I stopped, studied it for a moment, and then went over the side of the house with my eyes, covering every bit of surface. Down near the ground I saw another dot which looked suspiciously like another insulator. Despite the risk, I took my electric flash and turned the beam on the side of the house, and then followed its path as I directed it over the ground.
Running down the end of the house were two small wires, and these wires formed a veritable network of tightly strung wire, over such windows as I could see. So fine was this wire and so dark was the night that it would have been almost invisible unless one were looking for it with care.
The first wire was within two feet of where I was standing. Probably another step and I would have given an alarm to those within the house.
Carefully I retraced my steps, searching for some means by which I could get into the house, knowing that time was precious and that at any moment I might be too late to accomplish that which I sought. It was just as I had almost made up my mind to try the front of the house that I found a short length of bare wire, dangling from a clothes post. It was the work of a moment to trace the leads of fine wire to a convenient window and short-circuit the network that guarded it.
An instant later I was slipping through that window, and, in the meantime, I had removed my Van Dyke. I would be my own self without disguise for this last chapter of the affair. The house had been easy after the electrical device had been negotiated. Apparently the head of the crime trust was either short of men, or placed his faith in mechanical efficiency more than in human ingenuity.
Once within the house I sought for a place where I could remain for a few minutes while I could hear what was going on. I had arranged a slight diversion for old Icy-Eyes, and when that took place I wanted to be where I could get a chance at his safe. Unless I was greatly mistaken, the paper I wanted was within that house, and all I wanted was a fair break.
While I listened, getting ready to act when the time came, and seeking to learn what was going on within the house, I heard a faint cry, a stifled gasp that was like the suppressed scream of a woman. Instantly there was the sound of a scuffle, and the hoarse curse of a man, a man who was crying with pain. All this was not on the program — not on the program I had arranged.
It called for action, and I slipped my automatic into my hand and skipped down the dark corridor. A door was open on my right, and I slipped into that open door, wondering if the room was occupied, seeking to learn the source of the sounds I had heard.
Apparently there was no one within the room, and it was dark, but, from a little closet at one end, I could see an indirect gleam of light. I tiptoed over to that closet, and then stopped, startled.
A former alcove at the end of the room had been made into a closet, and in this closet had been erected a platform with a flight of steep steps leading up to it. The platform was about seven or eight feet above the floor, and it was from over the top of this platform that the light was coming.
Now I could hear the sound of rapid breathing, the rustle of swift motions, the short panting of breath which spoke of bodies moving in a struggle of some sort, a silent, deadly struggle.
I was alone in a house filled with murderers, thugs, the scum of the underworld. The ruler of this gang desired my life with an intentness of purpose which probably overshadowed every other aim in life right then, and I was being forced to take desperate chances, but there seemed no other alternative. So far the breaks had been with me, and I am a great hand, whether in cards or in life, to press to the limit when fortune is smiling.
As nimbly as a monkey I scampered up those stairs, ready to encounter almost anything, yet not prepared for what I found.
The platform was flush against the wall, and there was a grille effect of ornamentation which apparently constituted the wall of the adjoining room. It was through this grille that the light was streaming and that the sounds were coming. A chair was at one end of the little platform, a chair fitted with a cushion, and against the chair stood a sawed-off shotgun. Apparently here was a little sentry box, a watch tower by which a guard could watch and wait, concealed from the room beyond by the ornamental grille, yet able to command its every corner with the deadly weapon which rested by the chair.
Something had happened to call this watchman from his post, a something which was evidently very unexpected in its nature, an emergency which had not been contemplated, and the answer to which evidently lay in the sounds of a struggle which was taking place within the other room. Now that I saw the platform and the secret watch tower I could see it all. Icy-Eyes was not underestimating me. Once before he had found that when he pressed me I would turn and attack. He had determined he would not be caught napping again. This watch tower had been prepared for my especial benefit and a man was kept constantly in charge. Should I enter that other room, and think, by any chance, that I had cornered old Icy-Eyes, he would have his hidden guard ready to shoot when he gave the signal.
I thought of all this in the fraction of a second it took me to get my eyes to the openings of the grille. That first glimpse showed that my surmise had been correct. The room which stretched out below me was evidently a den, an office, the headquarters of Icy-Eyes himself. Within it was a great desk, a massive safe, several chairs, a couch, and a couple of filing cases. Icy-Eyes was evidently doing business upon a big scale.
However, I had time for only an incidental glance at the furnishings of the room below. It was the swirling mass of struggling figures which interested me. There were several men and a girl engaged in a desperate, silent conflict, and, even as I looked, the conflict ended.
One of the men was evidently fighting on the side of the girl, and two men were opposed to them. The clothes had been almost entirely tom from the girl, her body was bruised and bleeding, and there was sheer, stark terror in her eyes. The man who had been with her was battered almost beyond semblance of a human being. At the last he had been struck repeatedly in the face with the butt of a pistol, and his features were a mass of blood, yet he was conscious.
Old Icy-Eyes himself was there and had actually been engaged in the struggle. In fact, from the looks of his face I would have ventured a guess that the girl had grabbed him and scratched his flabby skin, for there were several parallel scratches upon his face from which blood was streaming and he was flushed and panting, yet his eyes were as ice-cold as ever. In fact he seemed to radiate a cold, frosty light from those eyes, and their expression was not pleasant to see.
As the girl was flung on the couch and gagged, her hands lashed behind her back, I was able to get a glimpse of her features. She was the girl I had known as Maude Enders, the girl with the mole on her left hand.
Apparently that struggle had been swift, fierce, and unexpected. The man who was on guard in the watch tower had had no opportunity to use his shotgun. The struggle had swirled about Icy-Eyes himself, and it had been necessary for the watchman to enter the room and take a hand. To have shot at the strugglers would have been to kill Icy-Eyes, for a shotgun is not a weapon with which one can pick and choose.
Then I noticed a man lying on the floor, his eyes closed, his face pallid. He was out, perhaps out for keeps, and I knew him. He was the man who had stolen the gems of Alexis Alexandrovitch — the man who had posed as the father of Riggs, the butler.
Rapidly Icy-Eyes restored order. The man with the battered face was bound, gagged and thrown on the floor. The girl with the mole, bruised, battered, her arms bound, her mouth gagged, was left, lying on her back on the couch, her eyes showing terror and helplessness. Here and there a few silken rags remained, but, for the most part, the clothes had been literally tom from her. Both of her shoes were gone, and there remained a small part of one stocking. Her other leg was entirely bare, and already there were forming several livid bruises upon the white skin.