Nace knew burglar alarms utilizing a beam of invisible ultra-violet light impinging upon a photo-electric cell were in common use. Interrupting the unseen light beam operated the alarm. The chemical on Nace’s wire was one that fluoresced, or glowed, when exposed to ultra-violet light. It did not glow now.
Apparently there was no unseen alarm. He entered.
The room, a parlor of some sort, smelled of an Oriental incense. His unaided ear could now detect the ticking of one clock. The gurgling radiator was in this room, also. Evidently the heat was on so as to dispel the cool dampness of the sea breeze.
Out of the capacious zipper carry-all, Nace picked a small cardboard carton. He strewed the contents of this on the rug behind him as he crossed the room. It was ordinary corn flakes, which would crackle loudly if stepped upon.
The darkness was intense; the overpowering strength of the incense made breathing unpleasant. Just as the exterior of the strange house was coffinlike, so was the interior like an Oriental sepulchre.
Nace calculated, decided the room where the orange light burned was to the right, and headed in that direction. He was resolved to wait there for the return of the mysterious Reel and Hoo Li. They seemed the only link to the woman — Rosa Andricksen.
He entered a hallway. Ahead, he discovered the light. A crack of it marked the lower edge of a door. He advanced, still strewing the corn flakes.
He was reaching for the knob when there came a faint crunching sound behind him. Some one stepping upon the corn flakes!
HE twisted the head of his flash, which prepared it for the throwing of a wide beam. He extended it. His thumb sought the button. But he did not press it.
Instead, he leaped high in the air.
The encounter with the cobra had sharpened his already keen alertness. He had heard a scraping noise underfoot — his first thought was to get somewhere else as soon as possible. It might be another snake.
An instant later he knew it was no reptile — the thing slapped noisily against a wall. A disgusted gasp followed.
Nace guessed that a loop of wire had been spread on the hallway floor. His jump had saved his ankles from being trapped.
He sprayed his flash beam. But he was off balance, and the light spouted in the wrong direction. It did disclose the wire loop, however, still squirming and dancing where it had fallen after being jerked. It was common wire clothesline.
Nace’s flash splattered a door just as it was shutting. He caught no glimpse of the person who had gone through. A key rattled in the door lock.
Nace took two fast steps, a jump — hit the door feet first, legs stiff. There was a crack. The panel, shucking free of its hinges, lowered like a drawbridge — and carried Nace, sled-fashion, down a flight of stairs, finally dumping him on a cool concrete basement floor.
He had bargained on nothing like this — he only wanted the door open. He came to his feet like a sprinter, high-jumped the first six stairs of the flight down which he had slid, barked his shins, swore, and made the top in two more jumps.
Drawing a tear-gas gun, constructed to resemble a fountain pen, he fired it down into the basement.
Some of the gas was bound to swirl back into the hallway. He ran to the door behind which burned the orange light. Might as well take a look there while there was time!
He entered, blinking owlishly, eyes roving.
The place seemed a combination of a sleeping room and study. There were a desk, smoking stands, easy chairs, in addition to a bed. The bedstead was big, old-fashioned, a fourposter affair with a canopy.
On it lay a sheet-swathed form.
Nace advanced, saw a cane lying on the desk, picked it up and used it to lift an end of the sheet.
The body underneath was that of a man of rather stout build. He was perhaps fifty. His hair and close-clipped moustache were gray.
Upon the man’s chest lay an assembly of green bones — the framework of a human leg. The tips of the toe bones, filed sharp, bore sticky brown smears. The points were not, however, embedded in the man’s rather swarthy features.
Nace lifted the bones gingerly, using his handkerchief to keep his hand from contacting them. He sniffed of the brownish stains. There was an almond odor, very faint.
“Some poison with prussic acid in it,” he decided. “Prussic is usually blue, but this is mixed with some brown stuff, maybe molasses.”
Shuffling steps, a series of choking gasps, came from the hallway.
Nace, smiling fiercely, the adder scar on his forehead glowing red, fished a pair of handcuffs from a hip pocket. He was careful not to let the links chink together. The bracelets were the type that closed and locked automatically when slapped against a wrist.
He dashed the manacles against the wrist of the man on the bed — wrenched hard and snapped the other ring to the stout headpost of the bed.
The prone man came to life, emitting a frenzied scream.
He must have screamed in hopes of startling Nace, for his eyes, open and dark, looked quite sane. Whatever his object was, it did him no good.
“Damn you!” he shrieked, and kicked at Nace. The gaunt detective dodged.
The fellow on the bed flounced about. He grasped the green skeleton leg and flung it at Nace. Nace dodged. The bones, hooked together cleverly with wire, clattered loudly against the wall and fell to the floor.
The man continued to convulse like an animal in a trap. In an instant, his free hand came up with a gun. He had been reposing upon it.
The weapon tangled in the bed clothing. Lunging, Nace captured the gun wrist. He twisted. The man on the bed screamed again. This time he had a reason, for Nace’s bony hands were capable of opening horseshoes.
Nace had the gun when he backed away. He unloaded it as he backed to the desk. He struck the weapon, broken open, upon the desk. The blow was terrific. The steel bit deeply into the hardwood. Nace hit again. That smashed twisted barrel and cylinder upon the frame so they would not close together properly. He flung the useless revolver into a corner.
Moving swiftly, Nace went to the door.
There was a girl in the hall, blinded by the tear gas. It was obviously she who had fled into the basement after trying unsuccessfully to snare his feet in the clothesline loop.
She was trying to get out through the front door.
There was some tear gas in the hall, seepage from the basement.
Shutting his eyes, Nace ran to the girl, captured her arm and jerked her back into the room where the orange light glowed.
She struck madly at him. Her fists landed twice before he ducked away. He shut the hall door.
The girl was worth the look he gave her. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a trace of suntan. She had an excellent figure.
“Rosa Andricksen?” Nace asked sharply.
She said nothing, but rubbed briskly at her eyes, accelerating the tear flow in hopes of soon clearing her vision. She wore a gray sport dress, very trim.
Nace waited five minutes, seven, ten. The man on the bed squirmed, fought the handcuffs. But there was scant chance of his getting away. He said nothing, except to vent hisses of rage.
Once Nace asked him, “Are you Reel?”
The man only snarled.
The girl began to be able to see.
“I am Lee Nace!” Nace told her.
She did not answer. Turning slowly, she eyed the man on the bed. Her movements were graceful.
Then she sprang headlong at Nace.
Chapter IV
Sinister People
Her struggle was silent, ferocious. She took Nace a little by surprise and he was on the floor before he recovered himself. She was strong. He had fought lots of men who were easier to handle.