razor.

Florence smiled. "Yes?" she said, "but I have a woman's intuition to back me."

"All right." said Razor, "and now it would be better if we know her name."

The girl, who had shown no animation since they first spoke to her, which was not surprising for a girl in the midst of enemies, now smiled. "My name," she said, "is Edna Cassidy."

Razor grinned. "My name," he said, "is also a good old Scotch one— it's Tom Buckley, and this lady is Mrs. Robert Gresley."

The girl's eyes opened wide. "Gresley!" she said. "I've heard the name before. Wasn't that the name of the man whose father-in-law was murdered recently in his bed?"

"What do you know about that?" Razor asked suspiciously.

"It is in all the papers," the girl said, "and now they say that the man Gresley has vanished and the police are seeking him for the murder of his father-in-law."

This was news to Florence and Razor, and put a new angle on the case altogether. Surely, they thought, the Commissioner of police— who was the Duke's uncle— would never have made such a mistake! Then Razor smiled. Evidently, he thought, it was really engineered by the Duke himself to cover his tracks and give a wrong impression to his enemies. Now they could not associate Gresley with the Duke, although it was clear that the Mask was quite aware who and what the Duke was.

They had only to wait now for the plane to land and for them to take what opportunity offered to escape questioning by the police. Each of them had only a small suitcase, and these could easily be abandoned if really necessary, as they held nothing of great value.

At last the city of their destination came in view and the plane circled in a gliding ring towards the aerodrome. As they drew nearer they could see several cars drawn up and a group of men standing in the centre of the tarmac, watching the plane. Two of them wore blue uniforms. As they landed, Razor was telling himself, "This is going to be difficult."

The plane taxied to a standstill within a few yards of the party and the mail-men ran forward to take the bags of delayed mail, while the policemen and detectives followed more slowly. An ambulance detached itself from the cars and ran towards the plane.

The door was opened from outside and Razor helped Florence to the ground. A tall man with detective written large upon him stepped forward.

"This lady, I take it," he said, "is the one upon whom the attempt was made?"

"That's correct," said Razor, "but I think the wisest thing we can do before we answer questions is to get the girl who saved the lady's life into the ambulance."

"Good idea." the detective assented. "Where is she?"

Edna was carefully lowered from the plane and placed in the ambulance and Florence took her place by her side.

"We had all better go together," Razor remarked. "I'll ride in front."

"Good," the detective agreed. "I'll put a couple of men on the back step. Shove your luggage inside."

As they drove out of the aerodrome, Razor was making his plans for escaping. On one side of him was the ambulance driver and on his other side sat the detective. Inside rode Edna, Florence and another ambulance man, while on the back step stood two policemen. Some distance behind them trailed a police car, in which sat two detectives.

Half-way to the city, Razor stopped in the midst of a desultory conversation and touched the ambulance driver's arm.

"Would you pull up for a moment?" he asked. "I feel ill. It's the reaction of being in that plane, I suppose, but if you can give me some sort of a reviver, I'll be very pleased. I've had more excitement to-day than I can stomach."

"Sure thing!" the ambulance man said, as he stopped the car. "You will have to step down as all the dope is in the back."

He swung open the door beside him and the detective stepped out also to allow Razor to alight. To the latter's annoyance, the detective stayed by the front of the car, while Razor and the ambulance man went to the back. The policemen moved from the step and the ambulance man opened the doors and explained Razor's "trouble" to his compatriot. Now no one but the inside ambulance man and the girls were actually upon the ambulance and even the inside ambulance man had climbed down to use the step for his case as he mixed a potion for Razor. The police car had drawn up a few yards behind. The engine of the ambulance was still running.

Suddenly Razor acted. With a swing of his arm he swept the ambulance men against the surprised policemen; then he darted up the offside of the ambulance, sprang into the driving seat and opened the clutch even before he properly gained his seat.

The detective on the other side of the ambulance sprang for the side, but the jerk of the ambulance as it leapt forward shook him to the ground. Florence slammed the back doors as Razor opened the engine to its full extent.

Chapter 20

The Prowler

THE RESIDENTS of that city had seen an ambulance before, but never one driven so fast as this one— and ambulances are tuned for speed. What was even more in Razor's favour was the fact that the shrieking of his siren opened an avenue through all the traffic— which immediately closed up behind him and delayed the police car, which had had to pause to pick up the other detectives.

Razor was a good driver, but he needed all his :kill as he swept up one street and down another in an effort to throw off all pursuit before the alarm sounded through the city to have him blocked. He soon gained enough start on the police car to allow him to make towards the hiding-place which was already prepared. Taking a corner on two wheels, he sped down a street, up another with screaming siren, down a tree-lined street— narrowly missing a child— and then into a smaller residential avenue.

He stopped the ambulance, leapt from the seat, opened the back doors and helped Florence carry Edna into the house before which they stood. The street was quiet, and, to all intents and purposes, no one had seen them arrive. Razor threw the suit-cases into the house. Then he slammed the front door, ran back to the ambulance, and was soon speeding away from the district. It seemed that the sheer audacity of his scheme had made it succeed.

Two miles away from the house where he had left Florence and Edna he stopped the ambulance, climbed quickly down and walked briskly away. The taxi which he picked up half a mile away took him back to the hide-out—which was a furnished house in a high-class district. When he arrived the girl was already in bed, and Florence was preparing a meal.

"Everything all right?" Florence asked, as he entered the kitchen.

"On the surface," Razor replied. "There seems to be a lull, and I can only hope it continues. How is the patient?"

"The excitement of the car ride seems to have done her good," Florence said, "though I should not advise such a hair-raising journey for most patients. But she is young and strong. Go in and see her."

Razor walked blithely along the passage towards the girl's bedroom, but as he neared her door his mood was suddenly changed as he heard her strangle a scream in her throat. In two bounds he was in the room, and he found Edna half-raised on her pillows staring at the window.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"A man!" she choked. "He looked in the window; he— he was my father!"

Razor sped from the room, along the passage and through the back door just in time to see a man vaulting the back fence. Razor covered the back-yard in mighty leaps. An athlete to his fingertips. he did not expect to be outrun by a middle-aged man, and he was lent wings by the fact that the girl had previously told him that her father was The Snake— one of the closest henchmen of the Mask. The Snake must be caught.

As Razor topped the fence the man was speeding across the back-yard of the house fronting the next street. In two bounds Razor was upon him— his hand falling unerringly on the man's wrist as the crook reached beneath his armpit. The Snake had not the accepted appearance of a crook, but that he knew every wile of the street-fighter was soon evident, so that at last Razor was forced to release his wrist and to "bunny-hug" him swiftly and throw him so hard to the ground that he was too breathless to move. Then Razor picked up the gun, swept the man up in his arms, carried him to the fence and threw him bodily over, following him quickly as the back door of the house, with whose back-yard they had been taking liberties, opened inquiringly. The servant who opened the door could not see them, as the fence was a solid structure. The man was semi-conscious, and Razor picked him up and carried him into the kitchen, where he dropped him like a bag of coal on the floor—much to the surprise of Florence. She looked her dismay.

"This," said Razor, "is Edna's father— the Snake!"

Florence gasped. "The Snake!" she said. "What's that mean?"

"It means," Razor replied grimly, "that they are on to us already, and it also means that we must shift quickly."

"The girl?" Florence queried. "Is she well enough to travel?"

"She'll have to be," Razor said. "Go into the backyard and get me the clothes line."

When Florence returned with the clothes line Razor set about scientifically binding and gagging the Snake, whom he then pushed into a corner under the kitchen sink.

"We'll have to leave him there," he said; "not because he is her father, but because we cannot hand him over to the police— especially now, after that ambulance escapade. The correct thing would be to silence him forever—which is what we would do if we were on the other side. We must get out of here in case he had a pal, while the fact that he got on to us so quickly shows that he is not the only one aware of our hiding place."

"However could he have found the place so speedily?" asked Florence.

"The way I dope it out," Razor replied, "is that the Mask suspected we would make for another city, and then, finding out— as he must have done— that we were taking the air mail to this city, he got his spies to visit the house agents to find where we had picked a furnished house. Then all likely furnished houses were watched by at least one of his spies. There would not be such a great number of furnished houses being occupied to-day, so it was not so difficult. When the Snake does not return to report the gang will immediately head this way. If we get going quickly we might lose them."

Florence nodded. "I used to think that the Snail and Ling Chang were clever men, second only to the Duke, but the Mask seems to have more cunning than all of them put together."

"He knows his onions," Razor said, "but I'll back the Duke and the Shrimp against any man or organisation in the world."

Florence smiled. "You would," she said, "but you are prejudiced."

"Now if you would go to a public 'phone and ring for a taxi," Razor said, "we could be— but wait— I'd better go, there may be some of them about."

"Don't be foolish—it's daylight," Florence replied. "You stay on guard here."

She did not wait to put on a hat, but went out quickly to search for a public telephone.

While she was away Razor went into Edna's room. The girl was sitting up in bed staring towards the door and waiting anxiously for his return. When she saw him a sigh of relief escaped her.

"You are safe!" she said.

Razor chuckled. "Of course!" he remarked. "I'm a member of the Duke's gang."

"But— my father?" the girl asked.

"Your father is now resting in a rather cramped position beneath the kitchen sink."

She opened her eyes wide and stared at him. She was not used to the ways of the Duke's men.

"Is he— dead?" she asked next.

"Just a little dizzy. I had to be a little forceful in my argument. Now do you think you could rise and dress and walk? We will have to get out of here."

The girl firmed her chin. "I'll do my best," she said.

Razor went into another room and threw back into their suit cases the few things which had been unpacked.

Florence returned quickly, as she met a cruising taxi before she had discovered a telephone box. Edna was half dressed and Razor was ready to start. In a few moments all three were looking around before starting out once more, then Florence and Razor, supporting the girl between them, climbed speedily into the waiting taxi. Razor barked at the driver, "The aerodrome." The driver let in his clutch and they were on their way.

The aerodrome being somewhat out of town, it was several minutes before they reached it, and in the meantime they were making plans in voices so soft that even the driver— who might by some chance be later questioned by the police— could not hear.

The driver set them down at the aerodrome, and Razor went speedily towards the office. Florence turned to pay the driver.

"Will you be needing me again, lady?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

The driver touched his cap and drove from the aerodrome.

Two blocks away he pulled up his car beside a public telephone, slipped inside the box and dialled a number. To the voice which answered him, he said:

"Regan here. The Snake, must have slipped. They dumped the joint and are now at the aerodrome. What's the next move?"

Chapter 21

An Old Friend

AS THE DOOR opened and the Shrimp fell sprawling into the empty darkness he thought the end had come. The darkness was intense, and as he fell he rolled to one side, bringing his gun into the ready, although he could not see an inch before him. He heard the door shut and the key turn, and then a voice whispered swiftly: "It's me, Shrimp— it's The Rose!"

The Shrimp recognised the voice in spite of its soft tones. His heart leapt with relief and joy. At last they had found the missing member of the gang, and the Rose had always been as useful a member of the Duke's gang as any. He had gained his ironical name from days when he had been a rather smellful street urchin, but now his ways were greatly altered, and "soap and water" were his middle names.

Someone had now reached the other side of the door, and had found the Shrimp missing. Voices began to call cautiously in the other room.

"Come on, Shrimp," the Rose whispered, "we've got to move. Follow me. Here, take my hand."

The Shrimp felt a hand touch him, and, grasping it, he climbed to his feet and set off after the padding footsteps of the Rose through a door and into a passage. As they moved on towards the back door a chair scraped back and a head showed round the edge of the doorway.

"Who comes?" a voice growled.

The Shrimp and the Rose flattened themselves to the wall and waited.

The faint silhouette of the head was continued in a body as the man stepped through the doorway.

"Who's there?" the man asked again. The Shrimp slipped noiselessly along the wall and sprang.

The man leapt back— but not quickly enough, for the Shrimp's huge fist caught him on the side of the head and he fell as though pole-axed. The Shrimp and the Rose waited for no more. Leaping over the man they dashed through the back-door, across a yard and through the back gate. They were in a laneway which led them to a street, and then it was the Shrimp's turn to lead as he and the Rose set off for the Duke's attic.

"Where have you been?" the Shrimp asked, as soon as they could talk with comfort.

"I was workin' 'way up north," the Rose replied, "when your message reached me. It had been readdressed a few times as I have been on the move, and when I got to the Duke's house and found him vanished I set out to find him. I tried the Madras and a few other places, and finally my search led me to the Dive. I was about to enter the gambling den from the back when I heard the stink inside, so I stood waitin' by the door to see which way things were going to break. And then I heard your voice! Was I pleased? From behind the door I summed things up, and waited for an opportunity to pull you out. Quite simple after all isn't it?"

"Simple enough," the Shrimp replied, "though it was not so simple for me until you opened that door."

"What's doing?" asked the Rose.

The Shrimp chuckled. "Plenty," he said. "We are now fighting a man called the Mask. He has more brains than the Snail or Ling Chang, and he plays for keeps. There will be no kidnappings this time, for the Mask likes 'em dead."

He told the Rose how events had shaped up to the present time as far as he knew them, and while he talked there entered his mind a suspicion that the Rose's story might not be true— that the Rose might have some connection with their enemy. But he dismissed it. The Rose was bound to the Duke and himself, and his life had just been saved by the ex-urchin.

They entered the noisome alley wherein was the entrance to the Duke's attic, and as they did so a figure left the opposite corner and began to walk smartly ..away down the street which they had just left. The Shrimp paused.

"That joker looked a bit queer to me."

"I'll trail him," offered the Rose.

The Shrimp wagged his head. "Too late." he said.

They went on to the attic. The Shrimp knocked— once— three times— once. There was no reply.

He unlocked the door and threw it wide as he stepped back out of line. Then he switched on the light and stepped inside cautiously.

He was surprised to find the limping man gone so quickly. Then he noticed a piece of paper lying on the chair.

On it was written in the Duke's handwriting: "I may not see you before tomorrow night. You will find me then at the Madras. Be there at eight." He passed the note to the Rose.

"Well, that's all right." the Rose said, passing back the note. "He must be O.K. or he would not have written that."

The Shrimp shook his head.

"On the surface it seems all right," he said, "except that the Duke did not write that— we never write notes to each other unless they are in code! This was left by our vanishing friend of the corner."

Chapter 22

The Black Plane Again

IT was the next night, nearing 8 o'clock.

Before the costumier's shop, which hid the entrance to the Madras Club, stood a beggar—a few bootlaces hanging loosely from his hands. He was tall and stooped and one of his feet was clubbed. The shop was dark, but occasionally a man or woman walked swiftly down the short street and tapped on the door. After a moment the portal would open, showing only darkness within, but it had not been opened by visible human agency. A series of small mirrors had shown the lookout the identity of the visitor in a dim light shining from a globe hidden nearby in the wall. Then the lookout had touched a lever and the door had swung open.

In a deep doorway along the street crouched Shorty McKay, and in the crook of his arm rested that ugly instrument of gang warfare—a machine-gun. Shorty and the gun were awaiting the signal to go into deadly action. The Rat had informed Shorty the night before that he knew the Duke by sight, and if he could manage to get word to the Duke by some manner he would send, him to the Madras— also any of his men. The signal to inform him that the Duke was about to arrive was to be a black car cruising by.

While the Duke whined his pleas he thought quickly. That day he had been in communication with the Shrimp, who had told him of the note in his attic the night before. This note meant not only a trap, but also that the Mask was aware of the Duke's disguise.

The Duke was beginning to lose some of his confidence. The Mask was almost uncanny. He had them in a position in which they did not know which way to turn. The Duke considered now that to remain standing where he was would be to invite destruction. What if Shorty were the Mask?

In any case, if the Mask knew him to be the Limping Man, he would know exactly where to find him if he kept to the original plan. But then the Mask may have expected him to find the note and change his plans, and therefore any move he may make might have been out-thought by the Mask, and he might be running into a trap. He decided, however, that he was not going to stand and be shot at.

The Duke limped across the footpath and gave a signal knock on the costumier's door. For a few moments there was no sign, as the Limping Man was not known to the look-out; then the watcher decided to take a chance and the door opened.

The Duke stepped inside, but this time he did not cross the shop, enter the secret door, and descend the steps to the cafe. Instead, he walked round the shop, pulled open one of the sliding panels which made up the back of the window, and stepped inside, where, hidden by the "latest Paris models," he could see into the street.

The night was quiet, and the "Duke's legs were becoming tired through their lack of movement when he heard the hum of a car. it must have been close, as the glass of the show window muffled most of the sound. From where the Duke stood he could see the corner of the street, and he saw the car turn into it. It was a long, black sedan, travelling slowly.

To the Duke's ears came another sound. It was the roar of an aeroplane engine. The plane was low. The car went on to the end of the street and vanished, but now it carried another passenger, for as it passed the corner a man had sprung swiftly from a door-way, and, running in a crouched position, had leapt on to the back of the car and now was holding to the carrier as the car gathered speed.

Shortly waited tensely. The car had gone, and Limpy had vanished—now for the Duke. The arrangement had been that the car would enter the street at the end from which the Duke would come, and then wait round the other corner for Shorty's getaway.

In the window the Duke was still wondering. He had expected that the black car would machine-gun both him and Shorty as it passed. What was the next move The noise of the aeroplane had faded, but now was growing louder.

Shorty, impatient, stepped a couple of paces out on to the footpath. The roar of the plane drew his attention, and he saw that it was very low and was without lights.

What's the idea? thought Shorty— and it was his last thought, for Death struck suddenly, and the bomb which dropped threw his broken body thirty feet across the roadway. At the noise the Duke ceased to wonder; he could see it all now. The Mask, who knew so much, knew of the black car, and had thought that his plane would get both Shorty and the Duke. He had finally been content with one, and now the noise and damage of the explosion would bring the police.

It was time to move!

Chapter 23

A Note of Finality

The Duke slipped out of the window, into the shop, straight to the secret panel. He pulled it back.

He stepped through the panel and closed it behind him. The explosion had evidently been heard in the cafe below—for he could hear people rushing up the stairs. He turned along the secret passage to where some concealed stairs continued to the roof. As he did so, he heard a thunderous knocking on the door of the costumiers' shop and a voice shouting, "Open in the name of the law!"

The Madras Cafe was to be raided at last!

The door fell inwards with a crash as the Duke sped up the stairs. He guessed that the police would have been tipped off to go straight to the secret panel.

At the top of the stairs was another hidden door leading on to the roof, and he drew a deep breath as he stepped
out. The roofs were bathed in a white light. The roof of the next place was built flush to the building on which he stood, and about eight feet beneath. In a moment he had dropped, run behind a structure and waited.

Within a minute three heads appeared over the coping.

"I did not think, sergeant," the constable said, "that we would find anyone up here. They will be all caught in the den below."

"According to my information," the sergeant replied, "there was one other room where the look-out was posted. We have to find that. Come on."

He turned away from the coping. The Duke set off across the roof.

Between his roof and the next, which was a trifle higher and sloped, was a passage-way—leaving a blank space between of about five feet. Balancing himself on the coping he sprang outward and upward—and grasped the guttering of the next roof. He pulled himself up on to the roof, which was slated and gave him no purchase with his hands. Lying flat upon it with his feet —one of which was hampered by the clubbed foot—resting in the guttering, he edged his way along towards the rear corner.

At the corner he looked down at the ground forty feet below him. There
was nothing for it but to keep on edging his way along. He turned the corner and heard the faintest of "plops." A bullet chipped the slates at his side. He slid back round the corner as another bullet went past his ear.

So the Mask had even posted a sniper to cover the only route by which the Duke could escape. Flat against the roof he considered his position. Round this corner he was out of range. The sniper would be at a. high point not too far away, for he had heard the silenced gun. If another sniper were posted a little further over to the right so that he could shoot upon that side of the roof where he lay, then his chances of escape were frail indeed. He began to edge his way back towards the side of the roof fronting the street. He must risk being seen by the police.

By the time he reached the corner he was almost breathless. In the street two black wagons were swallowing the ex-patrons of the Madras Cafe. Police were everywhere. An ambulance held Shorty's remains. No one seemed to be looking up, but he tested this by removing his hat and pushing it round the corner. It almost leapt from his fingers as a bullet tore through it. The Duke sighed.

The Mask, he considered, was thorough. He could have his choice of snipers or police.

The Duke edged his way back from the corner and pondered.

Then inspiration came. He drew his revolver from his sleeve, unhitched it from its spring and then, as the noise from below was at the moment considerable, he swept the gun over his head and brought it smashing down on the slates. One slate splintered, and he lifted the pieces free, sliding them down the roof into the guttering. The rest was easy, as, having smashed one slate, he could get at the others. Soon he had a hole large enough to slide through.

His questing feet soon found the ceiling beams. He drew his torch from his pocket and swept its light over the dusty space, seeking the man-hole as he stepped from beam to beam. In a few moments he found it, and, lying along a beam, he lifted its edge and rested his ear against the opening. No sound came from below. The building was a warehouse of some sort and the manhole gave on to a passage. He slipped through, and dropped as silently as he could to the floor.

His clubbed foot was still a handicap. Silently as a cat he went down the stairs to the ground floor, and then to the back door. There he paused. As the back portion of the roof had been covered by a sniper, then it was likely the same sniper could see the back door. The Duke unlocked it and edged it open, to see if the moonlight were shining upon it.

It showed him a dark surface. As he slipped through, he found himself in a car dock, which led to a large covered yard where stood several delivery wagons. At the end of this garage were two large double doors with a postern door set into them.

He opened this. Before him was a dark lane. Police were posted at each end! On one side was a high fence. Like a wraith he crossed the lane and leapt the fence. Again he was in a back yard, this time open to the sky. More delivery vans.

He seemed no better off. To get to the street would mean breaking in, and going through the building. But the back wall of the building had a fire escape, beneath which stood a delivery van. From the top of the delivery van it was only a leap to the foot of the fire escape, and he was soon climbing the iron stairs. Going aloft again, he considered that it was here, a sniper was hidden, and that any moment he might stumble over him.

On the last flight he saw the crouching figure of a man, his face turned towards the warehouse from which the Duke had escaped— and a gun gleamed in the moonlight, which shone full upon him. Inch by inch the Duke went upwards.

The man on the fire escape was getting tired, when a man's voice snapped almost in his ear, "Now don't try any jolly foolery!"

His gun had dropped from his hand and clattered into the yard beneath. This appearance of the Duke was uncanny. He looked into the eyes of the Limping Man and the muzzle of a revolver His amazement was so profound that he was not even annoyed. And then he ceased wondering as a left fist clipped him smartly on the chin.

The Duke stepped over him and passed on to the roof. The door which led on to the roof was open and he went down the stairs to the ground floor. Here he found the lock sawn out in a most tradesman-like manner and the door held shut with a box. The street appeared unguarded. He limped slowly along, his hands hanging loosely and ready at a moment's notice to possess themselves of his guns.

In twenty minutes he was climbing the stairs to the attic, which he knew he must soon vacate. He placed his key in the lock, but it refused to turn. The door was unlocked!

He flung himself backwards to one side as he kicked it open, but there was no sound from within.

He slowly slid his hand around the jamb of the door and switched on the light. There were ho hiding places in the attic except the cupboard, and that stood wide open. The room was empty. On the chair was propped a piece of paper. The Duke entered the room and locked the door behind him; then he crossed to the paper and picked it up.

"Limpy will not return," he read. "He has met the Duke and Death!"

Chapter 24

The Chase

HALFWAY across the tarmac to the office on the aerodrome Razor halted and turned to watch the taxi drive away. Then he retraced his steps to Florence and Edna.

"Come on," he said, "there's a taxi standing over there. We will see if it's disengaged―"

"But," said Florence, "what about chartering a plane?"

Razor wagged his head. "Too risky," he said. "I did not like the look of that taxi driver, and I noticed that he left here in something of a hurry. Better to be sure than sorry."

The taxi they were making for was one run by a large company, and Razor decided that this at least should be free of suspicion. They climbed aboard.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"Make for the city," Razor replied. "I'll tell you when we get there."

The driver took the car along the street, and two blocks away Razor noticed the other taxi pulled up near a Public telephone and their late driver emerging from the box. He did not think the man had seen them inside the taxi. In any ease, he did not greatly care, though now he was sure that his suspicions had been correct.

But he was wrong. The driver had seen them in the taxi, and now he stepped back into the box and dialled the same number. To the voice which answered he said: "They doubled back toward^ the city in a taxi numbered 1084. Pick it up as soon as you can and see where they go."

When Razor's taxi reached the city he told the driver to take him to the railway station and to wait for him. At the inquiry office he learned that in a few minutes a train was leaving for the north. He bought three tickets and then assisted Florence to get the girl and the luggage aboard the train.

He did not notice a lounger walk slowly away, join another man and go to a waiting car. The car drove off to set the Mask's plans once more into operation.

These were simple. The Mask was in touch with a Mafia organisation in one of the cities through which the train must pass. This city was a stronghold of the Italian Black Hand, where plots were brewed which came to the boil in other countries ... a hide-out for men who wished to lie low. The Mask had their co-operation not only because of the money he was willing to pay out, but also because of the things he knew about the members. The Mask's orders to this organisation were to kill the three people travelling in that train and to make sure of the job.

When the message came to Tony Garretti — commonly called Dagger — he was highly delighted, for if there was one thing that Dagger enjoyed more than another it was a nice, juicy killing. He brought in four of his pals, who spent some time making two large bombs. Dagger loaded the bombs and his companions into a car and they set off for a certain railway bridge with murder in their hearts....

ON THE train the three had settled back in their seats.

"Well," said Razor, "I think we've done it. When we get to the spot we will find a house, buy some make-up materials, disguise ourselves, let the Duke know where we are, and lie low."

Florence nodded drowsily.

Chapter 25

Four Angles

THE SHRIMP was having an uncomfortable ride on the black car. In the semi-country it turned through some wide gates into an unkempt gravel drive of what had once been a beautiful country home. The drive was so rough that the car had to go slowly. The Shrimp dropped off the back and sank down into the bushes at the side.

He watched the car pull up at the door. Light flowed brazenly down the steps. A voice hissed a command from the car and the hail light was extinguished. Then the man who had been sitting alone in the back seat walked up the steps to meet the man who had opened the door. For a moment the moonlight shone upon the newcomer and the Shrimp's heart leapt as he saw that over the traveller's head was a white mask.

The car drove on round the drive as the door closed and vanished in the trees. He would have to get into the house.

In a ground floor window a light appeared, but in a few moments it went out and the place was dark again. The Shrimp slipped from his hiding place and worked his way towards the house.

At any moment he expected to stumble over an electric wire, an alarm, or put his foot into a man-trap, for he knew that the Mask must have the house guarded. He worked round the house until on the side he saw a lighted window. It was on the first floor, but the wall was old and presented no difficulties to a man of his abilities. He was more troubled by his inability to discover a trap. In a few moments he was climbing up with the aid of a very shaky spout towards the window. So far he was in luck. His eyes reached the level of the lighted window at one corner, and he was surprised and pleased to note that the window had no blind. Inside was a roughly furnished room— a long table surrounded by chairs and a few other articles of furniture. On .the table were beer bottles and glasses and around it sat ten men. The eyes of each man were turned towards the door, and the chair at the head of the table was vacant. They were awaiting the Mask. Then―

Dagger and his companions were at work. They planted gelignite on the centre supporting pier of the railway bridge and more at the far end; then they ran wires from each of the railway tracks so that when the train they were expecting got over the first charge, it would establish contact and close the circuit. The bridge would be blown to pieces.

If anyone escaped from the wreck it would be a miracle. That train was now not many miles from the bridge, rushing on through the night to its doom.

The Duke put the note down. The Mask was trying to get him blamed for his own death! It gave him quite a respect for the Mask. Where he had once taken advantage of another man's trickery to get the swag, the Mask was now taking advantage of the Duke's reputation to shift the responsibility of his murders. There could be no doubt now that the Mask was perfectly aware of the real identity of the Limping Man. He sat down to consider a change of personality.

AT HEADQUARTERS the names of many underworld characters were being sifted by detectives, working on the various murders of Eugene Montagu, Ling Chang and Shorty McKay. Carter was there with an aching head. He was not feeling very happy.

"Where's Mooney?" he asked.

Evans frowned. "You don't want to see him," he replied. "He's in a vile mood. He's gone out alone to find out a few things for himself."

"Where?" asked Carter.

Evans chuckled. "That's what I asked him," he remarked, "and Mooney only snarled. I'm sure he has no idea where to look for this mythical Duke and this ghostly Mask."

Carter sneered. "Mythical's right," he agreed. "It's my idea that there never was such a person as the Duke or the Mask. No one can swear that they have ever been seen— except a few crooks who never told the truth in their lives."

One of the other officers said slowly, "He's on to something. He got a wire from the north with a clue in it and he said something about looking too close to the city."

Chapter 26

The Trap Springs

THE SHRIMP, in his precarious position on the wall of the Mask's house, watched the door which opened to admit a man in a satin hood in which were cut two holes. He walked to the head of the table and sat down; the crooks straightened in their chairs.

"Boys," the Mask said, "I'm displeased with you. You are allowing one man to stand between you and a fortune. I have everything planned to go off as soon as the Duke is put away. But there is the Duke. Several times my plans have gone astray, and each time it was caused by the failure of one of you. Maybe the Duke is dead. You will notice that I say 'maybe.' It had to be me personally who discovered that the Duke was masquerading as the Limping Man."

The Shrimp almost released his hold with shock. There was something familiar in the voice, muffled though it was. He was certain he had met the Mask before. He was about to leave his position when he heard his own name.

"The Shrimp is still alive," said the Mask, "and if I have destroyed the Duke tonight there is still the Shrimp. He must be got rid of. The Duke's wife and Razor will be gone before the night is out. If by some miracle they escape death in the train, I'll go north myself. I am awaiting information as to the Shrimp's movements, and when I get it I'll make a plan and I'll punish carelessness with death.

"The bridge of Sumarti, where the train will be wrecked, is a long way from here, and nothing can now save Razor, the Duke's wife, and their companion— the Snake's daughter. The Snake also failed in the northern city, and he must account to me. His daughter must die with the others."

The Shrimp did not wait to hear more. As he reached the ground he looked about. He still could not believe that the Mask would leave this house so unprotected. There was only one telephone within a decent distance, inside the house. He crept along the weedy grass edge of the path to the rear corner. Some distance away stood a garage with open doors. He might need a car in a hurry. He heard men talking inside it.

A little way along the back wall of the house he came to a window, securely fastened. In less than a minute he had it open. Inside he crouched, listening.  Then he felt his way along the wall to an open door, stepped through. He was brought up short by another wall. He was in a passage. He turned towards the front of the house.

The passage ended in a door, and this he carefully opened, turning the handle a fraction of an inch at a time. He stepped inside and suddenly the door slammed behind him and a bell started ringing somewhere in the house! He turned to the door and tried to open it, but it was firmly fastened and there was not even a handle on his side. Quickly he moved round the walls, but he made the entire circuit of the room without discovering a window or another door.

The Mask's trap had sprung— and the Shrimp was inside!

Chapter 27

The Room Of Oblivion

THE SHRIMP made further exploration with his hands before he lit his torch. The bell had stopped ringing. He could not find any furniture or an electric light switch. Switching on the torch he swept it quickly round, then snapped it out.

The room was about ten feet square, and empty, the door had no handle, there were no windows or any other perceptible opening in the walls. He moved to a corner farthest from the door and sat down, exchanging the torch in his right hand for his revolver. Whoever came through it would be welcomed in a fitting manner.

Minutes passed and the Shrimp decided that it was either the Mask's intention to get well away from the house or else to fray his prisoner's nerves by waiting. He must sit there while the Duke was in deadly danger, and Florence and Razor and a hundred others were rushing to their deaths. They must have heard the bell— why had they made no move? If only something would happen.

Creeping to the door he felt down its edge till he came to the spot where he imagined the lock to be. Into this spot he poured three quick bullets, the report of the gun in the confined space almost deafening him. He tried to pull it open, but it would not budge—neither had his bullets penetrated the door, as he discovered by blowing on the holes they had made in the surface. It was steel-lined. He drew his short steel jemmy but could make no impression with that. Then he remembered that it is foolish to attack the door of a prison, as that is usually the least vulnerable spot. He was feeling better now —the action was restoring his confidence and nerve.

He tried the walls with his knuckles, but they all appeared to be solid. Ironically enough a faint sound came to him— the ring of a telephone. He wondered if by any chance he could cut his way through the floor or the ceiling either by bullets, saw, or knife. The floor offered the best prospects as the ceiling was high. He levelled his gun at the floor and fired again— being almost deafened by the sound of the shot. Then he placed his mouth to the hole which had been drilled by the .38 and blew. The air went right through, and his heart leapt with the promise of escape now opened to him. From the belt round his waist where he carried his jemmy and other tools he extracted a short, narrow steel-cutting saw which had been made mainly for filing window catches, and started work. If he were left alone for half-an-hour now he would be out of the room.

He had cut a foot long crack in the floor, when he jumped at the sound of a voice.

"The elusive Shrimp!" said the voice of the Mask; it seemed to come from above. "He has found a way out. What a man! But there's only one way out for him and that's feet first."

The Shrimp went on sawing. A light flashed upon him from a hidden alcove high up in the wall near the junction of the ceiling, making him clearly visible to anyone looking into the room. A hurried blinking glance told him that the room was still empty, and the door closed, so he went on with hardly a pause. He was now almost across the board and nearing his goal; he expected a bullet in the back at any moment.

"Don't do that, Shrimp," the voice said from above, "or you will die immediately. From up here I can gas you. Stop and listen."

The Shrimp continued to saw.

"You must learn that the Mask never bluffs," the voice said.

The Shrimp moved faster. The light still blazed upon him.

Then he smelt a heavy, acrid door. The room was being filled with gas! He tore out the saw from the crack and went back to where he had made the cross-cut so that he could make another some inches away and knock, the piece out, thus giving him a chance to try his enormous strength on the floorboard. He worked now in a frenzy, for every breath he took tore at his lungs and choked him.

Dropping flat on his face with his mouth close to the bullet-hole he had made he tried to breathe in this way.

But the heavy gas was evidently seeping through his saw cuts to the space under the floor; his strokes were slowing, but he forced himself on. Two more inches and there would be a hole large enough for him to breathe, but those two inches seemed like a million. He could not afford the time to finish the job by sawing. He changed the saw tor his revolver, and, clubbing it, he hit the board sharply, so that the square made by his full cut across the board and the second half-cut, split and went out and downwards towards the earth. Now he had breathing space, and he flopped to the hole so that he could put his mouth and nostrils to it. For the moment he was safe from the gas, as there would be a current of air under the floor. His head was swimming as he drank in great gulps of the cold air. Safe!

He had not heard the door open nor seen the two men enter in gas masks. His first intimation that he was not still alone in the room was a slight swirl on the backs of his hands by the gas around him. Like lightning he turned on his back and fired, but even though one of the men grunted in pain, he was too late— they were upon him and a gun butt crashed on his skull.

Chapter 28

The Torture

WHEN the Shrimp opened his eyes he was immediately aware of all that had gone before. He was in the room he had first seen, and about the long table still sat the men, and at the head sat the masked figure. He was chained to a chair which was nailed to the wall and floor. It was impossible for him to escape. Around his wrists and his upper arms were cuffs securely padlocked. Another was about his body, and there were also two upon his ankles. From each cuff a chain went to some central chain behind him.

He could still feel the blood trickling down his neck from a cut, and his headache seemed like all the headaches in the world rolled into one. He thought it better not to show that he was awake, but to try and listen to some of the conversation.

The Mask spoke:

"Our dear Shrimp," he was saying, "thinks that we still believe him to be unconscious and is playing 'possum.'"

He opened his eyes wide.

"You must be a clairvoyant," he said. "Greater than that," the Mask replied; "for I know the living as well as the dead. You are no doubt wondering why you are still alive; I'll tell you. You live because the Duke escaped us."

The Shrimp smiled. "Good news!" he said.

"At the risk of seeming rude, I must disagree with you. The Duke is going to die. Tonight we failed. He returned to the attic of the Limping Man, but left again. Where is he now?"

"How should I know?" asked the Shrimp.

"What you know, he knows. You have a certain number of hide-outs. We know some of them. To-night you will describe them all."

"I do not wish to seem disobliging," the Shrimp remarked in the same conversational tone, "but nothing is further from my thoughts."

"Shrimp, you are a fool. You are a good man wasted. You should take properly to crime. Do you think it is any further use pitting your brains against mine?"

The Shrimp laughed. "All big crooks are finally brought to their ends by their own conceit. Let us go on with the torture."

The Mask did not speak, but signalled to one of the other men, who picked up an electric soldering-iron and slipped the socket at the end of a long wire into the power plug of the wall. It began to glow into a red heat.

"We are now about to write your name across your chest with heat," he said coldly. "The name we will write is not the Shrimp, but your real name. It is so much longer. At any time during the operation you can stop it by telling us what we want to know; then you will be nicely patched up and will nit here until we verify your information. After that we may give you a merciful death. I am not promising you your life, because you will never leave here alive."

"If there is one thing I like," the Shrimp said steadily, "it is warmth. I hope that ignorant oaf of yours spells my name correctly. Get on with it. I'll spell it out while he works."

"There is no need," the Mask said. "We don't require any further evidence of the fact that you have guts. It is going to be a long job, and I expect you to be nearly dead before we finish, but you will talk."

The Shrimp lifted his head and laughed— too loudly. "I won't hang out any longer," he said. "I can see your point and you must win. I'll tell you where the Duke can be found."

"Good man!" the Mask replied. "I'm glad you have sense." He leaned across the table. "Where is the Duke?"

"I never answered a question with more enjoyment," said the Shrimp, "The Duke is leaning in the window behind you with a gun in each hand!"

Chapter 29

Battle In The Dark

THE MASK and his men swung to the window. Hanging across the window-sill was the smiling Duke, his monocle gleaming in his eye and his two guns levelled.

"If anyone moves a finger I'll blow his face off," the Duke said. "Mask, you are amusing. But now let us do something. Would the man with the hot stick kindly bring it to me?"

As the gangster came towards him, the Duke slipped one leg over the sill. The crook held the soldering iron to him. Suddenly the Duke knocked it up with a gun. The hot end struck the crook's cheek. There was a slight hiss; the gangster reeled back with a livid scar upon his face.

"I wanted to make sure," said the Duke quietly, "that when the Shrimp meets you again he will know you as the man willing to tattoo his name upon his chest. Mask, throw the keys to the little meccano set you have toped over my friend on the table."

The Mask relaxed and shrugged his shoulders.

"We will have the mask off in a moment," the Duke went on.

The Mask threw the keys on the table.

"Thank you," said the Duke. "Now, if someone will unlock my pal we will be a happy party."

The Mask nodded to one of his men, who picked up the keys and went to the Shrimp.

"Wait!" said the Duke. "I smell a rat. I suspect that our friend is going to give a signal."

The gangster's expression confirmed the suspicion. He put the keys down. As they hit the table the Duke came right in the window and stood aside. In the opening appeared the face of Peter.

"Come in and join the gathering. Also pick up those keys and, if they are the right ones, release the Shrimp."

Peter picked up the keys and began his task.

"It seems," said the Mask, "that the whole gang is here."

"Almost," said the Duke, "and very happy I am to find us all together. Will I call them in?"

"I'd love to meet them," said the Mask quietly.

"Wait!" said the Shrimp. "The train on which Florence and Razor are riding is due to be blown up within the hour at a bridge. Send someone to telegraph so that the signals can be set against it."

The asinine expression which was the Duke's fighting face suddenly changed as he realised the danger to his wife. He leant against the window and called. Mossy's head showed in the opening.

"Mossy," the Duke snapped, "tell the rest of the gang to come up, and then you go downstairs to a telephone and ring the police that the bridge at—" he paused and looked at the Shrimp, and the Shrimp provided the name— "the bridge at Sumarti is to be blown up as soon as the mail train hits it, and tell them to set the wires humming."

Mossy nodded, signalled to the gang in the garden, and then slipped through the room and out of the opposite door. As he grasped the handle of the door the lights went out, and at the same time the springs slipped free.

There was a moment of silence. A fusillade of shots rang out as the Mask's gang slipped beneath the table and the Duke's gang flattened themselves on the floor near the walls. Each of the Mask's gang had thought of the table, which was plainly the closest and easiest cover, but, being so, was also the one most likely to be anticipated by the enemy; so that the gun which had been slipped into the Shrimp's hand by Peter, the gun already in Peter's hand, the two guns in the Duke's hands and the two in Mossy's hands raked under that table fore and aft.

The Duke jumped on the table and leaned over, firing underneath it. The room was full of powder, the flashes of revolvers, and the racket was tremendous. The Duke felt for the seat where the Mask had been, but it was now empty. He fired his last two shots under the table.

As suddenly as it had begun, the racket ended, and there was silence in the room. Mossy slipped his hand up to the switch. It was already down. The main had been turned off. He crept to the landing just in time to hear the front door slam. He ran down the passage to the front of the building and flung up a window.

"Don't let anyone escape!" he yelled into the night, and the pane above him splintered from a bullet.

In the garden another battle was raging; flashes showed between the trees and intermittent shots could be heard. Suddenly Mossy hear a different sound and looked upwards. He could see nothing, but he could hear an aeroplane engine not far away. He dashed along the passage to the back of the house, and, flattening himself beside a window, he took the risk of using a powerful torch. It showed him at almost its farthest reaching gleam a black car pulling up beside a dark shape which must be an aeroplane. A bullet hummed past him as the car stopped, and a few moments later the aeroplane had taxied out of his sight. He heard it take off, and then across the moon swept a huge bat. Running down the stairs, he went to the porch— then paused. There was no sound in the room above, and now even the guns in the garden had been silenced. A chair was dimly visible standing beneath the main switchboard of the house, and Mossy sprang upon it and twisted the big switch. Immediately lights sprang up in the house.

30:  Arrested

AS the light came on the Duke saw one man stretched half way to the door; the Shrimp was huddled in a corner, but seemed unhurt. Before him lay the still form of Peter. No one else was in view. The Duke leaned cautiously over the edge of the table and looked beneath it. There was a pile of bodies—none of which was the Mask. He had escaped.

"Look after Peter," he. called as he ran to the door. "I leave Peter to you. Shrimp, and if he is dead join me at once at the telephone. We must get that message off.

The driver of the express leaned from his cab and contemplated the lights of the Sumarti bridge. Just beyond the bridge lay Pentland. His weary eyes glanced upwards at the signal some distance before the end of the long bridge. It showed a green light, then swiftly changed to the terrible danger red. He leapt for his controls. The air-brake shrieked, and the train skidded to a stop.

In a carriage some distance down the train, Razor, Edna, and Florence, dozing, were thrown from their seats The signal remained closed for half an hour, while the train crew and passengers fumed at the delay. The main signal-box from which the bridge signal was operated was a mile down the line.

At the end of half an hour a car came into view on the road beneath the embankment, travelling fast. As it pulled up, four men, two of them policemen, ran up the embankment. The sergeant gasped breathlessly, "Thank God we got that message in time."

"What message?" asked the guard.

"Wait!" said the sergeant. The men ran along the line and on to the bridge towards the centre pylon, the guard following.

Razor climbed out and followed, with several other passengers.

Over the centre pylon the police torches showed up the contact points leading to the explosives.

"These two wires," the detective said, "lead to enough gelignite to blow the train to pieces."

Razor saw what this meant. The Mask had sought to kill them— no matter how many other lives it cost; but the Duke had found out. The detective was talking to the guard.

"I would like to run down the length of your train and see that all your passengers are safe. It's only routine. Get them back again."

While the passengers climbed aboard the policemen cut the wires, searched for gelignite, examined the line ahead, and found more explosives.

Razor told Florence and Edna of their escape Presently the sergeant, accompanied by a plainclothes man, came to their compartment. He looked at them curiously, then referred to a notebook.

"Your name Morley?" he asked.

"No," Razor said.

"Or Buckley?" the detective asked.

"No."

"Well, what is your name?"

"Brown."

"All of you?"

"Every bit of me," replied Razor. "Oh you mean the three of us? Yes, Tom Brown and my two sisters. What about it?"

"I've read about your schooldays," the detective said. "You answer the description of three people we have been told to take from this train and hold. Get your things and come along."

"But why?" asked Razor. "What have we done?"

"The holding charge which has been telegraphed to me," the detective replied in a formal voice, "is that you are suspicious persons. You will have to come along to Pentland."

There was nothing for them to do but obey. Razor might be charged with stealing an ambulance, and the girl could be detained on suspicion.

When the train was safely over the bridge the prisoners were loaded into the car for Pentland.

The strain on Edna was tremendous. The wound in her side needed dressing. She held up well. Razor felt like giving her away and summoning a doctor.

The Duke must know about the bridge, and would soon discover where they were. They must await his word. In gaol they were at least safe from the Mask.

Razor lay down and tried to sleep. The lagging dawn found him still awake. At seven his breakfast was brought, and the constable told him that the. other two had been put together.

At nine the bolt clanged and the sergeant appeared.

"Come out," he said. "You're wanted in the office."

Razor recognised the man beside the desk sergeant as Inspector Mooney. He did not believe that the inspector knew him as a member of the Duke's gang.

"Here he is," the sergeant told Mooney. "Is this the one you want?"

"I think so,"" said Mooney in his lazy fashion. "Sit down—Razor."

Razor stared. "Were you talking to me?" he asked.

"I said 'Razor,' didn't I?"

"And what has a razor to do with me?" Razor asked. "Although I could do with one."

"Let's forget it." said Mooney, "and sit down. I want to ask you some questions."

Razor dropped on a chair. "I'd like to ask some, too," he said. "Can I?"

"Certainly," said Mooney quietly. "Fire away."

"Well, first," said Razor, "who are you, and what am I doing here?"

"Those are easy. I'm Inspector Mooney. of headquarters, who has just flown up here on the wide trail of a very suspicious happening in an aeroplane, connected with the theft of an ambulance, and the attempted destruction of a train. You are here because you are the .man concerned in all these happenings. You might have some information for me."

"I won't tell you anything."

"I see. Well, perhaps you'll tell us why a revolver was found on you. Have you a licence?"

"I refuse to answer."

"All right," said Mooney sadly. "Take his fingerprints and put him back in his cell."

"I also refuse," said Razor, "to have my fingerprints taken, and I know the law in this country well enough to be sure that, unless you can prefer a charge against me, you can't take them."

Mooney smiled. "All right, shove him in his cell," he ordered. "I'll be on my way."

The door of his cell closed behind Razor and he was left to his grim thoughts.

Razor paced his cell moodily. Suddenly he paused to contemplate the bottom of the iron door. Beneath it came a wisp of smoke, then a tongue of flame. He assailed the door, shouted. There was no response to his cries. The flames began to eat their way through the wooden boards.

The police station was on fire!

In a moment Razor realised that the fire would cause them to be moved, and might mean escape. He redoubled his attack on the door. Florence's voice, from a cell further down the passage, asked what was the matter. He told her and shouted louder.

The lock-up seemed to be deserted, and they were trapped. The walls and doors were fireproof, but the burning floors would roast them. Was this another trick of the Mask?

The heat grew unbearable. Razor fought the fire with his blanket and feet while the smoke almost suffocated him.

The flames took longer to reach the girls. Florence pushed Edna into the farthest corner and crawled after her when her strength was gone. They crouched together waiting for death.

Chapter 31

The Flight

AFTER the Duke and the Shrimp had sent the police the message that stopped the train they gathered the gang together, and drove to the city, leaving eight of the Mask's men dead. They dropped two wounded men with their old friend, Doctor Thorn, and distributed the others to various posts.

The Shrimp and the Duke went on towards the 'drome where a plane was ready.. On the way the Shrimp asked:

"How in heaven's name did you pop up at the window?"

"When you hopped on to the back of the black car Mossy was waiting in the cross street with our car," the Duke said. "He trailed you to this house, then drove back and rang Peter. Peter came to me at the attic, and while we were talking we heard a noise. I thins it was a gun-man after me."

"How did you escape?"

"Through the skylight, over the roofs and down to the ground: Then we got out the other car, picked up the rest of the boys, and came fast. I had the deuce of a trouble opening that window without being heard."

"Well," said the Duke, "we may have had a win, but we are now in a rather nasty position. Peter is badly hurt; Morry's not so bad. We have a long way to go, and we don't know whether our message saved the others."

"What's the next move?"

"Pentland, as fast as we can. That's why I want this plane. The pilot is a pal of mine. And here's the 'drome."

They were soon winging their way north. The two men slept, as the plane went on its way— into the night— then into the dawn, to Pentland.

Long before they were above the town they saw a rising column of smoke. The Duke's nerves tensed with fear. He leaned back and signalled to the pilot. Pointing to the burning building, he shouted: "Land as near to that as you can."

The plane swept round In a wide circle seeking for a landing. Not far from the fire was a sports ground. Into the centre of this they dropped.

It had not ceased taxi-ing when the Duke and the Shrimp leapt from it and rain for the gates.

When they reached the police station a few minutes later they found the opposite footpath crowded. The fire brigade was just getting its hoses into place and making ready to enter the fiercely burning station. The two adventurers did not hesitate, but burst through the police cordon and rushed towards the building. Into the blazing doorway they plunged.

In the almost unburnt charge-room they found the desk-sergeant and the gaoler flat on their faces on the smouldering floor. The Duke ran to the gaoler and turned him over, dropping close to his mouth as he searched for the gaoler's keys.

"Drugged!" he said to the Shrimp. "This is the work of the Mask."

They dashed into the passage which led to the cells; the flames were ravening at the floor. The dense smoke and heat made it difficult for them to breathe. The Duke rushed at a cell, and after some fumbling to find the key to fit the padlock he threw back the bolt and flung the door wide.

Two men staggered from the opening and one of them leaned weakly on the side of the door with a weakness not all caused by fire.

"Wassa marrer?" he asked thickly. "Is this bonfire night or somethin'?"

"Get out," the Duke shouted with disgust, and ran on down the passage.

The next cell yielded Razor. He staggered out, his clothes alight in several places and his hands charred and burnt.

"Florence and Edna," he yelled; "get them out first— I can crawl."

The Shrimp threw him across his broad back and raced to the open air.

The Duke found Florence and Edna in the next cell, unconscious. Gathering one under each arm and resting them on his hips, he staggered to the cell door and squeezed through. The passage seemed impassable, and he turned the other way. Soon he realised that it was a dead end. He turned and faced the fire. Before him was a wall of flame beating up from the boards, which were dropping out of sight, and the heat was blistering his face as he crouched back against the dead-end wall. The heat made him remember his injured wrist. Then through the flames leapt the indomitable Shrimp, in his hands wet sacks. They wrapped the women and themselves in the sacks, and fought their way out, slipping and falling through the broken floor.

When they reached the charge-room they found Razor,' trying to drag the gaoler and the sergeant into the open air, assisted by a fireman.

"Follow us," cried the Duke, as he ran forward with Florence in his arms, into the street, pushed through the crowd, and set off at a trot for the sports ground.

The Shrimp, holding Edna, was close behind him, and he shouted back to the staggering Razor, "Chemist's!" He threw some notes on the ground, and Razor understood. Some of the crowd were following them and Razor dived into a chemist's shop and shouted for cotton wool, bandages, and oil. He grabbed the articles, threw the singed notes on the counter, and sped after the others.

Florence and Edna were coming round. It was difficult to load them and Razor into the plane—which had been built to carry four at the most, and now must carry six.

"Can the plane stand it?" the Duke whispered through blackened lips.

"I'll give it a go," the pilot answered, as he whirled the propeller. He slipped into his seat, beside Edna. Razor and Florence were jammed into the passengers' seats, while the Duke and Shrimp clung to the fuselage with one leg in side and one out.

The plane moved forward sluggishly, just as a crowd, which included police, ran across the field. Would it rise? After a few bumps they were in the air

At the moment they could take a breather, and in the passengers' cockpit Razor pulled the cork from the jar of oil and began to make rough treatment for their burns by dipping cottonwool in the oil and passing it to the men clinging to the plane and to Edna, while he laved the burns of Florence and himself.

The Duke was going east, because he knew that there were several islands off the coast where he could hide and take refuge from the Mask until they were in some condition to fight again. All he wanted was a few days' peace to "lick his wounds," and he hoped that now he would get it.

But his hopes were not to be realised. Out of the sunlight was winging a large black plane!

Chapter 32

The Coral Island

BEFORE they reached the coast the black plane was on their heels. Soon it was above them, and the sea beneath.

The black plane turned and dived down upon them, its gun spitting bullets. The Duke's pilot took a risk, went into a dive, and then flattened out in a wide circle. The first volley from the machine-gun did not take effect, but they could not expect to be so lucky next time.

The enemy zoomed up some distance ahead, swept over the top of them, and swooped again, its machine-gun spitting, and the Shrimp and the Duke firing in reply. This time a bullet ploughed a furrow in the Shrimp's neck, and four more cut a line of holes in the petrol tank and tore the wings. The machine shuddered and rocked. The pilot cut his engines, and went into a glide.

Before them was a small island, rising steeply from the water. The pilot searched for a spot where he could hit with the least risk.

The black plane swept by again. Behind the gun was a man whose head was covered with a white mask.

The Duke's pilot suddenly pancaked and flopped like a gull on the calm water. They were still some distance from the island, and the plane was rapidly settling into the sea. The girls were helped from the plane. Razor and the Shrimp turned on their backs, grasped the two girls in the approved fashion, and set off slowly toward the island, with the Duke and the pilot bringing up the rear. They were soon scrambling up the coral to the beach. Here they lay exhausted.

The black plane circled the island. "Take cover," said the Duke.

They staggered the few paces to where the palms began, and dropped on the grass with sighs of relief in a thick grove. But the next minute the black plane swept once more, and from it dropped a small black object, which swept down towards them like the hand of Death.

"Flat on your faces!" shouted Razor. "It's a bomb!"

Chapter 33

The Return

THE BOMB dropped down within a few yards of them, but it was a rough, home-made job, and did not explode. The plane did not circle again, but faded towards the mainland.

"There's no doubt about it," the Shrimp said, "the luck of this battle is with us. The Mask must have had only one bomb, and that did not go off. Shorty McKay was not so lucky. The Mask has had some luck, too, although I think that most of his successes have been due to good management. Now we are marooned here, with no way of returning to the mainland until we can signal some passing boat— an idea of which I am not greatly fond. The first thing is to sink this bomb a few fathoms, and then discover whether there is any fresh water upon the island."

He picked up the bomb casually and set off into the bush, trying to walk as though his burnt feet were not painful. The Duke watched him go, but did not attempt to follow, as Florence was lying in his burnt arms. This cost him some pain, but greater joy.

Razor was making Edna comfortable against a mound and helping her to untie the bandages around her side, which were sodden by sea water and causing her agony. Fresh water they must have, and food. The pilot smiled wryly at the Duke. Jim Bennett had been his friend for many years. He had lost his plane, but he knew that the Duke would replace it.

The Duke smiled back. "I am sorry to drag you into this, Jim," he said. "This is no affair of yours, and, when the Mask returns— as he surely will— you will be in great danger."

"I haven't had so much fun since the first thrills I got from flying. What do we do next?"

The Duke turned to Razor. "I suppose all those bandages and cottonwool went down in the plane. Do you think we could salvage them?"

"You may salvage the jar, because I couldn't save that, but the cottonwool and the bandages are in my pockets. The Shrimp is a long time. I'm worried. Edna's wound should have been stitched."

"And who, if I may ask, is Edna?"

Florence laughed. "Of course! You haven't been introduced. Edna is the daughter of the Snake, and the Snake is one of the Mask's company."

Florence told him the rest while the pilot went in search of the Shrimp. He found the Shrimp coming from a ramshackle hut with an old saucepan and heading for a small spring in a little valley.

"Good man!" the Shrimp called, as he approached. "You can be a water-carrier also—you look more like Rebecca than I do."

At some time long past the hut had been inhabited, for inside was a rough table, some boxes, and the door, which had once hung on the door-frame.

"I think," Jim said, "that it would be better to bring the others here than to carry the water to them."

"I thought of that," said the Shrimp, "but they will never get here without a drink of some kind to give them strength to climb that hill."

Jim nodded, and took up the rusty saucepan which the Shrimp had set down.

"It has a hole in it," he observed.

"You're telling me," the Shrimp replied, and crossing to a palm, he ripped a large leaf from it, which he proceeded to stuff in the hole, thus making the pot water-tight.

"I'll wait here and make the place ship-shape while you fetch them back," he said. "If they cannot manage it without assistance, bring as many as you can, and I'll go back for the rest."

"We found the hotel." Bennett called, as he reached the others. "Does any
one want a drink?"

When the saucepan had been drained, the four came slowly over a hill and into the valley, where they found the Shrimp making temporary repairs upon the door and fitting it with some rough hinges.

"We may need this," he said, as they approached, "to withstand a siege. We have four revolvers and about sixty cartridges. We must get some food, too. I think the Mask will finish us off more or less at his leisure."

Two hours later two moderately comfortable beds had been built from leaves for Florence and Edna. On the top of the hill the pilot kept watch. The door and windows of the hut had been made firm and strong in a rough but useful fashion with vines and rusty nails, and some of the pots had been mended into workable shape. Florence was boiling water to cook yams. Inside the hut were more yams, a pile of coconuts, and some firewood. All were attired in the minimum of clothing which propriety would allow, while the rest of their clothes lay near the fire drying in the sun and the fire's warmth. Their burns were bathed and bandaged and the party felt more or less contented.

Twilight found them mentally and physically content. But their peace was shattered. Jim Bennett came running down the hill, shouting as he came: "They're here! Three boats loaded with men are pulling into the beach."

Chapter 34

War

THEY were quickly at work on their defences. The Shrimp was to stay outside as a scout.

It was almost dark when their task was completed. No move had been made by the enemy, so the Shrimp slipped away to reconnoitre. Peering from a hiding place on the top of the hill, the Shrimp saw that the three boats had been pulled up and were in charge of two guards. No other men were to be seen.

A wisp of smoke showed between his hill and the beach, and he crawled oft towards it.

Night had now fallen completely, and the moon not yet risen.

After some time he heard voices ahead and he saw the glow of a small fire throwing into silhouette the shapes of about a dozen men. He crept closer his eyes searching for the Mask. If this man could be disposed of, then the rest of his task should not be difficult. He moved forward almost on his stomach until he was within hearing of the talk around the camp fire; then he saw the Mask leaning against a palm tree while his men ate.

"When you have finished eating," the Shrimp heard him say, "we will get on with the job. We don't want to hang around this cursed place any longer than we can help."

One of the men rose. "We're as good as finished."

"All right, get your men together, Snake, and we will have a look round."

"If I remember, I saw a shack from the plane," the Snake said. "They're sure to go there. Will we starve them out?"

"Too long a job. Someone may have seen one of the planes and might take the trouble to investigate. If we cannot shoot them out, we'll have to burn it or blow it up. Are you ready?"

The Snake spoke to the men. "See all your guns are loaded and in working condition, because we may have to charge."

One of the men raised a protest. "Charge?" he queried, "with the Shrimp and the Duke inside—and you know what sort of shots they are. There are only fifteen of us."

"We may be able to gain our objective by guile," the Mask said.

The men moved off, but they were not used to the bush, and were by no means silent. The Shrimp followed.

When they reached the top of the hill the moon was just rising.

"If they had a fire," the Snake said, "they must have put it out, for I cannot see the glow, and I am not too sure exactly where the hut was. We had better wait for a while until the moon rises, so that we can know what we are doing."

"Nonsense!" the Mask replied. "The darkness is our best chance. If they are not inside, then we will have done no harm. Spread out down the hill and advance on the clearing."

Now the Shrimp was so close to them, and walking in a crouch, as they were, that in the dim light they took him for one of them. He went near to one, who turned and spoke.

"Better spread out," he said. "Two of us together will show a bigger mark."

The Shrimp grunted and left his side, and as soon as he was alone he picked up a piece of wood and threw it with all his force towards the hut.

Two shots came from the hut.

"Down!" snapped the Snake.

The Shrimp, noting the men's positions, also dropped. He did not wish to he a target of the Duke's unerring aim. When the gang opened fire on the hut he took careful aim at the man nearest him and dropped him with a bullet in the shoulder.

"That," said the Shrimp to himself, "makes fourteen little nigger boys left."

He moved off to the left until he came in view of another man. That man was just rising higher and taking aim at the hut. The Shrimp's bullet shattered his right' collar-bone, and he dropped to the ground with a grunt. The Shrimp moved on, and heard the Snake say: "Move onwards as you fire. They can't see you, and there is no danger." He was evidently unaware that two of his men were already down in the racket of shots. Another fell from the Shrimp's third bullet.

As he continued to move left in a half-circle he found himself on the edge of a cliff. Below was a small inlet. As he moved on round the edge he saw the white gleam of the Mask's head. The Mask was crouching near the cliff-edge, looking down towards the hut.

The Shrimp raised his revolver, and then lowered it. If he shot the Mask in this way the body would fall over the cliff into the water beneath. If it was swept out to sea they might never learn the Mask's identity.

He decided to make a capture. With this in mind he crept carefully forward— but the Mask was alert.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Only me, chief," the Shrimp replied in disguised tones as he crouched. "Where are the boys?"

"They are in danger," the Mask replied, "which you evidently expect to dodge, but you won't— for I know you— Shrimp!"

With a leap the Shrimp was on his enemy. For a moment they struggled wildly— then the edge of the cliff gave way beneath them and, locked together, they hurtled over.

Chapter 35

The Siege

IN the hut the five were having a busy time. Edna was stretched out on the floor reloading revolvers by her sense of touch. Near to her, guarding one side of the hut, stood Florence, and at each of the other three sides stood the Duke, Razor, and Bennett. Florence had never fired a revolver in her life, and she was mainly in her position to keep watch on that side. At the front of the hut the Duke occasionally fired a shot, though the figures which he saw were so ghostly in the dim light that he doubted whether he was having any success. He had, however, the knowledge that the. Shrimp would be behind. his enemies, and as long as they could keep those enemies at bay long .enough the Shrimp would quieten them me by one. This waiting game was not to the Duke's liking, but he knew that he must stick it out. Razor was popping a shot now and again, and the pilot occasionally seized Razor's gun and fired. There was a racket of shots from outside, and then the Duke called for silence.

"What's wrong?" asked Razor.

"I think," said the Duke, "that one of them is on the crazy roof! Be ready."

His words were just in time, for the next moment one of the pieces of bark which did service as a roof was torn aside, and a man leant through the opening with a levelled revolver. Razor sprang at his arm, got it, and with a wrench pulled the man into the room. The crook hit the ground in a heap, but the next moment was up and fighting madly with Razor. Edna had seized the man's revolver, and had then rolled to a corner while the two men fought.

The crook was a big man, and for a moment he was on top. Razor, weak from the strain of the last few days, fought back frenziedly. The crook seized Razor's hair, lifted his head, and smashed It back on to the hard-packed earth. Edna, peering through the gloom, dragged herself to the dim shapes of the men as Razor subsided into semi-consciousness, and then raised the crook's revolver by the barrel and sent the butt crashing down upon his skull.

He dropped flat on Razor, who threw him off, reached for and pulled the girl towards him.

"This is the second time," Razor Whispered thickly in her ear, "the second time you have saved my life— now I belong to you, and if we get out of this alive you will have to marry me."

Her hot tears dropped on his face, and her lips found his in the middle of the havoc and bloodshed.

As the Shrimp struck the water the blow knocked the wind out of him and forced his enemy and his revolver from his grasp. The drop had been a long one, and he had not known whether he would meet rocks or water until he remembered that there are seldom rocks on a coral island. The Mask had hit the water first, and somewhat broken the Shrimp's fall. As he came up again he looked for the Mask, but no other head broke the surface of the water close to him. He struck out for the shore and climbed to a tiny ledge at the foot of the cliffs. After a spell he slipped into the water again and swam, seeking for a break in the wall.

He found a small beach which began abruptly, in the fashion of most coral beaches. He scrambled ashore. No sound or sight of any of his enemies. He must now climb to the top again.

The fall had spoilt his judgment of direction, and after a while he decided that he was lost, and must strike downhill to the beach' and continue around it until he came to the boats. He was very weary, so he lay down in a very sheltered position to regain his fighting capabilities.

After, an hour, during which he dozed a little, he rose once more and set off downhill. Daylight was still some time away. He reached the beach and made . off round it until he saw the dark shape of the boats ahead, and, by the light of the electric torch, the two crooks on guard played cards. They would have been an excellent target— if he had not lost his revolver. His first move must be to get a gun.

He struck up the beach again until he was above the boats. The Shrimp decided to make his attack from the sea'. In a wide circle he went around the men until he could walk across the beach without being heard.

He-reached the water, and struck out to sea, all the time feeling for the swing of the tide and its drift, so that, when he gained a certain position he thought suitable, he had only to lie on the water and let it carry him towards the boats. In this way his approach was silent and the current so swift that twenty minutes in the water brought him almost to the beach and within a few feet of the card players on the opposite side of the boats. He worked his way through the water until he could grasp one of the boats which was drawn up close to the water.

The boat was solid and did not move to his weight, and he drew himself up on to it and crept inch by inch down its length towards the glare of the torch. The men were arguing about the play. The boat was fitted with oars, and the rowlocks lay in the back seat and met the groping fingers of the Shrimp as he searched for a weapon.

His first blow was nicely timed, and sent the recipient into unconsciousness so suddenly that the second man had barely time to move before he was hit. There was a gun on each.

Suddenly he crouched low and looked up the hill towards the camp— somebody was coming.

Chapter 36

Unmasked

WHEN THE SNAKE discovered that his leader was missing he called a hasty conference, and they set off to find the Mask. In the hut the Duke was wondering what new mischief the Mask was planning. Their prisoner, securely trussed, glowered in a corner. Edna had hit him hard. When she took him some food he spoke for the first time.

"You're the Snake's gal, ain't you?" he said, softly.

"Eat this," she said, and pushed some coconut between his lips.

He spat it out. "If you're the Snake's gal what's the idea of playing against your old man? And you might as well be in with us than get roasted alive in this joint!"

Edna shuddered and told the Duke.

"I expected that," said the Duke, "but he will have to get close to the hut before he can fire it. I wonder what the Shrimp is doing. Maybe they got him."

DOWN on the beach the Shrimp extinguished the torch as the man stepped from the trees into the moonlight, and paused.

"Are you there, Bill?"

"Are you there?" he asked again. "We've found the Mask. Bring some petrol up to the camp."

No reply. He approached cautiously. With a gun in his hand the Shrimp dropped flat in the boat.

He bent over one man and shook him. The next moment he also went to sleep as one of the Shrimp's newly-found guns hit him on the back of the neck.

"That," mused the Shrimp, "makes nine little nigger boys."

He found some rope in the boats and bound the three men. A quick, crouching run across the beach and he was among the palms. He was now sure of his direction, and worked silently towards the camp. This time he saw no snipers, but eight men in the glow of the fire, shivering, near the fire with his hood in wet folds about his head, was the Mask. He had evidently escaped from the water by swimming some distance and then gaining the beach. The Shrimp shed his wet coat, sat down within hearing and waited.

"If the Shrimp escaped," the Mask was saying, "we are all running a hell of a risk by sitting around this fire― but I don't think he did. As soon as Mack returns with the petrol we must make a fuse for it, light the fuse, and when it burns down a little throw it on to the hut. It will go up like matchwood. That seems the best scheme."

"It's a fine scheme," the Snake said. "There is only one thing against it— one of our men and my daughter are inside."

"To hell with your daughter!" said the Mask. "She's made her bed, now let her lie on it. She was going to be bumped off in any case."

Hate glowed on the face of the Snake. The other men looked uneasy.

"How long will Mack be?" the Mask growled.

"He shouldn't be long," said the Snake coldly.

"Begin on the fuse now," the Mask ordered. "Break the lead from the cartridges and put the cordite into a dry, twisted handkerchief bound with grass. Keep each piece of cordite a fraction of an inch apart. That should be long enough and quick enough, for the cordite once ignited will shoot in a couple of seconds down to the petrol."

They set to work, and when the fuse was made the Mask irritably sent one of the men down towards the beach. Venomous looks were directed at the Mask. His power was waning. The man who had been sent to the beach came running back.

"The Shrimp is not dead," he gasped. "The whole three of them are stretched out down there, bound, gagged."

The Mask sprang to his feet. "Are they dead?"

"I didn't stop to look."

"Come on. We'll go and see."

They moved off in a bunch. The Shrimp was not far behind when they came to the beach, in plain view, with out cover of any kind, with the sea behind them. As they bent over the men the Shrimp made up his mind.

The sun was just rising as the gangsters released their comrades. By the time the three men were on their feet the sun was up and the whole gang stood bathed in its brazen glare.

"Here's a day," snarled the Mask, "and nothing done. We must attack in the open."

"That may not be hard," the Snake said. "If they run from the burning hut we will be able to bring them down. But I'd prefer some other way so that we can save Joe and my girl."

"I said to hell with your girl," the Mask said. "Get that tin ready."

The Snake's eyes blazed. One of the men stopped to the boats, but stopped short as a commanding voice came from the trees.

"Stay where you are," said the voice. Out walked the Shrimp— a gun in each hand.

"Spread out in a long line," he said, "then I will be able to see you better. Step to it— the man who shields another will be dropped. Hands over your heads."

Every man but the Mask obeyed. They had a wholesome respect for the Shrimp. He stopped about half way down the beach, his feet planted squarely, his shoulders slightly bent, and the gun in each hand raised almost to the level of his glinting eyes.

"Mask," he said, "raise your hands, or else I'll shoot you like the dog you are— and when you raise them carry your mask up with them. I want to see who you are, and I'm sure these poor misguided boys of yours want to do the same. You care nothing for them, but only for your own power. They may be tough, but I doubt if one of them wants to burn defenceless women!"

He saw that he was swinging them his way. If they were not exactly on his side they were against his enemy. The Mask did not move.

"Snake," said the Shrimp, "this man was willing to burn your daughter. Do you know who he is?"

"Yes," said the Snake. "He is the Rat."

"I guessed that long ago," the Shrimp said. "But who is the Rat? Take off his mask and let us all see."

The Snake, who was standing near the Mask, swept one arm down, grabbed the hood, and with a jerk tore it from the Mask's head and shoulders.

Standing before them was Inspector Arthur Mooney!

"Well, Well!" said the Shrimp. "This is like an Edgar Wallace thriller, for the bad man turned out to be the detective after all. Thinking back, this explains many things. As Mooney, you always knew the movements of the police, and as Mooney I suppose you discovered the Duke's identity."

Mooney's eyes were hard, but he was still calm.'

"I found that out," he said, in his own lazy drawl, "from a letter which I discovered in the commissioner's desk, and which he had forgotten to destroy. I put two and two together and made— the Duke. The rest was easy. I first became the Rat for detective purposes. Then I saw its possibilities."

The Snake stepped back from the Mask and dropped his hand, and the Shrimp kept one eye on him. The Snake's face had become maniacal in his hate.

"And I see something, too," he said. "My brother was hanged on evidence given by this Mooney. We wondered how in hell he got it. My brother's accomplice in the murder for which he swung was the Rat, and my brother shielded him; so now I know how Mooney knew so much in court 'from information received.' Mooney, you're not fit to live." He turned to the other man. "At least the Duke is not a policeman. My advice is that you all swing over."

Mooney laughed. "The Duke may not be a policeman," he said, "but his father was and his uncle is now."

"You can't help relationship," said the Snake. "My father was a bishop!"

"By the way," the Shrimp asked Mooney, "why did you kill such an innocuous person as the millionaire, Montagu?"

"I had many reasons," the Mask replied airily. "I was about to embark on a career of murder— for which someone would have to take the blame. There had been two other leaders in the underworld— Ling Chang and the Duke. My plan was to give one a reason to set after the other— and then kill the other myself, so the first would be blamed. I did not intend to kill Montagu; that night I had taken along a few Chinese boys to kidnap Montagu— for ransom. This would have meant the Duke's speedy re-entry into the underworld to conduct the search— especially as the snake planted in his wife's bed should kill her. However, when we crept on Montagu he was shamming sleep, and as I bent over him, one of the Chink's knives in my hand, he moved quickly and lifted my mask— recognising me,, and preparing to raise an outcry. So I had to kill him."

"Well, boys," the Shrimp said, "are you still with the Mask?"

"We're with you."

The Shrimp slowly lowered his guns. Although he saw the first movement of the Snake he made no effort to shoot. The Snake struck like his namesake. He sent three bullets crashing into Mooney's body. Mooney turned a startled face towards him and then crumpled to the coral and lay still.

The Snake threw his gun to the coral beside the man he had killed.

"Well, Shrimp," he said, "I'm glad to meet you. I've just paid a debt. If it's all the same to you we'll walk down to the hut and I'll meet my daughter again. I'd like to tell her that her old man is not entirely a snake. Then if the Duke wants us to join him— well and good— and if he don't— well, it doesn't matter. This war was a private affair of the Mask's."

They set off up the beach towards the hill and the hut. The Mask was dead, Razor and Edna had found romance, and the battle had reached―

The end.

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36