The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1916-10-01

himself so carefully nurtured for the
purpose of destroying others.
In wild desperation he caught up
the towel from the work bench and
scrubbed the smear of blood and
sticky substance from his open
wound. But the strip of linen dropped
from his nervefess fingers as a series
of convulsive trenors shook his tor
tured body. Then his knees gave
way under him and he slowly sank
upon the floor, gasping frantically
for breath, his lean fingers opening
and closing. His drug sapped vitality
offered but weak resistance to the
virulent poison which was rayaging
his system, and after several jerky
spasms his pain-racked form was
stilled in death.
Overcome by the sight of that grew
some tragedy, Margory stood rooted
to the floor, inarticulate and trem-
bling. She saw the Laughing Mask
pick up the confession and GO out of
the laboratory toward the stairway.
Still holding his revolver, he de-
scended to the cellar with the air of a
man whose mission is but half fin
ished. Even as he hastily concealed
himself back of the piles of Garnet
he heard Legar returning from his
futile search of the premises. That
puzzled worker of iniquity suddenly
found himself looking into a revolver
held by the Laughing Mask, who had
stepped out of the shadows.
Realizing he had been outwitted
and that resistance was useless, Legar
raised his arms above his head in
obedience to the curt command of
the other. But his evil genius was
not slumbering, and as his lifted
right hand came in contact with a
large earthen flower pot standing on
a shelf above him he grasped that
heavy object and hurled it with all
his strength full in the face of his
masked opponent.
That crashing and unexpected blow
accomplished its purpose, for the
Laughing Mask dropped in a notion
less heap as though he had been
struck by a bullet. The one-armed
man, bending over his apparently
lifeless enemy, saw paper protrud-
ing from the inner pocket of his coat.
AS he glanced at it by the sickly light
of the lantern he realized it's pur-
port, and hurried up the stairs to call
Skidmon to account for disclosing
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The stairs from the cellar led
directly into the dark and many
doored kitchen, and here Legar
paused and struck a match in order
to get his bearings. The first door
he opened proved to be that of a
small buffers pantry, and by the
Pickering light of the match he saw
in the gloomy compartment a statue
like form standing with folded arms.
The silently accusing figure wore a
yellow mask such as Legar had
last seen shrouding the face of the
man whom he had left for dead in the
cellar. With a half-strangled oath he
dropped the glowing match end and
slammed the door on that masked
apparition.
In mad haste he CROPPED along the
wall until his fingers came in con-
tact with a door knob, at which he
fumbled frantically for a moment
and then found himself in the dimly
lighted hall. Throwing apprehensive
looks behind him, he raced up the
stairs to the third story landing,
where he paused to regain his breath
before entering the laboratory of his
g
was broken only by the sound of his
labored breathing, but he suddenly
recoiled as though struck a blow.
Down the narrow passage came the
Laughing Mask, slowly advancing
with measured tread like an aveng-
ing Nemesis.
For moment the terrorized male
factor covered against the rickety
banisters. Then, as that dread figure
came nearer, he wheeled about and
darted down the stairway, but
steadily mounting up to meet him
came another figure with it's face
also covered by a cynically smiling
yellow mask. The despairing criminal
turned and fed toward the attic, but
standing motionless at the top of
that last flight of stairs was still
another yellow-hooded figure. Like
some fear-crazed animal, Legar
rushed blindly through the laboratory
doorway Skidmon's body lay where
it had fallen. and as Legar's eye fell
on that CHASTITY and distorted face he
gave a sobbing moan of fear.
AS he glanced toward the hall door
way he saw his escape was cut off in
that direction, for standing on the
threshold was a quietly waiting
Laughing Mask. He threw open the
door leading into the chamber where
Skidmon had been engaged in pack
ing his effects, but stationed in the
center of that room was q forbidding
form wearing a yellow visor. AS
Legar backed away from that hateful
vision he tripped over the body of
the dead scientist and fell heavily,
striking his forehead sharp blow
against the edge of the laboratory
bench. He slowly got to his feet,
pressing his hand in dazed man
ner against his injured temple, from
which a little crimson stream was
trickling down into his eyes.
Catching up the towel which had
covered the glass vessel broken by
Skidmon, he mopped the blood from
his eyes, and the jagged wound on
his forehead. Then as he felt a
clammy moisture on his fevered skin
he hastily examined the towel and
saw it was smeared with a substance
resembling a crushed jelly fish. He
saw more Of that gelatinous matter
on the bench and quickly picked out
of it a piece of broken glass bearing
a printed label. AS he read the
words, Colon Bacilli, he knew his
doom was sealed. for he had seen
Jenkins. the detective, die in agony
from the prick of a needle dipped in
the poison excreted by these same
germs, and he had literally coated his
! own open wound with that deadly
virus.
Already he could feel a contrac-
ton in HIS throat and stinging pains