The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure. Rex Beach

that I missed Cousin Alfred, after all!"

      "You had no business in the city. You must get out again."

      "It's too late now. Why, it's nearly six o'clock. I could never get away before it's time for masks off."

      "Nevertheless, you must try," Van Dam said, decisively. "If you stay here, you're lost. We'll climb the fence at the rear of the next yard and slip out through the stable way."

      Emile pondered for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that. It's a chance, but you can't go with me. I sha'n't allow it."

      "Nonsense!"

      "You don't know the Wolf! If I were seen it would mean the death of both of us."

      "Very well, then, I'll leave by the front way. Now go!"

      Van Dam half shoved the young man toward the door.

      "Thanks," murmured the fugitive. "You seem to be the right sort. If I live, I sha'n't forget." The next instant he was gone.

      Roly watched him race across the yard, squeeze through the hedge; then, an instant later, saw his form as he mounted the fence to the wagon inclosure where the Spider had gone to his destruction earlier in the afternoon. It was a risky route to safety, he reflected, but, in view of what Emile had said about his pursuers, it was infinitely preferable to any other.

      Why he had helped the fellow Van Dam scarcely knew, unless it was because of his sympathy for the under dog. Whatever the boy had done, he possessed a reckless bravery that was commendable, and he still held his mother's love.

      Roly was about to close the door when he saw a second man, in a long, black domino, briefly silhouetted above the fence. Then he heard a whistle. The fellow dropped over into the tracks of Emile, leaving the New-Yorker amazed at the apparition. A sickening fear clutched Van Dam, but he knew it was useless to cry out. Could it be that he had sent the young fellow to his death?

      When a moment, then another, had passed with no sound from that quarter, he closed the kitchen door and retraced his steps swiftly to the front of the house.

      As he came to the library entrance he found it closed, and, from inside, he heard a tinkle as if a telephone hook was being violently agitated. Inclining his ear, a low, agonized voice came to him:

      "... Le Duc again.... Why haven't you sent the police?... Robbery.... My cousin Emile ... murder me.... God above! They are slow!... He will escape...."

      Van Dam tried the door. It was locked. Then he called, sweetly: "Alfred! My dear cousin Alfred!"

      The voice at the telephone ended in a shriek. There came a crash as the instrument fell from the old man's fingers.

      So the police were on their way! Escape, then, must be but a matter of moments. With his heart pounding, Van Dam stepped into the drawing-room and reconnoitered from a front window. What he saw did not reassure him, particularly in view of Emile's words; for, directly opposite, he beheld a masked man in a black domino who looked very much like the Black Wolf. Scattered up and down the block were others, all idling about in a seemingly objectless manner. Evidently the house was surrounded. He dared not risk the back way, after what he had seen. He could not remain. From the library again came that faint, frantic tinkling.

      Van Dam dropped his mask, tore the flimsy robe from his back, and strode to the front door. Under any other circumstances he would have preferred to remain and to take the consequences, but for Madelon's sake he dare not risk an explanation to the police. Besides—how could he explain that twenty thousand dollars, in clean, crisp ten-dollar notes, that she had in her possession? He flung the portal wide, stepped out, then turned and bowed as if to some one inside. "Good-by!" he called, cheerily. "Had a delightful afternoon." The door closed with a click, and he was in the open air. He extracted a cigarette from his jeweled case, noting from the corner of his eye that, with one accord, the maskers were closing in upon him. Descending the steps, he turned to the left, walking briskly.

      His one chance now depended upon whether these men knew Emile by sight. If so, he felt that he was reasonably safe. If not—

      He was approaching two of them. They separated to let him pass between. From beneath their fatuously smiling masks he saw eyes staring at him curiously. The flesh along his spine crinkled and rippled, but he did not turn his head or falter, even when he knew they had halted. He could feel the puzzled gaze of many eyes upon him, and imagined the mystification his appearance had excited. In the midst of their indecision there sounded the faint clamor of a gong. It grew rapidly until, with wild clangor, a patrol-wagon reeled into the street and drew up in front of the house Van Dam had just quitted. He turned as a half-dozen blue-coats tumbled out of it and rushed up the steps; incidentally, he saw that the black-clad figures were melting away in various directions.

      Roly did not wait to observe what followed. He turned the first corner, then quickened his gait, at the next corner swinging once more to the left. His pulses were jumping, his ears were roaring, he found the muscles of his jaw were aching from the strain. A close call, surely! But he had come through it all safely; he was whole, and on his way out of this mysterious neighborhood. Once more his promptness and resource had saved him. Here was the very street up which he and Madelon had fled; yonder was the entrance to the blind alley that led into the stable-yard.

      He noticed that a little crowd was congregated there, many of its members in the costume of merrymakers. He reflected that Emile might have found their presence awkward in making his escape. They seemed greatly excited or shocked over something, he noted, as he approached. They completely blocked the alley entrance. In among them he forced his way, then paused, staring down with startled eyes at what he saw. A babble of voices smote his ears, but he heard nothing. He was elbowed aside, but his gaze remained riveted upon the body of a man in a black domino. It lay sprawled in the dirt, and covering the face was a mask which smiled placidly up at the beholders; on the left breast was pinned a solitary gardenia, crimson with blood. It had been pierced with a dagger, and out of it had trickled a bright-red arterial stream.

      Van Dam continued to stare at the gruesome sight while his wits whirled dizzily. Why, it was but a moment ago that this boy had left him, in the full flower of his youth! The body was still warm. It seemed inconceivable that the grim reaper could have worked this grisly change in so short a time! How had it happened? He recalled that somber figure as he had seen it scaling the fence; he recalled that warning whistle. At the memory he turned sick. Was it possible that he had been to blame for this? He shook the notion from him, reflecting that Emile's fate would have been the same, or worse, had he chosen any other course. Arrest, he knew, would have been no more welcome than this.

      Roly felt a great desire to shout the truth at these people who stood about so stupidly; he longed to set them on the trail of the Black Wolf and his pack, but he refrained. How little he really knew, after all! Who was the Black Wolf? Who was this Emile? What had the young scapegoat done to place himself not only outside the law, but outside the good graces of those conspirators? What intricate network of hatred and crime was here suggested? The desire to know the truth overcame all thought of his own safety, so he began to question those around him, heedless of the fact that he was being hunted in this very block.

      The crowd was growing. An officer returned after sending a call for an ambulance, and began to force the people back.

      Van Dam discovered a voluble old woman, evidently a shopkeeper, who seemed better informed than the others, and to her he applied himself.

      "Do I know him, indeed?" she cried, shrilly, in answer to his question. "And who should know him better than I, Emile Le Duc—a fine boy, sir, of the very best family. Think of it! To be murdered like this! Ah! That's what comes of a bad life, sir. But right at my own doorstep, as you might say, and in the light of day! Well! Well! What can you expect? He must have been mad to return, with the whole city knowing him so well." She was greatly excited, and her voice broke under the stress of her feelings. "It doesn't help the neighborhood, you understand, to have such things happen," she ran on, "although nobody can say it's not as quiet and respectable hereabouts as the next place. You've noticed as much yourself, I dare say. Nothing ever happens. A misfortune to all of us, I call it. Why, it's