Weird Tales/Volume 2/Issue 1/The Evening Wolves

by Paul Ellsworth Triem

The Weird Adventures of Ah Wing Reach
An Astounding End in the Final Installment of

The Evening Wolves^[1]

By PAUL ELLSWORTH TRIEM

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE EARLY CHAPTERS

AH WING, the Mysterious, is at war with the Evening Wolves, a sinister gang of outlaws, led by Monte Jerome and including Louie Martin, gem expert, and "Doc," their "society specialist." The war rages over a stolen diamond pendant of extraordinary value and beauty, which is in the possession of a Colonel Knight. Following a series of exciting adventures in Chinatown, the pendant falls into the hands of a member of the Wolves known as the "Kid." Meanwhile, Ah Wing has kidnapped Colonel Knight and is holding him in an eerie house, where the Wolves trail him in quest of the pendant. In a subtle and terrifying manner, Ah Wing disposes of the Wolves until there are but two left.

THE STORY CONTINUES FROM THIS POINT

CHAPTER NINE

"DOC" MAKES A DISCOVERY

Monte and "Doc" walked silently away from the cottage on their way to the house of Ah Wing. There was a sense of impending catastrophe upon them, the realization of which neither was at any pains to hide.

They followed cautiously along the gravel road leading to the big house. Skirting the west wing, they took up their station in the shrubbery.

"I've an idea a man could get through one of those windows," Monte said in a low tone, pointing to the lighted panels of Colonel Knight’s suite. "Of course, we could jimmy one of the bars off or use a hacksaw on it, but I don’t believe that would be necessary—Billy could get between them, if they were bent a little!"

"Doc" nodded.

"It looks that way from here," he agreed. "It might be a good idea—"

"Sh!" came Monte’s warning whisper.

A door had opened close at hand, and they could hear deliberate steps ascending a flight of stairs. From where they stood the basement door was invisible, but next moment the tall figure of Ah Wing came into view. He was carrying something which looked like a wire basket.

The Chinaman turned and walked away from the house. As his footsteps grew faint, Monte stepped out of the shelter of the bushes.

"You stay where you are and watch the house," he commanded. "I'm going to find out what that yellow devil is up to!"

He struck off into the darkness, and "Doc" found himself alone. In a way, this suited him admirably. He wanted to think.

"Doc" had observed the signs of open revolt among his companions, and the perception had caused him uneasiness. In spite of his habitual indolence, he was an observer and a thinker. He had read much on the history of organized crime, and he knew that the phase at which the gang called "The Evening Wolves" had now arrived was a dangerous one for each of its members. Monte had not been able to hold the men together. The gang was disintegrating.

Unaccountably "Doc's" mind turned back to the origin of this warfare between the Count Von Hondon and the wolves. Probably he knew more about the affair than anyone else except the count himself. It had been "doc's" association with a certain famous actress that made the original theft of the jewels possible.

Through this light-minded woman he had learned of the intention of a former dancer whose escapades with royalty had entertained the world to bequeath on her death—which was imminent, from an incurable malady—the famous Resurrection Pendant to Madam Celia. "Doc" had made it his business to become acquainted with the Mother of the Friendless, and had so worked his way into her confidence that he had become her accredited representative. When the bequest was put into effect, it was to the hands of this international crook and confidence man that the jewels were entrusted for transfer to the bank.

A picture flashed before the eyes of the watcher outside the house of Ah Wing: again he saw the face of Madam Celia, as he had last seen it. The pendant was then in the hands of the Count, who had taken French leave. And "Doc" had gone out of his way to see how one looked who had lost outright a king’s ransom. He saw an old woman with a still, tired face. She was living in poverty, deserted by even those for whom she had done so much.

Within Colonel Knight’s apartment he could hear regular footsteps. Cautiously, "Doc" drew himself up into the pepper tree and stood with his head raised somewhat above the level of the sill. So situated, he could see the former leader of the wolves, pacing the floor, his hands clasped behind his back, a cigar tilted up from one corner of his mouth.

Knight came slowly toward the window. The light struck fully upon his face, and "Doc" was amazed at the change that had come over it: the old florid coloring had changed to a dirty yellow, and there were sagging patches of water-logged flesh under the eyes.

The man in the lighted room paused and looked down at a reading table. Upon it lay a newspaper, which he drew aside. There was a leather-covered box on this table; and after staring gloatingly at it for a few minutes, the colonel opened the box and took out something which he held toward the light.

"Mine!" the watcher could hear him cry. "All mine—and soon I shall be free to do with it as I please!"

"Doc" slid down from the tree, his heart beating suffocatingly. In there, hardly twenty feet from where he was hiding, was a fortune! And one swift stroke now would make him master of it! His mind whirled as indolence and greed fought for mastery. The former counseled him to wait. Greed urged him to strike now, for himself.

"I might be able to get in while that Chink is away!" he meditated. "Those bars—"

He stepped out of the shelter of the bushes and crossed cautiously to the corner of the back wing. A metal basket, evidently designed to hold lawn clippings, stood there. "Doc" picked it up and carried it over under the window. Then he looked around and listened. He knew that he was playing a desperate game.

Then he thought of the mass of shimmering diamonds, and of the easy days in Paris and London they would buy. He would quit America, and live quietly and artistically—

He stepped upon the metal contrivance and stood slowly up. He could still hear Colonel Knight’s restless footsteps.

Inch by inch, he drew nearer the bottom bar, till his fingers rested on it. It was loose! In fact it was too loose! A suspicion shot into the crook's mind: this was some sort of trap!

He leaped to the ground and replaced the basket. A better plan had come to him: he would hide in the basement areaway, and would slip in behind the Chinaman, when the latter returned.

"Doc" had made up his mind now to strike for himself. All the indecisiveness was gone. It was as if a stronger will had taken possession of him, and were driving him on to this hazardous undertaking. But those long years of idle enjoyment—they were worth the effort.

"Doc" slipped along close to the basement wall and approached the steps leading down to the basement door. Here he paused to listen: not a sound, save the distant throaty whistle of a steamer. He made his way down the steps and paused. The idea came to him that the door might be open. He tried the handle.

Next moment he had silently opened the door and was listening. Not a sound—but a strange, musty odor assailed his nostrils. He peered into the room, but the darkness was so thick that it seemed to present a solid black wall. His eyes had not yet adjusted themselves to the change from the upper air.

The thief stepped inside. Instantly the door closed behind him, and when he turned and reached for the handle he made a surprising discovery: there was no handle on this side.

He stood very still, trying to understand. A door without a handle—

In the darkness something was moving, and suddenly there came a sound which brought the hair up on the back of his neck. It was no sound with which he was familiar: it was like a continuous jet of steam, or like sand driven against the bottom of a tin pail.

And that odor was all about him. His eyes were adjusting themselves to the murky darkness, and he stared swiftly about. Nothing—

He had drawn his pistol, and now he took a step forward. A rustling sound reached him, above the sound of that horrible jet of steam. His knees were shaking under him, and he knew that he was on the verge of panic. This trap—that was what it was, he realized with a swift clearing of his mental processes. He had stepped into something prepared for him.

Across the room now he could make out a door, and toward this he rushed. He must get out of here, before that hidden horror revealed itself. Words babbled from his lips; sobbing oaths and prayers, strangely mingled. He was halfway across the room—he would make it—

And then, directly before him, there swung down from the darkness something that looked like a huge, flexible pipe. The hissing sound was in his face. Something struck his throat, and he was gripped by a pair of steel jaws that lifted him clear of the floor.

Before he could cry out, a coil of that round thing that had come at him whipped itself around his neck: another and another, and all that was left of the man who had robbed Madam Celia, Mother of the Friendless, swung like a pendulum between floor and ceiling.

Ah Wing, passing through the basement room half an hour later, paused to regard a curious sight: an amorphous, spineless thing that had once been a man, guarded by a great snake. The python was coiled like a huge ship's cable round the dead robber.

The Chinaman's eyes glowed as he crossed the room and made his way to an apartment on the second floor. Here he seated himself before a desk, and examined a chart pinned to the wall.

Deliberately he drew a cross opposite the name of the dead wolf.

"One left!" said he. "One—and my guest!"

CHAPTER TEN

THE POOL OF DEATH

When Monte Jerome followed Ah Wing back from the canal, he looked around cautiously for "Doc."

The latter had disappeared, but Monte stuck grimly on at his post till four o’clock. He had expected to be relieved by Billy and the "Kid" at two, but he heard nothing from them. He began to suspect that his followers had banded together against him.

"If they've pulled anything, they'll be beating it back for the city!" he told himself. "They'll have to catch the six o’clock ferry. Well, maybe I'll be there myself!"

The cold light of the early morning was filtering down over the marshes as he made his way back to the cottage. A light burned in the front room, but otherwise the little house was dark. Monte let himself quietly in and from force of habit hung his cap on the hall tree.

Then he entered the lighted parlor, and a startled oath escaped his lips: Billy the Strangler lay with his wolf's face turned toward the ceiling, his lids drooping, his mouth agape. A pool of blood on the floor told his brief story.

Monte stood for a moment staring down at the dead man. Then he turned and walked hastily along the little passage that led to his own room. Nothing was disturbed here, he discovered.

Suddenly a voice sounded, apparently at his shoulder:

"Ah, Mr. Jerome, we are approaching the final scene in our little drama! Greed and suspicion have done their work. Two of your men have murdered each other—"

With the snarl of a wild beast, Monte turned and dashed from the room, He crossed through the parlor and went bounding up the stairs. At the top he stumbled over something, which next moment he discovered to be the body of the "Kid." The dead gunman was smiling—

Again the voice sounded, this time from the direction of the "Kid's" bedroom.

"Greed, and suspicion, and superstition! I have not had to raise my hand against one of these men, Mr. Jerome. The first of them to go was caught in that end window. It is an invention of mine, arranged with weights and multiplying levers: The window frame is of steel. I brought the body over and placed it in one of your beds, for the sake of the psychological effect. I knew that some of these men of yours were ignorant and superstitious, Mr. Jerome, and I wanted to shake their nerves! I succeeded. The body of the man whom you left on guard when you followed me across the marsh, tonight, will be decently buried. He encountered one of the watchers at my gate—"

Monte cried out hoarsely as he entered the bedroom. He picked up a heavy chair and made for the wall, from behind which the voice came. As he raised the chair, the voice spoke once more:

"I think the replica of the famous pendant will interest you. I had two of these imitations made. This one I placed in the bureau drawer downstairs. I knew that the man who found it would try to hide his discovery, and I counted on his being observed. I fancy. that is what happened—"

With a bellow of rage, Monte brought the chair down. It struck the wall, and crashed through laths and plaster. Another blow cleared the debris away, and he was able to see the mechanism from which the voice proceeded.

"Another invention of my own," the metallic tones informed him. "An adaptation of the loud-speaker principle, plus a dictaphone. This has enabled me to catch much of the conversation that has gone on in your cottage, and to follow you and your friends from room to room. I had everything prepared before I went into the city to visit the art exhibition. This was the only house near mine, and I felt certain you would secure it! I shall now bid you farewell, Mr. Jerome! It is necessary for me to depart!"

Monte Jerome gritted his teeth and fought off the despair that assailed him. Ah Wing would almost certainly go south to the ferry. And Monte would catch the boat via the interurban.

Half an hour later muffled in a rain coat with a high collar, he was standing among the passengers on the lower deck.

Somewhere ahead was the blue limousine, which contained two passengers beside the Chinese chauffeur. Monte kept behind till the boat was approaching the city slip, when he made his way forward. His plan was to charter a taxi.

Suddenly he paused. From the machine belonging to Ah Wing a tall figure had descended. Monte saw the Chinaman speak to the man at the wheel, then join the commuters on the front platform.

The crook’s mind worked fast. He was sure the other passenger in the limousine was Colonel Knight. If Ah Wing left the boat on foot, as he seemed on the point of doing, it would be impossible for Monte to follow both the Chinaman and the white man Which one ought he to stick to?

Without hesitation, he decided that Knight could wait and that Ah Wing would have the pendant.

The Chinaman was off the moment the rope dropped. It was a foggy morning here in the city, and presently Ah Wing struck off up a side street lighted by yellow gas lamps. There was no one in sight now but the two men, the ono leading, the other following.

Monte gripped the pistol in his side pocket and increased his speed. He wanted to face this terrible being who had created such havoc among the wolves.

The street before them tipped steeply up, and on a corner Monte saw the red-and-gilt ornamentation of a Chinese restaurant. They were entering Chinatown, and involuntarily the trailer increased his speed. Distinctly, the crisp footsteps of the man before him floated back. Monte was within thirty feet. He drew the pistol from his pocket—

Ah Wing turned into a narrow passage between two ancient buildings. Monte broke into a run and reached this turning. The Chinaman must have run, too, in the moment he had been invisible; for now he was far along toward the opposite end of the passage. Monte threw up his pistol and caught the sights. In the same instant Ah Wing seemed to melt into thin air, and Monte sprinted forward.

Half a dozen rotting wooden steps led down to an arched passage.

Monte paused. Would the Chinaman come out this same way? Perhaps he had come to this place to hide the very thing Monte had determined to take from him—

At that thought, the crook stepped boldly down into the arched doorway, turned to his left, and began to descend an inclined passage.

For a time he could hear steps going on ahead of him. Then they grew faint, and Monte realized that the man he was following had turned into a side corridor. He hurried on. The passage was growing more and more uncertain as to light and footing. He reached a cross tunnel, and paused.

A sound came from the right. Monte took a few steps in that direction and again paused to listen.

The feeling came to him that he was being watched. He whirled, and in that instant something struck him above the ear.

Without a sound, the crook crumpled to the floor.

Ah Wing stepped out of an alcove and looked dispassionately down at the man lying in a heap at his feet.

Stooping, he took from the relaxed grip of the wolf a heavy automatic. This he dropped into his coat pocket. Then he gathered the limp figure of Monte Jerome into his arms and continued his underground journey.

The way dipped steeply ahead, and the tall Chinaman advanced cautiously. Presently he came to a place where roof and walls had started to crumble. Shifting the weight in his arms, Ah Wing drew out a flashlight and sent the pallid beam into the darkness. A fragment of cement detached itself, and clattered to the glistening floor.

Ah Wing swung on till he detected signs of life in the burden he was carrying. Pausing, he placed the bandit on the wet floor and walked back along the passage till he was again within sight of the place where the ancient masonry was giving way. Drawing the pistol from his side pocket, Ah Wing deliberately fired three shots into the roof.

The effect was instantaneous: with a roar, the rock walls came tumbling down, completely shutting off this means of retreat. Ah Wing eyed the result with apparent satisfaction, then tossed the pistol in among the debris.

As he approached the spot where Monte had been lying, he saw that the wolf was sitting up, staring with bloodshot eyes into the light of the electric lantern.

"Ah, my friend, so you have come back from the land of shadows?" the Chinaman inquired. "I was sorry to have to resort to so crude a method of dealing with you, but time presses. The play is played out, Mr. Jerome. All of your comrades have gone before you, and now you and I have come to the hall of judgment. The High Gods shall decide between us. Perhaps They will condemn us both. Who knows?"

He paused, turning to stare along the passage.

"Behind us the way is closed," he continued serenely. "Ahead lies the place of trial. You will observe that the passage seems to end. This is but an illusion—what looks like solid floor is in

reality the Pool of Death. The roof dips down under the water, but formerly one who was determined could win to life and light through the pool. Now it may be that the way is closed—"

Monte staggered to his feet.

"You yellow devil! he shrieked. "You mean that a man must try to find a way out under the water?"

Ah Wing bowed.

"Exactly, Mr. Monte Jerome. You will perceive that I myself am facing the same odds!"

He paused, staring down unwinkingly at his companion. From the direction of the pool came the sound of constant dripping. A fragment of masonry fell with a crash, and the passage shook.

"Ah," said the Chinaman suddenly, "I know the part you have played in this affair, you despoiler of the helpless! Let me tell you a true story. Years ago a Chinese boy was driven out by his countrymen because his eyes were gray. It was said that a devil lived in his body, and that he brought misfortune to all with whom he came into contact. No Chinaman would give him so much as a crust of bread—and no white man: for

though his eyes were gray, his skin was yellow.

"Madam Celia took him in. She fed him and found him work. Years afterward he returned to repay his debt, and found that his benefactress had died—in penury and loneliness. He learned the names of the men who had robbed her—"

Monte Jerome began to laugh, his voice high pitched and strident. Then he paused, staring into the darkness of the upper passage.

"Who is there?" he cried. "Billy—Doc—"

His eyes seemed to focus on something that drew slowly nearer. His ashen lips moved, and he cried out a name.

"Madam Celia!" shrieked the wolf. "She's there behind you—she's pointing at me!"

He turned and ran blindly down the passage. His feet splashed into the edge of the pool, disturbing the layer of scum on its surface. Then, with a choking cry, he disappeared.

Ah Wing folded his arms and waited. For a time the surface of the Pool of Death was agitated, as if some creature of the depths were threshing about down there.

Then gradually it became peaceful and as he looked a white face floated to the surface.

Ah Wing plunged into the pool without a moment's hesitation. He knew that no man could evade his destiny, and that if it was written in the stars for him to die a lingering death in Paris, he could not die in a well under Chinatown.

He struck out with all the power and precision of his strong body, diving down and down and at the same time driving himself forward. As he came toward the surface at last, his heart pounding and his lungs crying out for air, he felt the touch of masonry above him. The rough stones caught at his clothing and held him. His mind was losing its grip on the mechanism of his body. He must breathe—air—water—anything—

And then the barrier sloped steeply upward. With a mighty stroke, he drove himself toward the top of the pool. Still in utter darkness, he came up out of the water, drew a great strangling breath, and felt himself resting on the edge of a rocky margin.

The shadows of a foggy evening were descending over the city when Ah Wing appeared at the head of a narrow street leading toward the wharves and went swinging down it. He passed between rows of warehouses and approached a rotting peer, built out into the water.

Two people were standing there in the shadows of night; while, below, a trim sea-going power boat swung at her moorings. Ah Wing turned to one of the figures. It was that of Colonel Knight.

The Chinaman looked impersonally down upon the older man. When he spoke, his words came like the voice of an oracle.

"In your pocket," said he, "is a leather ease containing what you imagine to be the Resurrection Pendant. As a matter of fact, the pendant has not been in your possession since you came out of your drugged sleep, in my house on the marshes. The trinket you have is valueless, and I have brought you here to see the end of this thing which has brought death to so many!"

Slowly he drew from an inner pocket a morocco case, which he opened. Into the night they flashed out like imprisoned fire—those matchless stones, which had the power to turn men into devils.

Ah Wing spread the wondrous creation upon his hand, and held it toward the crook who had paid so dearly for it. Then, with a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent the pendant far out over the darkening water.

"So—it is gone!" he said. "And now—"

But at last the man standing before him realized what was taking place. With a convulsive jerk, he drew forth a morocco box, the counterpart of the one from which Ah Wing had taken the jewels. Opening the case, he snatched up the replica.

"These—these—" he choked.

"A fairly clever imitation, Colonel Knight," commented Ah Wing. "But if your vision had not been failing, it would never have deceived you. And that brings us to the last point we have to discuss. Lim, kindly hold the Colonel till I have finished!"

Colonel Knight had turned toward the edge of the wharf, as if about to put an end to his misery.

"That way out is always at your disposal, Colonel," continued Ah Wing. "I doubt, however, if you will have the courage to use it after your excitement has worn off. I have discovered that your financial resources are exhausted. Once each month you will go to On Wong, the Chinese banker whose address I have written on this card. He will pay over to you twenty dollars, on which you will subsist. Your old companions have gone before you. Their sin was less black than yours; and for that reason I condemn you to live, instead of condemning you, as I did them, to die!"

He crossed to the edge of the platform and quickly let himself down to the deck of the cruiser. Lim followed and for a moment the two stood looking up at the figure huddled om the wharf.

Six months after this final scene in the affair of the Evening Wolves, Ah Wing received at his New York address a letter from On Wong, the banker. Several items of business were discussed, and then On Wong added this paragraph:

"You will be pleased to know, most worshipful Son of Heaven, that the pensioner to whom monthly I paid over in your name the sum of twenty dollars has passed on to the hell of his most honorable fathers. He died in great misery, crying out the name of one Madame Celia, Mother of the Friendless!"

THE END

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1. The First Half of this story was published the June issue of WEIRD TALES. A copy will be mailed by the publishers for twenty-five cents.