THE GRAY MASK

BY WADSWORTH CAMP

AUTHOR OF "THE ABANDONED ROOM" "THE HOUSE OF FEAR," ETC.

FRONTISPIECE BY
WALTER De MARIS

GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1920

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

Copyright, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, by P. F. Collier & Sons, Inc.,
in the United States, Great Britain and Canada

"'Even if you had croaked him you wouldn't dare acknowledge it here.
Why, George, you're kneeling where he lay'"

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. Garth Is Shown a Gray Mask
CHAPTER II. It Opens Nora's Eyes
CHAPTER III. In the Steel Room
CHAPTER IV. Garth Buys a Boutonnière
CHAPTER V. What Happened at Elmford
CHAPTER VI. A Crying Through the Silence
CHAPTER VII. Nora Fears for Garth
CHAPTER VIII. Through the Dark
CHAPTER IX. The Phantom Army
CHAPTER X. The Coins and the Chinaman
CHAPTER XI. Nora Disappears in an Empty House
CHAPTER XII. The Hidden Door
CHAPTER XIII. Alsop's Incredible Visitor
CHAPTER XIV. The Levantine Who Guarded a Curtain
CHAPTER XV. The Veiled Woman
CHAPTER XVI. A Note from the Dead
CHAPTER XVII. The Knife by the Lifeless Hand
CHAPTER XVIII. The Stained Robe
CHAPTER XIX. Payment Is Demanded for the Gray Mask
CHAPTER XX. The Black Cap
CHAPTER XXI. The Antics of a Train

THE GRAY MASK

CHAPTER I

GARTH IS SHOWN A GRAY MASK

Garth, in response to the unforeseen summons, hurried along the hallway and opened the inspector's door. As he faced the rugged figure behind the desk, and gazed into those eyes whose somnolence concealed a perpetual vigil, his heart quickened.

He had been assigned to the detective bureau less than six months. That brief period, however, had revealed a thousand eccentricities of his chief. The pudgy hand beating a tattoo on the table desk, the lips working at each other thirstily, the doubt that slipped from behind the veil of the sleepy eyes, were all like largely printed letters to Garth—letters that spelled delicate work for him, possibly an exceptional danger.

"Where were you going, Garth?"

"Home. That is—"

Garth hesitated and cleared his throat.

"First—I thought I might drop in on Nora for a minute."

With a quick gesture the inspector brushed the mention of his daughter aside. Abruptly he verified Garth's hazard.

"How much do you love your life?"

The inspector's voice possessed the growling quality of an animal. A warning rather than an aggressive roar, it issued from a throat remotely surviving behind great masses of flesh. Garth had rarely heard it raised, nor, for that matter, had it ever deceived him as to the other's amiability and gentleness of soul. Its present tone of apologetic regret startled him.

"On the whole I value my life rather highly just now," he answered, trying to smile.

"Then turn this down and nothing said," the inspector went on. "It's volunteer's work. No gilt-edged prophecies. It's touch and go whether whoever tackles it eats bacon and eggs to-morrow morning."

"What's the job?" Garth asked.

The inspector glanced up.

"You've heard of that fellow without a face?"

Garth stared until he thought he understood.

"One of those Bellevue cases? Awful burns?"

The heavy head shook impatiently.

"No. This fellow Simmons in Chicago—several years ago now—experimenting with some new explosive in a laboratory. He got his arm up in time to save his eyes."

"Seems to me I remember," Garth began.

"Worn a gray mask ever since," the inspector said.

He drew a