The Masked Woman. Johnston McCulley

to get violent!”

      “Keep away from me!” “Red” Riley ex­claimed. “You put your paws on me, and I’ll make hash out of you!”

      He sprang for the door, for Sambo had moved a few feet away from it. He reached it — and felt his feet leave the floor. “Red” Riley realized that the giant had lifted him bodily.

      Though still weak from his battle in the alley, “Red” Riley was not the man to submit without opposition in such an emergency. He attempted to kick and strike, and merely succeeded in exhausting himself. Sambo tucked him beneath one arm, held both his wrists in the grasp of one hand, dragged his feet on the floor, and so carried him into the hallway.

      The giant carried “Red” Riley speedily along the hall, up another flight of stairs, and opened a door. Still hold­ing Riley beneath his arm, the man reached for a switch and turned on the electric lights.

      “Red” Riley gasped in mingled terror and surprise. The room was enough to make his insides squirm. It was of med­ium size, and there was not a bit of furniture in it. But, in the center, were two steel cages about eight feet square, each supplied with an iron bunk and a metal stool. “Red” Riley, who had been incarcerated a few times, shuddered. The cages certainly looked like detention cells.

      Sambo threw “Red” Riley into one of the little cells, slammed and locked the door, and put the key into his pocket. Then he snapped out the lights and departed. “Red” Riley heard the key turned in the lock of the outer door.

      On the floor below, Prof. Salwick was in close conversation with Mme. Madcap.

      “It is my wish that you do these things I have told you,” she said, “and ask no questions about it at the present time. You are willing?”

      “More than willing — delighted.” Prof. Salwick assured her.

      “And you are to forget that you are a criminal while in the presence of other persons, of course. A great deal depends upon our work tonight. I have been prepared for some time, but had almost des­paired of getting the proper man for the task until good fortune brought you to my door.”

      “Say, rather, that it was my good fortune to be rescued by such a charming woman,” the professor replied. “But one thing troubles me — I shall have to have evening dress. I have retained my apartment uptown, of course, though engaging a room in the — er — nefarious district. Or may a district be nefarious? No matter!”

      “We have ample time,” said Mme. Madcap. “We shall drive to your apartment, and then I’ll drive through the part while you are dressing.”

      She touched a bell on the table, and Sambo ap­peared.

      “How about Mr. Riley?” she asked.

      “He is thinkin’ it ovah.”

      “Very well. We’ll start in five minutes,” said Mme. Madcap.

      Sambo disappeared. Mme. Madcap took up the mask and fixed it over her face again. It was a serviceable mask, and its lines were such that they de­stroyed identity effectually.

      “There is another matter,” she said. “I speak of it now just to get it fixed in your mind. There is a man name Brute Wilger; I want you to locate him later. Also a man known as ‘Gentleman Joe’ Marget. You already have met ‘Shifty’ Slade. I shall have to smooth over your trouble with him. You see, professor, I want those three men in my organization.”

      Mme. Madcap glanced at the clock on the wall.

      “I think that it is time for us to go,” she said.

      They went to the lower floor, along the hall there, and came to a little door which Mme. Madcap opened. The professor saw before him a narrow, dark passage. Through this he followed Mme. Mad­cap for a distance of fifty feet, and then she flashed an electric torch. Before them was another door, and beside it, a woman’s long cloak on a hook. Mme. Madcap took the cloak down, and Prof. Salwick held it for her. Then she unlocked and opened the door.

      They emerged into an alley less than twenty feet from the side street where a limousine stood at the curb. Sambo was holding the door open. They hurried along the wall, across the walk, and sprang into the limousine. Sambo went in front and got behind the wheel. Mme. Madcap gave him the address of the apartment house where the professor had his rooms.

      Once there, the professor hurried inside, his heart fluttering at the romance of it and the unusual haste, and Mme. Madcap had Sambo drive her around the park for half an hour. At the end of that time, the limousine stopped before the apartment house again, and the professor got in, carrying a suitcase.

      “I shall keep evening clothes at my downtown address hereafter,” he explained.

      “Very good. You’ll have need of evening dress regularly for some time,” Mme. Madcap answered.

      Sambo, who had his orders, drove quickly through the well-lit streets and finally drew up before the brilliant entrance of a famous café. The professor and Mme. Madcap stepped out. Sambo drove the limousine a few yards away from the café entrance and stopped at the curb.

      Prof. Salwick knew little about cafés. Two or three times in his career he had visited such places, but generally those of the quieter sort, and only for afternoon tea. But he threw back his shoulders, glared at the doorman, and with Mme. Madcap on his arm, stepped inside briskly.

      The professor handed his hat and coat and Mme. Madcap’s cloak to the check boy. And then Prof. Salwick offered his arm again, and Mme. Mad­cap accepted it, and they swept past the astonished clerks and flower girls and into the main room of the café.