The Black Mask — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

"Phe Man in the Black Mask = . pay the expenses of getting this detec- tive here. Not a cent! Not a single copper! If Grimes wants him, he can have him—and pay him, too.” There was a general nodding of heads around the table. Decidedly the atmosphere into which I had stepped at the request of President Grimes was inclined to be frigid, to say the least— if not openly hostile. Innis, diplomatic and suave, arose with an apologetic smile to pour oil on the troubled waters. “Mr, Grimes is probably justified in his worry, in that he feels a sense of responsibility, as president and general manager, in pro- tecting the company’s interests. On the other hand we, as directors, should vote to give him a clearance if anything happens—and we are all of us confi- dent that nothing will.” President Grimes shrugged his shoul- ders and turned to me as if to ask my advice. “T would suggest that you hold off your decision for a few seconds,” I answered to his implied question. “If your mysterious blackmailer is as prompt as he claims to be we will have but a short time to wait developments. In just thirty seconds it will be twelve o'clock.” Instantly the gathering was hushed. The smile died on Innis’ lips. Slocum looked up, his lips skinned back angrily, then thought better of it and merely stared at Backus, who shifted his big frame uneasily in his chair. Grimes straightened up with a jerk and gazed into vacancy. There was a general scraping of feet and a nervous clearing of throats. Despite the tension, I could scarcely suppress a smile at the appearance of one of the directors, James Burke, a young man with a pale, sallow face and an habitually apologetic manner. He ~chalf arose to his feet, as if almost startled out of his wits, then sat down again hurriedly and wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. I no- ticed that his hand shook like an aspen leaf, and he snickered hysterically. Clearly, his was the clearest case of funk I had ever witnessed. The factory whistle blew! A dull, muffled explosion! Then chaos! CHAPTER II I AWOKE with a start. For a second I lay quiet, my mind attempting to grope back over what had happened, unable to comprehend, Outside I could hear shouts, the clanging of bells, the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading to the office.» My head ached dully, but I was otherwise uninjured. The big table, overturned, lay across my legs. Push- ing it off, I raised myself to a sitting position. For an instant my _ brain whirled and everything grew black be- foreme. Then the dizziness and feeling of nausea passed away and I was able to comprehend what was happening around me. Plaster from the ceiling and walls covered everything; the air was filled with its thin, white dust. The pungent _odor of explosives assailed my nostrils. Chairs were overturned. Books and papers lay scattered about the floor. Beside me lay Grimes, breathing heavily. Innis and Slocum were hud- dled together across the room, the lat- ter bleeding from a small cut on the forehead. In one corner Burke, the man I had marked as a coward, was sit- ting up sobbing crooningly to himself,— the victim of hysteria, evidently. The other members of the board sprawled here and there in various attitudes. Backus raised himself to one elbow and gazed about stupidly. The door was burst open with a crash and the room filled with rescuers—fac- tory workmen, their black, smudgy