The Gray Mask Read online

  THE GRAY MASK

  by

  WADSWORTH CAMP

  Author of"The Abandoned Room""The House of Fear," Etc.

  Frontispiece by Walter De Maris

  Garden City, New YorkDoubleday, Page & Company1920

  Copyright, 1920, byDoubleday, Page & CompanyAll Rights Reserved, Including That ofTranslation into Foreign Languages,Including the Scandinavian

  Copyright, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, by P. F. Collier & Sons, Inc.,in the United States, Great Britain and Canada

  "_'Even if you had croaked him you wouldn't dareacknowledge it here. Why, George, you're kneeling where he lay'_"]

  CONTENTS

  I. GARTH IS SHOWN A GRAY MASK

  II. IT OPENS NORA'S EYES

  III. IN THE STEEL ROOM

  IV. GARTH BUYS A BOUTONNIERE

  V. WHAT HAPPENED AT ELMFORD

  VI. A CRYING THROUGH THE SILENCE

  VII. NORA FEARS FOR GARTH

  VIII. THROUGH THE DARK

  IX. THE PHANTOM ARMY

  X. THE COINS AND THE CHINAMAN

  XI. NORA DISAPPEARS IN AN EMPTY HOUSE

  XII. THE HIDDEN DOOR

  XIII. ALSOP'S INCREDIBLE VISITOR

  XIV. THE LEVANTINE WHO GUARDED A CURTAIN

  XV. THE VEILED WOMAN

  XVI. A NOTE FROM THE DEAD

  XVII. THE KNIFE BY THE LIFELESS HAND

  XVIII. THE STAINED ROBE

  XIX. PAYMENT IS DEMANDED FOR THE GRAY MASK

  XX. THE BLACK CAP

  XXI. THE ANTICS OF A TRAIN

  THE GRAY MASK

  CHAPTER I

  GARTH IS SHOWN A GRAY MASK

  Garth, in response to the unforeseen summons, hurried along the hallwayand opened the inspector's door. As he faced the rugged figure behindthe desk, and gazed into those eyes whose somnolence concealed aperpetual vigil, his heart quickened.

  He had been assigned to the detective bureau less than six months. Thatbrief period, however, had revealed a thousand eccentricities of hischief. The pudgy hand beating a tattoo on the table desk, the lipsworking at each other thirstily, the doubt that slipped from behind theveil of the sleepy eyes, were all like largely printed letters toGarth--letters that spelled delicate work for him, possibly anexceptional danger.

  "Where were you going, Garth?"

  "Home. That is--"

  Garth hesitated and cleared his throat.

  "First--I thought I might drop in on Nora for a minute."

  With a quick gesture the inspector brushed the mention of his daughteraside. Abruptly he verified Garth's hazard.

  "How much do you love your life?"

  The inspector's voice possessed the growling quality of an animal. Awarning rather than an aggressive roar, it issued from a throat remotelysurviving behind great masses of flesh. Garth had rarely heard itraised, nor, for that matter, had it ever deceived him as to the other'samiability and gentleness of soul. Its present tone of apologetic regretstartled him.

  "On the whole I value my life rather highly just now," he answered,trying to smile.

  "Then turn this down and nothing said," the inspector went on. "It'svolunteer's work. No gilt-edged prophecies. It's touch and go whetherwhoever tackles it eats bacon and eggs to-morrow morning."

  "What's the job?" Garth asked.

  The inspector glanced up.

  "You've heard of that fellow without a face?"

  Garth stared until he thought he understood.

  "One of those Bellevue cases? Awful burns?"

  The heavy head shook impatiently.

  "No. This fellow Simmons in Chicago--several years agonow--experimenting with some new explosive in a laboratory. He got hisarm up in time to save his eyes."

  "Seems to me I remember," Garth began.

  "Worn a gray mask ever since," the inspector said.

  He drew a telegram from a pile of papers at his elbow, spread it on thewriting-pad, and tapped it with his thick forefinger. Garth wonderedwhat was coming. A feeling of uneasiness compelled him to lower his eyesbefore the other's steady gaze. There was something uncanny about thisthought of a mask, worn always to hide a horror.

  The inspector's tapping quickened to an expression of anger. His voiceexposed a cherished resentment.

  "No doubt about your having heard of our friend Hennion?"

  Garth started forward, resting his closed fists on the desk top. Hisface was excited, unbelieving.

  "Mean to say there's a chance--"

  The inspector ceased his tapping. He looked up slyly.

  "A real one at last. You know what that means. It's the job. Take it orleave it. I won't ask you to go where I mightn't have cared to go myselfat your age."

  Garth thought rapidly. His chief had been right. The man who tried totrip Hennion needn't worry about to-morrow's breakfast until his eyesgreeted the sun in the east.

  He, with the rest of the bureau, could point to half a dozen men asvassals of this almost mythical figure. He, like the rest, hadfrequently diagnosed obscure crimes as the workmanship of the Henniongroup. But he knew also that nothing had ever been proved against thisorganization of criminals, which was unique, because, in addition toprosaic brutality, it appeared to be informed by brains of a brilliantand inscrutable character.

  "How much of a chance?" Garth asked.

  All the drowsiness left the inspector's eyes.

  "Maybe to sit in with them to-night. I've never had a ghost of a showwith a stool before, and this is the night of all nights. One of thesecrooks has been boasting. He said--and I have it straight--'To-night weplay our ace.' Get that, Garth! What must an ace mean to that lot, eh?And the president's here, but he'll be well looked after. Still thereare lots of big men in this town whose sudden death would make a noisemore like a home-run than a funeral. Or, if it's burglary, play it toscale. These fellows would unlock the gates of Hades while Satan sleptin the vestibule. I've been saying to myself all day I've got to findout what that ace is and stack the cards, and at the same time I've beenasking myself what the devil I was going to do about it. But the luck'schanged."

  Garth breathed hard.

  "How do you expect to throw sand in the eyes of that outfit?"

  "Give me," the inspector answered slowly, his rumble approximating awhisper, "someone with no nerves to speak of and a build like thisfaceless man Simmons."

  He looked up. His eyes were very sleepy again.

  "You have that build, Garth. All you need is a plain, dark brown suit."

  He raised the telegram.

  "This is Simmons' description as he left Chicago last evening. Heexpects to arrive on the Western express to-night. He's looking forsomeone to meet him and take him to the headquarters of the Henniongang."

  Garth's face lightened.

  "Has he a record?"

  "A suspect, chiefly because he's tied up with that anarchist crowd outthere--an analyst of explosives, a chemist, cursed by this hideousaccident--dangerous as giant powder itself! That's why his mail's beenwatched, how they got onto this move. But they've no details for us.Maybe Simmons himself doesn't know what he's up against."

  With a secretive air he opened a drawer and lifted out a tightly-wovengray cloth. It was pierced by two holes above and a long, narrow openingbelow. From its edges four elastic straps dangled.

  "I had it made," he said, holding it out tentatively, "so that, perhaps,you might find out instead of Simmons."

  Garth took the cloth and fitted it over his face. It left visible asmall scar on his neck. The inspector pointed at this with a pleased,wondering smile.

  "That scar peeping will fetch them. Put on a brown suit and you'llpass."

  "Where," Garth asked, "does Sim
mons change cars?"

  "I'll have the express stopped at the end of the bridge above Garrison.Not much chance of spies there. A couple of my men will take him off andkeep him out of mischief while you get on. Understand? You'll go up onthe West Shore and ferry over from West Point. You're on?"

  "Sure. You'd jump at the chance yourself, sir."

  He removed the mask. The inspector handed him a piece of frayed whitepaper.

  "Did you notice me fingering this just now?" he asked anxiously.

  Garth shook his head.

  "Then take it, and, when the time comes, play with it that way yourself.Scratch your instructions on it with a match, a toothpick, anythinghandy. It will stay white, but I can make whatever you put on it asvisible as headlines in a war extra. You'll reach town after ten. I'llhold back instructions until eleven in case these fellows have any spiesin the department. But after that you can drop it near a uniformedpoliceman with a fair chance of its reaching me."

  "You'll try to trail us, too?" Garth asked.

  The inspector grinned sheepishly.

  "Of course I'll try. I'll probably have to let it go at that."

  "Yes--slippery," Garth answered.

  Now that his offer was accepted, and his plan understood, the inspectorgave way to a disquieting nervousness. He stood up and stepped aroundthe desk, putting his hand on Garth's shoulder.

  "Watch out for yourself," he faltered. "I don't want another Kridelcase on my conscience."

  The name dampened Garth's enthusiasm. He had never known Joe Kridel who,a year ago, had been the ascending star of the bureau. But the manner ofthe young man's death was depressingly familiar to him--found stabbedthrough the heart in a private house whose dwellers had heard no alarm.The key to that puzzle had never been discovered. Even the inspector hadharbored the nature of Kridel's assignment that night of his murder.

  "I hate," the inspector continued, that note of regret in his voiceagain, "to give a man I like such an ugly risk."

  This reached Garth as definite encouragement to words which he hadrestrained for some time with difficulty. To loose them, now, however,would be, in a way, unfair to his chief; would, in every sense, form nofitting prelude to his formidable and dangerous task. He contentedhimself, therefore, with an unsatisfactory compromise.

  "If I've time I may drop in for a chat with Nora after all."

  "But you won't alarm her with this?"

  "Certainly not."

  The inspector was very friendly.

  "You know I wouldn't be surprised if Nora had taken kind of a fancy foryou herself."

  Garth's face reddened. He turned away.

  The inspector sighed.

  "Oh, well. There's plenty of time to think of that when you bringyourself back--alive."

  * * * * * *

  Before making his arrangements Garth called at the inspector's flat.This was, in fact, a preparation. Without seeing Nora he felt he wouldnot be armed to enter these unfair lists with death.

  He found her by the window in the sitting room. She looked, he thought,more Latin than usual, although the black clothes she habitually woreaccentuated her dark hair and flashing eyes, the olive complexion andregular features she had inherited from her Italian mother.

  She smiled up at Garth, and, as always in face of that smile, herecalled the unexplored neutral ground where their minds had neverreally met. This impression had unquestionably retarded the developmentof their relations. It had until now held their emotions in the leash offriendship. Garth had no idea of snapping that cord at his entrance, butNora's proximity and the suddenness of an unexpected gesture distilledlogic and fairness for the moment's irresistible intoxication.

  Their hands, reaching for the book she had dropped, met. The quickcontact was galvanic to Garth. An unconquerable impulse possessed him.If he was to risk death that night it was folly to shirk life to-day. Sohis hand closed over hers while he sought for words.

  After a moment he became aware of the impassivity of her fingers withinhis violent grasp. He saw grave trouble and an unanswerable doubtextinguish the excitement in her eyes. A premonition reached him. Hefought against it desperately. His voice swayed a little.

  "Don't look at me like that, Nora. You're going to marry me."

  She shook her head. All at once there were tears in her eyes. Her handlightly brushed her black skirt.

  "Jim, you've often asked me why I wear these dark clothes. Now you makeme tell you. I can trust you? Because no one knows unless my fatherguesses."

  He nodded. She spoke with an effort.

  "For the man I was going to marry, Jim. You see he--he died."

  Garth arose and turned to the window. He leaned there, staring at thebusy street, listening to its jarring discords. Among the children atplay one boy, unkempt and filthy, stood braced against a railing, cryingat the top of his lungs. In his abandonment to disappointment Garthaccepted the picture as typical of his life--a crying out for theunattainable, a surrender to despair. The night's work lost its terror.Its issue became a matter of callous indifference.

  Then her hand was on his arm, drawing him around so that he saw herface, which had lost its colour, and the growing doubt in her eyes.

  "Try to understand, Jim. I think I scarcely do myself. I only know ithurts to see you unhappy. Six months ago when you first came I neverdreamed a man could make even that much difference to me again."

  Without warning the colour rushed back to her face. She clenched herhands. The determination in her tone was overwhelming.

  "Is that inconstancy to him? Don't think that. I'm not inconstant. Iwouldn't be that."

  Garth waved his hand helplessly.

  "What difference--Never mind, Nora. It's finished."

  "But you--It's so unfair. And I want you for my friend."

  She sat down, hiding her face.

  "Later--I don't know. How can I tell? How can anybody?"

  Garth saw her shoulders commence to shake. This emotion fired a tinyhope, yet it angered him that she should suffer, too.

  "Stop that," he said roughly. "It isn't worth it to you. I'm sorry Ispoke. I ought to have had better sense, but I'm going out of townto-day on a job--"

  He paused. He turned back to the window.

  "That's why I spoke, because--because I may be away a very long time."

  She controlled herself.

  "How long, Jim?"

  "God knows."

  "Where? West?"

  He shook his head.

  "Up the state. It's just as well now. I've got to go. I ought to begetting ready."

  She arose. She spoke wistfully.

  "Then good-by, Jim. And you'll try to understand? Maybe you'll come tosee me just the same when you get back?"

  He swallowed hard, forcing back his craving for abandonment, forrevelation.

  "When I get back," he said.