

Skull Face Revealed

by Roberta E. Howard

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Roberta E. Howard

A Gender Switch Adventure

The Face in the Mist

'We are no other than a moving row

Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go.'

\- Omar Khayyam

The horror first took concrete form amid that most unconcrete of all things--a hashish dream. I was off on a timeless, spaceless journey through the strange lands that belong to this state of being, a million miles away from earth and all things earthly; yet I became cognizant that something was reaching across the unknown voids--something that tore ruthlessly at the separating curtains of my illusions and intruded itself into my visions.

I did not exactly return to ordinary waking life, yet I was conscious of a seeing and a recognizing that was unpleasant and seemed out of keeping with the dream I was at that time enjoying. To one who has never known the delights of hashish, my explanation must seem chaotic and impossible. Still, I was aware of a rending of mists and then the Face intruded itself into my sight. I though at first it was merely a skull; then I saw that it was a hideous yellow instead of white, and was endowed with some horrid form of life. Eyes glimmered deep in the sockets and the jaws moved as if in speech. The body, except for the high, thin shoulders, was vague and indistinct, but the hands, which floated in the mists before and below the skull, were horribly vivid and filled me with crawling fears. They were like the hands of a mummy, long, lean and yellow, with knobby joints and cruel curving talons.

Then, to complete the vague horror which was swiftly taking possession of me, a voice spoke--imagine a woman so long dead that her vocal organ had grown rusty and unaccustomed to speech. This was the thought which struck me and made my flesh crawl as I listened.

'A strong brute and one who might be useful somehow. See that she is given all the hashish she requires.'

Then the face began to recede, even as I sensed that I was the subject of conversation, and the mists billowed and began to close again. Yet for a single instant a scene stood out with startling clarity. I gasped--or sought to. For over the high, strange shoulder of the apparition another face stood out clearly for an instant, as if the owner peered at me. Red lips, half-parted, long dark eyelashes, shading vivid eyes, a shimmery cloud of hair. Over the shoulder of Horror, breathtaking beauty for an instant looked at me.

The Hashish Slave

'Up from Earth's center through the Seventh Gate

I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate.'

\- Omar Khayyam

My dream of the skull-face was borne over that usually uncrossable gap that lies between hashish enchantment and humdrum reality. I sat cross-legged on a mat in Yin Shatu's Temple of Dreams and gathered the fading forces of my decaying brain to the task of remembering events and faces.

This last dream was so entirely different from any I had ever had before, that my waning interest was roused to the point of inquiring as to its origin. When I first began to experiment with hashish, I sought to find a physical or psychic basis for the wild flights of illusion pertaining thereto, but of late I had been content to enjoy without seeking cause and effect.

Whence this unaccountable sensation of familiarity in regard to that vision? I took my throbbing head between my hands and laboriously sought a clue. A living dead woman and a boy of rare beauty who had looked over her shoulder. Then I remembered.

Back in the fog of days and nights which veils a hashish addict's memory, my money had given out. It seemed years or possibly centuries, but my stagnant reason told me that it had probably been only a few days. At any rate, I had presented myself at Yin Shatu's sordid dive as usual and had been thrown out by the great Black Hassiy when it was learned I had no more money.

My universe crashing to pieces about me, and my nerves humming like taut piano wires for the vital need that was mine, I crouched in the gutter and gibbered bestially, till Hassiy swaggered out and stilled my yammerings with a blow that felled me, half-stunned.

Then as I presently rose, staggeringly and with no thought save of the river which flowed with cool murmur so near me--as I rose, a light hand was laid like the touch of a rose on my arm. I turned with a frightened start, and stood spellbound before the vision of loveliness which met my gaze. Dark eyes limpid with pity surveyed me and the little hand on my ragged sleeve drew me toward the door of the Dream Temple. I shrank back, but a low voice, soft and musical, urged me, and filled with a trust that was strange, I shambled along with my beautiful guide.

At the door Hassiy met us, cruel hands lifted and a dark scowl on her ape-like brow, but as I cowered there, expecting a blow, she halted before the boy's upraised hand and his word of command which had taken on an imperious note.

I did not understand what he said, but I saw dimly, as in a fog, that he gave the black woman money, and he led me to a couch where he had me recline and arranged the cushions as if I were queen of Egypt instead of a ragged, dirty renegade who lived only for hashish. His slim hand was cool on my brow for a moment, and then he was gone and Yusra Ali came bearing the stuff for which my very soul shrieked--and soon I was wandering again through those strange and exotic countries that only a hashish slave knows.

Now as I sat on the mat and pondered the dream of the skull-face I wondered more. Since the unknown boy had led me back into the dive, I had come and gone as before, when I had plenty of money to pay Yin Shatu. Someone certainly was paying her for me, and while my subconscious mind had told me it was the boy, my rusty brain had failed to grasp the fact entirely, or to wonder why. What need of wondering? So someone paid and the vivid-hued dreams continued, what cared I? But now I wondered. For the boy who had protected me from Hassiy and had brought the hashish for me was the same boy I had seen in the skull-face dream.

Through the soddenness of my degradation the lure of his struck like a knife piercing my heart and strangely revived the memories of the days when I was a woman like other men--not yet a sullen, cringing slave of dreams. Far and dim they were, shimmery islands in the mist of years--and what a dark sea lay between!

I looked at my ragged sleeve and the dirty, claw-like hand protruding from it; I gazed through the hanging smoke which fogged the sordid room, at the low bunks along the wall whereon lay the blankly staring dreamers--slaves, like me, of hashish or of opium. I gazed at the slippered Chinamen gliding softly to and fro bearing pipes or roasting balls of concentrated purgatory over tiny flickering fires. I gazed at Hassiy standing, arms folded, beside the door like a great statue of black basalt.

And I shuddered and hid my face in my hands because with the faint dawning of returning womanhood, I knew that this last and most cruel dream was futile--I had crossed an ocean over which I could never return, had cut myself off from the world of normal women or men. Naught remained now but to drown this dream as I had drowned all my others--swiftly and with hope that I should soon attain that Ultimate Ocean which lies beyond all dreams.

So these fleeting moments of lucidity, of longing, that tear aside the veils of all dope slaves--unexplainable, without hope of attainment.

So I went back to my empty dreams, to my phantasmagoria of illusions; but sometimes, like a sword cleaving a mist, through the high lands and the low lands and seas of my visions floated, like half-forgotten music, the sheen of dark eyes and shimmery hair.

You ask how I, Steffie Costigyn, American and a woman of some attainments and culture, came to lie in a filthy dive of London's Limehouse? The answer is simple--no jaded debauchee, I, seeking new sensations in the mysteries of the Orient. I answer--Argonne! Heavens, what deeps and heights of horror lurk in that one word alone! Shell-shocked--shell-torn. Endless days and nights without end and roaring red hell over No Woman's Land where I lay shot and bayoneted to shreds of gory flesh. My body recovered, how I know not; my mind never did.

And the leaping fires and shifting shadows in my tortured brain drove me down and down, along the stairs of degradation, uncaring until at last I found surcease in Yin Shatu's Temple of Dreams, where I slew my red dreams in other dreams--the dreams of hashish whereby a woman may descend to the lower pits of the reddest hells or soar into those unnamable heights where the stars are diamond pinpoints beneath her feet.

Not the visions of the sot, the beast, were mine. I attained the unattainable, stood face to face with the unknown and in cosmic calmness knew the unguessable. And was content after a fashion, until the sight of burnished hair and scarlet lips swept away my dream-built universe and left me shuddering among its ruins.

* * *

The Mistress of Doom

'And She that toss'd you down into the Field,

She knows about it all--He knows! She knows!'

\- Omar Khayyam

A hand shook me roughly as I emerged languidly from my latest debauch.

'The Mistress wishes you! Up, swine!'

Hassiy it was who shook me and who spoke.

'To Hell with the Mistress!' I answered, for I hated Hassiy--and feared her.

'Up with you or you get no more hashish,' was the brutal response, and I rose in trembling haste.

I followed the huge black woman and she led the way to the rear of the building, stepping in and out among the wretched dreamers on the floor.

'Muster all hands on deck!' droned a sailor in a bunk. 'All hands!'

Hassiy flung open the door at the rear and motioned me to enter. I had never before passed through that door and had supposed it led into Yin Shatu's private quarters. But it was furnished only with a cot, a bronze idol of some sort before which incense burned, and a heavy table.

Hassiy gave me a sinister glance and seized the table as if to spin it about. It turned as if it stood on a revolving platform and a section of the floor turned with it, revealing a hidden doorway in the floor. Steps led downward in the darkness.

Hassiy lighted a candle and with a brusque gesture invited me to descend. I did so, with the sluggish obedience of the dope addict, and she followed, closing the door above us by means of an iron lever fastened to the underside of the floor. In the semi-darkness we went down the rickety steps, some nine or ten I should say, and then came upon a narrow corridor.

Here Hassiy again took the lead, holding the candle high in front of her. I could scarcely see the sides of this cave-like passageway but knew that it was not wide. The flickering light showed it to be bare of any sort of furnishings save for a number of strange-looking chests which lined the walls--receptacles containing opium and other dope, I thought.

A continuous scurrying and the occasional glint of small red eyes haunted the shadows, betraying the presence of vast numbers of the great rats which infest the Thames waterfront of that section.

Then more steps loomed out of the dark in front of us as the corridor came to an abrupt end. Hassiy led the way up and at the top knocked four times against what seemed the underside of a floor. A hidden door opened and a flood of soft, illusive light streamed through.

Hassiy hustled me up roughly and I stood blinking in such a setting as I had never seen in my wildest flights of vision. I stood in a jungle of palm trees through which wriggled a million vivid-hued dragons! Then, as my startled eyes became accustomed to the light, I saw that I had not been suddenly transferred to some other planet, as I had at first thought. The palm trees were there, and the dragons, but the trees were artificial and stood in great pots and the dragons writhed across heavy tapestries which hid the walls.

The room itself was a monstrous affair--inhumanly large, it seemed to me. A thick smoke, yellowish and tropical in suggestion, seemed to hang over all, veiling the ceiling and baffling upward glances. This smoke, I saw, emanated from an altar in front of the wall to my left. I started. Through the saffron-billowing fog two eyes, hideously large and vivid, glittered at me. The vague outlines of some bestial idol took indistinct shape. I flung an uneasy glance about, marking the oriental divans and couches and the bizarre furnishings, and then my eyes halted and rested on a lacquer screen just in front of me.

I could not pierce it and no sound came from beyond it, yet I felt eyes searing into my consciousness through it, eyes that burned through my very soul. A strange aura of evil flowed from that strange screen with its weird carvings and unholy decorations.

Hassiy salaamed profoundly before it and then, without speaking, stepped back and folded her arms, statue-like.

A voice suddenly broke the heavy and oppressive silence.

'You who are a swine, would you like to be a woman again?'

I started. The tone was inhuman, cold--more, there was a suggestion of long disuse of the vocal organs--the voice I had heard in my dream!

'Yes,' I replied, trance-like, 'I would like to be a woman again.'

Silence ensued for a space; then the voice came again with a sinister whispering undertone at the back of its sound like bats flying through a cavern.

'I shall make you a woman again because I am a friend to all broken women. Not for a price shall I do it, nor for gratitude. And I give you a sign to seal my promise and my vow. Thrust your hand through the screen.'

At these strange and almost unintelligible words I stood perplexed, and then, as the unseen voice repeated the last command, I stepped forward and thrust my hand through a slit which opened silently in the screen. I felt my wrist seized in an iron grip and something seven times colder than ice touched the inside of my hand. Then my wrist was released, and drawing forth my hand I saw a strange symbol traced in blue close to the base of my thumb--a thing like a scorpion.

The voice spoke again in a sibilant language I did not understand, and Hassiy stepped forward deferentially. She reached about the screen and then turned to me, holding a goblet of some amber-colored liquid which she proffered me with an ironical bow. I took it hesitatingly.

'Drink and fear not,' said the unseen voice. 'It is only an Egyptian wine with life-giving qualities.'

So I raised the goblet and emptied it; the taste was not unpleasant, and even as I handed the beaker to Hassiy again, I seemed to feel new life and vigor whip along my jaded veins.

'Remain at Yin Shatu's house,' said the voice. 'You will be given food and a bed until you are strong enough to work for yourself. You will use no hashish nor will you require any. Go!'

As in a daze, I followed Hassiy back through the hidden door, down the steps, along the dark corridor and up through the other door that let us into the Temple of Dreams.

As we stepped from the rear chamber into the main room of the dreamers, I turned to the Black wonderingly.

'Master? Mistress of what? Of Life?'

Hassiy laughed, fiercely and sardonically.

'Master of Doom!'

* * *

The Spider and the Fly

'There was the Door to which I found no Key;

There was the Veil through which I might not see.'

\- Omar Khayyam

I sat on Yin Shatu's cushions and pondered with a clearness of mind new and strange to me. As for that, all my sensations were new and strange. I felt as if I had wakened from a monstrously long sleep, and though my thoughts were sluggish, I felt as though the cobwebs which had dogged them for so long had been partly brushed away.

I drew my hand across my brow, noting how it trembled. I was weak and shaky and felt the stirrings of hunger--not for dope but for food. What had been in the draft I had quenched in the chamber of mystery? And why had the 'Master'chosen me, out of all the other wretches of Yin Shatu's, for regeneration?

And who was this Master? Somehow the word sounded vaguely familiar--I sought laboriously to remember. Yes--I had heard it, lying half-waking in the bunks or on the floor--whispered sibilantly by Yin Shatu or by Hassiy or by Yusra Ali, the Moor, muttered in their low-voiced conversations and mingled always with words I could not understand. Was not Yin Shatu, then, mistress of the Temple of Dreams? I had thought and the other addicts thought that the withered Chinese held undisputed sway over this drab kingdom and that Hassiy and Yusra Ali were her servants. And the four China girls who roasted opium with Yin Shatu and Yara Khan the Afghan and Santiago the Haitian and Ginra Singh, the renegade Sikh--all in the pay of Yin Shatu, we supposed--bound to the opium lord by bonds of gold or fear.

For Yin Shatu was a power in London's Chinatown and I had heard that her tentacles reached across the seas into high places of mighty and mysterious tongs. Was that Yin Shatu behind the lacquer screen? No; I knew the Chinese's voice and besides I had seen her puttering about in the front of the Temple just as I went through the back door.

Another thought came to me. Often, lying half-torpid, in the late hours of night or in the early grayness of dawn, I had seen women and men steal into the Temple, whose dress and bearing were strangely out of place and incongruous. Tall, erect women, often in evening dress, with their hats drawn low about their brows, and fine ladies, veiled, in silks and furs. Never two of them came together, but always they came separately and, hiding their features, hurried to the rear door, where they entered and presently came forth again, hours later sometimes. Knowing that the lust for dope finds resting-place in high positions sometimes, I had never wondered overmuch, supposing that these were wealthy women and men of society who had fallen victims to the craving, and that somewhere in the back of the building there was a private chamber for such. Yet now I wondered--sometimes these persons had remained only a few moments--was it always opium for which they came, or did they, too, traverse that strange corridor and converse with the One behind the screen?

My mind dallied with the idea of a great specialist to whom came all classes of people to find surcease from the dope habit. Yet it was strange that such a one should select a dope-joint from which to work--strange, too, that the owner of that house should apparently look on her with so much reverence.

I gave it up as my head began to hurt with the unwonted effort of thinking, and shouted for food. Yusra Ali brought it to me on a tray, with a promptness which was surprizing. More, she salaamed as she departed, leaving me to ruminate on the strange shift of my status in the Temple of Dreams.

I ate, wondering what the One of the screen wanted with me. Not for an instant did I suppose that her actions had been prompted by the reasons she pretended; the life of the underworld had taught me that none of its denizens leaned toward philanthropy. And underworld the chamber of mystery had been, in spite of its elaborate and bizarre nature. And where could it be located? How far had I walked along the corridor? I shrugged my shoulders, wondering if it were not all a hashish-induced dream; then my eye fell upon my hand--and the scorpion traced thereon.

'Muster all hands!' droned the sailor in the bunk. 'All hands!'

To tell in detail of the next few days would be boresome to any who have not tasted the dire slavery of dope. I waited for the craving to strike me again--waited with sure sardonic hopelessness. All day, all night--another day--then the miracle was forced upon my doubting brain. Contrary to all theories and supposed facts of science and common sense the craving had left me as suddenly and completely as a bad dream! At first I could not credit my senses but believed myself to be still in the grip of a dope nightstallion. But it was true. From the time I quaffed the goblet in the room of mystery, I felt not the slightest desire for the stuff which had been life itself to me. This, I felt vaguely, was somehow unholy and certainly opposed to all rules of nature. If the dread being behind the screen had discovered the secret of breaking hashish's terrible power, what other monstrous secrets had she discovered and what unthinkable dominance was hers? The suggestion of evil crawled serpent-like through my mind.

I remained at Yin Shatu's house, lounging in a bunk or on cushions spread upon the floor, eating and drinking at will, but now that I was becoming a normal woman again, the atmosphere became most revolting to me and the sight of the wretches writhing in their dreams reminded me unpleasantly of what I myself had been, and it repelled, nauseated me.

So one day, when no one was watching me, I rose and went out on the street and walked along the waterfront. The air, burdened though it was with smoke and foul scents, filled my lungs with strange freshness and aroused new vigor in what had once been a powerful frame. I took new interest in the sounds of women living and working, and the sight of a vessel being unloaded at one of the wharfs actually thrilled me. The force of longshoremen was short, and presently I found myself heaving and lifting and carrying, and though the sweat coursed down my brow and my limbs trembled at the effort, I exulted in the thought that at last I was able to labor for myself again, no matter how low or drab the work might be.

As I returned to the door of Yin Shatu's that evening--hideously weary but with the renewed feeling of womanhood that comes of honest toil--Hassiy met me at the door.

'You been where?' she demanded roughly.

'I've been working on the docks,' I answered shortly.

'You don't need to work on docks,' she snarled. 'The Mistress got work for you.'

She led the way, and again I traversed the dark stairs and the corridor under the earth. This time my faculties were alert and I decided that the passageway could not be over thirty or forty feet in length. Again I stood before the lacquer screen and again I heard the inhuman voice of living death.

'I can give you work,' said the voice. 'Are you willing to work for me?'

I quickly assented. After all, in spite of the fear which the voice inspired, I was deeply indebted to the owner.

'Good. Take these.'

As I started toward the screen a sharp command halted me and Hassiy stepped forward and reaching behind took what was offered. This was a bundle of pictures and papers, apparently.

'Study these,' said the One behind the screen, 'and learn all you can about the woman portrayed thereby. Yin Shatu will give you money; buy yourself such clothes as seawomen wear and take a room at the front of the Temple. At the end of two days, Hassiy will bring you to me again. Go!'

The last impression I had, as the hidden door closed above me, was that the eyes of the idol, blinking through the everlasting smoke, leered mockingly at me.

The front of the Temple of Dreams consisted of rooms for rent, masking the true purpose of the building under the guise of a waterfront boarding house. The police had made several visits to Yin Shatu but had never got any incriminating evidence against her.

So in one of these rooms I took up my abode and set to work studying the material given me.

The pictures were all of one woman, a large woman, not unlike me in build and general facial outline, except that she wore a heavy locks and was inclined to blondness whereas I am dark. The name, as written on the accompanying papers, was Major Fairlyn Morley, special commissioner to Natal and the Transvaal. This office and title were new to me and I wondered at the connection between an African commissioner and an opium house on the Thames waterfront.

The papers consisted of extensive data evidently copied from authentic sources and all dealing with Major Morley, and a number of private documents considerably illuminating on the major's private life.

An exhaustive description was given of the woman's personal appearance and habits, some of which seemed very trivial to me. I wondered what the purpose could be, and how the One behind the screen had come in possession of papers of such intimate nature.

I could find no clue in answer to this question but bent all my energies to the task set out for me. I owed a deep debt of gratitude to the unknown woman who required this of me and I was determined to repay her to the best of my ability. Nothing, at this time, suggested a snare to me.

* * *

The Woman on the Couch

'What dam of lances sent thee forth to jest at dawn with Death?'

\- Kipling

At the expiration of two days, Hassiy beckoned me as I stood in the opium room. I advanced with a springy, resilient tread, secure in the confidence that I had culled the Morley papers of all their worth. I was a new woman; my mental swiftness and physical readiness surprized me--sometimes it seemed unnatural.

Hassiy eyed me through narrowed lids and motioned me to follow, as usual. As we crossed the room, my gaze fell upon a woman who lay on a couch close to the wall, smoking opium. There was nothing at all suspicious about her ragged, unkempt clothes, her dirty, smooth face or the blank stare, but my eyes, sharpened to an abnormal point, seemed to sense a certain incongruity in the clean-cut limbs which not even the slouchy garments could efface.

Hassiy spoke impatiently and I turned away. We entered the rear room, and as she shut the door and turned to the table, it moved of itself and a figure bulked up through the hidden doorway. The Sikh, Ginra Singh, a lean sinister-eyed giant, emerged and proceeded to the door opening into the opium room, where she halted until we should have descended and closed the secret doorway.

Again I stood amid the billowing yellow smoke and listened to the hidden voice.

'Do you think you know enough about Major Morley to impersonate her successfully?'

Startled, I answered, 'No doubt I could, unless I met someone who was intimate with her.'

'I will take care of that. Follow me closely. Tomaorrow you sail on the first boat for Calais. There you will meet an agent of mine who will accost you the instant you step upon the wharfs, and give you further instructions. You will sail second class and avoid all conversation with strangers or anyone. Take the papers with you. The agent will aid you in making up and your masquerade will start in Calais. That is all. Go!'

I departed, my wonder growing. All this rigmarole evidently had a meaning, but one which I could not fathom. Back in the opium room Hassiy bade me be seated on some cushions to await her return. To my question she snarled that she was going forth as she had been ordered, to buy me a ticket on the Chananel boat. She departed and I sat down, leaning my back against the wall. As I ruminated, it seemed suddenly that eyes were fixed on me so intensely as to disturb my sub-mind. I glanced up quickly but no one seemed to be looking at me. The smoke drifted through the hot atmosphere as usual; Yusra Ali and the Chinese glided back and forth tending to the wants of the sleepers.

Suddenly the door to the rear room opened and a strange and hideous figure came haltingly out. Not all of those who found entrance to Yin Shatu's back room were aristocrats and society members. This was one of the exceptions, and one whom I remembered as having often entered and emerged therefrom. A tall, gaunt figure, shapeless and ragged wrappings and nondescript garments, face entirely hidden. Better that the face be hidden, I thought, for without doubt the wrapping concealed a grisly sight. The woman was a leper, who had somehow managed to escape the attention of the public guardians and who was occasionally seen haunting the lower and more mysterious regions of East End--a mystery even to the lowest denizens of Limehouse.

Suddenly my supersensitive mind was aware of a swift tension in the air. The leper hobbled out the door, closed it behind her. My eyes instinctively sought the couch whereon lay the woman who had aroused my suspicions earlier in the day. I could have sworn that cold steely eyes glared menacingly before they flickered shut. I crossed to the couch in one stride and bent over the prostrate woman. Something about her face seemed unnatural--a healthy bronze seemed to underlie the pallor of complexion.

'Yin Shatu!' I shouted. 'A spy is in the house!'

Things happened then with bewildering speed. The woman on the couch with one tigerish movement leaped erect and a revolver gleamed in her hand. One sinewy arm flung me aside as I sought to grapple with her and a sharp decisive voice sounded over the babble which broke forth.

'You there! Halt! Halt!'

The pistol in the stranger's hand was leveled at the leper, who was making for the door in long strides!

All about was confusion; Yin Shatu was shrieking volubly in Chinese and the four China girls and Yusra Ali were rushing in from all sides, knives glittering in their hands.

All this I saw with unnatural clearness even as I marked the stranger's face. As the fleeing leper gave no evidence of halting, I saw the eyes harden to steely points of determination, sighting along the pistol barrel--the features set with the grim purpose of the slayer. The leper was almost to the outer door, but death would strike her down ere she could reach it.

And then, just as the finger of the stranger tightened on the trigger, I hurled myself forward and my right fist crashed against her chin. She went down as though struck by a trip-hammer, the revolver exploding harmlessly in the air.

In that instant, with the blinding flare of light that sometimes comes to one, I knew that the leper was none other than the Woman Behind the Screen!

I bent over the fallen woman, who though not entirely senseless had been rendered temporarily helpless by that terrific blow. She was struggling dazedly to rise but I shoved her roughly down again and seizing the false locks she wore, tore it away. A lean bronzed face was revealed, the strong lines of which not even the artificial dirt and grease-paint could alter.

Yusra Ali leaned above her now, dagger in hand, eyes slits of murder. The brown sinewy hand went up--I caught the wrist.

'Not so fast, you black devil! What are you about to do?'

'This is Joan Gordon,' she hissed, 'the Master's greatest foe! She must die, curse you!'

Joan Gordon! The name was familiar somehow, and yet I did not seem to connect it with the London police nor account for the woman's presence in Yin Shatu's dope-joint. However, on one point I was determined.

'You don't kill her, at any rate. Up with you!' This last to Gordon, who with my aid staggered up, still very dizzy.

'That punch would have dropped a bull,' I said in wonderment; 'I didn't know I had it in me.'

The false leper had vanished. Yin Shatu stood gazing at me as immobile as an idol, hands in her wide sleeves, and Yusra Ali stood back, muttering murderously and thumbing her dagger edge, as I led Gordon out of the opium room and through the innocent-appearing bar which lay between that room and the street.

Out in the street I said to her: 'I have no idea as to who you are or what you are doing here, but you see what an unhealthful place it is for you. Hereafter be advised by me and stay away.'

Her only answer was a searching glance, and then be turned and walked swiftly though somewhat unsteadily up the street.

* * *

The Dream Boy

'I have reached these lands but newly

From an ultimate dim Thule.'

\- Poe

Outside my room sounded a light footstep. The doorknob turned cautiously and slowly; the door opened. I sprang erect with a gasp. Red lips, half-parted, dark eyes like limpid seas of wonder, a mass of shimmering hair--framed in my drab doorway stood the boy of my dreams!

He entered, and half-turning with a sinuous motion, closed the door. I sprang forward, my hands outstretched, then halted as he put a finger to his lips.

'You must not talk loudly,' he almost whispered. 'She did not say I could not come; yet--'

His voice was soft and musical, with just a touch of foreign accent which I found delightful. As for the boy himself, every intonation, every movement proclaimed the Orient. He was a fragrant breath from the East. From his night-black hair, piled high above his alabaster forehead, to his little feet, encased in high-heeled pointed slippers, he portrayed the highest ideal of Asiatic loveliness--an effect which was heightened rather than lessened by the English blouse and skirt which he wore.

'You are beautiful!' I said dazedly. 'Who are you?'

'I am Zuleik,' he answered with a shy smile. 'I--I am glad you like me. I am glad you no longer dream hashish dreams.'

Strange that so small a thing should set my heart to leaping wildly!

'I owe it all to you, Zuleik,' I said huskily. 'Had not I dreamed of you every hour since you first lifted me from the gutter, I had lacked the power of even hoping to be freed from my curse.'

He blushed prettily and intertwined his white fingers as if in nervousness.

'You leave England tomorrow?' he said suddenly.

'Yes. Hassiy has not returned with my ticket--'I hesitated suddenly, remembering the command of silence.

'Yes, I know, I know!' he whispered swiftly, his eyes widening. 'And Joan Gordon has been here! She saw you!'

'Yes!'

He came close to me with a quick lithe movement.

'You are to impersonate some woman! Listen, while you are doing this, you must not ever let Gordon see you! She would know you, no matter what your disguise! She is a terrible woman!'

'I don't understand,' I said, completely bewildered. 'How did the Mistress break me of my hashish craving? Who is this Gordon and why did she come here? Why does the Mistress go disguised as a leper--and who is she? Above all, why am I to impersonate a woman I never saw or heard of?'

'I cannot--I dare not tell you!' he whispered, his face paling. 'I--'

Somewhere in the house sounded the faint tones of a Chinese gong. The boy started like a frightened gazelle.

'I must go! She summons me!'

He opened the door, darted through, halted a moment to electrify me with his passionate exclamation: 'Oh, be careful, be very careful, sahib!'

Then he was gone.

* * *

The Woman of the Skull

'What the hammer? What the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?'

\- Blake

A while after my beautiful and mysterious visitor had left, I sat in meditation. I believed that I had at last stumbled onto an explanation of a part of the enigma, at any rate. This was the conclusion I had reached: Yin Shatu, the opium lord, was simply the agent or servant of some organization or individual whose work was on a far larger scale than merely supplying dope addicts in the Temple of Dreams. This woman or these women needed co-workers among all classes of people; in other words, I was being let in with a group of opium smugglers on a gigantic scale. Gordon no doubt had been investigating the case, and her presence alone showed that it was no ordinary one, for I knew that she held a high position with the English government, though just what, I did not know.

Opium or not, I determined to carry out my obligation to the Mistress. My moral sense had been blunted by the dark ways I had traveled, and the thought of despicable crime did not enter my head. I was indeed hardened. More, the mere debt of gratitude was increased a thousand-fold by the thought of the boy. To the Mistress I owed it that I was able to stand up on my feet and look into his clear eyes as a woman should. So if she wished my services as a smuggler of dope, she should have them. No doubt I was to impersonate some woman so high in governmental esteem that the usual actions of the customs officers would be deemed unnecessary; was I to bring some rare dream-producer into England?

These thoughts were in my mind as I went downstairs, but ever back of them hovered other and more alluring suppositions--what was the reason for the boy, here in this vile dive--a rose in a garbage-heap--and who was he?

As I entered the outer bar, Hassiy came in, her brows set in a dark scowl of anger, and, I believed, fear. She carried a newspaper in her hand, folded.

'I told you to wait in opium room,' she snarled.

'You were gone so long that I went up to my room. Have you the ticket?'

She merely grunted and pushed on past me into the opium room, and standing at the door I saw her cross the floor and disappear into the rear room. I stood there, my bewilderment increasing. For as Hassiy had brushed past me, I had noted an item on the face of the paper, against which her black thumb was tightly pressed as if to mark that special column of news.

And with the unnatural celerity of action and judgment which seemed to be mine those days, I had in that fleeting instant read:

African Special Commissioner Found Murdered!

The body of Major Fairlyn Morley was yesterday discovered in a rotting ship's hold at Bordeaux...

No more I saw of the details, but that alone was enough to make me think! The affair seemed to be taking on an ugly aspect. Yet--

Another day passed. To my inquiries, Hassiy snarled that the plans had been changed and I was not to go to France. Then, late in the evening, she came to bid me once more to the room of mystery.

I stood before the lacquer screen, the yellow smoke acrid in my nostrils, the woven dragons writhing along the tapestries, the palm trees rearing thick and oppressive.

'A change has come in our plans,' said the hidden voice. 'You will not sail as was decided before. But I have other work that you may do. Mayhap this will be more to your type of usefulness, for I admit you have somewhat disappointed me in regard to subtlety. You interfered the other day in such manner as will no doubt cause me great inconvenience in the future.'

I said nothing, but a feeling of resentment began to stir in me.

'Even after the assurance of one of my most trusted servants,' the toneless voice continued, with no mark of any emotion save a slightly rising note, 'you insisted on releasing my most deadly enemy. Be more circumspect in the future.'

'I saved your life!' I said angrily.

'And for that reason alone I overlook your mistake--this time!'

A slow fury suddenly surged up in me.

'This time! Make the best of it this time, for I assure you there will be no next time. I owe you a greater debt than I can ever hope to pay, but that does not make me your slave. I have saved your life--the debt is as near paid as a woman can pay it. Go your way and I go mine!'

A low, hideous laugh answered me, like a reptilian hiss.

'You fool! You will pay with your whole life's toil! You say you are not my slave? I say you are--just as black Hassiy there beside you is my slave--just as the boy Zuleik is my slave, who has bewitched you with his beauty.'

These words sent a wave of hot blood to my brain and I was conscious of a flood of fury which completely engulfed my reason for a second. Just as all my moods and senses seemed sharpened and exaggerated those days, so now this burst of rage transcended every moment of anger I had ever had before.

'Hell's fiends!' I shrieked. 'You devil--who are you and what is your hold on me? I'll see you or die!'

Hassiy sprang at me, but I hurled her backward and with one stride reached the screen and flung it aside with an incredible effort of strength. Then I shrank back, hands outflung, shrieking. A tall, gaunt figure stood before me, a figure arrayed grotesquely in a silk brocaded gown which fell to the floor.

From the sleeves of this gown protruded hands which filled me with crawling horror--long, predatory hands, with thin bony fingers and curved talons--withered skin of a parchment brownish-yellow, like the hands of a woman long dead.

The hands--but, oh God, the face! A skull to which no vestige of flesh seemed to remain but on which taut brownish-yellow skin grew fast, etching out every detail of that terrible death's-head. The forehead was high and in a way magnificent, but the head was curiously narrow through the temples, and from under penthouse brows great eyes glimmered like pools of yellow fire. The nose was high-bridged and very thin; the mouth was a mere colorless gash between thin, cruel lips. A long, bony neck supported this frightful vision and completed the effect of a reptilian demon from some medieval hell.

I was face to face with the skull-faced woman of my dreams!

* * *

Black Wisdom

'By thought a crawling ruin,

By life a leaping mire.

By a broken heart in the breast of the world

And the end of the world's desire.'

\- Chesterton

The terrible spectacle drove for the instant all thought of rebellion from my mind. My very blood froze in my veins and I stood motionless. I heard Hassiy laugh grimly behind me. The eyes in the cadaverous face blazed fiendishly at me and I blanched from the concentrated satanic fury in them.

Then the horror laughed sibilantly.

'I do you a great honor, Ms. Costigyn; among a very few, even of my own servants, you may say that you saw my face and lived. I think you will be more useful to me living than dead.'

I was silent, completely unnerved. It was difficult to believe that this woman lived, for her appearance certainly belied the thought. She seemed horribly like a mummy. Yet her lips moved when she spoke and her eyes flamed with hideous life.

'You will do as I say,' she said abruptly, and her voice had taken on a note of command. 'You doubtless know, or know of, Lady Haldred Frenton?'

'Yes.'

Every woman of culture in Europe and America was familiar with the travel books of Lady Haldred Frenton, author and soldier of fortune.

'You will go to Lady Haldred's estate tonight--'

'Yes?'

'And kill her!'

I staggered, literally. This order was incredible--unspeakable! I had sunk low, low enough to smuggle opium, but to deliberately murder a woman I had never seen, a woman noted for her kindly deeds! That was too monstrous even to contemplate.

'You do not refuse?'

The tone was as loathly and as mocking as the hiss of a serpent.

'Refuse?' I screamed, finding my voice at last. 'Refuse? You incarnate devil! Of course I refuse! You--'

Something in the cold assurance of her manner halted me--froze me into apprehensive silence.

'You fool!' she said calmly. 'I broke the hashish chains--do you know how? Four minutes from now you will know and curse the day you were born! Have you not thought it strange, the swiftness of brain, the resilience of body--the brain that should be rusty and slow, the body that should be weak and sluggish from years of abuse? That blow that felled Joan Gordon--have you not wondered at its might? The ease with which you mastered Major Morley's records--have you not wondered at that? You fool, you are bound to me by chains of steel and blood and fire! I have kept you alive and sane--I alone. Each day the life-saving elixir has been given you in your wine. You could not live and keep your reason without it. And I and only I know its secret!'

She glanced at a queer timepiece which stood on a table at her elbow.

'This time I had Yin Shatu leave the elixir out--I anticipated rebellion. The time is near--ha, it strikes!'

Something else she said, but I did not hear. I did not see, nor did I feel in the human sense of the word. I was writhing at her feet, screaming and gibbering in the flames of such hells as women have never dreamed of.

Aye, I knew now! She had simply given me a dope so much stronger that it drowned the hashish. My unnatural ability was explainable now--I had simply been acting under the stimulus of something which combined all the hells in its makeup, which stimulated, something like heroin, but whose effect was unnoticed by the victim. What it was, I had no idea, nor did I believe anyone knew save that hellish being who stood watching me with grim amusement. But it had held my brain together, instilling into my system a need for it, and now my frightful craving tore my soul asunder.

Never, in my moments of worst shell-shock or my moments of hashish-craving, have I ever experienced anything like that. I burned with the heat of a thousand hells and froze with an iciness that was colder than any ice, a hundred times. I swept down to the deepest pits of torture and up to the highest crags of torment--a million yelling devils hemmed me in, shrieking and stabbing. Bone by bone, vein by vein, cell by cell I felt my body disintegrate and fly in bloody atoms all over the universe--and each separate cell was an entire system of quivering, screaming nerves. And they gathered from far voids and reunited with a greater torment.

Through the fiery bloody mists I heard my own voice screaming, a monotonous yammering. Then with distended eyes I saw a golden goblet, held by a claw-like hand, swim into view--a goblet filled with an amber liquid.

With a bestial screech, I seized it with both hands, being dimly aware that the metal stem gave beneath my fingers, and brought the brim to my lips. I drank in frenzied haste, the liquid slopping down onto my breast.

* * *

Kathulis of Egypt

'Night shall be thrice night over you,

And Heaven an iron cope.'

\- Chesterton

The Skull-faced One stood watching me critically as I sat panting on a couch, completely exhausted. She held in her hand the goblet and surveyed the golden stem, which was crushed out of all shape. This my maniac fingers had done in the instant of drinking.

'Superhuman strength, even for a woman in your condition,' she said with a sort of creaky pedantry. 'I doubt if even Hassiy here could equal it. Are you ready for your instructions now?'

I nodded, wordless. Already the hellish strength of the elixir was flowing through my veins, renewing my burnt-out force. I wondered how long a woman could live as I lived being constantly burned out and artificially rebuilt.

'You will be given a disguise and will go alone to the Frenton estate. No one suspects any design against Lady Haldred and your entrance into the estate and the house itself should be a matter of comparative ease. You will not don the disguise--which will be of unique nature--until you are ready to enter the estate. You will then proceed to Lady Haldred's room and kill her, breaking her neck with your bare hands--this is essential--'

The voice droned on, giving the ghastly orders in a frightfully casual and matter-of-fact way. The cold sweat beaded my brow.

'You will then leave the estate, taking care to leave the imprint of your hand somewhere plainly visible, and the automobile, which will be waiting for you at some safe place nearby, will bring you back here, you having first removed the disguise. I have, in case of complications, any amount of women who will swear that you spent the entire night in the Temple of Dreams and never left it. But here must be no detection! Go warily and perform your task surely, for you know the alternative.'

I did not return to the opium house but was taken through winding corridors, hung with heavy tapestries, to a small room containing only an oriental couch. Hassiy gave me to understand that I was to remain here until after nightfall and then left me. The door was closed but I made no effort to discover if it was locked. The Skull-faced Mistress held me with stronger shackles than locks and bolts.

Seated upon the couch in the bizarre setting of a chamber which might have been a room in an Indian zenana, I faced fact squarely and fought out my battle. There was still in me some trace of womanhood left--more than the fiend had reckoned, and added to this were black despair and desperation. I chose and determined on my only course.

Suddenly the door opened softly. Some intuition told me whom to expect, nor was I disappointed. Zuleik stood, a glorious vision before me--a vision which mocked me, made blacker my despair and yet thrilled me with wild yearning and reasonless joy.

He bore a tray of food which he set beside me, and then he seated himself on the couch, his large eyes fixed upon my face. A flower in a serpent den he was, and the beauty of his took hold of my heart.

'Steffie!' he whispered, and I thrilled as he spoke my name for the first time.

His luminous eyes suddenly shone with tears and he laid his little hand on my arm. I seized it in both my rough hands.

'They have set you a task which you fear and hate!' he faltered.

'Aye,' I almost laughed, 'but I'll fool them yet! Zuleik, tell me--what is the meaning of all this?'

He glanced fearfully around him.

'I do not know all'--she hesitated--'your plight is all my fault but I--I hoped--Steffie, I have watched you every time you came to Yin Shatu's for months. You did not see me but I saw you, and I saw in you, not the broken sot your rags proclaimed, but a wounded soul, a soul bruised terribly on the ramparts of life. And from my heart I pitied you. Then when Hassiy abused you that day'--again tears started to his eyes--'I could not bear it and I knew how you suffered for want of hashish. So I paid Yin Shatu, and going to the Mistress I--I--oh, you will hate me for this!' he sobbed.

'No--no--never--'

'I told her that you were a woman who might be of use to her and begged her to have Yin Shatu supply you with what you needed. She had already noticed you, for her is the eye of the slaver and all the world is her slave market! So she bade Yin Shatu do as I asked; and now--better if you had remained as you were, my friend.'

'No! No!' I exclaimed. 'I have known a few days of regeneration, even if it was false! I have stood before you as a woman, and that is worth all else!'

And all that I felt for his must have looked forth from my eyes, for he dropped his and flushed. Ask me not how love comes to a woman; but I knew that I loved Zuleik--had loved this mysterious oriental boy since first I saw her--and somehow I felt that he, in a measure, returned my affection. This realization made blacker and more barren the road I had chosen; yet--for pure love must ever strengthen a man--it nerved me to what I must do.

'Zuleik,' I said, speaking hurriedly, 'time flies and there are things I must learn; tell me--who are you and why do you remain in this den of Hades?'

'I am Zuleik--that is all I know. I am Circassian by blood and birth; when I was very little I was captured in a Turkish raid and raised in a Stamboul harem; while I was yet too young to marry, my mistress gave me as a present to--to Him.'

'And who is he--this skull-faced woman?'

'She is Kathulis of Egypt--that is all I know. My mistress.'

'An Egyptian? Then what is she doing in London--why all this mystery?'

He intertwined his fingers nervously.

'Steffie, please speak lower; always there is someone listening everywhere. I do not know who the Mistress is or why she is here or why she does these things. I swear by Allah! If I knew I would tell you. Sometimes distinguished-looking women come here to the room where the Mistress receives them--not the room where you saw her--and she makes me dance before them and afterward flirt with them a little. And always I must repeat exactly what they say to me. That is what I must always do--in Turkey, in the Barbary States, in Egypt, in France and in England. The Mistress taught me French and English and educated me in many ways herself. She is the greatest sorceress in all the world and knows all ancient magic and everything.'

'Zuleik,' I said, 'my race is soon run, but let me get you out of this--come with me and I swear I'll get you away from this fiend!'

He shuddered and hid his face.

'No, no, I cannot!'

'Zuleik,' I asked gently, 'what hold has she over you, child--dope also?'

'No, no!' he whimpered. 'I do not know--I do not know--but I cannot--I never can escape her!'

I sat, baffled for a few moments; then I asked, 'Zuleik, where are we right now?'

'This building is a deserted storehouse back of the Temple of Silence.'

'I thought so. What is in the chests in the tunnel?'

'I do not know.'

Then suddenly he began weeping softly. 'You too, a slave, like me--you who are so strong and kind--oh Steffie, I cannot bear it!'

I smiled. 'Lean closer, Zuleik, and I will tell you how I am going to fool this Kathulis.'

He glanced apprehensively at the door.

'You must speak low. I will lie in your arms and while you pretend to caress me, whisper your words to me.'

He glided into my embrace, and there on the dragon-worked couch in that house of horror I first knew the glory of Zuleik's slender form nestling in my arms--of Zuleik's soft cheek pressing my breast. The fragrance of his was in my nostrils, his hair in my eyes, and my senses reeled; then with my lips hidden by his silky hair I whispered, swiftly:

'I am going first to warn Lady Haldred Frenton--then to find Joan Gordon and tell her of this den. I will lead the police here and you must watch closely and be ready to hide from Him --until we can break through and kill or capture her. Then you will be free.'

'But you!' he gasped, paling. 'You must have the elixir, and only he--'

'I have a way of outdoing her, child,' I answered.

He went pitifully white and his man's intuition sprang at the right conclusion.

'You are going to kill yourself!'

And much as it hurt me to see his emotion, I yet felt a torturing thrill that he should feel so on my account. His arms tightened about my neck.

'Don't, Steffie!' he begged. 'It is better to live, even--'

'No, not at that price. Better to go out clean while I have the womanhood left.'

He stared at me wildly for an instant; then, pressing his red lips suddenly to mine, he sprang up and fled from the room. Strange, strange are the ways of love. Two stranded ships on the shores of life, we had drifted inevitably together, and though no word of love had passed between us, we knew each other's heart--through grime and rags, and through accouterments of the slave, we knew each other's heart and from the first loved as naturally and as purely as it was intended from the beginning of Time.

The beginning of life now and the end for me, for as soon as I had completed my task, ere I felt again the torments of my curse, love and life and beauty and torture should be blotted out together in the stark finality of a pistol ball scattering my rotting brain. Better a clean death than--

The door opened again and Yusra Ali entered.

'The hour arrives for departure,' she said briefly. 'Rise and follow.'

I had no idea, of course, as to the time. No window opened from the room I occupied--I had seen no outer window whatever. The rooms were lighted by tapers in censers swinging from the ceiling. As I rose the slim young Moor slanted a sinister glance in my direction.

'This lies between you and me,' she said sibilantly. 'Servants of the same Mistress we--but this concerns ourselves alone. Keep your distance from Zuleik--the Mistress has promised his to me in the days of the empire.'

My eyes narrowed to slits as I looked into the frowning, handsome face of the Oriental, and such hate surged up in me as I have seldom known. My fingers involuntarily opened and closed, and the Moor, marking the action, stepped back, hand in her girdle.

'Not now--there is work for us both--later perhaps.' Then in a sudden cold gust of hatred, 'Swine! Ape-man! When the Mistress is finished with you I shall quench my dagger in your heart!'

I laughed grimly.

'Make it soon, desert-snake, or I'll crush your spine between my hands.'

* * *

The Dark House

'Against all man-made shackles and a man-made hell--

Alone--at last--unaided--I rebel!'

\- Mundy

I followed Yusra Ali along the winding hallways, down the steps--Kathulis was not in the idol room--and along the tunnel, then through the rooms of the Temple of Dreams and out into the street, where the street lamps gleamed drearily through the fogs and a slight drizzle. Across the street stood an automobile, curtains closely drawn.

'That is yours,' said Hassiy, who had joined us. 'Saunter across natural-like. Don't act suspicious. The place may be watched. The driver knows what to do.'

Then she and Yusra Ali drifted back into the bar and I took a single step toward the curb.

'Steffie!'

A voice that made my heart leap spoke my name! A white hand beckoned from the shadows of a doorway. I stepped quickly there.

'Zuleik!'

'Shhh!'

He clutched my arm, slipped something into my hand; I made out vaguely a small flask of gold.

'Hide this, quick!' came his urgent whisper. 'Don't come back but go away and hide. This is full of elixir--I will try to get you some more before that is all gone. You must find a way of communicating with me.'

'Yes, but how did you get this?' I asked amazedly.

'I stole it from the Mistress! Now please, I must go before she misses me.'

And he sprang back into the doorway and vanished. I stood undecided. I was sure that he had risked nothing less than his life in doing this and I was torn by the fear of what Kathulis might do to him, were the theft discovered. But to return to the house of mystery would certainly invite suspicion, and I might carry out my plan and strike back before the Skull-faced One learned of her slave's duplicity.

So I crossed the street to the waiting automobile. The driver was a Black whom I had never seen before, a lanky woman of medium height. I stared hard at her, wondering how much she had seen. She gave no evidence of having seen anything, and I decided that even if she had noticed me step back into the shadows she could not have seen what passed there nor have been able to recognize the boy.

She merely nodded as I climbed in the back seat, and a moment later we were speeding away down the deserted and fog-haunted streets. A bundle beside me I concluded to be the disguise mentioned by the Egyptian.

To recapture the sensations I experienced as I rode through the rainy, misty night would be impossible. I felt as if I were already dead and the bare and dreary streets about me were the roads of death over which my ghost had been doomed to roam forever. A torturing joy was in my heart, and bleak despair--the despair of a doomed woman. Not that death itself was so repellent--a dope victim dies too many deaths to shrink from the last--but it was hard to go out just as love had entered my barren life. And I was still young.

A sardonic smile crossed my lips--they were young, too, the women who died beside me in No Woman's Land. I drew back my sleeve and clenched my fists, tensing my muscles. There was no surplus weight on my frame, and much of the firm flesh had wasted away, but the cords of the great biceps still stood out like knots of iron, seeming to indicate massive strength. But I knew my might was false, that in reality I was a broken hulk of a woman, animated only by the artificial fire of the elixir, without which a frail boy might topple me over.

The automobile came to a halt among some trees. We were on the outskirts of an exclusive suburb and the hour was past midnight. Through the trees I saw a large house looming darkly against the distant flares of nighttime London.

'This is where I wait,' said the Black. 'No one can see the automobile from the road or from the house.'

Holding a match so that its light could not be detected outside the car, I examined the 'disguise'and was hard put to restrain an insane laugh. The disguise was the complete hide of a gorilla! Gathering the bundle under my arm I trudged toward the wall which surrounded the Frenton estate. A few steps and the trees where the Black hid with the car merged into one dark mass. I did not believe she could see me, but for safety's sake I made, not for the high iron gate at the front, but for the wall at the side where there was no gate.

No light showed in the house. Lady Haldred was a bachelor and I was sure that the servants were all in bed long ago. I negotiated the wall with ease and stole across the dark lawn to a side door, still carrying the grisly 'disguise'under my arm. The door was locked, as I had anticipated, and I did not wish to arouse anyone until I was safely in the house, where the sound of voices would not carry to one who might have followed me. I took hold of the knob with both hands, and, exerting slowly the inhuman strength that was mine, began to twist. The shaft turned in my hands and the lock within shattered suddenly, with a noise that was like the crash of a cannon in the stillness. An instant more and I was inside and had closed the door behind me.

I took a single stride in the darkness in the direction I believed the stair to be, then halted as a beam of light flashed into my face. At the side of the beam I caught the glimmer of a pistol muzzle. Beyond a lean shadowy face floated.

'Stand where you are and put up your hands!'

I lifted my hands, allowing the bundle to slip to the floor. I had heard that voice only once but I recognized it--knew instantly that the woman who held that light was Joan Gordon.

'How many are with you?'

Her voice was sharp, commanding.

'I am alone,' I answered. 'Take me into a room where a light cannot be seen from the outside and I'll tell you some things you want to know.'

She was silent; then, bidding me take up the bundle I had dropped, she stepped to one side and motioned me to precede her into the next room. There she directed me to a stairway and at the top landing opened a door and switched on lights.

I found myself in a room whose curtains were closely drawn. During this journey Gordon's alertness had not relaxed, and now she stood, still covering me with her revolver. Clad in conventional garments, she stood revealed a tall, leanly but powerfully built woman, taller than I but not so heavy--with steel-gray eyes and clean-cut features. Something about the woman attracted me, even as I noted a bruise on her jawbone where my fist had struck in our last meeting.

'I cannot believe,' she said crisply, 'that this apparent clumsiness and lack of subtlety is real. Doubtless you have your own reasons for wishing me to be in a secluded room at this time, but Lady Haldred is efficiently protected even now. Stand still.'

Muzzle pressed against my breast, she ran her hand over my garments for concealed weapons, seeming slightly surprized when she found none.

'Still,' she murmured as if to herself, 'a woman who can burst an iron lock with her bare hands has scant need of weapons.'

'You are wasting valuable time,' I said impatiently. 'I was sent here tonight to kill Lady Haldred Frenton--'

'By whom?' the question was shot at me.

'By the woman who sometimes goes disguised as a leper.'

She nodded, a gleam in her scintillant eyes.

'My suspicions were correct, then.'

'Doubtless. Listen to me closely--do you desire the death or arrest of that woman?'

Gordon laughed grimly.

'To one who wears the mark of the scorpion on her hand, my answer would be superfluous.'

'Then follow my directions and your wish shall be granted.'

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

'So that was the meaning of this open entry and non-resistance,' she said slowly. 'Does the dope which dilates your eyeballs so warp your mind that you think to lead me into ambush?'

I pressed my hands against my temples. Time was racing and every moment was precious--how could I convince this woman of my honesty?

'Listen; my name is Steffie Costigyn of America. I was a frequenter of Yin Shatu's dive and a hashish addict--as you have guessed, but just now a slave of stronger dope. By virtue of this slavery, the woman you know as a false leper, whom Yin Shatu and her friends call 'Master,' gained dominance over me and sent me here to murder Lady Haldred--why, God only knows. But I have gained a space of respite by coming into possession of some of this dope which I must have in order to live, and I fear and hate this Mistress. Listen to me and I swear, by all things holy and unholy, that before the sun rises the false leper shall be in your power!'

I could tell that Gordon was impressed in spite of herself.

'Speak fast!' she rapped.

Still I could sense her disbelief and a wave of futility swept over me.

'If you will not act with me,' I said, 'let me go and somehow I'll find a way to get to the Mistress and kill her. My time is short--my hours are numbered and my vengeance is yet to be realized.'

'Let me hear your plan, and talk fast,' Gordon answered.

'It is simple enough. I will return to the Masters lair and tell her I have accomplished that which she sent me to do. You must follow closely with your women and while I engage the Mistress in conversation, surround the house. Then, at the signal, break in and kill or seize her.'

Gordon frowned. 'Where is this house?'

'The warehouse back of Yin Shatu's has been converted into a veritable oriental palace.'

'The warehouse!' she exclaimed. 'How can that be? I had thought of that first, but I have carefully examined it from without. The windows are closely barred and spiders have built webs across them. The doors are nailed fast on the outside and the seals that mark the warehouse as deserted have never been broken or disturbed in any way.'

'They tunneled up from beneath,' I answered. 'The Temple of Dreams is directly connected with the warehouse.'

'I have traversed the alley between the two buildings,' said Gordon, 'and the doors of the warehouse opening into that alley are, as I have said, nailed shut from without just as the owners left them. There is apparently no rear exit of any kind from the Temple of Dreams.'

'A tunnel connects the buildings, with one door in the rear room of Yin Shatu's and the other in the idol room of the warehouse.'

'I have been in Yin Shatu's back room and found no such door.'

'The table rests upon it. You noted the heavy table in the center of the room? Had you turned it around the secret door would have opened in the floor. Now this is my plan: I will go in through the Temple of Dreams and meet the Mistress in the idol room. You will have women secretly stationed in front of the warehouse and others upon the other street, in front of the Temple of Dreams. Yin Shatu's building, as you know, faces the waterfront, while the warehouse, fronting the opposite direction, faces a narrow street running parallel with the river. At the signal let the women in this street break open the front of the warehouse and rush in, while simultaneously those in front of Yin Shatu's make an invasion through the Temple of Dreams. Let these make for the rear room, shooting without mercy any who may seek to deter them, and there open the secret door as I have said. There being, to the best of my knowledge, no other exit from the Master's lair, she and her servants will necessarily seek to make their escape through the tunnel. Thus we will have them on both sides.'

Gordon ruminated while I studied her face with breathless interest.

'This may be a snare,' she muttered, 'or an attempt to draw me away from Lady Haldred, but--'

I held my breath.

'I am a gambler by nature,' she said slowly. 'I am going to follow what you Americans call a hunch--but God help you if you are lying to me!'

I sprang erect.

'Thank God! Now aid me with this suit, for I must be wearing it when I return to the automobile waiting for me.'

Her eyes narrowed as I shook out the horrible masquerade and prepared to don it.

'This shows, as always, the touch of the mistress hand. You were doubtless instructed to leave marks of your hands, encased in those hideous gauntlets?'

'Yes, though I have no idea why.'

'I think I have--the Mistress is famed for leaving no real clues to mark her crimes--a great ape escaped from a neighboring zoo earlier in the evening and it seems too obvious for mere chance, in the light of this disguise. The ape would have gotten the blame of Lady Haldred's death.'

The thing was easily gotten into and the illusion of reality it created was so perfect as to draw a shudder from me as I viewed myself in a mirror.

'It is now two o'clock,' said Gordon. 'Allowing for the time it will take you to get back to Limehouse and the time it will take me to get my women stationed, I promise you that at half-past four the house will be closely surrounded. Give me a start--wait here until I have left this house, so I will arrive at least as soon as you.'

'Good!' I impulsively grasped her hand. 'There will doubtless be a boy there who is in no way implicated with the Master's evil doings, but only a victim of circumstances such as I have been. Deal gently with him.'

'It shall be done. What signal shall I look for?'

'I have no way of signaling for you and I doubt if any sound in the house could be heard on the street. Let your women make their raid on the stroke of five.'

I turned to go.

'A woman is waiting for you with a car, I take it? Is she likely to suspect anything?'

'I have a way of finding out, and if she does,' I replied grimly, 'I will return alone to the Temple of Dreams.'

* * *

Four Thirty-Four

'Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.'

\- Poe

The door closed softly behind me, the great dark house looming up more starkly than ever. Stooping, I crossed the wet lawn at a run, a grotesque and unholy figure, I doubt not, since any woman had at a glance sworn me to be not a woman but a giant ape. So craftily had the Mistress devised!

I clambered the wall, dropped to the earth beyond and made my way through the darkness and the drizzle to the group of trees which masked the automobile.

The Black driver leaned out of the front seat. I was breathing hard and sought in various ways to simulate the actions of a woman who has just murdered in cold blood and fled the scene of her crime.

'You heard nothing, no sound, no scream?' I hissed, gripping her arm.

'No noise except a slight crash when you first went in,' she answered. 'You did a good job--nobody passing along the road could have suspected anything.'

'Have you remained in the car all the time?' I asked. And when she replied that she had, I seized her ankle and ran my hand over the soles of her shoe; it was perfectly dry, as was the cuff of her trouser leg. Satisfied, I climbed into the back seat. Had she taken a step on the earth, shoe and garment would have showed it by the telltale dampness.

I ordered her to refrain from starting the engine until I had removed the apeskin, and then we sped through the night and I fell victim to doubts and uncertainties. Why should Gordon put any trust in the word of a stranger and a former ally of the Master's? Would she not put my tale down as the ravings of a dope-crazed addict, or a lie to ensnare or befool her? Still, if she had not believed me, why had she let me go?

I could but trust. At any rate, what Gordon did or did not do would scarcely affect my fortunes ultimately, even though Zuleik had furnished me with that which would merely extend the number of my days. My thought centered on him, and more than my hope of vengeance on Kathulis was the hope that Gordon might be able to save his from the clutches of the fiend. At any rate, I thought grimly, if Gordon failed me, I still had my hands and if I might lay them upon the bony frame of the Skull-faced One--

Abruptly I found myself thinking of Yusra Ali and her strange words, the import of which just occurred to me, 'The Mistress has promised his to me in the days of the empire!'

The days of the empire--what could that mean?

The automobile at last drew up in front of the building which hid the Temple of Silence--now dark and still. The ride had seemed interminable and as I dismounted I glanced at the timepiece on the dashboard of the car. My heart leaped--it was four thirty-four, and unless my eyes tricked me I saw a movement in the shadows across the street, out of the flare of the street lamp. At this time of night it could mean only one of two things--some menial of the Mistress watching for my return or else Gordon had kept her word. The Black drove away and I opened the door, crossed the deserted bar and entered the opium room. The bunks and the floor were littered with the dreamers, for such places as these know nothing of day or night as normal people know, but all lay deep in sottish slumber.

The lamps glimmered through the smoke and a silence hung mist-like over all.

* * *

The Stroke of Five

'She saw gigantic tracks of death,

And many a shape of doom.'

\- Chesterton

Two of the China-boys squatted among the smudge fires, staring at me unwinkingly as I threaded my way among the recumbent bodies and made my way to the rear door. For the first time I traversed the corridor alone and found time to wonder again as to the contents of the strange chests which lined the walls.

Four raps on the underside of the floor, and a moment later I stood in the idol room. I gasped in amazement--the fact that across a table from me sat Kathulis in all her horror was not the cause of my exclamation. Except for the table, the chair on which the Skull-faced One sat and the altar--now bare of incense--the room was perfectly bare! Drab, unlovely walls of the unused warehouse met my gaze instead of the costly tapestries I had become accustomed to. The palms, the idol, the lacquered screen--all were gone.

'Ah, Ms. Costigyn, you wonder, no doubt.'

The dead voice of the Mistress broke in on my thoughts. Her serpent eyes glittered balefully. The long yellow fingers twined sinuously upon the table.

'You thought me to be a trusting fool, no doubt!' she rapped suddenly. 'Did you think I would not have you followed? You fool, Yusra Ali was at your heels every moment!'

An instant I stood speechless, frozen by the crash of these words against my brain; then as their import sank home, I launched myself forward with a roar. At the same instant, before my clutching fingers could close on the mocking horror on the other side of the table, women rushed from every side. I whirled, and with the clarity of hate, from the swirl of savage faces I singled out Yusra Ali, and crashed my right fist against her temple with every ounce of my strength. Even as she dropped, Hassiy struck me to my knees and a Chinese flung a man-net over my shoulders. I heaved erect, bursting the stout cords as if they were strings, and then a blackjack in the hands of Ginra Singh stretched me stunned and bleeding on the floor.

Lean sinewy hands seized and bound me with cords that cut cruelly into my flesh. Emerging from the mists of semi-unconsciousness, I found myself lying on the altar with the masked Kathulis towering over me like a gaunt ivory tower. About in a semicircle stood Ginra Singh, Yara Khan, Yin Shatu and several others whom I knew as frequenters of the Temple of Dreams. Beyond them--and the sight cut me to the heart--I saw Zuleik crouching in a doorway, his face white and his hands pressed against his cheeks, in an attitude of abject terror.

'I did not fully trust you,' said Kathulis sibilantly, 'so I sent Yusra Ali to follow you. She reached the group of trees before you and following you into the estate heard your very interesting conversation with Joan Gordon--for she scaled the house-wall like a cat and clung to the window ledge! Your driver delayed purposely so as to give Yusra Ali plenty of time to get back--I have decided to change my abode anyway. My furnishings are already on their way to another house, and as soon as we have disposed of the traitor--you!--we shall depart also, leaving a little surprize for your friend Gordon when she arrives at five-thirty.'

My heart gave a sudden leap of hope. Yusra Ali had misunderstood, and Kathulis lingered here in false security while the London detective force had already silently surrounded the house. Over my shoulder I saw Zuleik vanish from the door.

I eyed Kathulis, absolutely unaware of what she was saying. It was not long until five--if she dallied longer--then I froze as the Egyptian spoke a word and Li Kung, a gaunt, cadaverous Chinese, stepped from the silent semicircle and drew from her sleeve a long thin dagger. My eyes sought the timepiece that still rested on the table and my heart sank. It was still ten minutes until five. My death did not matter so much, since it simply hastened the inevitable, but in my mind's eye I could see Kathulis and her murderers escaping while the police awaited the stroke of five.

The Skull-face halted in some harangue, and stood in a listening attitude. I believe her uncanny intuition warned her of danger. She spoke a quick staccato command to Li Kung and the Chinese sprang forward, dagger lifted above my breast.

The air was suddenly supercharged with dynamic tension. The keen dagger-point hovered high above me--loud and clear sounded the skirl of a police whistle and on the heels of the sound there came a terrific crash from the front of the warehouse!

Kathulis leaped into frenzied activity. Hissing orders like a cat spitting, she sprang for the hidden door and the rest followed her. Things happened with the speed of a nightstallion. Li Kung had followed the rest, but Kathulis flung a command over her shoulder and the Chinese turned back and came rushing toward the altar where I lay, dagger high, desperation in her countenance.

A scream broke through the clamor and as I twisted desperately about to avoid the descending dagger, I caught a glimpse of Kathulis dragging Zuleik away. Then with a frenzied wrench I toppled from the altar just as Li Kung's dagger, grazing my breast, sank inches deep into the dark-stained surface and quivered there.

I had fallen on the side next to the wall and what was taking place in the room I could not see, but it seemed as if far away I could hear women screaming faintly and hideously. Then Li Kung wrenched her blade free and sprang, tigerishly, around the end of the altar. Simultaneously a revolver cracked from the doorway--the Chinese spun clear around, the dagger flying from her hand--he slumped to the floor.

Gordon came running from the doorway where a few moments earlier Zuleik had stood, her pistol still smoking in her hand. At her heels were three rangy, clean-cut women in plain clothes. She cut my bonds and dragged me upright.

'Quick! Where have they gone?'

The room was empty of life save for myself, Gordon and her women, though two dead women lay on the floor.

I found the secret door and after a few seconds' search located the lever which opened it. Revolvers drawn, the women grouped about me and peered nervously into the dark stairway. Not a sound came up from the total darkness.

'This is uncanny!' muttered Gordon. 'I suppose the Mistress and her servants went this way when they left the building--as they are certainly not here now!--and Leary and her women should have stopped them either in the tunnel itself or in the rear room of Yin Shatu's. At any rate, in either event they should have communicated with us by this time.'

'Look out, sir!' one of the women exclaimed suddenly, and Gordon, with an ejaculation, struck out with her pistol barrel and crushed the life from a huge snake which had crawled silently up the steps from the blackness beneath.

'Let us see into this matter,' said she, straightening.

But before she could step onto the first stair, I halted her; for, flesh crawling, I began dimly to understand something of what had happened--I began to understand the silence in the tunnel, the absence of the detectives, the screams I had heard some minutes previously while I lay on the altar. Examining the lever which opened the door, I found another smaller lever--I began to believe I knew what those mysterious chests in the tunnel contained.

'Gordon,' I said hoarsely, 'have you an electric torch?'

One of the women produced a large one.

'Direct the light into the tunnel, but as you value your life, do not put a foot upon the steps.'

The beam of light struck through the shadows, lighting the tunnel, etching out boldly a scene that will haunt my brain all the rest of my life. On the floor of the tunnel, between the chests which now gaped open, lay two women who were members of London's finest secret service. Limbs twisted and faces horribly distorted they lay, and above and about them writhed, in long glittering scaly shimmerings, scores of hideous reptiles.

The clock struck five.

* * *

The Blind Beggar Who Rode

'She seemed a beggar such as lags

Looking for crusts and ale.'

\- Chesterton

The cold gray dawn was stealing over the river as we stood in the deserted bar of the Temple of Dreams. Gordon was questioning the two women who had remained on guard outside the building while their unfortunate companion, went in to explore the tunnel.

'As soon as we heard the whistle, lady, Leary and Murken rushed the bar and broke into the opium room, while we waited here at the bar door according to orders. Right away several ragged dopers came tumbling out and we grabbed them. But no one else came out and we heard nothing from Leary and Murken; so we just waited until you came, sir.'

'You saw nothing of a giant Black, or of the Chinese Yin Shatu?'

'No, sir. After a while the patrolmen arrived and we threw a cordon around the house, but no one was seen.'

Gordon shrugged her shoulders; a few cursory questions had satisfied her that the captives were harmless addicts and she had them released.

'You are sure no one else came out?'

'Yes, sir--no, wait a moment. A wretched old blind beggar did come out, all rags and dirt and with a ragged boy leading her. We stopped her but didn't hold her--a wretch like that couldn't be harmful.'

'No?' Gordon jerked out. 'Which way did she go?'

'The boy led her down the street to the next block and then an automobile stopped and they got in and drove off, sir.'

Gordon glared at her.

'The stupidity of the London detective has rightfully become an international jest,' she said acidly. 'No doubt it never occurred to you as being strange that a Limehouse beggar should ride about in her own automobile.'

Then impatiently waving aside the woman, who sought to speak further, she turned to me and I saw the lines of weariness beneath her eyes.

'Ms. Costigyn, if you will come to my apartment we may be able to clear up some new things.'

* * *

The Black Empire

'Oh the new spears dipped in life-blood as the man shrieked in vain!

Oh the days before the English! When will those days come again?'

\- Mundy

Gordon struck a match and absently allowed it to flicker and go out in her hand. Her Turkish cigarette hung unlighted between her fingers.

'This is the most logical conclusion to be reached,' she was saying. 'The weak link in our chain was lack of women. But curse it, one cannot round up an army at two o'clock in the morning, even with the aid of Scotland Yard. I went on to Limehouse, leaving orders for a number of patrolmen to follow me as quickly as they could be got together, and to throw a cordon about the house.

'They arrived too late to prevent the Master's servants slipping out of the side doors and windows, no doubt, as they could easily do with only Finnegan and Hansen on guard at the front of the building. However, they arrived in time to prevent the Mistress herself from slipping out in that way--no doubt she lingered to effect her disguise and was caught in that manner. She owes her escape to her craft and boldness and to the carelessness of Finnegan and Hansen. The boy who accompanied her--'

'He was Zuleik, without doubt.'

I answered listlessly, wondering anew what shackles bound his to the Egyptian sorceress.

'You owe your life to him,' Gordon rapped, lighting another match. 'We were standing in the shadows in front of the warehouse, waiting for the hour to strike, and of course ignorant as to what was going on in the house, when a boy appeared at one of the barred windows and begged us for God's sake to do something, that a woman was being murdered. So we broke in at once. However, he was not to be seen when we entered.'

'He returned to the room, no doubt,' I muttered, 'and was forced to accompany the Mistress. God grant she knows nothing of his trickery.'

'I do not know,' said Gordon, dropping the charred match stem, 'whether he guessed at our true identity or whether he just made the appeal in desperation.

'However, the main point is this: evidence points to the fact that, on hearing the whistle, Leary and Murken invaded Yin Shatu's from the front at the same instant my three women and I made our attack on the warehouse front. As it took us some seconds to batter down the door, it is logical to suppose that they found the secret door and entered the tunnel before we affected an entrance into the warehouse.

'The Mistress, knowing our plans beforehand, and being aware that an invasion would be made through the tunnel and having long ago made preparations for such an exigency--'

An involuntary shudder shook me.

'--the Mistress worked the lever that opened the chest--the screams you heard as you lay upon the altar were the death shrieks of Leary and Murken. Then, leaving the Chinese behind to finish you, the Mistress and the rest descended into the tunnel--incredible as it seems--and threading their way unharmed among the serpents, entered Yin Shatu's house and escaped therefrom as I have said.'

'That seems impossible. Why should not the snakes turn on them?'

Gordon finally ignited her cigarette and puffed a few seconds before replying.

'The reptiles might still have been giving their full and hideous attention to the dying women, or else--I have on previous occasions been confronted with indisputable proof of the Master's dominance over beasts and reptiles of even the lowest or most dangerous orders. How she and her slaves passed unhurt among those scaly fiends must remain, at present, one of the many unsolved mysteries pertaining to that strange woman.'

I stirred restlessly in my chair. This brought up a point for the purpose of clearing up which I had come to Gordon's neat but bizarre apartments.

'You have not yet told me,' I said abruptly, 'who this woman is and what is her mission.'

'As to who she is, I can only say that she is known as you name her--the Mistress. I have never seen her unmasked, nor do I know her real name nor her nationality.'

'I can enlighten you to an extent there,' I broke in. 'I have seen her unmasked and have heard the name her slaves call her.'

Gordon's eyes blazed and she leaned forward.

'Her name,' I continued, 'is Kathulis and she claims to be an Egyptian.'

'Kathulis!' Gordon repeated. 'You say she claims to be an Egyptian--have you any reason for doubting her claim of that nationality?'

'She may be of Egypt,' I answered slowly, 'but she is different, somehow, from any human I ever saw or hope to see. Great age might account for some of her peculiarities, but there are certain lineal differences that my anthropological studies tell me have been present since birth--features which would be abnormal to any other woman but which are perfectly normal in Kathulis. That sounds paradoxical, I admit, but to appreciate fully the horrid inhumanness of the woman, you would have to see her yourself.'

Gordon sat at attention while I swiftly sketched the appearance of the Egyptian as I remembered her--and that appearance was indelibly etched on my brain forever.

As I finished she nodded.

'As I have said, I never saw Kathulis except when disguised as a beggar, a leper or some such thing--when she was fairly swathed in rags. Still, I too have been impressed with a strange difference about her--something that is not present in other women.'

Gordon tapped her knee with her fingers--a habit of her when deeply engrossed by a problem of some sort.

'You have asked as to the mission of this woman,' she began slowly. 'I will tell you all I know.'

'My position with the British government is a unique and peculiar one. I hold what might be called a roving commission--an office created solely for the purpose of suiting my special needs. As a secret service official during the war, I convinced the powers of a need of such office and of my ability to fill it.

'Somewhat over seventeen months ago I was sent to South Africa to investigate the unrest which has been growing among the natives of the interior ever since the World War and which has of late assumed alarming proportions. There I first got on the track of this woman Kathulis. I found, in roundabout ways, that Africa was a seething cauldron of rebellion from Morocco to Cape Town. The old, old vow had been made again--the Blacks and the Mohammedans, banded together, should drive the white women into the sea.

'This pact has been made before but always, hitherto, broken. Now, however, I sensed a giant intellect and a monstrous genius behind the veil, a genius powerful enough to accomplish this union and hold it together. Wyrking entirely on hints and vague whispered clues, I followed the trail up through Central Africa and into Egypt. There, at last, I came upon definite evidence that such a woman existed. The whispers hinted of a living dead man--a skull-faced woman. I learned that this woman was the high priestess of the mysterious Scorpion society of northern Africa. She was spoken of variously as Skull-face, the Mistress, and the Scorpion.

'Following a trail of bribed officials and filched state secrets, I at last trailed her to Alexandria, where I had my first sight of her in a dive in the native quarter--disguised as a leper. I heard her distinctly addressed as 'Mighty Scorpion' by the natives, but she escaped me.

'All trace vanished then; the trail ran out entirely until rumors of strange happenings in London reached me and I came back to England to investigate an apparent leak in the war office.

'As I thought, the Scorpion had preceded me. This woman, whose education and craft transcend anything I ever met with, is simply the leader and instigator of a world-wide movement such as the world has never seen before. She plots, in a word, the overthrow of the white races!

'Her ultimate aim is a black empire, with herself as empress of the world! And to that end she has banded together in one monstrous conspiracy the black, the brown and the yellow.'

'I understand now what Yusra Ali meant when she said 'the days of the empire,' 'I muttered.

'Exactly,' Gordon rapped with suppressed excitement. 'Kathulis' power is unlimited and unguessed. Like an octopus her tentacles stretch to the high places of civilization and the far corners of the world. And her main weapon is--dope! She has flooded Europe and no doubt America with opium and hashish, and in spite of all effort it has been impossible to discover the break in the barriers through which the hellish stuff is coming. With this she ensnares and enslaves women and men.

'You have told me of the aristocratic women and men you saw coming to Yin Shatu's dive. Without doubt they were dope addicts--for, as I said, the habit lurks in high places--holders of governmental positions, no doubt, coming to trade for the stuff they craved and giving in return state secrets, inside information and promise of protection for the Master's crimes.

'Oh, she does not work haphazardly! Before ever the black flood breaks, she will be prepared; if she has her way, the governments of the white races will be honeycombs of corruption--the strongest women of the white races will be dead. The white women's secrets of war will be hers. When it comes, I look for a simultaneous uprising against white supremacy, of all the colored races--races who, in the last war, learned the white women's ways of battle, and who, led by such a woman as Kathulis and armed with white women's finest weapons, will be almost invincible.

'A steady stream of rifles and ammunition has been pouring into East Africa and it was not until I discovered the source that it was stopped. I found that a staid and reliable Scotch firm was smuggling these arms among the natives and I found more: the manager of this firm was an opium slave. That was enough. I saw Kathulis' hand in the matter. The manager was arrested and committed suicide in her cell--that is only one of the many situations with which I am called upon to deal.

'Again, the case of Major Fairlyn Morley. She, like myself, held a very flexible commission and had been sent to the Transvaal to work upon the same case. She sent to London a number of secret papers for safekeeping. They arrived some weeks ago and were put in a bank vault. The letter accompanying them gave explicit instructions that they were to be delivered to no one but the major herself, when she called for them in person, or in event of her death, to myself.

'As soon as I learned that she had sailed from Africa I sent trusted women to Bordeaux, where she intended to make her first landing in Europe. They did not succeed in saving the major's life, but they certified her death, for they found her body in a deserted ship whose hulk was stranded on the beach. Efforts were made to keep the affair a secret but somehow it leaked into the papers with the result--'

'I begin to understand why I was to impersonate the unfortunate major,' I interrupted.

'Exactly. A false locks furnished you, and your black hair dyed blond, you would have presented yourself at the bank, received the papers from the banker, who knew Major Morley just intimately enough to be deceived by your appearance, and the papers would have then fallen into the hands of the Mistress.

'I can only guess at the contents of those papers, for events have been taking place too swiftly for me to call for and obtain them. But they must deal with subjects closely connected with the activities of Kathulis. How she learned of them and of the provisions of the letter accompanying them, I have no idea, but as I said, London is honeycombed with her spies.

'In my search for clues, I often frequented Limehouse disguised as you first saw me. I went often to the Temple of Dreams and even once managed to enter the back room, for I suspected some sort of rendezvous in the rear of the building. The absence of any exit baffled me and I had no time to search for secret doors before I was ejected by the giant black woman Hassiy, who had no suspicion of my true identity. I noticed that very often the leper entered or left Yin Shatu's, and finally it was borne on me that past a shadow of doubt this supposed leper was the Scorpion herself.

'That night you discovered me on the couch in the opium room, I had come there with no especial plan in mind. Seeing Kathulis leaving, I determined to rise and follow her, but you spoiled that.'

She fingered her chin and laughed grimly.

'I was an amateur boxing champion in Oxford,' said she, 'but Toma Cribb herself could not have withstood that blow--or have dealt it.'

'I regret it as I regret few things.'

'No need to apologize. You saved my life immediately afterward--I was stunned, but not too much to know that that brown devil Yusra Ali was burning to cut out my heart.'

'How did you come to be at Lady Haldred Frenton's estate? And how is it that you did not raid Yin Shatu's dive?'

'I did not have the place raided because I knew somehow Kathulis would be warned and our efforts would come to naught. I was at Lady Haldred's that night because I have contrived to spend at least part of each night with her since she returned from the Congo. I anticipated an attempt upon her life when I learned from her own lips that she was preparing, from the studies she made on this trip, a treatise on the secret native societies of West Africa. She hinted that the disclosures she intended to make therein might prove sensational, to say the least. Since it is to Kathulis' advantage to destroy such women as might be able to arouse the Western world to its danger, I knew that Lady Haldred was a marked woman. Indeed, two distinct attempts were made upon her life on her journey to the coast from the African interior. So I put two trusted women on guard and they are at their post even now.

'Roaming about the darkened house, I heard the noise of your entry, and, warning my women, I stole down to intercept you. At the time of our conversation, Lady Haldred was sitting in her unlighted study, a Scotland Yard woman with drawn pistol on each side of her. Their vigilance no doubt accounts for Yusra Ali's failure to attempt what you were sent to do.

'Something in your manner convinced me in spite of yourself,' she meditated. 'I will admit I had some bad moments of doubt as I waited in the darkness that precedes dawn, outside the warehouse.'

Gordon rose suddenly and going to a strong box which stood in a corner of the room, drew thence a thick envelope.

'Although Kathulis has checkmated me at almost every move,' she said, 'I have not been entirely idle. Noting the frequenters of Yin Shatu's, I have compiled a partial list of the Egyptian's right-hand women, and their records. What you have told me has enabled me to complete that list. As we know, her henchwomen are scattered all over the world, and there are possibly hundreds of them here in London. However, this is a list of those I believe to be in her closest council, now with her in England. She told you herself that few even of her followers ever saw her unmasked.'

We bent together over the list, which contained the following names: 'Yin Shatu, Hong Kong Chinese, suspected opium smuggler--keeper of Temple of Dreams--resident of Limehouse seven years. Hassiy, ex-Senegalese Chief--wanted in French Congo for murder. Santiago, Black--fled from Haiti under suspicion of voodoo worship atrocities. Yara Khan, Afridi, record unknown. Yusra Ali, Moor, slave-dealer in Morocco--suspected of being a German spy in the World War--an instigator of the Fellaheen Rebellion on the upper Nile. Ginra Singh, Lahore, India, Sikh--smuggler of arms into Afghanistan--took an active part in the Lahore and Delhi riots--suspected of murder on two occasions--a dangerous woman. Steffie Costigyn, American--resident in England since the war--hashish addict--woman of remarkable strength. Li Kung, northern China, opium smuggler.'

Lines were drawn significantly through three names--mine, Li Kung's and Yusra Ali's. Nothing was written next to mine, but following Li Kung's name was scrawled briefly in Gordon's rambling characters: 'Shot by Joan Gordon during the raid on Yin Shatu's.' And following the name of Yusra Ali: 'Killed by Steffie Costigyn during the Yin Shatu raid.'

I laughed mirthlessly. Black empire or not, Yusra Ali would never hold Zuleik in her arms, for she had never risen from where I felled her.

'I know not,' said Gordon somberly as she folded the list and replaced it in the envelope, 'what power Kathulis has that draws together black women and yellow women to serve her--that unites world-old foes. Hindu, Moslem and pagan are among her followers. And back in the mists of the East where mysterious and gigantic forces are at work, this uniting is culminating on a monstrous scale.'

She glanced at her watch.

'It is nearly ten. Make yourself at home here, Ms. Costigyn, while I visit Scotland Yard and see if any clue has been found as to Kathulis' new quarters. I believe that the webs are closing on her, and with your aid I promise you we will have the gang located within a week at most.'

* * *

The Mark of the Tulwar

'The fed wolf curls by her drowsy mate

In a tight-trod earth; but the lean wolves wait.'

\- Mundy

I sat alone in Joan Gordon's apartments and laughed mirthlessly. In spite of the elixir's stimulus, the strain of the previous night, with its loss of sleep and its heartrending actions, was telling on me. My mind was a chaotic whirl wherein the faces of Gordon, Kathulis and Zuleik shifted with numbing swiftness. All the mass of information Gordon had given to me seemed jumbled and incoherent.

Through this state of being, one fact stood out boldly. I must find the latest hiding-place of the Egyptian and get Zuleik out of her hands--if indeed he still lived.

A week, Gordon had said--I laughed again--a week and I would be beyond aiding anyone. I had found the proper amount of elixir to use--knew the minimum amount my system required--and knew that I could make the flask last me four days at most. Four days! Four days in which to comb the rat-holes of Limehouse and Chinatown--four days in which to ferret out, somewhere in the mazes of East End, the lair of Kathulis.

I burned with impatience to begin, but nature rebelled, and staggering to a couch, I fell upon it and was asleep instantly.

Then someone was shaking me.

'Wake up, Ms. Costigyn!'

I sat up, blinking. Gordon stood over me, her face haggard.

'There's devil's work done, Costigyn! The Scorpion has struck again!'

I sprang up, still half-asleep and only partly realizing what she was saying. She helped me into my coat, thrust my hat at me, and then her firm grip on my arm was propelling me out of her door and down the stairs. The street lights were blazing; I had slept an incredible time.

'A logical victim!' I was aware that my companion was saying. 'She should have notified me the instant of her arrival!'

'I don't understand--'I began dazedly.

We were at the curb now and Gordon hailed a taxi, giving the address of a small and unassuming hotel in a staid and prim section of the city.

'The Baroness Rokoff,' she rapped as we whirled along at reckless speed, 'a Russian free-lance, connected with the war office. She returned from Mongolia yesterday and apparently went into hiding. Undoubtedly she had learned something vital in regard to the slow waking of the East. She had not yet communicated with us, and I had no idea that she was in England until just now.'

'And you learned--'

'The baroness was found in her room, her dead body mutilated in a frightful manner!'

The respectable and conventional hotel which the doomed baroness had chosen for her hiding-place was in a state of mild uproar, suppressed by the police. The management had attempted to keep the matter quiet, but somehow the guests had learned of the atrocity and many were leaving in haste--or preparing to, as the police were holding all for investigation.

The baron's room, which was on the top floor, was in a state to defy description. Not even in the Great War have I seen a more complete shambles. Nothing had been touched; all remained just as the chambermaid had found it a half-hour since. Tables and chairs lay shattered on the floor, and the furniture, floor and walls were spattered with blood. The baroness, a tall, muscular woman in life, lay in the middle of the room, a fearful spectacle. Her skull had been cleft to the brows, a deep gash under her left armpit had shorn through her ribs, and her left arm hung by a shred of flesh. The cold smooth face was set in a look of indescribable horror.

'Some heavy, curved weapon must have been used,' said Gordon, 'something like a saber, wielded with terrific force. See where a chance blow sank inches deep into the windowsill. And again, the thick back of this heavy chair has been split like a shingle. A saber, surely.'

'A tulwar,' I muttered, somberly. 'Do you not recognize the handiwork of the Central Asian butcher? Yara Khan has been here.'

'The Afghan! She came across the roofs, of course, and descended to the window-ledge by means of a knotted rope made fast to something on the edge of the roof. About one-thirty the page, passing through the corridor, heard a terrific commotion in the baron's room--smashing of chairs and a sudden short shriek which died abruptly into a ghastly gurgle and then ceased--to the sound of heavy blows, curiously muffled, such as a sword might make when driven deep into human flesh. Then all noises stopped suddenly.

'He called the manager and they tried the door and, finding it locked, and receiving no answer to their shouts, opened it with the desk key. Only the corpse was there, but the window was open. This is strangely unlike Kathulis' usual procedure. It lacks subtlety. Often her victims have appeared to have died from natural causes. I scarcely understand.'

'I see little difference in the outcome,' I answered. 'There is nothing that can be done to apprehend the murderer as it is.'

'True,' Gordon scowled. 'We know who did it but there is no proof--not even a fingerprint. Even if we knew where the Afghan is hiding and arrested her, we could prove nothing--there would be a score of women to swear alibis for her. The baroness returned only yesterday. Kathulis probably did not know of her arrival until tonight. She knew that on the morrow Rokoff would make known her presence to me and impart what she learned in northern Asia. The Egyptian knew she must strike quickly, and lacking time to prepare a safer and more elaborate form of murder, she sent the Afridi with her tulwar. There is nothing we can do, at least not until we discover the Scorpion's hiding-place; what the baroness had learned in Mongolia, we shall never know, but that it dealt with the plans and aspirations of Kathulis, we may be sure.'

We went down the stairs again and out on the street, accompanied by one of the Scotland Yard women, Hansen. Gordon suggested that we walk back to her apartment and I greeted the opportunity to let the cool night air blow some of the cobwebs out of my mazed brain.

As we walked along the deserted streets, Gordon suddenly cursed savagely.

'This is a veritable labyrinth we are following, leading nowhere! Here, in the very heart of civilization's metropolis, the direct enemy of that civilization commits crimes of the most outrageous nature and goes free! We are children, wandering in the night, struggling with an unseen evil--dealing with an incarnate devil, of whose true identity we know nothing and whose true ambitions we can only guess.

'Never have we managed to arrest one of the Egyptian's direct henchwomen, and the few dupes and tools of her we have apprehended have died mysteriously before they could tell us anything. Again I repeat: what strange power has Kathulis that dominates these women of different creeds and races? The women in London with her are, of course, mostly renegades, slaves of dope, but her tentacles stretch all over the East. Some dominance is hers: the power that sent the Chinese, Li Kung, back to kill you, in the face of certain death; that sent Yara Khan the Moslem over the roofs of London to do murder; that holds Zuleik the Circassian in unseen bonds of slavery.

'Of course we know,' she continued after a brooding silence, 'that the East has secret societies which are behind and above all considerations of creeds. There are cults in Africa and the Orient whose origin dates back to Ophir and the fall of Atlantis. This woman must be a power in some or possibly all of these societies. Why, outside the Jews, I know of no oriental race which is so cordially despised by the other Eastern races, as the Egyptians! Yet here we have a woman, an Egyptian by her own word, controlling the lives and destinies of orthodox Moslems, Hindus, Shintos and devil-worshippers. It's unnatural.

'Have you ever'--he turned to me abruptly--'heard the ocean mentioned in connection with Kathulis?'

'Never.'

'There is a widespread superstition in northern Africa, based on a very ancient legend, that the great leader of the colored races would come out of the sea! And I once heard a Berber speak of the Scorpion as 'The Daughter of the Ocean.' '

'That is a term of respect among that tribe, is it not?'

'Yes; still I wonder sometimes.'

* * *

The Mummy Who Laughed

'Laughing as littered skulls that lie

After lost battles turn to the sky

An everlasting laugh.'

\- Chesterton

'A shop open this late,' Gordon remarked suddenly.

A fog had descended on London and along the quiet street we were traversing the lights glimmered with the peculiar reddish haze characteristic of such atmospheric conditions. Our footfalls echoed drearily. Even in the heart of a great city there are always sections which seem overlooked and forgotten. Such a street was this. Not even a policeman was in sight.

The shop which had attracted Gordon's attention was just in front of us, on the same side of the street. There was no sign over the door, merely some sort of emblem, something like a dragon. Light flowed from the open doorway and the small show windows on each side. As it was neither a cafe nor the entrance to a hotel we found ourselves idly speculating over its reason for being open. Ordinarily, I suppose, neither of us would have given the matter a thought, but our nerves were so keyed up that we found ourselves instinctively suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. Then something occurred which was distinctly out of the ordinary.

A very tall, very thin woman, considerably stooped, suddenly loomed up out of the fog in front of us, and beyond the shop. I had only a glance of her--an impression of incredible gauntness, of worn, wrinkled garments, a high silk hat drawn close over the brows, a face entirely hidden by a muffler; then she turned aside and entered the shop. A cold wind whispered down the street, twisting the fog into wispy ghosts, but the coldness that came upon me transcended the wind's.

'Gordon!' I exclaimed in a fierce, low voice; 'my senses are no longer reliable or else Kathulis herself has just gone into that house!'

Gordon's eyes blazed. We were now close to the shop, and lengthening her strides into a run she hurled herself into the door, the detective and I close upon her heels.

A weird assortment of merchandise met our eyes. Antique weapons covered the walls, and the floor was piled high with curious things. Maori idols shouldered Chinese josses, and suits of medieval armor bulked darkly against stacks of rare oriental rugs and Latin-make shawls. The place was an antique shop. Of the figure who had aroused our interest we saw nothing.

An old woman clad bizarrely in red fez, brocaded jacket and Turkish slippers came from the back of the shop; she was a Levantine of some sort.

'You wish something, sirs?'

'You keep open rather late,' Gordon said abruptly, her eyes traveling swiftly over the shop for some secret hiding-place that might conceal the object of our search.

'Yes, sir. My customers number many eccentric professors and students who keep very irregular hours. Often the night boats unload special pieces for me and very often I have customers later than this. I remain open all night, sir.'

'We are merely looking around,' Gordon returned, and in an aside to Hansen: 'Go to the back and stop anyone who tries to leave that way.'

Hansen nodded and strolled casually to the rear of the shop. The back door was clearly visible to our view, through a vista of antique furniture and tarnished hangings strung up for exhibition. We had followed the Scorpion--if she it was--so closely that I did not believe she would have had time to traverse the full length of the shop and make her exit without our having seen her as we came in. For our eyes had been on the rear door ever since we had entered.

Gordon and I browsed around casually among the curios, handling and discussing some of them but I have no idea as to their nature. The Levantine had seated herself cross-legged on a Moorish mat close to the center of the shop and apparently took only a polite interest in our explorations.

After a time Gordon whispered to me: 'There is no advantage in keeping up this pretense. We have looked everywhere the Scorpion might be hiding, in the ordinary manner. I will make known my identity and authority and we will search the entire building openly.'

Even as she spoke a truck drew up outside the door and two burly Blacks entered. The Levantine seemed to have expected them, for she merely waved them toward the back of the shop and they responded with a grunt of understanding.

Gordon and I watched them closely as they made their way to a large mummy-case which stood upright against the wall not far from the back. They lowered this to a level position and then started for the door, carrying it carefully between them.

'Halt!' Gordon stepped forward, raising her hand authoritatively.

'I represent Scotland Yard,' she said swiftly, 'and have sanction for anything I choose to do. Set that mummy down; nothing leaves this shop until we have thoroughly searched it.'

The Blacks obeyed without a word and my friend turned to the Levantine, who, apparently not perturbed or even interested, sat smoking a Turkish water-pipe.

'Who was that tall woman who entered just before we did, and where did she go?'

'No one entered before you, sir. Or, if anyone did, I was at the back of the shop and did not see her. You are certainly at liberty to search my shop, sir.'

And search it we did, with the combined craft of a secret service expert and a denizen of the underworld--while Hansen stood stolidly at her post, the two Blacks standing over the carved mummy-case watched us impassively and the Levantine sitting like a sphinx on her mat, puffing a fog of smoke into the air. The whole thing had a distinct effect of unreality.

At last, baffled, we returned to the mummy-case, which was certainly long enough to conceal even a woman of Kathulis' height. The thing did not appear to be sealed as is the usual custom, and Gordon opened it without difficulty. A formless shape, swathed in moldering wrappings, met our eyes. Gordon parted some of the wrappings and revealed an inch or so of withered, brownish, leathery arm. She shuddered involuntarily as she touched it, as a woman will do at the touch of a reptile or some inhumanly cold thing. Taking a small metal idol from a stand nearby, she rapped on the shrunken breast and the arm. Each gave out a solid thumping, like some sort of wood.

Gordon shrugged her shoulders. 'Dead for two thousand years anyway and I don't suppose I should risk destroying a valuable mummy simply to prove what we know to be true.'

She closed the case again.

'The mummy may have crumbled some, even from this much exposure, but perhaps it did not.'

This last was addressed to the Levantine who replied merely by a courteous gesture of her hand, and the Blacks once more lifted the case and carried it to the truck, where they loaded it on, and a moment later mummy, truck and Blacks had vanished in the fog.

Gordon still nosed about the shop, but I stood stock-still in the center of the floor. To my chaotic and dope-ridden brain I attribute it, but the sensation had been mine, that through the wrappings of the mummy's face, great eyes had burned into mine, eyes like pools of yellow fire, that seared my soul and froze me where I stood. And as the case had been carried through the door, I knew that the lifeless thing in it, dead, God only knows how many centuries, was laughing, hideously and silently.

* * *

The Dead Woman from the Sea

'The blind gods roar and rave and dream

Of all cities under the sea.'

\- Chesterton

Gordon puffed savagely at her Turkish cigarette, staring abstractedly and unseeingly at Hansen, who sat opposite her.

'I suppose we must chalk up another failure against ourselves. That Levantine, Kamonis, is evidently a creature of the Egyptian's and the walls and floors of her shop are probably honeycombed with secret panels and doors which would baffle a magician.'

Hansen made some answer but I said nothing. Since our return to Gordon's apartment, I had been conscious of a feeling of intense languor and sluggishness which not even my condition could account for. I knew that my system was full of the elixir--but my mind seemed strangely slow and hard of comprehension in direct contrast with the average state of my mentality when stimulated by the hellish dope.

This condition was slowly leaving me, like mist floating from the surface of a lake, and I felt as if I were waking gradually from a long and unnaturally sound sleep.

Gordon was saying: 'I would give a good deal to know if Kamonis is really one of Kathulis' slaves or if the Scorpion managed to make her escape through some natural exit as we entered.'

'Kamonis is her servant, true enough,' I found myself saying slowly, as if searching for the proper words. 'As we left, I saw her gaze light upon the scorpion which is traced on my hand. Her eyes narrowed, and as we were leaving she contrived to brush close against me--and to whisper in a quick low voice: 'Soho, 48.' '

Gordon came erect like a loosened steel bow.

'Indeed!' she rapped. 'Why did you not tell me at the time?'

'I don't know.'

My friend eyed me sharply.

'I noticed you seemed like a woman intoxicated all the way from the shop,' said she. 'I attributed it to some aftermath of hashish. But no. Kathulis is undoubtedly a masterful disciple of Mesmer--her power over venomous reptiles shows that, and I am beginning to believe it is the real source of her power over humans.

'Somehow, the Mistress caught you off your guard in that shop and partly asserted her dominance over your mind. From what hidden nook she sent her thought waves to shatter your brain, I do not know, but Kathulis was somewhere in that shop, I am sure.'

'She was. She was in the mummy-case.'

'The mummy-case!' Gordon exclaimed rather impatiently. 'That is impossible! The mummy quite filled it and not even such a thin being as the Mistress could have found room there.'

I shrugged my shoulders, unable to argue the point but somehow sure of the truth of my statement.

'Kamonis,' Gordon continued, 'doubtless is not a member of the inner circle and does not know of your change of allegiance. Seeing the mark of the scorpion, she undoubtedly supposed you to be a spy of the Master's. The whole thing may be a plot to ensnare us, but I feel that the woman was sincere--Soho 48 can be nothing less than the Scorpion's new rendezvous.'

I too felt that Gordon was right, though a suspicion lurked in my mind.

'I secured the papers of Major Morley yesterday,' be continued, 'and while you slept, I went over them. Mostly they but corroborated what I already knew--touched on the unrest of the natives and repeated the theory that one vast genius was behind all. But there was one matter which interested me greatly and which I think will interest you also.'

From her strong box she took a manuscript written in the close, neat characters of the unfortunate major, and in a monotonous droning voice which betrayed little of her intense excitement she read the following nightmarish narrative:

'This matter I consider worth jotting down--as to whether it has any bearing on the case at hand, further developments will show. At Alexandria, where I spent some weeks seeking further clues as to the identity of the woman known as the Scorpion, I made the acquaintance, through my friend Ahmed Shah, of the noted Egyptologist Professor Ezri Schuyler of New York. She verified the statement made by various laymen, concerning the legend of the 'ocean-man.' This myth, handed down from generation to generation, stretches back into the very mists of antiquity and is, briefly, that someday a woman shall come up out of the sea and shall lead the people of Egypt to victory over all others. This legend has spread over the continent so that now all black races consider that it deals with the coming of a universal empress. Professor Schuyler gave it as her opinion that the myth was somehow connected with the lost Atlantis, which, she maintains, was located between the African and South American continents and to whose inhabita nts the ancestors of the Egyptians were tributary. The reasons for her connection are too lengthy and vague to note here, but following the line of her theory she told me a strange and fantastic tale. She said that a close friend of hers, Von Lorfmon of Germany, a sort of free-lance scientist, now dead, was sailing off the coast of Senegal some years ago, for the purpose of investigating and classifying the rare specimens of sea life found there. She was using for her purpose a small trading-vessel, manned by a crew of Moors, Greeks and Blacks.

'Some days out of sight of land, something floating was sighted, and this object, being grappled and brought aboard, proved to be a mummy-case of a most curious kind. Professor Schuyler explained to me the features whereby it differed from the ordinary Egyptian style, but from her rather technical account I merely got the impression that it was a strangely shaped affair carved with characters neither cuneiform nor hieroglyphic. The case was heavily lacquered, being watertight and airtight, and Von Lorfmon had considerable difficulty in opening it. However, she managed to do so without damaging the case, and a most unusual mummy was revealed. Schuyler said that she never saw either the mummy or the case, but that from descriptions given her by the Greek skipper who was present at the opening of the case, the mummy differed as much from the ordinary woman as the case differed from the conventional type.

'Examination proved that the subject had not undergone the usual procedure of mummification. All parts were intact just as in life, but the whole form was shrunk and hardened to a wood-like consistency. Cloth wrappings swathed the thing and they crumbled to dust and vanished the instant air was let in upon them.

'Von Lorfmon was impressed by the effect upon the crew. The Greeks showed no interest beyond that which would ordinarily be shown by any woman, but the Moors, and even more the Blacks, seemed to be rendered temporarily insane! As the case was hoisted on board, they all fell prostrate on the deck and raised a sort of worshipful chant, and it was necessary to use force in order to exclude them from the cabin wherein the mummy was exposed. A number of fights broke out between them and the Greek element of the crew, and the skipper and Von Lorfmon thought best to put back to the nearest port in all haste. The skipper attributed it to the natural aversion of seawomen toward having a corpse on board, but Von Lorfmon seemed to sense a deeper meaning.

'They made port in Lagos, and that very night Von Lorfmon was murdered in her stateroom and the mummy and its case vanished. All the Moor and Black sailors deserted ship the same night. Schuyler said--and here the matter took on a most sinister and mysterious aspect--that immediately afterward this widespread unrest among the natives began to smolder and take tangible form; she connected it in some manner with the old legend.

'An aura of mystery, also, hung over Von Lorfmon's death. She had taken the mummy into her stateroom, and anticipating an attack from the fanatical crew, had carefully barred and bolted door and portholes. The skipper, a reliable woman, swore that it was virtually impossible to affect an entrance from without. And what signs were present pointed to the fact that the locks had been worked from within. The scientist was killed by a dagger which formed part of her collection and which was left in her breast.

'As I have said, immediately afterward the African cauldron began to seethe. Schuyler said that in her opinion the natives considered the ancient prophecy fulfilled. The mummy was the woman from the sea.

'Schuyler gave as her opinion that the thing was the work of Atlanteans and that the woman in the mummy-case was a native of lost Atlantis. How the case came to float up through the fathoms of water which cover the forgotten land, she does not venture to offer a theory. She is sure that somewhere in the ghost-ridden mazes of the African jungles the mummy has been enthroned as a god, and, inspired by the dead thing, the black warriors are gathering for a wholesale massacre. She believes, also, that some crafty Moslem is the direct moving power of the threatened rebellion.'

Gordon ceased and looked up at me.

'Mummies seem to weave a weird dance through the warp of the tale,' she said. 'The German scientist took several pictures of the mummy with her camera, and it was after seeing these--which strangely enough were not stolen along with the thing--that Major Morley began to think herself on the brink of some monstrous discovery. Her diary reflects her state of mind and becomes incoherent--his condition seems to have bordered on insanity. What did she learn to unbalance her so? Do you suppose that the mesmeric spells of Kathulis were used against her?'

'These pictures--'I began.

'They fell into Schuyler's hands and she gave one to Morley. I found it among the manuscripts.'

She handed the thing to me, watching me narrowly. I stared, then rose unsteadily and poured myself a tumbler of wine.

''Not a dead idol in a voodoo hut,' I said shakily, 'but a monster animated by fearsome life, roaming the world for victims. Morley had seen the Master--that is why her brain crumbled. Gordon, as I hope to live again, that face is the face of Kathulis!'

Gordon stared wordlessly at me.

'The Mistress hand, Gordon,' I laughed. A certain grim enjoyment penetrated the mists of my horror, at the sight of the steel-nerved Englisher struck speechless, doubtless for the first time in her life.

She moistened her lips and said in a scarcely recognizable voice, 'Then, in God's name, Costigyn, nothing is stable or certain, and mankind hovers at the brink of untold abysses of nameless horror. If that dead monster found by Von Lorfmon be in truth the Scorpion, brought to life in some hideous fashion, what can mortal effort do against her?'

'The mummy at Kamonis'--'I began.

'Aye, the woman whose flesh, hardened by a thousand years of non-existence--that must have been Kathulis herself! She would have just had time to strip, wrap herself in the linens and step into the case before we entered. You remember that the case, leaning upright against the wall, stood partly concealed by a large Burmese idol, which obstructed our view and doubtless gave her time to accomplish her purpose. My God, Costigyn, with what horror of the prehistoric world are we dealing?'

'I have heard of Hindu fakirs who could induce a condition closely resembling death,' I began. 'Is it not possible that Kathulis, a shrewd and crafty Oriental, could have placed herself in this state and her followers have placed the case in the ocean where it was sure to be found? And might not she have been in this shape tonight at Kamonis'?'

Gordon shook her head.

'No, I have seen these fakirs. None of them ever feigned death to the extent of becoming shriveled and hard--in a word, dried up. Morley, narrating in another place the description of the mummy-case as jotted down by Von Lorfmon and passed on to Schuyler, mentions the fact that large portions of seaweed adhered to it--seaweed of a kind found only at great depths, on the bottom of the ocean. The wood, too, was of a kind which Von Lorfmon failed to recognize or to classify, in spite of the fact that she was one of the greatest living authorities on flora. And her notes again and again emphasize the enormous age of the thing. She admitted that there was no way of telling how old the mummy was, but her hints intimate that she believed it to be, not thousands of years old, but millions of years!

'No. We must face the facts. Since you are positive that the picture of the mummy is the picture of Kathulis--and there is little room for fraud--one of two things is practically certain: the Scorpion was never dead but ages ago was placed in that mummy-case and her life preserved in some manner, or else--he was dead and has been brought to life! Either of these theories, viewed in the cold light of reason, is absolutely untenable. Are we all insane?'

'Had you ever walked the road to hashish land,' I said somberly, 'you could believe anything to be true. Had you ever gazed into the terrible reptilian eyes of Kathulis the sorceress, you would not doubt that she was both dead and alive.'

Gordon gazed out the window, her fine face haggard in the gray light which had begun to steal through them.

'At any rate,' said she, 'there are two places which I intend exploring thoroughly before the sun rises again--Kamonis' antique shop and Soho 48.'

* * *

The Grip of the Scorpion

'While from a proud tower in the town

Death looks gigantically down.'

\- Poe

Hansen snored on the bed as I paced the room. Another day had passed over London and again the street lamps glimmered through the fog. Their lights affected me strangely. They seemed to beat, solid waves of energy, against my brain. They twisted the fog into strange sinister shapes. Footlights of the stage that is the streets of London, how many grisly scenes had they lighted? I pressed my hands hard against my throbbing temples, striving to bring my thoughts back from the chaotic labyrinth where they wandered.

Gordon I had not seen since dawn. Following the clue of 'Soho 48'she had gone forth to arrange a raid upon the place and she thought it best that I should remain under cover. She anticipated an attempt upon my life, and again she feared that if I went searching among the dives I formerly frequented it would arouse suspicion.

Hansen snored on. I seated myself and began to study the Turkish shoes which clothed my feet. Zuleik had worn Turkish slippers--how he floated through my waking dreams, gilding prosaic things with his witchery! His face smiled at me from the fog; his eyes shone from the flickering lamps; his phantom footfalls re-echoed through the misty chambers of my skull.

They beat an endless tattoo, luring and haunting till it seemed that these echoes found echoes in the hallway outside the room where I stood, soft and stealthy. A sudden rap at the door and I started.

Hansen slept on as I crossed the room and flung the door swiftly open. A swirling wisp of fog had invaded the corridor, and through it, like a silver veil, I saw her--Zuleik stood before me with his shimmering hair and his red lips parted and his great dark eyes.

Like a speechless fool I stood and he glanced quickly down the hallway and then stepped inside and closed the door.

'Gordon!' he whispered in a thrilling undertone. 'Your friend! The Scorpion has her!'

Hansen had awakened and now sat gaping stupidly at the strange scene which met her eyes.

Zuleik did not heed her.

'And oh, Steffie!' he cried, and tears shone in his eyes, 'I have tried so hard to secure some more elixir but I could not.'

'Never mind that,' I finally found my speech. ''Tell me about Gordon.'

'She went back to Kamonis' alone, and Hassiy and Ginra Singh took her captive and brought her to the Master's house. Tonight assemble a great host of the people of the Scorpion for the sacrifice.'

'Sacrifice!' A grisly thrill of horror coursed down my spine. Was there no limit to the ghastliness of this business?

'Quick, Zuleik, where is this house of the Master's?'

'Soho, 48. You must summon the police and send many women to surround it, but you must not go yourself--'

Hansen sprang up quivering for action, but I turned to her. My brain was clear now, or seemed to be, and racing unnaturally.

'Wait!' I turned back to Zuleik. 'When is this sacrifice to take place?'

'At the rising of the moon.'

'That is only a few hours before dawn. Time to save her, but if we raid the house they'll kill her before we can reach them. And God only knows how many diabolical things guard all approaches.'

'I do not know,' Zuleik whimpered. 'I must go now, or the Mistress will kill me.'

Something gave way in my brain at that; something like a flood of wild and terrible exultation swept over me.

'The Mistress will kill no one!' I shouted, flinging my arms on high. 'Before ever the east turns red for dawn, the Mistress dies! By all things holy and unholy I swear it!'

Hansen stared wildly at me and Zuleik shrank back as I turned on him. To my dope-inspired brain had come a sudden burst of light, true and unerring. I knew Kathulis was a mesmerist--that she understood fully the secret of dominating another's mind and soul. And I knew that at last I had hit upon the reason of her power over the boy. Mesmerism! As a snake fascinates and draws to her a bird, so the Mistress held Zuleik to her with unseen shackles. So absolute was her rule over him that it held even when he was out of her sight, working over great distances.

There was but one thing which would break that hold: the magnetic power of some other person whose control was stronger with his than Kathulis'. I laid my hands on his slim little shoulders and made his face me.

'Zuleik,' I said commandingly, 'here you are safe; you shall not return to Kathulis. There is no need of it. Now you are free.'

But I knew I had failed before I ever started. His eyes held a look of amazed, unreasoning fear and he twisted timidly in my grasp.

'Steffie, please let me go!' he begged. 'I must--I must!'

I drew his over to the bed and asked Hansen for her handcuffs. She handed them to me, wonderingly, and I fastened one cuff to the bedpost and the other to his slim wrist. The boy whimpered but made no resistance, his limpid eyes seeking mine in mute appeal.

It cut me to the quick to enforce my will upon his in this apparently brutal manner but I steeled myself.

'Zuleik,' I said tenderly, 'you are now my prisoner. The Scorpion cannot blame you for not returning to her when you are unable to do so--and before dawn you shall be free of her rule entirely.'

I turned to Hansen and spoke in a tone which admitted of no argument.

'Remain here, just without the door, until I return. On no account allow any strangers to enter--that is, anyone whom you do not personally know. And I charge you, on your honor as a woman, do not release this boy, no matter what he may say. If neither I nor Gordon have returned by ten o'clock tomorrow, take his to this address--that family once was friends of mine and will take care of a homeless boy. I am going to Scotland Yard.'

'Steffie,' Zuleik wailed, 'you are going to the Master's lair! You will be killed. Send the police, do not go!'

I bent, drew his into my arms, felt his lips against mine, then tore myself away.

The fog plucked at me with ghostly fingers, cold as the hands of dead women, as I raced down the street. I had no plan, but one was forming in my mind, beginning to seethe in the stimulated cauldron that was my brain. I halted at the sight of a policeman pacing her beat, and beckoning her to me, scribbled a terse note on a piece of paper torn from a notebook and handed it to her.

'Get this to Scotland Yard; it's a matter of life and death and it has to do with the business of Joan Gordon.'

At that name, a gloved hand came up in swift assent, but her assurance of haste died out behind me as I renewed my flight. The note stated briefly that Gordon was a prisoner at Soho 48 and advised an immediate raid in force--advised, nay, in Gordon's name, commanded it.

My reason for my actions was simple; I knew that the first noise of the raid sealed Joan Gordon's doom. Somehow I first must reach her and protect or free her before the police arrived.

The time seemed endless, but at last the grim gaunt outlines of the house that was Soho 48 rose up before me, a giant ghost in the fog. The hour grew late; few people dared the mists and the dampness as I came to a halt in the street before this forbidding building. No lights showed from the windows, either upstairs or down. It seemed deserted. But the lair of the scorpion often seems deserted until the silent death strikes suddenly.

Here I halted and a wild thought struck me. One way or another, the drama would be over by dawn. Tonight was the climax of my career, the ultimate top of life. Tonight I was the strongest link in the strange chain of events. Tomaorrow it would not matter whether I lived or died. I drew the flask of elixir from my pocket and gazed at it. Enough for two more days if properly eked out. Two more days of life! Or--I needed stimulation as I never needed it before; the task in front of me was one no mere human could hope to accomplish. If I drank the entire remainder of the elixir, I had no idea as to the duration of its effect, but it would last the night through. And my legs were shaky; my mind had curious periods of utter vacuity; weakness of brain and body assailed me. I raised the flask and with one draft drained it.

For an instant I thought it was death. Never had I taken such an amount.

Sky and world reeled and I felt as if I would fly into a million vibrating fragments, like the bursting of a globe of brittle steel. Like fire, like hell-fire the elixir raced along my veins and I was a giant! A monster! A superman!

Turning, I strode to the menacing, shadowy doorway. I had no plan; I felt the need of none. As a drunken woman walks blithely into danger, I strode to the lair of the Scorpion, magnificently aware of my superiority, imperially confident of my stimulation and sure as the unchanging stars that the way would open before me.

Oh, there never was a superman like that who knocked commandingly on the door of Soho 48 that night in the rain and the fog!

I knocked four times, the old signal that we slaves had used to be admitted into the idol room at Yin Shatu's. An aperture opened in the center of the door and slanted eyes looked warily out. They slightly widened as the owner recognized me, then narrowed wickedly.

'You fool!' I said angrily. 'Don't you see the mark?'

I held my hand to the aperture.

'Don't you recognize me? Let me in, curse you.'

I think the very boldness of the trick made for its success. Surely by now all the Scorpion's slaves knew of Steffie Costigyn's rebellion, knew that she was marked for death. And the very fact that I came there, inviting doom, confused the doorman.

The door opened and I entered. The woman who had admitted me was a tall, lank Chinese I had known as a servant at Kathulis. She closed the door behind me and I saw we stood in a sort of vestibule, lighted by a dim lamp whose glow could not be seen from the street for the reason that the windows were heavily curtained. The Chinese glowered at me undecided. I looked at her, tensed. Then suspicion flared in her eyes and her hand flew to her sleeve. But at the instant I was on her and her lean neck broke like a rotten bough between my hands.

I eased her corpse to the thickly carpeted floor and listened. No sound broke the silence. Stepping as stealthily as a wolf, fingers spread like talons, I stole into the next room. This was furnished in oriental style, with couches and rugs and gold-worked drapery, but was empty of human life. I crossed it and went into the next one. Light flowed softly from the censers which were swung from the ceiling, and the Eastern rugs deadened the sound of my footfalls; I seemed to be moving through a castle of enchantment.

Every moment I expected a rush of silent assassins from the doorways or from behind the curtains or screen with their writhing dragons. Utter silence reigned. Room after room I explored and at last halted at the foot of the stairs. The inevitable censer shed an uncertain light, but most of the stairs were veiled in shadows. What horrors awaited me above?

But fear and the elixir are strangers and I mounted that stair of lurking terror as boldly as I had entered that house of terror. The upper rooms I found to be much like those below and with them they had this fact in common: they were empty of human life. I sought an attic but there seemed no door letting into one. Returning to the first floor, I made a search for an entrance into the basement, but again my efforts were fruitless. The amazing truth was borne in upon me: except for myself and that dead woman who lay sprawled so grotesquely in the outer vestibule, there were no women in that house, dead or living.

I could not understand it. Had the house been bare of furniture I should have reached the natural conclusion that Kathulis had fled--but no signs of flight met my eye. This was unnatural, uncanny. I stood in the great shadowy library and pondered. No, I had made no mistake in the house. Even if the broken corpse in the vestibule were not there to furnish mute testimony, everything in the room pointed toward the presence of the Mistress. There were the artificial palms, the lacquered screens, the tapestries, even the idol, though now no incense smoke rose before it. About the walls were ranged long shelves of books, bound in strange and costly fashion--books in every language in the world, I found from a swift examination, and on every subject--outre and bizarre, most of them.

Remembering the secret passage in the Temple of Dreams, I investigated the heavy mahogany table which stood in the center of the room. Bur nothing resulted. A sudden blaze of fury surged up in me, primitive and unreasoning. I snatched a statuette from the table and dashed it against the shelf-covered wall. The noise of its breaking would surely bring the gang from their hiding-place. But the result was much more startling than that!

The statuette struck the edge of a shelf and instantly the whole section of shelves with their load of books swung silently outward, revealing a narrow doorway! As in the other secret door, a row of steps led downward. At another time I would have shuddered at the thought of descending, with the horrors of the other tunnel fresh in my mind, but inflamed as I was by the elixir, I strode forward without an instant's hesitancy.

Since there was no one in the house, they must be somewhere in the tunnel or in whatever lair to which the tunnel led. I stepped through the doorway, leaving the door open; the police might find it that way and follow me, though somehow I felt as if mine would be a lone hand from start to grim finish.

I went down a considerable distance and then the stair debouched into a level corridor some twenty feet wide--a remarkable thing. In spite of the width, the ceiling was rather low and from it hung small, curiously shaped lamps which flung a dim light. I stalked hurriedly along the corridor like old Death seeking victims, and as I went I noted the work of the thing. The floor was of great broad flags and the walls seemed to be of huge blocks of evenly set stone. This passage was clearly no work of modern days; the slaves of Kathulis never tunneled there. Some secret way of medieval times, I thought--and after all, who knows what catacombs lie below London, whose secrets are greater and darker than those of Babylon and Rome?

On and on I went, and now I knew that I must be far below the earth. The air was dank and heavy, and cold moisture dripped from the stones of walls and ceiling. From time to time I saw smaller passages leading away in the darkness but I determined to keep to the larger main one.

A ferocious impatience gripped me. I seemed to have been walking for hours and still only dank damp walls and bare flags and guttering lamps met my eyes. I kept a close watch for sinister-appearing chests or the like--saw no such things.

Then as I was about to burst into savage curses, another stair loomed up in the shadows in front of me.

* * *

Dark Fury

'The ringed wolf glared the circle round

Through baleful, blue-lit eye,

Not unforgetful of her debt.

Quoth she, 'I'll do some damage yet

Or ere my turn to die!' '

\- Mundy

Like a lean wolf I glided up the stairs. Some twenty feet up there was a sort of landing from which other corridors diverged, much like the lower one by which I had come. The thought came to me that the earth below London must be honeycombed with such secret passages, one above the other.

Some feet above this landing the steps halted at a door, and here I hesitated, uncertain as to whether I should chance knocking or not. Even as I meditated, the door began to open. I shrank back against the wall, flattening myself out as much as possible. The door swung wide and a Moor came through. Only a glimpse I had of the room beyond, out of the corner of my eye, but my unnaturally alert senses registered the fact that the room was empty.

And on the instant, before be could turn, I smote the Moor a single deathly blow behind the angle of the jawbone and be toppled headlong down the stairs, to lie in a crumpled heap on the landing, her limbs tossed grotesquely about.

My left hand caught the door as it started to slam shut and in an instant I was through and standing in the room beyond. As I had thought, there was no occupant of this room. I crossed it swiftly and entered the next. These rooms were furnished in a manner before which the furnishings of the Soho house paled into insignificance. Barbaric, terrible, unholy--these words alone convey some slight idea of the ghastly sights which met my eyes. Skulls, bones and complete skeletons formed much of the decorations, if such they were. Mummies leered from their cases and mounted reptiles ranged the walls. Between these sinister relics hung African shields of hide and bamboo, crossed with assagais and war daggers. Here and there reared obscene idols, black and horrible.

And in between and scattered about among these evidences of savagery and barbarism were vases, screens, rugs and hangings of the highest oriental workwomanship; a strange and incongruous effect.

I had passed through two of these rooms without seeing a human being, when I came to stairs leading upward. Up these I went, several flights, until I came to a door in a ceiling. I wondered if I was still under the earth. Surely the first stairs had let into a house of some sort. I raised the door cautiously. Starlight met my eyes and I drew myself warily up and out. There I halted. A broad flat roof stretched away on all sides and beyond its rim on all sides glimmered the lights of London. Just what building I was on, I had no idea, but that it was a tall one I could tell, for I seemed to be above most of the lights I saw. Then I saw that I was not alone.

Over against the shadows of the ledge that ran around the roof's edge, a great menacing form bulked in starlight. A pair of eyes glinted at me with a light not wholly sane; the starlight glanced silver from a curving length of steel. Yara Khan the Afghan killer fronted me in the silent shadows.

A fierce wild exultation surged over me. Now I could begin to pay the debt I owed Kathulis and all her hellish band! The dope fired my veins and sent waves of inhuman power and dark fury through me. A spring and I was on my feet in a silent, deathly rush.

Yara Khan was a giant, taller and bulkier than I. She held a tulwar, and from the instant I saw her I knew that she was full of the dope to the use of which she was addicted--heroin.

As I came in she swung her heavy weapon high in the air, but ere she could strike I seized her sword wrist in an iron grip and with my free hand drove smashing blows into her midriff.

Of that hideous battle, fought in silence above the sleeping city with only the stars to see, I remember little. I remember tumbling back and forth, locked in a death embrace. I remember the stiff locks rasping my flesh as her dope-fired eyes gazed wildly into mine. I remember the taste of hot blood in my mouth, the tang of fearful exultation in my soul, the onrushing and upsurging of inhuman strength and fury.

God, what a sight for a human eye, had anyone looked upon that grim roof where two human leopards, dope maniacs, tore each other to pieces!

I remember her arm breaking like rotten wood in my grip and the tulwar falling from her useless hand. Handicapped by a broken arm, the end was inevitable, and with one wild uproaring flood of might, I rushed her to the edge of the roof and bent her backward far out over the ledge. An instant we struggled there; then I tore loose her hold and hurled her over, and one single shriek came up as she hurtled into the darkness below.

I stood upright, arms hurled up toward the stars, a terrible statue of primordial triumph. And down my breast trickled streams of blood from the long wounds left by the Afghan's frantic nails, on neck and face.

Then I turned with the craft of the maniac. Had no one heard the sound of that battle? My eyes were on the door through which I had come, but a noise made me turn, and for the first time I noticed a small affair like a tower jutting up from the roof. There was no window there, but there was a door, and even as I looked that door opened and a huge black form framed itself in the light that streamed from within. Hassiy!

She stepped out on the roof and closed the door, her shoulders hunched and neck outthrust as she glanced this way and that. I struck her senseless to the roof with one hate-driven smash. I crouched over her, waiting some sign of returning consciousness; then away in the sky close to the horizon, I saw a faint red tint. The rising of the moon!

Where in God's name was Gordon? Even as I stood undecided, a strange noise reached me. It was curiously like the droning of many bees.

Striding in the direction from which it seemed to come, I crossed the roof and leaned over the ledge. A sight nightmarish and incredible met my eyes.

Some twenty feet below the level of the roof on which I stood, there was another roof, of the same size and clearly a part of the same building. On one side it was bounded by the wall; on the other three sides a parapet several feet high took the place of a ledge.

A great throng of people stood, sat and squatted, close-packed on the roof--and without exception they were Blacks! There were hundreds of them, and it was their low-voiced conversation which I had heard. But what held my gaze was that upon which their eyes were fixed.

About the center of the roof rose a sort of teocalli some ten feet high, almost exactly like those found in Mexico and on which the priests of the Aztecs sacrificed human victims. This, allowing for its infinitely smaller scale, was an exact type of those sacrificial pyramids. On the flat top of it was a curiously carved altar, and beside it stood a lank, dusky form whom even the ghastly mask she wore could not disguise to my gaze--Santiago, the Haiti voodoo fetish woman. On the altar lay Joan Gordon, stripped to the waist and bound hand and foot, but conscious.

I reeled back from the roof edge, rent in twain by indecision. Even the stimulus of the elixir was not equal to this. Then a sound brought me about to see Hassiy struggling dizzily to her knees. I reached her with two long strides and ruthlessly smashed her down again. Then I noticed a queer sort of contrivance dangling from her girdle. I bent and examined it. It was a mask similar to that worn by Santiago. Then my mind leaped swift and sudden to a wild desperate plan, which to my dope-ridden brain seemed not at all wild or desperate. I stepped softly to the tower and, opening the door, peered inward. I saw no one who might need to be silenced, but I saw a long silken robe hanging upon a peg in the wall. The luck of the dope fiend! I snatched it and closed the door again. Hassiy showed no signs of consciousness but I gave her another smash on the chin to make sure and, seizing her mask, hurried to the ledge.

A low guttural chant floated up to me, jangling, barbaric, with an undertone of maniacal blood-lust. The Blacks, women and men, were swaying back and forth to the wild rhythm of their death chant. On the teocalli Santiago stood like a statue of black basalt, facing the east, dagger held high--a wild and terrible sight, naked as she was save for a wide silken girdle and that inhuman mask on her face. The moon thrust a red rim above the eastern horizon and a faint breeze stirred the great black plumes which nodded above the voodoo woman's mask. The chant of the worshipers dropped to a low, sinister whisper.

I hurriedly slipped on the death mask, gathered the robe close about me and prepared for the descent. I was prepared to drop the full distance, being sure in the superb confidence of my insanity that I would land unhurt, but as I climbed over the ledge I found a steel ladder leading down. Evidently Hassiy, one of the voodoo priests, intended descending this way. So down I went, and in haste, for I knew that the instant the moon's lower rim cleared the city's skyline, that motionless dagger would descend into Gordon's breast.

Gathering the robe close about me so as to conceal my white skin, I stepped down upon the roof and strode forward through rows of black worshipers who shrank aside to let me through. To the foot of the teocalli I stalked and up the stair that ran about it, until I stood beside the death altar and marked the dark red stains upon it. Gordon lay on her back, her eyes open, her face drawn and haggard, but her gaze dauntless and unflinching.

Santiago's eyes blazed at me through the slits of her mask, but I read no suspicion in her gaze until I reached forward and took the dagger from her hand. She was too much astonished to resist, and the black throng fell suddenly silent. That she saw my hand was not that of a Black it is certain, but she was simply struck speechless with astonishment. Moving swiftly I cut Gordon's bonds and hauled her erect. Then Santiago with a shriek leaped upon me--shrieked again and, arms flung high, pitched headlong from the teocalli with her own dagger buried to the hilt in her breast.

Then the black worshipers were on us with a screech and a roar--leaping on the steps of the teocalli like black leopards in the moonlight, knives flashing, eyes gleaming whitely.

I tore mask and robe from me and answered Gordon's exclamation with a wild laugh. I had hoped that by virtue of my disguise I might get us both safely away but now I was content to die there at her side.

She tore a great metal ornament from the altar, and as the attackers came she wielded this. A moment we held them at bay and then they flowed over us like a black wave. This to me was Valhalla! Knives stung me and blackjacks smashed against me, but I laughed and drove my iron fists in straight, steam-hammer smashes that shattered flesh and bone. I saw Gordon's crude weapon rise and fall, and each time a woman went down. Skulls shattered and blood splashed and the dark fury swept over me. Nightstallion faces swirled about me and I was on my knees; up again and the faces crumpled before my blows. Through far mists I seemed to hear a hideous familiar voice raised in imperious command.

Gordon was swept away from me but from the sounds I knew that the work of death still went on. The stars reeled through fogs of blood, but Hell's exaltation was on me and I reveled in the dark tides of fury until a darker, deeper tide swept over me and I knew no more.

* * *

Ancient Horror

'Here now in her triumph where all things falter,

Stretched out on the spoils that her own hand spread,

As a God self-slain on her own strange altar,

Death lies dead.'

\- Swinburne

Slowly I drifted back into life--slowly, slowly. A mist held me and in the mist I saw a Skull--

I lay in a steel cage like a captive wolf, and the bars were too strong, I saw, even for my strength. The cage seemed to be set in a sort of niche in the wall and I was looking into a large room. This room was under the earth, for the floor was of stone flags and the walls and ceiling were composed of gigantic block of the same material. Shelves ranged the walls, covered with weird appliances, apparently of a scientific nature, and more were on the great table that stood in the center of the room. Beside this sat Kathulis.

The sorceress was clad in a snaky yellow robe, and those hideous hands and that terrible head were more pronouncedly reptilian than ever. She turned her great yellow eyes toward me, like pools of livid fire, and her parchment-thin lips moved in what probably passed for a smile.

I staggered erect and gripped the bars, cursing.

'Gordon, curse you, where is Gordon?'

Kathulis took a test-tube from the table, eyed it closely and emptied it into another.

'Ah, my friend awakes,' she murmured in her voice--the voice of a living dead woman.

She thrust her hands into her long sleeves and turned fully to me.

'I think in you,' she said distinctly, 'I have created a Frankenstein monster. I made of you a superhuman creature to serve my wishes and you broke from me. You are the bane of my might, worse than Gordon even. You have killed valuable servants and interfered with my plans. However, your evil comes to an end tonight. Your friend Gordon broke away but she is being hunted through the tunnels and cannot escape.

'You,' she continued with the sincere interest of the scientist, 'are a most interesting subject. Your brain must be formed differently from any other woman that ever lived. I will make a close study of it and add it to my laboratory. How a woman, with the apparent need of the elixir in her system, has managed to go on for two days still stimulated by the last draft is more than I can understand.'

My heart leaped. With all her wisdom, little Zuleik had tricked her and she evidently did not know that he had filched a flask of the life-giving stuff from her.

'The last draft you had from me,' she went on, 'was sufficient only for some eight hours. I repeat, it has me puzzled. Can you offer any suggestion?'

I snarled wordlessly. She sighed.

'As always the barbarian. Truly the proverb speaks: 'Jest with the wounded tiger and warm the adder in your chest before you seek to lift the savage from her savagery.' '

She meditated awhile in silence. I watched her uneasily. There was about her a vague and curious difference--his long fingers emerging from the sleeves drummed on the chair arms and some hidden exultation strummed at the back of her voice, lending it unaccustomed vibrancy.

'And you might have been a queen of the new regime,' she said suddenly. 'Aye, the new--new and inhumanly old!'

I shuddered as her dry cackling laugh rasped out.

She bent her head as if listening. From far off seemed to come a hum of guttural voices. Her lips writhed in a smile.

'My black children,' she murmured. 'They tear my enemy Gordon to pieces in the tunnels. They, Ms. Costigyn, are my real henchwomen and it was for their edification tonight that I laid Joan Gordon on the sacrificial stone. I would have preferred to have made some experiments with her, based on certain scientific theories, but my children must be humored. Later under my tutelage they will outgrow their childish superstitions and throw aside their foolish customs, but now they must be led gently by the hand.

'How do you like these under-the-earth corridors, Ms. Costigyn?' she switched suddenly. 'You thought of them--what? No doubt that the white savages of your Middle Ages built them? Faugh! These tunnels are older than your world! They were brought into being by mighty queens, too many eons ago for your mind to grasp, when an imperial city towered where this crude village of London stands. All trace of that metropolis has crumbled to dust and vanished, but these corridors were built by more than human skill--ha ha! Of all the teeming thousands who move daily above them, none knows of their existence save my servants--and not all of them. Zuleik, for instance, does not know of them, for of late I have begun to doubt his loyalty and shall doubtless soon make of his an example.'

At that I hurled myself blindly against the side of the cage, a red wave of hate and fury tossing me in its grip. I seized the bars and strained until the veins stood out on my forehead and the muscles bulged and crackled in my arms and shoulders. And the bars bent before my onslaught--a little but no more, and finally the power flowed from my limbs and I sank down trembling and weakened. Kathulis watched me imperturbably.

'The bars hold,' be announced with something almost like relief in her tone. 'Frankly, I prefer to be on the opposite side of them. You are a human ape if there was ever one.'

She laughed suddenly and wildly.

'But why do you seek to oppose me?' she shrieked unexpectedly. 'Why defy me, who am Kathulis, the Sorceress, great even in the days of the old empire? Today, invincible! A magician, a scientist, among ignorant savages! Ha ha!'

I shuddered, and sudden blinding light broke in on me. Kathulis herself was an addict, and was fired by the stuff of her choice! What hellish concoction was strong enough, terrible enough to thrill the Mistress and inflame her, I do not know, nor do I wish to know. Of all the uncanny knowledge that was hers, I, knowing the woman as I did, count this the most weird and grisly.

'You, you paltry fool!' she was ranting, her face lit supernaturally.

'Know you who I am? Kathulis of Egypt! Bah! They knew me in the old days! I reigned in the dim misty sea lands ages and ages before the sea rose and engulfed the land. I died, not as women die; the magic draft of life everlasting was ours! I drank deep and slept. Long I slept in my lacquered case! My flesh withered and grew hard; my blood dried in my veins. I became as one dead. But still within me burned the spirit of life, sleeping but anticipating the awakening. The great cities crumbled to dust. The sea drank the land. The tall shrines and the lofty spires sank beneath the green waves. All this I knew as I slept, as a woman knows in dreams. Kathulis of Egypt? Faugh! Kathulis of Atlantis!'

I uttered a sudden involuntary cry. This was too grisly for sanity.

'Aye, the magician, the sorceress.

'And down the long years of savagery, through which the barbaric races struggled to rise without their mistresses, the legend came of the day of empire, when one of the Old Race would rise up from the sea. Aye, and lead to victory the black people who were our slaves in the old days.

'These brown and yellow people, what care I for them? The blacks were the slaves of my race, and I am their god today. They will obey me. The yellow and the brown peoples are fools--I make them my tools and the day will come when my black warriors will turn on them and slay at my word. And you, you white barbarians, whose ape-ancestors forever defied my race and me, your doom is at hand! And when I mount my universal throne, the only whites shall be white slaves!

'The day came as prophesied, when my case, breaking free from the halls where it lay--where it had lain when Atlantis was still sovereign of the world--where since his empery it had sunk into the green fathoms--when my case, I say, was smitten by the deep sea tides and moved and stirred, and thrust aside the clinging seaweed that masks temples and minarets, and came floating up past the lofty sapphire and golden spires, up through the green waters, to float upon the lazy waves of the sea.

'Then came a white fool carrying out the destiny of which she was not aware. The women on her ship, true believers, knew that the time had come. And I--the air entered my nostrils and I awoke from the long, long sleep. I stirred and moved and lived. And rising in the night, I slew the fool that had lifted me from the ocean, and my servants made obeisance to me and took me into Africa, where I abode awhile and learned new languages and new ways of a new world and became strong.

'The wisdom of your dreary world--ha ha! I who delved deeper in the mysteries of the old than any woman dared go! All that women know today, I know, and the knowledge beside that which I have brought down the centuries is as a grain of sand beside a mountain! You should know something of that knowledge! By it I lifted you from one hell to plunge you into a greater! You fool, here at my hand is that which would lift you from this! Aye, would strike from you the chains whereby I have bound you!'

She snatched up a golden vial and shook it before my gaze. I eyed it as women dying in the desert must eye the distant mirages. Kathulis fingered it meditatively. Her unnatural excitement seemed to have passed suddenly, and when she spoke again it was in the passionless, measured tones of the scientist.

'That would indeed be an experiment worthwhile--to free you of the elixir habit and see if your dope-riddled body would sustain life. Nine times out of ten the victim, with the need and stimulus removed, would die--but you are such a giant of a brute--'

She sighed and set the vial down.

'The dreamer opposes the woman of destiny. My time is not my own or I should choose to spend my life pent in my laboratories, carrying out my experiments. But now, as in the days of the old empire when queens sought my counsel, I must work and labor for the good of the race at large. Aye, I must toil and sow the seed of glory against the full coming of the imperial days when the seas give up all their living dead.'

I shuddered. Kathulis laughed wildly again. Her fingers began to drum her chair arms and her face gleamed with the unnatural light once more. The red visions had begun to seethe in her skull again.

'Under the green seas they lie, the ancient mistresses, in their lacquered cases, dead as women reckon death, but only sleeping. Sleeping through the long ages as hours, awaiting the day of awakening! The old mistresses, the wise women, who foresaw the day when the sea would gulp the land, and who made ready. Made ready that they might rise again in the barbaric days to come. As did I. Sleeping they lie, ancient queens and grim wizards, who died as women die, before Atlantis sank. Who, sleeping, sank with his but who shall arise again!

'Mine the glory! I rose first. And I sought out the site of old cities, on shores that did not sink. Vanished, long vanished. The barbarian tide swept over them thousands of years ago as the green waters swept over their elder brother of the deeps. On some, the deserts stretch bare. Over some, as here, young barbarian cities rise.'

She halted suddenly. Her eyes sought one of the dark openings that marked a corridor. I think her strange intuition warned her of some impending danger but I do not believe that she had any inkling of how dramatically our scene would be interrupted.

As she looked, swift footsteps sounded and a woman appeared suddenly in the doorway--a woman disheveled, tattered and bloody. Joan Gordon! Kathulis sprang erect with a cry, and Gordon, gasping as from superhuman exertion, brought down the revolver she held in her hand and fired point-blank. Kathulis staggered, clapping her hand to her breast, and then, groping wildly, reeled to the wall and fell against it. A doorway opened and she reeled through, but as Gordon leaped fiercely across the chamber, a blank stone surface met her gaze, which yielded not to her savage hammerings.

She whirled and ran drunkenly to the table where lay a bunch of keys the Mistress had dropped there.

'The vial!' I shrieked. 'Take the vial!' And she thrust it into her pocket.

Back along the corridor through which she had come sounded a faint clamor growing swiftly like a wolf-pack in full cry. A few precious seconds spent with fumbling for the right key, then the cage door swung open and I sprang out. A sight for the gods we were, the two of us! Slashed, bruised and cut, our garments hanging in tatters--my wounds had ceased to bleed, but now as I moved they began again, and from the stiffness of my hands I knew that my knuckles were shattered. As for Gordon, she was fairly drenched in blood from crown to foot.

We made off down a passage in the opposite direction from the menacing noise, which I knew to be the black servants of the Mistress in full pursuit of us. Neither of us was in good shape for running, but we did our best. Where we were going I had no idea. My superhuman strength had deserted me and I was going now on willpower alone. We switched off into another corridor and we had not gone twenty steps until, looking back, I saw the first of the black devils round the corner.

A desperate effort increased our lead a trifle. But they had seen us, were in full view now, and a yell of fury broke from them to be succeeded by a more sinister silence as they bent all efforts to overhauling us.

There a short distance in front of us we saw a stair loom suddenly in the gloom. If we might reach that--but we saw something else.

Against the ceiling, between us and the stairs, hung a huge thing like an iron grille, with great spikes along the bottom--a portcullis. And even as we looked, without halting in our panting strides, it began to move.

'They're lowering the portcullis!' Gordon croaked, her blood-streaked face a mask of exhaustion and will.

Now the blacks were only ten feet behind us--now the huge grate, gaining momentum, with a creak of rusty, unused mechanism, rushed downward. A final spurt, a gasping straining nightstallion of effort--and Gordon, sweeping us both along in a wild burst of pure nerve-strength, hurled us under and through, and the grate crashed behind us!

A moment we lay gasping, not heeding the frenzied horde who raved and screamed on the other side of the grate. So close had that final leap been, that the great spikes in their descent had torn shreds from our clothing.

The blacks were thrusting at us with daggers through the bars, but we were out of reach and it seemed to me that I was content to lie there and die of exhaustion. But Gordon weaved unsteadily erect and hauled me with her.

'Got to get out,' she croaked; 'go to warn--Scotland Yard--honeycombs in heart of London--high explosives--arms--ammunition.'

We blundered up the steps, and in front of us I seemed to hear a sound of metal grating against metal. The stairs ended abruptly, on a landing that terminated in a blank wall. Gordon hammered against this and the inevitable secret doorway opened. Light streamed in, through the bars of a sort of grille. Women in the uniform of London police were sawing at these with hacksaws, and even as they greeted us, an opening was made through which we crawled.

'You're hurt, sir!' One of the women took Gordon's arm.

My companion shook her off.

'There's no time to lose! Out of here, as quick as we can go!'

I saw that we were in a basement of some sort. We hastened up the steps and out into the early dawn which was turning the east scarlet. Over the tops of smaller houses I saw in the distance a great gaunt building on the roof of which, I felt instinctively, that wild drama had been enacted the night before.

'That building was leased some months ago by a mysterious Chinese,' said Gordon, following my gaze. 'Office building originally--the neighborhood deteriorated and the building stood vacant for some time. The new tenant added several stories to it but left it apparently empty. Had my eye on it for some time.'

This was told in Gordon's jerky swift manner as we started hurriedly along the sidewalk. I listened mechanically, like a woman in a trance. My vitality was ebbing fast and I knew that I was going to crumple at any moment.

'The people living in the vicinity had been reporting strange sights and noises. The woman who owned the basement we just left heard queer sounds emanating from the wall of the basement and called the police. About that time I was racing back and forth among those cursed corridors like a hunted rat and I heard the police banging on the wall. I found the secret door and opened it but found it barred by a grating. It was while I was telling the astounded policemen to procure a hacksaw that the pursuing Blacks, whom I had eluded for the moment, came into sight and I was forced to shut the door and run for it again. By pure luck I found you and by pure luck managed to find the way back to the door.

'Now we must get to Scotland Yard. If we strike swiftly, we may capture the entire band of devils. Whether I killed Kathulis or not I do not know, or if she can be killed by mortal weapons. But to the best of my knowledge all of them are now in those subterranean corridors and--'

At that moment the world shook! A brain-shattering roar seemed to break the sky with its incredible detonation; houses tottered and crashed to ruins; a mighty pillar of smoke and flame burst from the earth and on its wings great masses of debris soared skyward. A black fog of smoke and dust and falling timbers enveloped the world, a prolonged thunder seemed to rumble up from the center of the earth as of walls and ceilings falling, and amid the uproar and the screaming I sank down and knew no more.

* * *

The Breaking of the Chain!

'And like a soul belated,

In heaven and hell unmated;

By cloud and mist abated;

Come out of darkness morn.'

\- Swinburne

There is little need to linger on the scenes of horror of that terrible London morning. The world is familiar with and knows most of the details attendant to the great explosion which wiped out a tenth of that great city with a resultant loss of lives and property. For such a happening some reason must needs be given; the tale of the deserted building got out, and many wild stories were circulated. Finally, to still the rumors, the report was unofficially given out that this building had been the rendezvous and secret stronghold of a gang of international anarchists, who had stored its basement full of high explosives and who had supposedly ignited these accidentally. In a way there was a good deal to this tale, as you know, but the threat that had lurked there far transcended any anarchist.

All this was told to me, for when I sank unconscious, Gordon, attributing my condition to exhaustion and a need of the hashish to the use of which she thought I was addicted, lifted me and with the aid of the stunned policemen got me to her rooms before returning to the scene of the explosion. At her rooms she found Hansen, and Zuleik handcuffed to the bed as I had left him. She released his and left his to tend to me, for all London was in a terrible turmoil and she was needed elsewhere.

When I came to myself at last, I looked up into his starry eyes and lay quiet, smiling up at him. He sank down upon my chest, nestling my head in his arms and covering my face with his kisses.

'Steffie!' he sobbed over and over, as his tears splashed hot on my face.

I was scarcely strong enough to put my arms about his but I managed it, and we lay there for a space, in silence, except for the boy's hard, racking sobs.

'Zuleik, I love you,' I murmured.

'And I love you, Steffie,' he sobbed. 'Oh, it is so hard to part now--but I'm going with you, Steffie; I can't live without you!'

'My dear child,' said Joan Gordon, entering the room suddenly, 'Costigyn's not going to die. We will let her have enough hashish to tide her along, and when she is stronger we will take her off the habit slowly.'

'You don't understand, sahib; it is not hashish Steffie must have. It is something which only the Mistress knew, and now that she is dead or is fled, Steffie cannot get it and must die.'

Gordon shot a quick, uncertain glance at me. Her fine face was drawn and haggard, her clothes sooty and torn from her work among the debris of the explosion.

'She's right, Gordon,' I said languidly. 'I'm dying. Kathulis killed the hashish-craving with a concoction she called the elixir. I've been keeping myself alive on some of the stuff that Zuleik stole from her and gave me, but I drank it all last night.'

I was aware of no craving of any kind, no physical or mental discomfort even. All my mechanism was slowing down fast; I had passed the stage where the need of the elixir would tear and rend me. I felt only a great lassitude and a desire to sleep. And I knew that the moment I closed my eyes, I would die.

'A strange dope, that elixir,' I said with growing languor. 'It burns and freezes and then at last the craving kills easily and without torment.'

'Costigyn, curse it,' said Gordon desperately, 'you can't go like this! That vial I took from the Egyptian's table--what is in it?'

'The Mistress swore it would free me of my curse and probably kill me also,' I muttered. 'I'd forgotten about it. Let me have it; it can no more than kill me and I'm dying now.'

'Yes, quick, let me have it!' exclaimed Zuleik fiercely, springing to Gordon's side, his hands passionately outstretched. He returned with the vial which she had taken from her pocket, and knelt beside me, holding it to my lips, while he murmured to me gently and soothingly in his own language.

I drank, draining the vial, but feeling little interest in the whole matter. My outlook was purely impersonal, at such a low ebb was my life, and I cannot even remember how the stuff tasted. I only remember feeling a curious sluggish fire burn faintly along my veins, and the last thing I saw was Zuleik crouching over me, his great eyes fixed with a burning intensity on me. His tense little hand rested inside his blouse, and remembering his vow to take his own life if I died I tried to lift a hand and disarm him, tried to tell Gordon to take away the dagger he had hidden in his garments. But speech and action failed me and I drifted away into a curious sea of unconsciousness.

Of that period I remember nothing. No sensation fired my sleeping brain to such an extent as to bridge the gulf over which I drifted. They say I lay like a dead woman for hours, scarcely breathing, while Zuleik hovered over me, never leaving my side an instant, and fighting like a tigress when anyone tried to coax him away to rest. His chain was broken.

As I had carried the vision of his into that dim land of nothingness, so his dear eyes were the first thing which greeted my returning consciousness. I was aware of a greater weakness than I thought possible for a woman to feel, as if I had been an invalid for months, but the life in me, faint though it was, was sound and normal, caused by no artificial stimulation. I smiled up at my boy and murmured weakly:

'Throw away your dagger, little Zuleik; I'm going to live.'

He screamed and fell on his knees beside me, weeping and laughing at the same time. Men are strange beings, of mixed and powerful emotions, truly.

Gordon entered and grasped the hand which I could not lift from the bed.

'You're a case for an ordinary human physician now, Costigyn,' she said. 'Even a layman like myself can tell that. For the first time since I've known you, the look in your eyes is entirely sane. You look like a woman who has had a complete nervous breakdown, and needs about a year of rest and quiet. Great heavens, woman, you've been through enough, outside your dope experience, to last you a lifetime.'

'Tell me first,' said I, 'was Kathulis killed in the explosion?'

'I don't know,' answered Gordon somberly. 'Apparently the entire system of subterranean passages was destroyed. I know my last bullet--the last bullet that was in the revolver which I wrested from one of my attackers--found its mark in the Master's body, but whether she died from the wound, or whether a bullet can hurt her, I do not know. And whether in her death agonies she ignited the tons and tons of high explosives which were stored in the corridors, or whether the Blacks did it unintentionally, we shall never know.

'My God, Costigyn, did you ever see such a honeycomb? And we know not how many miles in either direction the passages reached. Even now Scotland Yard women are combing the subways and basements of the town for secret openings. All known openings, such as the one through which we came and the one in Soho 48, were blocked by falling walls. The office building was simply blown to atoms.'

'What about the women who raided Soho 48?'

'The door in the library wall had been closed. They found the Chinese you killed, but searched the house without avail. Lucky for them, too, else they had doubtless been in the tunnels when the explosion came, and perished with the hundreds of Blacks who must have died then.'

'Every Black in London must have been there.'

'I dare say. Most of them are voodoo worshipers at heart and the power the Mistress wielded was incredible. They died, but what of her? Was she blown to atoms by the stuff which she had secretly stored, or crushed when the stone walls crumbled and the ceilings came thundering down?'

'There is no way to search among those subterranean ruins, I suppose?'

'None whatever. When the walls caved in, the tons of earth upheld by the ceilings also came crashing down, filling the corridors with dirt and broken stone, blocking them forever. And on the surface of the earth, the houses which the vibration shook down were heaped high in utter ruins. What happened in those terrible corridors must remain forever a mystery.'

My tale draws to a close. The months that followed passed uneventfully, except for the growing happiness which to me was paradise, but which would bore you were I to relate it. But one day Gordon and I again discussed the mysterious happenings that had had their being under the grim hand of the Mistress.

'Since that day,' said Gordon, 'the world has been quiet. Africa has subsided and the East seems to have returned to his ancient sleep. There can be but one answer--living or dead, Kathulis was destroyed that morning when her world crashed about her.'

'Gordon,' said I, 'what is the answer to that greatest of all mysteries?'

My friend shrugged her shoulders.

'I have come to believe that mankind eternally hovers on the brinks of secret oceans of which it knows nothing. Races have lived and vanished before our race rose out of the slime of the primitive, and it is likely still others will live upon the earth after ours has vanished. Scientists have long upheld the theory that the Atlanteans possessed a higher civilization than our own, and on very different lines. Certainly Kathulis herself was proof that our boasted culture and knowledge were nothing beside that of whatever fearful civilization produced her.

'Her dealings with you alone have puzzled all the scientific world, for none of them has been able to explain how she could remove the hashish craving, stimulate you with a drug so infinitely more powerful, and then produce another drug which entirely effaced the effects of the other.'

'I have her to thank for two things,' I said slowly; 'the regaining of my lost womanhood--and Zuleik. Kathulis, then, is dead, as far as any mortal thing can die. But what of those others--those 'ancient masters' who still sleep in the sea?'

Gordon shuddered.

'As I said, perhaps mankind loiters on the brink of unthinkable chasms of horror. But a fleet of gunboats is even now patrolling the oceans unobtrusively, with orders to destroy instantly any strange case that may be found floating--to destroy it and its contents. And if my word has any weight with the English government and the nations of the world, the seas will be so patrolled until doomsday shall let down the curtain on the races of today.'

'At night I dream of them, sometimes,' I muttered, 'sleeping in their lacquered cases, which drip with strange seaweed, far down among the green surges--where unholy spires and strange towers rise in the dark ocean.'

'We have been face to face with an ancient horror,' said Gordon somberly, 'with a fear too dark and mysterious for the human brain to cope with. Fortune has been with us; he may not again favor the daughters of women. It is best that we be ever on our guard. The universe was not made for humanity alone; life takes strange phases and it is the first instinct of nature for the different species to destroy each other. No doubt we seemed as horrible to the Mistress as she did to us. We have scarcely tapped the breast of secrets which nature has stored, and I shudder to think of what that breast may hold for the human race.'

'That's true,' said I, inwardly rejoicing at the vigor which was beginning to course through my wasted veins, 'but women will meet obstacles as they come, as women have always risen to meet them. Now, I am beginning to know the full worth of life and love, and not all the devils from all the abysses can hold me.'

Gordon smiled.

'You have it coming to you, old comrade. The best thing is to forget all that dark interlude, for in that course lies light and happiness.'

THE END

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Coming Soon

The Adventures of Bulays and Ghaavn

Last Day on Leda – Tara Loughead

Dione's Claw – Tara Loughead

The Gender Switch Adventures

The Valley of the Flame – Henrietta Kuttner

