The Dark Death

CHAPTER XIV. DARK DEATH STRIKES

CUYLER WELLINGTON was standing by the roulette table in the gambling room of the Club Cadiz.

The apparatus had been raised on its elevator, ready for the evening’s play. That measure had been taken before the admission of the customers.

Even though he knew the secret of the device, Willington was unable to note the marks on the carpeting that indicated the edges of the elevator platform.

Smiling, he was pleased with the ingenuity of Nicky Donarth’s contraption.

Tony Luggeto was operating the roulette wheel. His dark face suave, the man from Monte Carlo was eyeing Willington, constantly ready for the signal. Tony had fallen completely for Willington’s story. He was sure that the device under the roulette wheel was meant to control the play.

Tony’s eyelids flickered as he looked toward the outer door. Willington noted it, but did not turn. He was not surprised when a friendly hand clapped him on the back. He looked around to face the grinning, dusky countenance of Gyp Tangoli.

“Hello, Cuyler,” greeted Gyp, in a low tone. “Where have you been, old man? Hardly ever see you nowadays.”

Willington responded with a contemptuous grimace. He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the play. Gyp edged beside him and spoke again.

“Don’t know an old friend?” he asked, in a voice that was slightly gruff.

“I choose my associates,” responded Willington, quietly. “You have the same privilege, Tangoli.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Gyp, trying to honey his tone. “After me running a speak and handling a racket, I guess I’m not good enough for swell company. So long, old man.”

With that, Gyp turned away from the roulette table. He went over to a corner, cashed in some money and received a batch of slugs. He began to play them in a slot machine.

Another flicker from Tony Luggeto’s eyelids. This time the roulette operator’s lips moved. They formed the name:

“Turk Berchler.”

The second enemy had arrived. Willington gave a slight nod. He placed new money on the board and adjusted a cigarette in his holder while Tony was spinning the wheel.

“Having luck, Mr. Willington?” It was Nicky Donarth who asked the question.

Willington nodded as he turned to shake hands with the proprietor. Then Nicky spoke in an undertone.

“I saw that fellow talking to you,” he said. “They call him Gyp Tangoli. Sort of a cheap racketeer who comes in here once in a while. I don’t like him to be around.”

“I don’t blame you,” returned Willington.

“I’ve been troubled by those fellows,” added Nicky. “Not in a business way, you understand, but just because they want to mix with the regular clientele. I’d like to talk to you about it. A friend gave me a suggestion to get rid of them. I’d like your advice.”

“Glad to give it, Nicky.”

“Thanks. I’ve left my office open. Drop in there when you have a chance. I’d appreciate it.”

“Very well.”

Nicky walked away. Willington glanced toward Tony. He saw his spy’s lips move. Tony was phrasing the words:

“Don’t go.”

WILLINGTON smiled slightly. He began to study the play about the table. More than a dozen people were in the game. One was a mustached South American, whom Willington recognized as an ex-official of one of the southern republics. With him was a girl of Spanish appearance; an attractive brunette.

Other women present were blondes, with one exception. This was a girl who was talking French to a companion. She was a pronounced brunette. Among the men was a sallow, nervous-looking chap.

Willington recognized him also. Eustis Thaling, nephew of a wealthy railroad official.

All at the table appeared anxious to continue their play. The evening was young. The crowd would increase, not thin. Willington shrugged his shoulders. These people meant nothing to him.

Nicky Donarth had visited the office. He was coming back to stand near the table. Turk Berchler had edged up. He was watching the play. Willington glanced about and saw Gyp Tangoli strolling over from the slot machines.

Willington made a mental calculation. The edges of the room, where the slot machines stood, might be beyond the range of the Q-ray. Gyp Tangoli, passing the end of the table, had stopped to jingle slugs which he still held.

Chances were that he would go back to a slot machine; not remain at the roulette table. The time had arrived for action. Willington looked about, spied Nicky close by and made a remark to the proprietor.

“I’ll be in your office shortly.” he said.

“Good.” responded Nick.

Willington noted Gyp Tangoli about to turn away from the far end of the roulette table. He glanced quickly at Tony Luggeto and caught the fellow’s eye. Then, with a slight raise of his hand, Willington crossed two fingers. Tony reached beneath the wheel and pressed the switch.

As Tony made the move, Willington stepped away, strolling slowly toward the office. He saw Turk Berchler watching him. He caught Nicky Donarth’s gaze. Willington spied Gyp Tangoli, on the move toward a slot machine.

THEN came chaos. Death struck with a suddenness that even Willington could not have anticipated, despite Brophy’s claims for the power of the Q-ray. Tony Luggeto, closest to the hidden death machine, slumped without a murmur.

The South American official sprawled across the board, money dropping from his hand. A gasp came from the lips of the Spanish brunette. That was all the girl uttered as she fell. Eustis Thaling toppled suddenly.

The French girl placed her hands to her heart. Her conversation ended as she swayed and fell sidewise.

At the end of the table, Turk Berchler gave a sour, painful grimace and slumped out of view.

Other persons stood astounded. They were of light complexion. Their voices rose in anguished cries as they saw the hideous fate that had suddenly gripped their companions.

Cuyler Willington glanced quickly toward the wall. He saw Gyp Tangoli standing there. The fellow had somehow reached a slot machine.

Willington clenched his fists. Was Gyp out of range? Hardly; but it was possible. At least the ray would not get him as quickly as the others. Willington decided to make for the office. If Gyp should follow him, he would probably come closer to the effect of the Q-ray.

As Willington turned away, hands suddenly clutched him. He swung. The hands relaxed their hold. It was Nicky Donarth. Succumbing to the effects of the ray, the portly proprietor had made a grab for the person nearest to him.

Willington drew away. Nicky sprawled dead, his dark face grotesque. Quickly, Willington turned and dashed toward the office door.

Reaching his objective, he entered the lighted room and found the switch beneath Nicky’s desk. He pressed it, to lower the roulette table. In the drawer he found Nicky’s keys. He sprang to the door at the left and unlocked it. He leaped through and closed the steel barrier behind him. He shot the bolt; then headed down the steps.

In the gaming room, horrified people were drawing away from the table where death reigned. They were clustering toward the outer door, seeking an exit. The dark-faced man whom Nicky had stationed there came pressing forward, seeking to stop the exodus. Suddenly he slumped to the floor. He had come within the range of the deadly Q-ray.

Someone reached the door and managed to unlock it. In a panic, the survivors went shrieking out into the night club. Their wild cries caused chaos there. Men who had seen death in the gaming room stopped attendants who were about to enter. The panic spread.

All in the night club headed for the exits, as though the place had been stricken by a plague, with the gaming room as its center. They chose the exits most distant from that point as they heard the wild cries of those who had seen.

“Death! Death!”

One man alone stood in the gaming room. That man was Gyp Tangoli. He had drawn back to the wall; with arms outstretched, he was pressed against a slot machine. Even to his evil eyes, this scene was amazing. Stricken victims, lying against and about the roulette table.

Nicky Donarth was dead. So was Turk Berchler. Gyp Tangoli, alone alive, still stared. Then he saw the roulette table begin to move downward. He gazed, puzzled. Bodies began to follow the table as it descended into the floor. They were stopped suddenly. As the top of the table cleared a point two feet below the floor, the sides of a trap came bobbing up with spring-like action.

The rising sections of the floor caught the falling bodies and lifted them. They rolled, almost like drowned corpses in the swell of moving waves; then became still.

Gyp Tangoli came suddenly to action. He sprang to the spot where Nicky Donarth lay. He found a key in the dead proprietor’s vest pocket. Seizing it, Gyp dashed to the office. He found the door latched.

Cuyler Willington had attended to that matter. Gyp unlocked the door and entered.

Tumult was sounding from the outside night club. Policemen were fighting their way through the hordes of frantic customers who were battling to gain the exits. There was an outlet at the side, not far from the entrance to the gaming room; but only a few had fled from this exit that lay so near the entrance to the dread room of death.

Blackness emerged suddenly from that unused exit. A figure moved into view. The cloaked form of The Shadow became visible in this deserted spot.

Swiftly, The Shadow swept through the door to the gaming room. His burning eyes saw the bodies on the floor.

Stepping forward. The Shadow eyed dead faces. The whisper that came from his unseen lips was one of grim, fierce understanding. Instantly the link had leaped to his mind. He knew what had caused the death of these victims, all of dark complexion.

Pounding footsteps from the night club. The police had broken through. The Shadow’s gaze swept round about. He pictured the spot where the roulette wheel had been. He knew that the menace was gone.

Swiftly, he headed for the office; he stepped through the unlocked outer door, to the passage beyond.

He tried the inner door; the actual office entrance. It was latched. The Shadow produced a pick.

Police had stopped on the threshold of the gaming room. Their mad dash had ended. The Shadow had counted upon that occurrence. Though accustomed to the sight of death, the bluecoats were stunned by the unaccountable scene that lay before them.

Dark, mysterious death. The incredible result was something that men of the law could not fathom. They waited, wondering what to do, how to move, not realizing that someone had arrived upon the scene before them.

Meanwhile, The Shadow, glimmering his tiny flashlight in the short passage to the office, was working upon the strong lock of Nicky Donarth’s door. For The Shadow knew the cause of murder that had struck. He was seeking the fiend who had delivered death and fled.