The Domino Lady

by Lars Anderson

  Yes! That was it! A frame! She knew she had not left the hotel the evening before, but had retired early to read herself to sleep. But that didn’t answer the all-important question. Who had been the invader of the Japanese Legation under the guise of The Domino Lady? Who had fastened the ugly crime of murder upon her guiltless shoulders? Who —

  “It’s an international crime,” McKane was continuing, quietly, “And I wouldn’t care to be in the shoes of The Domino Lady! The G-men will be in on the hunt, you know, and they seldom if ever fail to ferret out the guilty party or parties! This time they have a clear-cut case to work on as the criminal is known. It won’t take them long to get to the bottom of the affair, and then, in order to appease the Jap authorities, a death sentence will be imperative! I’m sorry as the devil, too. Although I don’t condone murder, The Domino Lady has helped me on several occasions, and I’ll hate to see her die. It looks like it’s just too bad though.”

  Ellen had been thinking rapidly. At McKane’s mention of the G-men, she remembered the threats she had scoffed at in Los Angeles a few days before. Indirectly, a warning had come to her that the politicians were determined to be rid of The Domino Lady, frame her with murder if needs be, and, by making it an international crime, be sure of the F.B.I.’s intervention in the mystery! That was the nigh impossible task that confronted her now; the single-handed solution of the mystery, and the placing of guilt where it rightfully belonged!

  While thinking rapidly, Ellen had covered her perturbation with an effort. McKane had noticed nothing. She broke in with a nervous little laugh.

  “I can’t believe it’s true, Roge! Why, The Domino Lady has never really done anything wrong on any of her escapades, and you know it! On the contrary, she’s helped many worthy causes! I just can’t believe she’d commit murder.”

  The young detective laughed, softly. “Frankly, Ellen,” he told her, “I can’t believe it either! And neither does Lieutenant Tom Fentriss of the Homicide Bureau. I was talking to him earlier this morning. He senses a big political conspiracy, in which leading political figures might be involved. But he has little on which to work. The headquarters men seem puzzled by certain aspects of the case. For instance, The Domino Lady is known to be a sworn enemy of the political machine, and she has always opposed and worked against it. So why should she commit murder in stealing state papers in the service of any political clique? It don’t make sense. That’s the puzzle that’s worrying the city dicks.”

  ALTHOUGH sorely troubled, Ellen was coolness personified now. She smiled across at McKane, crossing one gorgeous, bare leg over the other in a careless gesture which immediately drew the detective’s admiring gaze.

  “And are the authorities intending a campaign against The Domino Lady?” she inquired softly. “Or do they intend to dig out the real criminals behind the murder and robbery?” Considering the importance of the question, her nonchalance was amazing. She kindled another cigarette, smiled at Roge McKane as she drew deeply of the fragrant smoke before exhaling.

  “Well, now, that is a question, Ellen,” he returned, grinning. “I’m sure Fentriss and his Bureau are out to investigate all angles. Of course, he gets his orders from the higher-ups, you know. And those higher-ups or the men behind them might be the very instigators of the entire conspiracy! Makes it deuced hard to conduct an intelligent investigation. By the way, have you ever heard of Wade Lilmyer? Or Rob Wyatt?”

  Ellen started at mention of the latter name. Rob Wyatt! Ex-big game hunter, character actor, blackmailer, and political aspirant, Ellen had triumphed over him in more than one thrilling encounter.

  Swiftly, her mind raced over the exciting events of her first brush with the man when she had saved Eloise Schenick, wife of a movie magnate, from his blackmailing schemes. Then, recently she had again opposed him, emerged triumphant from one of the most exciting episodes of her entire career!

  Shortly afterward, she had heard of his threats of a frame against The Domino Lady! She had scoffed at the threats before leaving Los Angeles, but now it appeared as though they had been successfully carried to completion!

  Ellen gripped her emotions with a firm hand. “Why, yes,” she said, ultimately, “I’ve heard of both. Don’t you remember showing me Lilmyer’s mansion while we were driving to Sacramento last Fall? And I believe Wyatt was once in pictures in Hollywood.”

  “Oh, yes, to be sure! I remember my showing you Lilmyer’s place, now! And Wyatt was once in pictures, I believe. Well, the latter is out for the lieutenant-governorship, and Wade Lilmyer, one of our biggest political figures, who has remained in the background thus far, is said to be intending to run for governor on the ticket with Wyatt. If there’s a political conspiracy afoot, you can bet your Sunday slippers that those two birds are somewhere behind it all! And Fentriss seems agreed on that angle, too!”

  Ellen replied, casually, but her agile brain was clicking fast. Here, indeed, was a dilemma!

  Framed for a killer by her enemies! And she could expect little mercy, once she was taken into custody!

  At the same time, she realized that every law enforcement agency was out to trap her, and their efforts would be mainly devoted to that purpose. Consequently, if any attempt was to be made to clear her name and place the blame where it rightfully belonged, it must be made by The Domino Lady herself!

  Abruptly, Roge McKane looked at his wristwatch, and rose.

  “I hate to hurry away, honey,” he told her, and it was easy to see that the young investigator disliked leaving his charming hostess, “but I have to meet one of the boys at eleven on a very important case. I’ll phone you later. See you this evening if I can possibly make it. But don’t forget Saturday night. It’s the opening of the new Club Manana, and I wouldn’t miss taking you for the world, sweet! Is it a date, honey?”

  Ellen had walked to the door with him. She smiled as she looked up into his bronzed features. “You bet!” she breathed, happily, her troubles far away at the moment. “You know I wouldn’t miss it either, darling!” She swayed toward McKane.

  The tall sleuth’s masterful arms went about her palpitant figure, and his seeking lips found the damp grotto of her warm mouth. Hungrily, he tasted of the cloying sweetness of her hot, crimson lips.

  Such a kiss it was! It brought hungry longings to Ellen as new desires were given birth in her amorous little body. She returned his kiss, forgetful of everything else in the bliss of the embrace! It was as though she were starved for his affection, and could not hold out longer against compelling desire. As the passion-fraught kiss terminated, they were both breathless.

  “You’re sweet Ellen!” He held her at arm’s length, his dark gaze penetrating to the very center of her being. Then, he dropped his hands from her shoulders, leaned over and lightly brushed her eager lips with his own hard ones. “ ’Til later, honey,” he whispered, meaningly.

  Then, with a short laugh, McKane left her alone with her thoughts.

  Chapter 3: Taking The Initiative

  SOON after the departure of the young detective, Ellen returned to her boudoir, removed the negligée from her shapely body, and donned cachet black and white silk pajamas.

  She sighed deeply as she relaxed upon the bed for a bit of deep, purposeful thinking. The thrilling contact with Roge McKane’s well-knit masculinity had left her breathless; vaguely cognizant of the emptiness of her lonely existence.

  Ellen shrugged off the feeling after a while and concentrated upon the problem before her.

  Slowly, intelligently, her keen brain clicked over every detail of the detective’s disclosures, and the evident dilemma that faced her. Without a doubt, this was the greatest crisis of a life of crises! It would require a great deal more concentration and daring to extricate herself from the difficulty than she had ever been called upon to display before.

  After a bit of thought, the bits of the riddle fitted together as readily as the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The politicians, headed by Rob Wyatt, no doubt, were out to get her, and had
somehow used a double in placing the stigma of murder upon the name of The Domino Lady!

  At the same time, they had obtained important state papers to use as they saw fit, thus bringing the dreaded G-men into the case as an added assurance that there should be no escape for The Domino Lady!

  It all looked mighty dark and hopeless to the little adventuress. This trip north had promised to be a most pleasant interlude with Roge McKane whom she had always liked since her carefree co-ed days at Berkeley, when the former had been a handsome back-field ace at Saint Mary’s. But in a few short hours, it had turned out to be an inescapable murder trap of alarming perfection!

  But petite Ellen Patrick was made of stern stuff for all her innate charm and loveliness. Although the plot seemed to hedge her in with small chance for escape, its very diabolical cunning aroused the Irish blood in her veins which had been a heritage from her fighting father, and made her determined to clear the name of The Domino Lady, at the same time placing the blame where it rightfully belonged!

  The task was nigh impossible, she knew, but that fact detracted nothing from her determination.

  She had little to work with save the few remarks dropped by Roge McKane, and no one to aid her in her campaign. However, as evening came on, she had formulated a plan which, for sheer daring, far outclassed anything she had ever attempted in the past. Yet, desperate as it appeared to be, Ellen felt slight fear as to its ultimate outcome as she dressed and prepared to put it into execution!

  A LONE light at the street intersection touched the surroundings with a weird glow as a cool breeze wafted along Pacific Avenue. Ellen Patrick sat in a powerful and speedy car, in the shadows of an alley entrance, watching Rob Wyatt’s Frisco mansion with the aid of a pair of strong night glasses.

  She was dressed in the customary Domino Lady costume; form-fitting, backless frock of white crepe, black, silken cape, with a small, black toque perched jauntily atop her golden coiffure. Her baguette stood at twenty minutes of midnight.

  For some time, she had been watching this house and, shortly before, she had seen a slender feminine figure enter after ringing the doorbell. Momentarily, she hesitated, undetermined whether or not she should venture into the Wyatt house under cover of the darkness.

  At length, Ellen made up her mind with a jerk. She slipped from the car, crossed the street like some phantom of the night. She knew it would be useless to try the front door of Rob Wyatt’s house. That would be barred, equipped with the most modern of locks or safety devices. So she skirted the spacious grounds on noiseless feet, located a convenient window in the rear, and set to work upon it.

  Using a glass cutter and a bit of gum, she cut a small circle in the glass and extracted it without noise.

  Then, she extended an expert hand through the opening, felt with skilled fingers until she had located and disconnected the burglar alarm. Then, she slid the window upward, eased her palpitant figure over into the blackness of the interior!

  Ellen listened intently, as her trembling fingers fastened the tiny black domino mask into place over her great eyes. She had the feeling that she was alone. Digging into her spacious evening bag, she extracted the little automatic which was her constant companion on her every daring foray. She tested the weapon with her fingers, made sure it was ready for swift use.

  For she was far from certain that she would not have use for it before the night was ended! Constant practice had made her adept with the weapon, and now, as she fingered it, the cold of the corrugated rubber butt put confidence into her churning blood, cooled her for what action might lie directly ahead!

  Sure that the gun was ready, Ellen played the light of her pencil flash along the floor as she ventured slowly forward. Cautiously, she worked her way to where the front stairs wound upward in the darkness. The gleam from her torch played over the massive front door directly before her. Abruptly, she tensed at the sound of voices coming to her ears from the floor above!

  The heavy rumble of a man’s bass, and the shrill soprano of an hysterical woman. Ellen’s brown eyes flicked open and shut with excitement. She couldn’t make out the words, but she recognized the voice of Rob Wyatt!

  Ellen paused, hesitant, her foot upon the lowest step. She could see the glow of light from a room on the right side of the upper corridor.

  Dare she venture upward and attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation? The total darkness of the lower floor was a welcome blanket, and she was reluctant to leave its ambient protection.

  Abruptly, the woman’s voice rose an octave. It was almost a scream now. There came to Ellen’s ears the sound of movement in that upper room, then the unmistakable noise of a struggle.

  SUDDENLY, the lights clicked out on the floor above, and there was the blast of pistol fire! Came a second shot, and then absolute silence for a moment or two.

  Ellen retreated from the staircase, her luscious mouth hardening to a grim line of cerise, and listened intently.

  She was sheltered from view by the balustrade and an overhanging potted plant. The ominous stillness of the midnight hour was broken by the high-pitched scream of a woman; a scream that was terror-fraught, penetrating.

  A crash reverberated throughout the house, the sound ricocheting downward to the tensed adventuress. Then, as suddenly as they were switched off, the upper lights clicked on again.

  The screams were more muffled now, but they did not cease entirely. Ellen crouched in silence and waited for developments. She hadn’t long to wait. The figure of a girl, as slimly graceful as an arrow, came down the stair toward her, and Ellen stared in disbelief.

  The descending girl was an exact duplicate of herself! Of the same height and coloring, her shapely figure was clad in a white crepe evening frock, backless, and held to her shoulders in a halter neck effect. Over it, she affected a black silken cape. A small black domino mask covered the upper half of the girl’s features, and her eyes were gleaming wildly through the holes therein. She had evidently been in a struggle in that upper room as the front of her frock was badly disarranged, revealing smooth expanses of white shoulder and bosom to Ellen’s eyes. The fleeing girl was breathless, and her fingers trembled so that it was only with the greatest of difficulty that she manipulated the spring lock on the outer door.

  The Domino Lady’s Double!

  Somehow, Ellen had figured there was some such person mixed up in the killing at the Japanese Legation headquarters.

  But when she had been brought unexpectedly face to face with her, the sudden shock had held her spellbound. The girl was vanishing through the yawning street door before Ellen had recovered her emotional equilibrium sufficiently to call out, or stop her. For an instant, Ellen debated whether or not to pursue the mysterious person who so closely resembled her. But a moment’s thought decided her against it. A conviction came to her that here was the house in which the secrets of the last twenty-four hours might be uncovered.

  The upper floor was pregnant with an ominous silence; the ghastly, terror-fraught silence of the tomb.

  Ellen went upward cautiously, the little automatic held in readiness. She reached the level of the second floor, glided softly into the room of the open door. She knew at once that she was in a chamber of death!

  Rob Wyatt had been a handsome fellow in the full flush of rugged manhood. He had been tall with a finely-drawn, rather nervous face, thin lips, a high-bridged, arrogant nose; a man of queer charm and strange moods, admired for his nerve and his attainments in the big game field, feared for his inherent cruelty of nature, loved hopelessly by many women in his life of whose existence he at times seemed utterly unaware.

  But now his lanky figure was anything but handsome as it sprawled upon the bloodstained rug at the end of its mortal activities. There was a wrist bag upon the rug, too, its contents half spilled. Ellen stooped and recovered the bag, scooping the articles into it. There were cards in the bag that identified the owner, and brought a tight little smile of grim satisfaction to the face of the little adventuress!


  There was an open safe across the room. From its appearance, it had recently been rifled. Ellen wasted no time on it. She realized full well the futility of such a move. Anything worthwhile had been removed.

  Chapter 4: Ellen’s Double

  SHE slipped the wrist bag inside the black cape, dropped it into a spacious pocket, and turned to the door. Abruptly, she tensed. The sound of the front door being opened came to her ears!

  Voices!

  Swiftly, she glided forward, peered downward into the darkened stairwell. Police! Two uniformed, officers had entered through the front door, and were climbing stairs toward the lighted room — and her! She, The Domino Lady, was hopelessly trapped; trapped in the room of violent death! Ellen’s heart went cold as she contemplated the utter futility of attempting to escape!

  For an instant of indecision, Ellen stood, brown eyes gleaming wildly through the slits in the domino.

  Her heart was racing madly beneath her quivering breast. Then, with a gasping intake of breath, she pivoted on stilted heels and looked desperately about. There was a door on one side of the room which gave into a tiny closet. Ellen, grasping at straws, hurriedly sought the doubtful shelter of this small nook. She was not a moment too soon. The two heavy-footed policemen barged into the room. Ellen heard their exclamation of surprise as their eyes took in the scene before them.

  “It’s murder, Mac!” exclaimed the taller of the two as he looked down at the figure of Rob Wyatt.

  Ellen could see both officers from her place of concealment through the narrow crack she had left in the door. “Shot right through the pump! Deader’n a mackerel!”

  “Yeah,” returned the other officer, evenly, “and I’ll bet a month’s pay that safe’s been cleaned, too. It’s standing open. Guess it’s a case of robbery, eh, Dean?”

  “Un-hunh,” grunted Dean, as he looked about. “Well, this looks like a job for Fentriss and his boys, Mac. You wait here while I see if I can find a phone downstairs. I’ll call Homicide.”