Gray Fist

GRAY FIST

Maxwell Grant

CHAPTER I. DANGER STALKS

'HELLO... Hello... Detective headquarters?'

A gray-haired man was asking the question as he spoke into the mouthpiece of a telephone. A look of relief appeared upon his strained lips as he received an affirmative answer.

'To whom am I speaking?' he inquired, in an even tone. 'Ah! Detective Cardona... Very good; you are the man I wanted. My name is Varden... Yes, Worth Varden, the importer... Here, at my home.'

The gray-haired man paused. His face became tense. His voice lowered as he again took up the conversation.

'It is important that I see you, Cardona,' declared Varden. 'Highly important... To-night... That is why I called again to learn if you had returned. I was afraid that you had not received my message this afternoon...

'I can't talk now—not until I see you... Yes, I shall be here. Come to the side door of my home. Bring men with you. There is danger... Myself? Certainly, I am in danger. I shall leave here with you, after you arrive...'

Varden's face seemed to pale beneath the light that came from a desk lamp beside him. For a moment, stark fear flickered over his features. Finally, anger mingled with terror.

'A hoax?' Varden's question was blurted into the mouthpiece. 'This is no hoax! Can't you take my word that danger threatens me? Listen, Cardona'—Varden's voice was lowering tensely—'I can tell you one fact right now... Yes, regarding this danger... It involves Seth Cowry, the missing racketeer... No, I don't know where he is, but I can tell you who he's working for -'

An exclamation came across the wire. It was Cardona's statement that he would come to Varden's. The gray-haired man smiled wanly as he hung the receiver on the hook. Despite the strain which held him, Varden could not repress a smile at the quickness with which his statement had aroused Cardona's interest.

SEATED at a heavy desk, in the center of a well-furnished study, Worth Varden was in a setting that denoted wealth. His room was adorned with chairs of fine mahogany; the floor and walls were bedecked with Oriental rugs of apparent value. Yet the man, himself, despite the dignity of his appearance, seemed miserable. His eyes were glassy, his shoulders were bowed as though they bore the burden of an invisible weight.

At the side of the room, a door stood ajar. There was blackness beyond. The partly opened barrier indicated that Varden was apprehensive about what might occur from that direction. His furtive eyes looked toward the door; his ears were listening.

Tap—tap—tap—

The rhythmic beat made Varden start. Some one was knocking for entrance, at a spot beyond the partly opened door. The gray-haired importer arose and moved cautiously toward the door. He pushed it slightly; slipped through and closed the door behind him. He was in a short hallway, which was totally dark. The taps—they seemed as cautious as did Varden—were coming from another door at the end of the little corridor.

Varden advanced. Locks clicked as he unfastened them. His trembling hand turned the knob. As the door opened slightly under Varden's pull, a quiet voice spoke from outside.

'Ruggles Preston.'

Varden opened the door quickly when he heard this announcement. A gust of chill air came from the little courtyard outside of the house. A man stepped in from the darkness. Varden closed the door and locked it.

Silently, the two men made their way to the study. When they had reached the lighted room, Varden, with a sigh of relief, closed the door to the hall. He turned to face his visitor.

Ruggles Preston eyed him quizzically.

Ruggles Preston was a younger man than Worth Varden. Although a trifle portly, he possessed a strong physique and a domineering gaze that was almost challenging. There was something in Preston's manner that betokened confidence, and Varden sensed it. He waved his visitor to a seat opposite the desk.

Varden paced about; then sat down suddenly.

'Preston,' he said, 'I want to talk to you.'

'To me as an attorney?' questioned Preston, with a smile. 'Or to me as a friend?'

'As both,' returned Varden. 'I don't need a lawyer's advice, Preston, because I have already taken care of affairs which might have involved me with the law. Nevertheless, as a lawyer, you will be interested in hearing what I have to say to you as a friend.'

'Something is troubling you, Varden,' decided Preston, in a sympathetic tone.

'You speak the truth, Preston,' stated the gray-haired importer. 'I had not expected you so soon, this evening. Had you arrived later, you would not have found me in such an apprehensive mood. However, my troubles, though not ended, have been eased. Until this moment, I have feared to talk.'

'But now?'

'I feel free.'

Ruggles Preston nodded. There was sympathy, as well as keenness in his action. It brought an instant response from his companion. Leaning forward on the desk, Worth Varden spoke in a serious tone.

'Preston,' he said, 'I have just freed myself from the power of a fiend.'

'A fiend?'

'Yes. A fiend who would stop at nothing. A supercriminal whose schemes are but in the making. One whose terrible power I intend to thwart to-night.'

THERE was tenseness. Ruggles Preston seemed startled by the statement. Had it not been for the determined look upon Varden's face, Preston could have taken the words as the utterance of a madman.

As it was, the lawyer simply nodded; with this encouragement, Varden continued.

'Months ago,' he said, 'I was visited by an agent of the fiend. My visitor introduced himself as Seth Cowry. He admitted that he had been a racketeer.

'Cowry began to talk about my business. He pointed out certain connections which I had made. He told me that my holdings in the San Salvador Importing Corporation made me liable to arrest, inasmuch as that company had been heavily engaged in many illegal practices.

'It was news to me, Preston. Nevertheless, I was forced to hear Cowry through. I expected him to demand money; instead, he proposed what seemed to be easier terms in return for his silence. He told me that all would be well if I would take orders from his master—a man whom he called Gray Fist.'

'Gray Fist!' ejaculated Preston. 'Who is he?'

'I do not know,' answered Varden. 'But from that time on, I found myself in the control of one whom I dreaded. There were no more calls from Cowry. Instead, I received messages like this.'

Opening a drawer in his desk, Varden pulled out a sheet of gray paper, which he passed across to Preston. The lawyer examined it in a puzzled manner.

'It's blank,' he said.

'Hold it to the light,' suggested Varden.

Preston did so. A surprised exclamation escaped his lips. The sheet of paper was double. Between its surfaces was inscribed a coded message which showed plainly in black.

'What does this mean?' asked Preston.

'I received it to-day,' returned Varden quietly. 'It is an order for me to arrange the importation of a quantity of silk from China. The negotiations must be made with the Kow Tan Exporting Company in Shanghai. I never dealt with the concern before; but I can imagine its connections in China -'

'Dope?'

'Probably. This is the first order that I have received from Gray Fist. I can see that it is the forerunner of others on the same order.'

Preston nodded. His fingers beat a rhythmical tattoo on the polished surface of the desk.

'I see the game,' he said, in a meditative tone. 'This man called Gray Fist is a spider in the center of the web. You are one of the flies whom he has snared.'

'Exactly,' declared Varden, in a tense tone, 'and, like every fly in the spider's web, I have one penalty to