The Black Mask — page 75: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

natural position possible. The Triple Murder swayed slightly and a wavering glint came from the staring, opalescent eyes. “Dead!” This time the word was uttered in a tense staccato. An echo seemed to come from the dim recesses © in the rear, © “Silent”? Cass wheeled and backed slowly against the masonry, his eyes darting about the cellar. — _ The third man was seated in the most His chin rested within his hands and he seemed to be asleep. Cass moved toward him cautiously and with the broadside of: his left arm swept the hands from under the chin. The man lurched forward, his head striking the table with a bang. A couple of playing cards fluttered from under him and fell to the floor, face up. “Dead—the three of them!” Cass glanced down at the cards. “Buried aces, hey? Gun or knife play, I sup- pose.”’ Again Mbolspini’s laugh sounded through the open hatch. The detective wheeled in sudden wrath. “Hey, Gatty,” he shouted, “truss that fellow up and throw him under the pool table.” A swift scuffle, a snarl and a thud as from the impact of a billy on a skull came to the ears of the listener below, then a bieating protest from Molspini: “Don’t, sergeant, don’t—Plt be quiet.” Cass heard the snap of handcuffs and a heavy sound as though a sack of po- tatoes: had been tossed to the floor. A moment later Gatty’s head ap- peared at the top of the stairs, “What's up, chief ?”’ he asked eagerly. “Lock the door and fetch the wop down,” answered Cass. Somewhere in the back of his head lurked the thought that the presence of the three dead men in the cellar would be a surprise to Molspini. “Spanish Joe and Louie the Lawyer,” he muttered, gazing into the faces of two of the dead men. ~ in Mulberry Bend 73 He was about to lift the head of the third when Molspini stepped gingerly down the steps, followed by Gatty. The shopkeeper gazed in stupid be- wilderment at the three inanimate fig- ures. Cass watched him keenly. If the man was acting he certainly was a master of dissimulation. Lifting his manacled hands above his head he yelled: “Arrest those guys—they ain’t got no business in my place!” He had started toward the table when Gatty seized him and threw him back into a pile of crates under the steps. - “Stay there till your number is called,” snarled the sergeant, leaping toward the table. Like his superior he instantly recognized the two whose faces were revealed. “There must have been a hell of a time’ in hell when those birds Hew in,’ he said grimly. “Silent” Cass laid his hands on the third man’s shoulders. As he drew back the head, the light, reflected from the oilcloth on the table, cast a ghastly green shadow across the face. Both men looked long and earnestly at the rigid features. “T don’t get that bird, do you?” said Gatty finally, Cass shook his head and beckoned: to Molspini. The shopkeeper sprang to his feet and ran to the table. For a single instant his frightened eyes rested upon the dead face of the man at the table. A shriek, womanish in its in- tensity and shrillnéss, broke from him. He strained vainly for a moment at the irons, then, with incoherent gibberings, slithered around the table and kissed the dead man’s forehead. A look of loathing passed between the detectives. Neither made any effort to sustain the man as he swayed for a mo- ment and crashed to the floor without uttering a word.