“I got no further, for he interrupted me by bursting into laughter. ‘Grimes — Grimes!’ he chortled. ‘You think that I am old man Grimes! By the Almighty! That’s good.’
“And still laughing to himself, he disappeared behind the curtain.
“But that is not all. The affair is growing more puzzling every minute. I am more convinced than ever that he is insane—or a drug fiend. For hardly had he disappeared before he returned, his entire manner changed, his body shaking nervously. Once more he was the feeble old man—or the hysterical woman. Without a word, he strode across the cave to the bruised and mutilated body of McGinnis and stood for a second, looking down at it, his shoulders hunched, his entire attitude that of great sorrow and dejection. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
“As he disappeared behind the curtain, I will swear that I heard him sobbing. Yes, crying like a woman. And, what is more, I am certain that I heard him murmur as he went down the passageway:
“ ‘Murder! Murder! A second murder! First Backus and now this poor, misguided creature! Great God in Heaven! Will it never end?’
“Can this be the man who, not ten minutes before, brutally jested as he looked upon the cold, dead clay that had done his bidding? It is beyond me.”
Chapter XII
Shortly after writing the above, I talked the matter over with Travis. He concurred with me fully that something was strangely amiss with the man. He, however, did not agree with me that the masked leader was a drug addict, being more of the opinion that he was insane. He stated that he, as well as the others, had noticed other eccentricities on the part of their chief, but never so marked as on the occasion just referred to.
The day passed uneventfully, my guards whiling the time away playing cards, smoking and sleeping. There was nothing else for them to do and, like myself, the time hung heavily on their hands. Meanwhile, I seized upon this as a good time to spread my seeds of discord, using the masked man’s peculiarities as a basis on which to work. They said little, but I could see that the seed was not sown on unfertile ground, for never is a man so ripe for dissention and mutiny as when his mind is unoccupied. In this, the masked mystery showed the one big mistake in his leadership—he did not give his men enough work. It was his Achilles heel — my sole salvation if I was to save my own skin—and I seized upon it.
“The Man in the Black Mask” failed to show himself until shortly after dusk when, just as we had completed our supper, he suddenly made his appearance and brusquely ordered Johnson and Snell to dig a shallow grave on the hillside.
They were about to comply when he turned upon Jenkins, who was whetting a carving knife, preparatory to cutting some bacon for breakfast.
“Jenkins,” he snapped, “what did you knife ‘Mac’ for? No lying. Tell me the truth!”
The big negro dropped his work suddenly, his face taking on a grayish tinge. The perspiration came out on his forehead in great beads. He shook like a leaf, the cigarette he was smoking dropping from his thick lips.
“Fo’ de Lord, sah, I didn’t do it,” he responded.
The leader’s eyes glistened through the slits in his mask as he took a step closer to the colored man. He reminded me of a snake about to strike. I could see the men’s faces grow tense, yet so strong was his command over them that not a word was spoken.
“You lie, damn you!” he snarled at the negro. “I’ve been doing a little investigating. I’ve found the place where he was killed—your tracks are there in the sand. I know that they are yours, for I’ve compared them with measurements.
“Let me tell you something, you skunk,” he went on, shaking his finger under the black’s nose. “You attempted to sneak up the passageway last night in an effort to find where I went to. You disobeyed orders in so doing. You wanted to turn state’s evidence if occasion ever demanded. McGinnis saw you and followed. He was an honest man—even if he was a crook. He overtook you and accused you of trying to spy on me. You turned on him and, in the fight which followed, you went after him with your razor. When you had him down you finished him with your knife. He was unarmed and stood no show. It’s all written there in the sand as plainly as if I’d seen you do it.”
Before he could continue, the big black was upon him, knife upraised, bellowing like a maniac. The masked man’s gun was out in an instant, spitting lead in a stream, but not soon enough to stop the negro’s mad rush.
The knife plunged half a dozen times despite the fact that the frenzied black was mortally wounded. We, who had dodged out of range of the bullets, leaped forward as the two men fell to the ground together—but too late.
Bleeding from half a dozen wounds, the masked man dragged himself to his feet and, before we could interfere, he placed his gun against the head of his late antagonist and pulled the trigger, splattering out the negro’s brains.
Then he hurled the weapon aside and, with a ghastly attempt at raillery, murmured:
“He got me. Damn him! He got me. The play’s over. The curtain’s about to drop. Larson, you win after all!”
With a convulsive shudder, he fell across the body of the man he had killed and who had, in turn, killed him.
Chapter XIII
Came another surprise. For, with a shrill, piercing scream, the masked man’s double appeared from around the corner of a projecting rock and, throwing his arms about the neck of the dead man, sobbed like a little child. We were petrified with astonishment.
And, at the same instant, from the tunnel behind the curtain, emerged a similar form. He dashed into the group. Then, as he saw his two doubles, he stepped back, too astonished for the instant for utterance.
“My God! Is she dead?” he whispered, huskily.
He jerked the mask from his face and disclosed the wrinkled visage of — President John Grimes.
“Quick, men!” he snapped. “For her sake—for the sake of Joan—I’ll save you. Scatter down the tunnels. Hide yourselves somewhere — anywhere! They’re coming—the officers! Some one has betrayed you. The cave is surrounded!”
Before he could continue, there came a glad scream from the masked man who was bending over the dead leader, and Joan Marne, her mask falling from her face, threw her arms about her uncle’s neck, sobbing with happiness.
“Hands up! All of you!”
From every direction armed men poured into the cave, surrounding us, menacing us with their guns, taking us all prisoners. And, at their head was the man who had given the terse command — Innis, the company attorney — the man I had suspected of being the “Man in the Black Mask” himself.
He stepped over to me and seized me by the hand.
“Congratulations, Larson,” he said. “Burke got your letter, but we had already paid over the money. However, we’ll probably be able to recover it, for I see that our masked mystery is dead, and it’s probably hidden about the cave somewhere. How in the world did you smuggle the note out, and why didn’t you send it to Grimes or me instead of a white-livered calf like Burke? The mere fact that you sent the warning to him scared him half out of his wits. It’s a wonder he gave it to me at all—the sneaking, little coward!”
“Burke — letter?” I muttered dazedly. “Why I sent no letter to Burke or anyone else. I’ve been held a prisoner here ever since yesterday afternoon. I’ve had no opportunity to send a letter to any One.”
Both Grimes and the attorney crowded up to me. “But he said you did,” Grimes chattered excitedly. “Bless my soul, if it hasn’t got me puzzled.”
“You and me both,” answered Innis. “But, at any rate, our masked blackmailer has been laid low. Let’s unmask him and see what he looks like.”