The Domino Lady

by Lars Anderson

  At the mile, Midnight Rogue was still in the van, now by half a dozen lengths, and seemed to be widening his early advantage, considerably! Lee Kilgore watched closely, his good-looking face bleak with disappointment and futility. Ellen squeezed his arm, reassuringly. She was tense with excitement as the speeding racers charged into the homestretch. Through Kilgore’s glasses, she noticed that Tommy Wing was bringing their horse wide of the field.

  “Oh, come on, Burnt!” The shout was almost like a prayer as it came from Ellen’s soft throat. “Ride him, Tommy! Ride him! Oh, come on, you Burnt!” She pounded Lee’s back in the excitement.

  “Too late now, honey,” grinned Kilgore, ruefully, “but you’re a faithful little rooter just the same!” He had taken his eyes from the race and his admiring glance was busily engaged in studying Ellen’s flushed face and vibrant figure. But Ellen’s eyes could only see the race at the moment!

  And it was a truly gorgeous sight as the ten magnificent animals, glossy coats shining in the sunshine, powerful legs flashing in perfect rhythm like well-oiled machinery, shining hoofs drumming on the track, neared the finish of the grueling mile-and-a-quarter duel. Ten beautiful heads stretched forward on slender throats. Ten scraps of boys in gay-colored silks perched high on tiny saddles. And thirty thousand people raving mad with excitement! The Sport of Kings!

  “Oh, look, Lee!” Ellen’s voice was vibrant with hope. “Burnt’s gaining! He’s in the clear! Oh, come on, Tommy! Ride him!” Her face was radiant, her lovely bosom tossing beneath the sheer bodice of a wispy frock as she leaned against Kilgore.

  True enough, the impossible seemed to be happening right before their eyes! For the magnificent chocolate gelding, displaying a heart of lion’s strength and courage, put on a great burst of speed as he bore down upon the fast-tiring Midnight Rogue!

  Kilgore’s horse, under the expert hard riding of little Tommy Wing, crept closer and closer to the leader as the finish line loomed up ahead. Up — up — up; and now they were neck and neck! They were fighting it out to the finish in one of the greatest duels in the history of the American turf! Only a few more yards to go now.

  Then, Burnt Offering gallantly responded to Wing’s urging, and did Pop Fields’ painstaking work full justice! With nostrils distended redly, head stretched forward, powerful legs flashing smoothly, hoofs pounding the track as though spurning earthly contact, he lunged across the finish line with Midnight Rogue’s nose scarcely reaching to his saddle blanket! The huge crowd went mad!

  But Ellen screamed, the maddest of the lot. She threw her soft arms about Lee, not minding the crowd that surged about them, and kissed him full on the mouth!

  “Oh, darling!” she cried, “We’ve won! We’ve won!” Lee Kilgore grinned, happily. “So we did!” he said, softly, “and that calls for a celebration, honey! Don’t you think an evening of champagne and dancing is in order, Ellen?” He gazed at her in rapt admiration.

  “Yes! Decidedly, yes, darling,” she returned, enthusiastically. “This should be the biggest celebration of our lives!”?

  THE END

  Emeralds Aboard

  by Lars Anderson

  Originally published in the August 1936 issue of Saucy Romantic Adventures

  Chapter 1: A Night at Sea

  THE S. S. Malolo, cabin liner deluxe, out of Honolulu, bound for San Francisco, plowed a feathery white furrow through the peaceful Pacific. The evening was hot and murky, presaging rain. During the early hours, the liner had reechoed with merriment and laughter, but now all was still. The bell had already struck the midnight hour.

  Bert Raythorne, first officer, leaned his lanky frame against the rail of the promenade deck, gazed with unseeing eyes at the frothy swells swirling alongside the ship. He had just been relieved of duty, and his mind was upon distant things at the moment. The deck, he knew, was deserted at this late hour; consequently, the soft challenge of a girl’s musical voice startled him.

  “Could I bother you for a light?”

  Raythorne swiveled. Nearby, in a clear space, he saw a slender figure in a steamer chair. He grinned in the darkness, walked toward the girl, digging in the side pocket of his natty uniform coat for his lighter. He thumbed it, and in the red glare that ensued, studied the piquant face behind a cigarette. The cup of his hands prevented a vagrant breeze from fanning out the flame, and, at the same time, served as a reflector which brought out her golden loveliness in thrilling detail. The girl laughed, tinklingly, as recognition came to Raythorne.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, exhaling a billow of white smoke from between ripe, red lips.

  “Ellen Patrick!” exclaimed the first officer, and his deep tones betrayed pleasure at her unexpected presence, “What’re you doing on deck at this hour?”

  “Smoking!” she returned, pertly, “But why ask! When I paid for my stateroom, I understood I might have free access to the decks!” Her great brown eyes twinkled merrily in the glow from the lighter as Raythorne extinguished the flame. He grinned, good-humoredly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, of course. But I was just thinking of you, and presto! You appear as if by magic!”

  “It’s too stuffy inside for sleep. I came out for a breath of air,” she breathed. Indicating another deck chair beside her own, she added, “Won’t you sit down and tell me all about it? Or were you only flattering me, Bert?”

  The tall first officer dropped obediently down beside her and lit a cigarette, before replying. “No flattery, Ellen,” he exhaled, “although I must say you’re sufficient inspiration! But since you came aboard at Honolulu, I’ve been thinking about you; thinking of what a tantalizingly beautiful little witch you were during your Berkeley days! I knew then that you’d be a lovely woman, and you’ve certainly fulfilled all promises! You’re just about the loveliest little...”

  “Whoa!” laughed Ellen, lightly, “Please! No more tonight! I was nor angling for compliments, Bert! Besides, I’ve always had a weakness for tall, dark males in uniform; what’re you trying to do to me, handsome?” Her throaty laughter put fire into Bert Raythorne’s blood as it tinkled in the darkness of the night. He leaned closer on the chair arm toward her.

  “You might be surprised,” he whispered, meaningly, “if I were to tell you what I’d like to do to you!” Ellen’s deep brown eyes were soft as she looked at Raythorne. “Yes?” she breathed, expectantly.

  “I’d like to kiss you!” he said, passionately, encouraged by her demeanor, “Kiss you till...”

  “But,” interrupted Ellen with a teasing laugh, “I was under the impression that all the males aboard the Malolo were wild about that society mistress, Lydia Manville.”

  Raythorne scoffed. “Some of them might go for that money bag,” he admitted, “but not yours sincerely, Ellen! That dame was high hat enough on the way over. But now, with The Fabulous Eyes in her possession, she’s hit the peak! She’s...”

  ELLEN was instantly alert. “Oh, tell me all about them!” she exclaimed, eagerly, “I’ve heard something of them, but you must know the truth. Are they really so beautiful, Bert?” She sat erect, leaned on the chair arm toward him.

  He studied her golden beauty at close range for a moment. “Not half so beautiful or precious as you, sweet!” he murmured, fervently, one brown hand contacting the white velvet surface of her rounded arm. Ellen quivered as his masterful fingers touched her soft flesh. She swayed toward him. The next moment he had taken her pliant body in his long arms, and his hard lips flamed tightly against her red mouth. Under the pressure, her ripe lips parted, and one white arm went up about Raythorne’s neck in a coil of invitation.

  He pulled her closer to him. At the moment, nothing seemed to matter to either of them save the delight of the fevered embrace. The shapely little adventuress shook with emotion. Raythorne’s arm reached further around her slender waist, lean fingers lightly brushing the ductile lunettes of her straining bosom.

  “You’re a dream, Ellen!” he breathed, huskily. The deep whisper of his voice seemed to awake
n her to realities as it dispelled the heady necromancy of the night. She pushed slender hands up between them, pushed him resolutely away. Her breath was coming quickly with suppressed feeling.

  “Whew!” she breathed, settling back in the steamer chair, “I was afraid of that! You were too...” Bert Raythorne attempted to take her into his arms again, but she gently repulsed him. “Please, Bert! Not tonight!” she said, softly, “I want to hear about The Fabulous Eyes. If you don’t tell me, and be good at the same time, I’ll have to leave you!”

  He grinned like the good fellow he was. “I’ll be good, but it won’t be easy, Ellen! Now, what do you want to know about the emeralds, sweet?” He leaned back, kindled another cigarette to cover his perturbation.

  “Oh, just anything, and everything!”

  “Well, that’s a pretty large order,” said Raythorne, readily, “as I’ve never seen the stones. They’re in the purser’s safe, of course. Lydia Manville purchased them for a small fortune in the Orient. They’re called ‘The Fabulous Eyes of Baste,’ being twin stones of amazing size and splendor. The story concerning them is that they were originally taken from the eye-sockets of the Baste idol in a Mayan temple. The idol was a huge cat, and the eyes were great sparkling emeralds! I don’t doubt their origin,” he added with a laugh, “since their possession seems to have made Lydia Manville more catlike than before, the snob.”

  “You don’t like her, I take it?” laughed Ellen. Raythorne grunted. “You take it right! I’ve never liked her; I never will! On the way over, she seemed high hat enough; too sure of herself and her money and her beauty. She had every man on the ship tagging at her heels, and what was worse, she seemed to actually enjoy it! Now, since acquiring the emeralds...” He spread his hands, eloquently.

  “But Dunlop Manville, her husband?” queried Ellen, softly.

  “Oh, that jellyfish!” The first officer’s tone was coolly contemptuous. “Danny may be a great politician, but he’s putty in the hands of a woman like Lydia! Whenever she has an argument with him, framed or otherwise, she beats it off on one of these long cruises!”

  “Will she wear the emeralds tomorrow evening?” questioned Ellen, casually, but there was real interest behind the query. “I’d like to get a look at them, you know.” The first officer shrugged his wide shoulders. “I suppose so,” he returned, “she isn’t one to pass up such an opportunity of displaying them.”

  Just then, Ellen felt a raindrop strike against her soft cheek. She held out a slender, pink-nailed hand in the darkness.

  “Why, it’s raining!” she exclaimed. At her exclamation, the rain came down faster and faster. In a moment it was a solid sheet of falling water. Ellen sprang up, started swiftly in the direction of the companionway leading to her cabin.

  In a second, Bert Raythorne was after her. His strong fingers grasped her bare arm, tucked it possessively under his own. “I couldn’t,” he told her as they raced along the slippery deck, “let you go to your stateroom unescorted. Some big bogey might get you!”

  Ellen laughed, breathlessly. The same old Bert, she mused, with his amusing sense of humor, and more than an excess of chivalry in his lanky body. “Heavens!” she panted, as they reached the shelter of the companionway, “Isn’t there any way I can get rid of you?”

  “Of course not!” he grinned.

  “Not even if I were to call the captain?” she teased, womanlike.

  “Not even, sweet!” He walked beside her toward the door of her stateroom.

  “Then there’s no use wasting time calling!”

  “Swell! Now that you’re under shelter, must you really go inside, Ellen?” he asked, hopefully. The cool sting of the pelting rain had brought a rich flush to Ellen’s perfectly beautiful face. As it splashed on her golden hair, it had transformed the silky-soft tresses into a myriad of pretty ringlets that curled about her smooth cheeks. Contentedly, she sighed, and breathed deeply of the now cooling salt air. Raythorne’s eyes were frankly adoring as he looked down at her.

  “No!” she whispered, and leaned closer against him. Arm in arm they strolled along the lighted corridor past her door until their figures were lost to view.

  Chapter 2: Pleasure — And Business

  A BEAUTIFUL creature was Ellen Patrick. Pure Celtic stock had produced her; bestowed upon her a beauty of face and figure that set the red blood surging hotly in the veins of any man who saw her. And watching her in her more frivolous moments, one might instantly decide that here was but another thoughtless, carefree society debutante.

  She had been particularly ravishing tonight. As she entered her stateroom after the interlude with the handsome first officer, she paused and studied herself for a moment in a tall, full-length glass. Wide brown eyes, enhanced with a faint darkness on the lower lids that is the heritage of every true Irish beauty, smiled pertly back at her as she raised slender, pink-tipped hands to pat her tousled, golden coiffure. She had affected a form-fitting evening gown of blue silken velvet which harmonized perfectly with her rich coloring. It clung breathlessly to her seductive figure. White breasts and kissable shoulders rose like gleaming alabaster to the pale column of her soft throat and the dainty, regal head with its coronet of rumpled, butter-hued hair.

  Ellen stood in the middle of her stateroom and looked about approvingly. The room had a curtained window instead of a porthole. A real bed. It’s whole aspect was of expensive comfort. Anyone entering it at the moment would have surmised that here was a young lady of expensive tastes; tastes far beyond the income from the modest trust fund left by her father.

  But Ellen Patrick was anything but a carefree debutante. Left alone three years before by the brutal murder of her father, she lived an exciting life of adventure. Owen Patrick had been an honest politician. Dishonest politicians had instigated his murder. Ellen, in a campaign of hate-sworn vengeance, supplemented her income with part of the funds obtained in daring forays against State’s vicious politicians and the unscrupulous wealthy.

  The young society girl was possessed of the quick wit of her father. She had become well-known and dreaded as “The Domino Lady” through her personal daring, an inherent love of adventure, a readiness to risk life and liberty, and a fierce determination to wreak vengeance upon the crooked political organization which ruled the state.

  There had been times when Ellen had accepted almost impossible undertakings merely for the sake of friendship and the love of adventure. Thus, she had saved Eloise Schenick from disgrace when she had been threatened with blackmail by Rob Wyatt of Los Angeles. At other times, she had engineered dangerous coups against the members of the machine which she blamed for her father’s cruel death. But always, anonymous donations to worthy charity accounted for the major portion of any funds obtained in her raids.

  Of course, being entirely normal in every way, Ellen had her moment of everyday desire when her lonely, hazardous life paled. At present, she was returning from a blissful two weeks in Hawaii. For the journey, there had been no thought of adventure as Ellen commonly accepted the term. She had occupied a lovely cottage by the sea. Days had been spent in lazying about in the golden sunshine, or swimming in the warm waters of a tiny cove nearby. It had all been like a glorious dream to the little adventuress, and she had enjoyed every moment of it.

  Aboard the S. S. Malolo, she had encountered Bert Raythorne. She had known him years before when she had been a carefree co-ed at Berkeley; he a bronzed giant in the engineering school at California. There had been dates, picnics, proms; and the two had become deeply attached to one another. But they had drifted apart after graduation, Ellen to vacation in the Far East, Bert to accept an important post with a great steamship company.

  While on that vacation, Ellen had had her first touch of heartbreak. News came of the slaying of her father. Immediately, her campaign of vengeance was adopted as a duty, although she felt that it outlawed her from the hopes and ambitions of the ordinary girl, including marriage. However, she had not been adverse to renewing the acquainta
nceship with the tall first officer of the Malolo. She had found him the same old Bert and she had thoroughly enjoyed the moments spent with him; moments stolen from a lifetime of danger and exciting intrigue!

  Ellen was frowning now as she slipped the blue gown off her shining head. She had never believed in mixing business and pleasure, and this was, after all, a vacation trip which she had long awaited. Under the circumstances, she rather resented Lydia Manville’s presence aboard ship with a fortune in gems! For not only were the emeralds a distinct temptation in themselves, but the society woman happened to be the wife of a dominant figure in California politics! Thus, by annexing the stones, Ellen would be serving a double cause; the aiding of a worthy charity, and the discomfiture of an unscrupulous cog in the political machine!

  There was no use, she decided, as she stepped her shapely bare legs into silken pajama trousers, in trying to evade the issue. She had known, ever since she had heard of The Fabulous Eyes of Baste being on the vessel, that she would have a try at them. Subconsciously perhaps, that impression had been behind her flirtation with Bert Raythorne. One could never tell when one might need a friend in her game! And she had likewise cultivated the vainglorious Lydia Manville, seeing in her a chance to procure the desired results!

  As Ellen dozed off to sleep, there was a smile about the corners of her mouth which presaged ill in the immediate future for the possessions of Lydia Manville! The final day of the voyage was ideal for seafarers. The sun shone bright and warm, and the passengers dressed in whites and bright colors, gathered in cheery groups playing deck tennis, swimming in the ship’s pool, or lying luxuriously on their steamer chairs. The main topic of conversation was the mask ball of the evening to come, and the docking in ’Frisco on the morrow.