Then he reached out to search Nace.
Nace blew smoke in his face.
The man cursed, straightened, and brought up a hand to knock the cigar out of Nace’s teeth.
There was a loud crack. Sparks, tobacco, geysered from the end of Nace’s cigar.
The masked man jabbed both hands convulsively in the air. He slanted stiffly backward, as if his heels were hinged to the floor. In his forehead, on the right side, where it had penetrated the brain, was a circular hole somewhat more than an eighth of an inch across.
He crashed his length on the floor, hitting so hard that his heels flew up, then banged back.
Nace took the remains of the cigar out of his teeth, pinched out flaming shreds of tobacco, and pocketed it. The firing barrel inside the cigar, chambered for a .22-long-rifle cartridge, was expensive. Another cigar could be built around it. The thing was fired by a hard pressure of the teeth.
Stooping, Nace started to strip off the mask. Then he hesitated, eyed the girl, and asked, “Want to bet that I can’t name him?”
She shuddered. “Don’t be dramatic!”
He shucked off the mask.
The cherubic, Santa Claus features of Ebenezer App, white beard and all, were disclosed.
The Robin Hood, rearing up from the floor, cried out, “For yellin’ out loud! The last hombre on earth that I suspected!”
“Sly old duck — he was!” Nace said grimly. He looked at the Robin Hood. “He owes his downfall to you!”
The bandit glared. “You’re nuts! I didn’t even suspect—”
“Maybe not! But it was your finagling around with me when I first got here that started App worrying. He thought I smelled a rat, because I hadn’t reported to him. He decided to fake his own death and clear out, I guess.
“Probably that body on Eleventh Street is one of his own men who was about his build. He dumped the fellow in oil, then took him out and bundled some white whiskers in with the body.”
Julia walked to the door and outside. She didn’t like to look at dead men. She called back, “But you said you suspected who it was?”
“Sure!” Nace grunted. “When App told me over the phone that he knew who was behind the hot-oil business, he wouldn’t say who it was. That was queer. It occurred to me that the old goat just wanted me to hurry over and find out he was kidnapped!”
Swinging over, Nace began untying the Robin Hood and his two men.
“What’re you going to do?” snarled the bandit.
“Let you go bye-bye! You did save my life, you know!”
The Robin Hood purpled. “By hell, I wish I’d let the guy slug you with his shotgun when he looked under the flivver! I like you less than any guy I ever saw!”
“Just a pal!” Nace jeered.
“If I ever catch you with a gun, I’m gonna kill you!” the Oklahoma outlaw yelled.
In the distance somewhere, a police siren was wailing. That would be Jaxon and his policemen.
Leaving the bandit and his two men to get to their feet and finish untying themselves, Nace went to the body of Ebenezer App. He searched briefly — found a twin to the automatic which the man carried and dropped when he died. Nace picked up both guns.
He examined the weapons. Both were clipped full of cartridges.
He tossed one to the Robin Hood.
The bandit caught it. He stared, surprised. “What the—”
Nace rapped angrily, “You’ve been shooting off that mouth about what you’d do if you ever caught me with a gun! Well—”
“You’re askin’ for it!” the outlaw ripped. He jutted the gun at Nace.
There was a terrific roar — two shots, almost one, but with a slight stutter which marked a shade in timing.
The Robin Hood squawled. He waved his gun hand madly over his head. It was mangled, and scattered scarlet drops over walls and ceiling.
His automatic skittered along the wall behind him.
Without a word, but with an expression of agonizing chagrin on his wolf face, the Robin Hood whirled and dived through a window. His two men followed him. Running rapidly, they were soon lost to sight.
Nace went to the door.
Blond Julia gave him a disapproving frown.
“Dramatics!” she snapped. “Some day, that stuff is going to be your finish!”
Nace pretended he hadn’t heard, and watched a police phaeton moan up the hill and careen into the drive. Dapper Jaxon sprang out, along with numerous policemen. The oil editor was like a peacock hen with a brood of blue chicks.
“Hot after his ten thousand!” Nace said dryly. “Speaking of dramatics — you’re gonna hear ’em when he finds his bird has flown!”
The Flaming Mask
The Chicago World’s Fair had a new and amazing attraction — a red-hot meteor. Buried in this molten mausoleum was a man’s skull, and a square-cut diamond. The papers played it up as an unlucky planet dweller hurled earthward to doom. But Lee Nace, ace detective, doubted that star dwellers wore square-cut diamonds — and he went out to take a look for himself. It was then that he came face to face with — the flaming mask.
Chapter I
The Hell Heat
The alleged meteor fell slightly after midnight. The morning papers carried a story about it. The item was interesting. But it was not half as arresting as the astounding and horrible discovery which was made a bit later.
Agency Detective Lee Nace read the papers that morning. There was also a short double paragraph about himself. It was on the front page, and said Nace, renowned sleuth whom Scotland Yard had once kept in England for a time as consultant, had stopped off in town to see the Century of Progress. The meteor item was on an inside page.
Nace clipped the bit about himself, filed it in a brief case. That kind of publicity was good for his business.
The alleged meteor was taken to the Century of Progress grounds for exhibition. That afternoon, a scientist put it under a powerful X-ray. What he saw caused the scientist’s eyes to pop. He called wildly to his associates.
A portion of a human skull was embedded in the upper part of the supposed meteor. Inside the skull were what appeared to be brains, thoroughly cooked.
In the lower portion of the meteor was a diamond. The gem was cut with large facets, a setting from a ring, perhaps.
The skull was that of a man.
Nace went out to look. No one invited him. Nobody paid him. He was simply interested in unusual murders. This looked like one.
Of course, the newspaper scribes wondered — in front page print — if the meteor was not a fallen star, and the skull that of an unlucky dweller from another planet. Nace doubted that star dwellers wore square-cut diamonds.
The alleged meteor was a tub-sized blob of metal. Its surface was bulbous, pocked, and vaguely remindful of distorted pictures of the moon. The scientists were uncertain just what kind of metal it was.
The meteor had been found in swanky Lincoln Park. It had given off a great, white-hot light which had emblazoned the apartment houses facing the park. It was still red-hot when they found it.
Some persons claimed they had seen it flash across the sky. These individuals became doubtful when pressed for details. Maybe it had not blazed through the heavens, they admitted.
The scientists, at the suggestion of the police, decided to drill in and get the diamond.
Nace stood and watched.
“So this is the way we’re going to spend our time at the Century of Progress!” complained Julia.
Julia was Nace’s red-headed assistant. She was stunning in gray sports frock and tiny hat. She carried a large pancake compact, the new type. She might have been a society deb.