Part 4

With a choking cry, he turned and ran as he had never run before in his life. Behind him he heard a hissing as of sand being poured from an elevation into a tin pail. A box was overturned. The thing was gaining on him—he turned, and with bulging eyes he saw the python strung out along the floor, its great body undulating, its flat head raised, its unblinking eyes burning through the dusk.

He could never make the stairs. At the left was a small door. He threw himself upon it and clutched the handle—it came open and, without looking before him, he threw himself forward. Something struck against the door as he jerked it shut, and he could hear that uncanny sand blast louder than before.

Groping about him in the utter darkness of this refuge, he found a metal contrivance—a wheel, with a metal stem connecting it with a large iron pipe. He was in the closet which housed the intake of the water system.

Then he remembered his revolver. It would be of little use to him against the horrible thing coiled outside.

* * * * *

When Ah Wing returned to the house, several hours later, he went quietly through the hall and conservatory to the door of Colonel Knight’s apartment.

Satisfied by a brief inspection that his “guest” was not in his rooms, the Chinaman turned and made his way to the basement door. His face was as serene as usual, but his eyes shone with a metallic gleam. He opened the door and for a moment stood listening.

An angry and prolonged _hiss_, which sounded like a great jet of steam, came plainly to him. He stepped into the hallway and deliberately closed the door behind him. Then he felt his way down the stairs, pausing within a few steps of the bottom to look unwinkingly about.

Something was moving in the dim shadows at the farther side of the room. It came slowly toward him, and he could make out the undulating length of the python. Ah Wing’s glowing eyes rested unwaveringly on the flat, evil head of the great snake, which came toward him more and more slowly.

With a final prolonged _hiss_, the python drew itself up into a huge coil. It was a tremendous creature, as large as a man’s body at its greatest diameter: but now it seemed to be turning slowly to stone. Its beady eyes grew dull, and its swaying head became rigid.

A muffled cry reached the ears of the motionless Chinaman. Without the flicker of an eyelid, he continued to stare down at the python.

Presently he descended to the foot of the stairs. The snake was still.

Ah Wing crossed to the closet door and threw it open.

“You can leave your retreat now, Colonel Knight,” he said. “My little playmate is temporarily in a condition of catalepsy—but I would not advise you to repeat this visit!”

_CHAPTER SIX_

LOUIE MARTIN LEARNS THE SECRET OF THE WINDOW

Monte and the “Kid” went back to the city that same evening, but early next morning the leader of the Wolves returned to the neighborhood where they had picked up the trail of Colonel Knight.

Monte had caught sight of a “For Rent” sign in the upper window of a cottage half a mile from the big house, and he wasted no time in hunting up the rental agent and signing a lease. By evening he had his men with him, and the battle lines were established for the final conflict.

“We got to get all the dope on this Chink and his layout we can,” Monte explained to his companions, as they sat smoking in the parlor of their new home. “We might try to rush the house, but I don’t like the looks of it. Chances are that Chink’s got a machine gun or a bunch of sawed-off pump guns there. We’ll have to size things up.”

He paused to stare at his men.

“Any kicks on that? All right, it’s settled. Louie, it’s your turn for sentry duty, and you better get over to the Chink’s castle now. At two o’clock I’ll send Doc over to relieve you. You might take a look at the windows, and see if any of them can be handled without a saw—there may be some loose bars!”

Louie Martin, the gem expert, was a little tallow-faced man with a straggling, peaked beard and shifty eyes. He had no real appetite for this sort of thing, but for personal reasons he was more willing than usual to go on duty tonight.

Slipping his automatic into the holster under his arm, he struck off along the road toward the house of Ah Wing, whose gables were visible from the cottage. A light wind was blowing from the southeast, and he could see the mist rising over the marshes. Somewhere from the steamy air above a night heron screamed raucously. Involuntarily, Louie shivered.

He was glad to turn his thoughts to his own immediate affairs. Louie Martin had made up his mind to strike out for himself. He had always admired Colonel Knight—or “Count von Hondon”—for the shrewd stroke of business he had done; and Louie was keen enough to perceive that Monte Jerome was not equal to the task of holding the Wolves together. At the present time there was open dissension among them. One of these days one of them would squeal on the others—that was the way this mob stuff usually ended.

No, Louie had made up his mind to watch his chance for a crack at the jewels—and then a clean getaway.

He reached the private road leading to the Chinaman’s house, paused for a moment to listen and reconnoiter, then stealthily struck into the grounds. Five minutes later he had skirted the west wing and was peering up through the shrubbery at the lighted windows of Colonel Knight’s apartment. Their location had been sketched for him by Monte.

“So that’s where the old devil is!” thought Louie. “Let’s just have a look-see!”

He climbed into a pepper tree—the same from which Monte and the “Kid” had seen Knight—and stared into the room. It was lighted, but there was no one in sight. Then, through a vista of open doors, he saw the man whom he had been sent to watch, walking slowly about with his hands clasped behind him, a cigar between his lips.

“Had a good supper, and now he’s enjoying a smoke!” Louie mumbled enviously. “Well, that’s good enough for me, too! Let’s have a look at that window!”

He slipped down from the tree and glanced about. At the corner of the house was a galvanized iron can, evidently used for lawn clippings. Louie lifted this cautiously and carried it over under the end window. Then he climbed upon it, raising his head cautiously till he was standing just beside the half-open window.

A silent inspection of the bars showed him that they were all securely fastened, with one possible exception: the bottom bar seemed to be loose in its niche. Louie climbed down, changed the can over to the opposite side, and examined the opposite end. Sure enough, it showed a crumble of concrete around the bolt which was supposed to hold it in place. With the utmost caution, fearing that the loose bar might be connected with an alarm system, the crook tested it.

A smile twisted his thin lips. It could be moved in and out of its niche.

A sound came from somewhere close at hand; and with the speed and silence of a wolf Louie Martin leaped to the ground, caught up the can, and replaced it where he had found it. Next instant he was hidden in a clump of flowering shrubs.

From this position he could see the top of a flight of steps leading down to the basement of the house of Ah Wing. He stood listening and watching, and presently he heard a door open and close, followed by steps ascending the stairs. Then some one came up out of the basement, and he saw the figure of a tall Chinaman walking deliberately toward the bush in which he was hiding. Louie reached under his coat for his pistol—

Ah Wing turned, and Louie saw that he was following a graveled path. And he was carrying something in one hand—a contrivance of twisted wires, like an iron basket.

As Ah Wing disappeared into the mist, Louie made up his mind. Tonight, after Knight had gone to bed, he would strike: he was not to be relieved till two o’clock, and that would give him time to put through his coup. But now he meant to follow Ah Wing. He needed all the information he could secure about the master of this silent house.

The Chinaman had disappeared into the eddying mist, but Louie struck into the path and soon came within hearing of the crisp footsteps. Ah Wing reached the edge of the grounds and crossed over into a marshy field.

Instinctively, the crook worked closer to the man he was shadowing. There was something oddly menacing about this night, with its mist and its fitful, salt-laden wind.

Suddenly through the swirling fog there appeared a light, which seemed to be suspended ten feet or so above the ground. It was moving slowly along in front of them—a murky light, like a blood-red mist.

Then Louie saw that it was the light suspended from the mast of a boat, and that the boat itself was moving slowly along before them, almost hidden by the banks of the canal. The tide must be out, he thought.

Ah Wing swung on through the night, and presently the man following him made out the silhouette of a building, perched above the canal. Louie slunk cautiously forward and saw that the boat, whose lantern he had previously observed, was making fast at that wharf.

Ah Wing leaped lightly to the sunken deck and disappeared down the companionway. Before Louie could decide what he was to do, the Chinaman reappeared and climbed back to the wharf. Louie had just time to slip into the shelter of a group of piling when the Chinaman passed the corner of the building.

And in his hand was another of the wire contrivances, filled with squirming, squeaking rats!

The white man felt his stomach doing queer antics. He had heard of Chinamen eating rats. Was that what this fellow was up to? What else could he want with them?

Ah Wing walked swiftly, and the man behind kept as close as he dared. Again they entered the grounds surrounding the big house, and the Oriental crossed to the basement stairs and went down. Louie paused in the bushes.

“I’m going to gamble,” he whispered suddenly to himself. “I’ll just sneak down those steps, and if he tries to come out before I can duck, I’ll bean him! I want to know what he’s up to!”

Stealthily, he approached the steps. All that he could see was a murky hole, into which the cement stairs disappeared. A step at a time he made his way down—

And then he paused, holding himself bent forward, rigid as a man of stone. From beyond the door which opened out of this pit came a strange sound, the like of which he had never before heard. It was like a jet of steam, or like sand sifting into a tin pail from a considerable height.

Then came another sound—the sing-song voice of the Chinaman, crooning something in a rhythmic chant. Louie could not understand the words, but there was a swing and lilt to the thing that had a curious effect on him: _he felt as if he were being rocked to sleep_.

He threw off this mood with a start. There had come another sound—the squealing of many rats. And there was a grating noise, as if a heavy body were dragging itself about the floor. The rat chorus swelled. The creatures evidently had been turned loose, and were racing about the floor in an agony of terror.

The chorus thinned. Something was happening to them. Presently the last of the rats emitted one long, agonized squeal, and was still.

Louie Martin made his way out of the cellarway and hurried dizzily back to the shelter of the bushes. He didn’t know what had been happening behind that horrible door, but he knew that it was something which turned his flesh to ice. A strange smell had come to him from under the door—

Louie noted with relief that the lights in Colonel Knight’s rooms had been snapped off. That meant that the Colonel had gone to bed. Soon he would be sleeping, and then Louie could put his plan into execution—that would enable him to forget this baffling but vaguely horrible experience.

Somehow, he felt as if great unseen creatures were flying about him, striking at him with black, featherless wings. The air seemed to be in motion.

He caught himself firmly.

“Got to cut it out!” he mumbled under his breath. “Getting dippy! Likely to bite somebody! Got to think about something else!”

He began to think about the jewels; and then his mind shifted, and he was thinking of the woman from whom he and his companions had stolen the pendant. She had been called “Mother of the Friendless.” The jewels had been given to her by a rich patron, to assist in the work of providing for the many who were dependent on her for charity.

The wolves had done a clever bit of work that time. They had caught the jewels while they were in process of transfer from the original owner to the old woman—

Another tangent. Louie was thinking with cold amusement of the fate of Madam Celia, the “Mother of the Friendless.” Luck had turned against her, with the loss of the jewels. Others who had helped her in her earlier years had turned away after that—as if the old woman had suffered contamination by accepting this gift, bequeathed by a certain rather notorious beauty whose affairs had upset thrones and dynasties.

Yes, a very good joke on the old woman. And she had died in abject poverty. That was the way that sort of thing went, Louie realized. One was really a fool to do anything for anyone but one’s self.

A sound came through the half-open window of Colonel Knight’s suite—and again Louie Martin grinned. The master crook, who had stolen the jewels from the “Mother of the Friendless,” was now about to pass them on—only he didn’t know it!

Louie brought the metal barrel over under the window and set it, bottom up, so as to form a secure means of approach to the room beyond. He had thrown off his depression now. But he must work fast.

Cautiously, he stepped upon the barrel and raised his hands to the bottom bar. Twisting it slowly and at the same time pulling, he drew both bar and bolts from their sockets and tossed them to the ground. He wanted to laugh! So this was the wisdom of a Chinaman? He might have known!

There was a stone coping a couple of feet above the top of the thing on which he stood. Louie rested his foot on this coping and laid his hands on the sill. Lightly he drew himself up against the face of the wall.

He paused to listen. The man within was breathing heavily and regularly.

Louie thrust his head through the opening—nothing in sight to alarm him. Then, with a quick spring, he threw his weight upon the sill and was halfway through the window—

Half-way, but no farther; for as his weight descended fully upon the sill, the upper sash crashed down like the lever of a great engine. The thief cried out once, a hideous, choking cry that echoed through the room and on into the house of Ah Wing.

Then he was silent, drooping there like one who has been broken on the wheel. Blood dripped from his mouth and nostrils, and he had ceased to breathe. He was caught like a huge rat in a trap!

_CHAPTER SEVEN_

THE DEAD MAN SPEAKS

Somewhere beyond the mist-enshrouded marshes the whistle of a grain ship boomed, to be answered a moment later by the metallic scream of a siren. Vague and mysterious filaments of sound drifted in with the eddying night wind.

“Damn such a country!” the “Kid” snarled, as he turned from the door and tramped back into the house. “How long you going to keep us rusticating out here, Chief? I’m fed up on nature!”

Monte Jerome scowled at his assistant.

“We’re going to stay here till we get what we came for!” he replied. “If Martin doesn’t show up by morning, we got to decide what he’s up to!”

An uncanny silence gripped the four Wolves. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since Louie Martin went on duty, and nothing had been heard from him. An uncomfortable idea was developing in the minds of the various members of the “mob.”

Suddenly the “Kid” voiced this general suspicion. With a snarl, he pointed accusingly at Monte.

“Fact is, Louie ain’t coming back, Chief, and you know it! He’s grabbed something—maybe the sparklers—and he’s beat it. Don’t blame him a damn bit, neither. We’re going to set around here with our mouths open till the dicks get after us. But Louie ain’t coming back, and you just put that down in your note-book!”

Monte turned toward the speaker.

“Is that your opinion, you lump-head? Well, keep it till I ask you for it. The trouble with you is you’ve been thinking of cutting loose, yourself. Louie will show up all right. Don’t you worry about him.”

“Hell of a lot you know about it!” mumbled the “Kid” angrily.

Monte walked slowly toward him, his eyes blazing.

“Trying to start something?” he demanded. “If you are—”

The Strangler intervened at this critical moment. He and the “Kid” had had a disagreement earlier in the evening when the latter moved into the room left vacant by Louie Martin’s unexplained absence. This was a ground-floor room with an abundance of light and sun, and the “Kid,” with a loose-lipped grin, announced that his doctor had told him he ought to have it. The Strangler had protested; but the “Kid” had possession, and made it plain that he meant to hang on.

Now the Strangler sided maliciously with Monte.

“You’re always belly-aching about something, Kid,” he declared. “You better lay off and give us a rest. The Chief knows what he is doing!”

Monte paused, thankful for this opportune intervention. He had made up his mind to square account with the “Kid” just as soon as the real business which held them together was finished, but a show-down now would be dangerous to the success of the larger affair.

“Let’s cut it all out, boys!” he suggested pacifically. “I’ll go on duty up to two o’clock. Doc, you set the alarm. You’ll relieve me. I’ll try to find out something—that Chink may have grabbed Louie. We ought to know what has happened before we pull anything!”

He nodded to the others and left the house. The three crooks settled down to their usual evening: the “Kid” got out a deck of cards and began to play a one-handed game of his own devising; Billy the Strangler drew his chair over in front of the fireplace and adjusted his feet on the mantle—in this position he would smoke and stare into the coals till he grew sleepy—and “Doc” took from the table an illustrated magazine and turned to the serial he was reading. Occasionally he glanced covertly at one of his companions: “Doc” sensed the coming battle between these two gunmen, and had no intention of being caught within the firing lines.

The wind freshened, and they could hear it wailing around the house and through the upper windows. The window in the “Kid’s” room rattled and banged, and he looked abstractedly up.

“Hell of a night!” he mumbled. “Sounds like all the dead men in this neck of the woods was hanging around outside, wheezing to be took in by the fire! Listen to that window rattle!”

The Strangler smoked on imperturbably.

From somewhere in the house above there came a sound—low and uncertain at first, then rising to a sort of scream. The “Kid” threw down his cards and staggered to his feet. The Strangler hauled his long legs down from the mantle and reached under his coat for the handle of his automatic. “Doc” turned pale—he was too sophisticated to be superstitious, but this unearthly cry was a fact rather than a theory.

“What the devil was that?” the “Kid” demanded hoarsely. “Say, if that was one of them birds—”

“That must have been it!” “Doc” decided aloud. “A night heron, blown against the chimney! What a night to be out in!”

He shivered and picked up his magazine, but the zest had gone out of his reading. From the corners of his eyes he observed that the “Kid” was gathering up his cards, and that Billy had not again elevated his feet to the mantle.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going to _my_ room,” the “Kid” drawled presently, emphasizing the possessive pronoun to tantalize the Strangler. “Kind of feel like a little snooze would take the wrinkles out of my brains. This place sure does give me the willies!”

He slouched into the hall communicating with the back rooms—a kitchen and his bedroom—and they heard him shuffling through the darkness. Following a moment of silence, his voice sounded in a steady mumble. Then it was raised in expostulation.

“Who the hell has been fooling with my light? It won’t turn on!”

Another brief interval of silence, then a bellow of rage and fear from the man in the back bedroom.

“Who’s there? Go way from me! Damn—”

They leaped up at the sound of the “Kid’s” stumbling gallop. He burst into the room, and they saw that his face was the color of ashes.

“For God’s sake, who’s in that room—my room?” he cried, staring at them through straining, glassy eyes. “Come on, you fellows! Here, I’ll take a flashlight—the globe must be burned out!”

He snatched up an electric torch and led the way back through the hall, the Strangler at his shoulder, “Doc” some distance behind.

“Someone let out a groan when I went inside the door,” the “Kid” was explaining. “And then he says right in my ear, ‘This ain’t your room, Kid!’ Listen!”

They were within five feet of the bedroom door when the “Kid” paused and held up a trembling hand. He was directing the light of the torch upon the doorway. And at that moment there came from it a groan, followed by a muttered protest.

“_My room!_” a voice within the room said distinctly.

“Holy Mother!” whispered the Strangler. “That sounds like Louie! He must be hurt!”

“How in hell would he get in there?” protested the “Kid.” “Come on—let’s see!”

They stepped inside the room, and the ray of the flashlight began to circle it. Suddenly the circling beam came to a stop.

“In the bed!” gasped the “Kid.” “He’s there, covered up!”

Slowly and unwillingly, an inch at a time as if drawn by some irresistible force, the three Wolves crossed the room and approached the bed. They could all see the huddled form lying there, covered even to the face. There was something about it—an utter absence of motion—that terrified them. But they could not turn back.

The “Kid” reached the bedside and for a long moment stood glaring down. Then, with shaking fingers, he caught the edge of the bedding and threw it back.