_The Brand Of Light_
But Barbara Sutton _had_ seen the face of the Black Hood. She saw it on
the following night when a group of wealthy and influential citizens met
at Gracelawn, the West End Avenue estate of William Weedham. Barbara saw
Black Hood's face without knowing it, for in the identity of Kip Burland
he had been with her all evening.
It was a pleasant face, sun-bronzed and well-formed, with waving brown
hair and eyes that could be gentle and compassionate. Kip Burland had
taken Barbara to dinner, much to the annoyance of Joe Strong, and later
in the evening they had picked up Joe and driven in Barbara's car to the
Weedham home.
Barbara was obviously deeply concerned over the evidence which Joe
Strong had accidently turned up. The picture of Black Hood in the
apparent act of thrusting a knife into the throat of the Weedham
Industries watchman, had been plastered all over the front page of Jeff
Weedham's _Daily Opinion_. Other newspapers had taken up the cry,
demanding that the Black Hood be taken dead or alive.
When Barbara mentioned this news story to Kip Burland, Kip scarcely knew
what was the wisest course to pursue. If he defended the Black Hood he
ran the risk of exciting suspicion. The secret that Kip Burland and the
Black Hood were one and the same persons was more precious than ever,
now that Black Hood was wanted for murder.
"There's just one thing, Babs," he told the girl as they drove to the
Weedham home, "nobody can tell me that Black Hood and this criminal
genius known as the Eye are the same. I can't believe it."
"Listen, Burland," Joe Strong put in angrily, "you're not sitting there
and calling me a liar, either. All these stick-up jobs recently have
been planned by the Eye. You'll agree to that, no doubt. That one last
night at the Weedham works was the same sort of a thing--every possible
witness murdered. And I not only saw the Black Hood with my own eyes,
but I took a picture of him. And then he and I had a little scrap."
"How does it happen the Black Hood isn't right down in Tombs prison
now?" Kip Burland asked mildly.
"Well, er," Joe stammered, "some of his men pitched in on me from
behind. There must have been three of them, anyway."
Burland could scarcely repress a laugh.
"Only three? Why, you're slipping, aren't you, Joe?"
The bickering might have gone on the rest of the evening except that
Barbara Sutton told them they were both being very foolish. If Kip
didn't stop his arguing, she wouldn't vouch for him at this meeting
tonight at the Weedham home. She and Joe were to cover the meeting for
_The Daily Opinion_, but she had simply brought Kip along as a friend,
trusting that that would be enough to get him in.
Barbara Sutton's name was a prominent one in social circles as was that
of Joe Strong, so that there was no difficulty gaining admittance into
the Weedham home for Kip Burland. In the magnificent reception hall, Kip
was introduced to Jeff Weedham. The lanky heir to the Weedham wealth was
cordial.
"D-d-don't see why you want to sit in on a stuffy meeting like this
just for pleasure," Jeff Weedham said, smiling, "but I can assure you
that any friend of Barbara's is a friend of mine."
* * * * *
The tall oak door of the library was opened by William Weedham
himself--a plump, white-haired man with black, overhanging eyebrows.
"Son," he said to Jeff, "we're all ready to begin. As the owner of a
newspaper which is instrumental in molding public opinion, you ought to
welcome this opportunity to serve your community."
Jeff Weedham laughed. "Since the Eye or the Black Hood, whatever his
name is, swiped my roadster, d-d-don't you think I'm not interested in
laying him by the heels, D-d-dad."
William Weedham brought scowling eyes to focus upon Kip Burland.
"I don't believe I know this young man," he said.
Jeff said, "This is Kip Burland, a friend of mine, D-d-dad. He wants a
try-out as a reporter. And I thought I'd let him help cover this
business together with Joe and Barbara."
And that fixed it up. With a whispered warning to Kip to try and look
like a would-be reporter, Jeff Weedham led Burland into the library. The
elder Weedham took his place at the head of a long refectory table about
which were seated six men. Some of those included in the committee which
had been formed to take protective measures against the master criminal
known as the Eye, were familiar to Kip Burland. There was short, beefy
Sergeant McGinty, a representative from the police who was to serve as
coordinator. McGinty, Kip Burland knew well enough, was the most ardent
enemy of the Black Hood on the police force.
Then there was a cocky little man with sandy hair and one glass eye. He
was Major Paxton, a retired army man and brother-in-law of William
Weedham. Paxton made his home at the Weedham estate and quite naturally
had been included in the group.
The tall, grim man with the long side whiskers was Harold Adler, an
executive of the Bankers Express service. Certainly he had a grievance
against the Eye after that attack on his guards and armored truck at the
Weedham plant on the night before.
Kip Burland also recognized the handsome, energetic man with the sleek
black hair and small, waxed mustache. This was Jack Carlson who operated
the Atlas Auto Livery and some sort of a trucking concern. Just exactly
why Carlson should have been called into this group, Kip did not know.
He knew something of Carlson's past, perhaps more than even Sergeant
McGinty did, and there were some blotches of shadow on Mr. Carlson's
life story.
William Weedham rapped the meeting to order, remarked briefly that they
had come here tonight to see if some definite plan could not be formed
to cope with the ever rising danger of a major crime wave, planned and
directed by this man who called himself the Eye.
"We are fortunate," the elder Weedham said, "in having Mr. Carlson with
us tonight. It has been frequently said by the police that if taxi
companies and other common carriers would cooperate with the law more
closely, there would be much less chance for the criminal to escape. Mr.
Carlson has a message for us which I hope will be representative of all
members of all taxi and transport systems."
"It seems to me," Major Paxton put in, his small body swelling with
importance, "that the crux of the whole matter lies in the fact that
these criminals, who are operating under the direction of the Eye, have
discovered some fool proof means of escaping from the scene of their
crime. Is that correct, Sergeant McGinty?"
McGinty's face reddened. "I don't know whether you'd call it the crux or
not, Major, but in any crime if a criminal has some fool proof means of
escape, as you put it, there isn't a whole lot the police can do about
it."
Somebody snickered. It was obvious that Major Paxton's remark hadn't
been a particularly bright one.
"But I'll say this," the sergeant went on, "this fellow the Eye, and I
prefer to call him the Black Hood, has developed a means of moving
criminals beyond our reach to a hell of a high point." The sergeant
coughed and apologized for his bit of profanity. "I mean, he's got a
hole in the police dragnet big enough so you could drive a whole
mechanized division of the army through it. If Jack Carlson can throw
any light on the matter, I'd like to hear him do it."
* * * * *
Jack Carlson stood up, smiled smoothly, and bobbed his head to Sergeant
McGinty.
"I think, gentlemen," he began, "that you will find few taxi operators
in the city of New York who would not gladly assist in halting an
escaping criminal if they were given the opportunity. And the same goes
for any other common carrier--the railroads, bus service, and airlines.
At the same time, common carriers are obliged by law not to discriminate
against a prospective passenger just because he may look suspicious:
That is, if I am driving a cab and a man rushes out of a bank with what
I may interpret as a look of guilt upon his face, I cannot refuse to
take him as a fare. Nor can I very well ask for his finger prints and
check up to see if he has a criminal record before taking him to his
destination."
"We know all that, Carlson," Harold Adler said. "Suppose you tell these
men what you told me before the meeting."
Carlson frowned, remained dramatically silent for a moment while he
twisted his mustache. Kip Burland watched the man closely. If this was
acting, Carlson was a remarkable actor. Somehow, he could not trust the
man nor the words that came from his mouth.
Carlson said, "The Eye has not only organized the various mobs of gunmen
in this city, but he has accomplished something else. He has established
a perfect underground railway for transporting these criminals from one
place to another in secret. I know, because the Eye personally asked me
to handle that part of his business for him."
There was another dramatic pause. Then Sergeant McGinty sprang to his
feet.
"Say, Mr. Carlson, if the Eye approached you personally let's have it
right now. Is the Eye this same guy known as the Black Hood?"
Carlson smiled. "It would seem so from the picture which appeared this
morning in the Daily Opinion."
"Yeah," Joe Strong put in. "That's the picture I took."
No one was paying any attention to Joe. All eyes were focused upon Jack
Carlson.
"Understand," Carlson continued, "I did not meet the Eye face to face.
He called me on the telephone, spoke to me in a whispering voice. He
asked me if I would be interested in a money-making proposition. I
played him along, tried to draw him out. He wanted me to employ cars and
trucks for the secret transportation of criminals and in exchange I was
to get a cut of the money which would be looted by his criminals."
"And," Weedham said, "you believe that some transportation company in
this city is actually assisting the Eye in this business?"
"Undoubtedly," Carlson said. "I, of course, rejected his offer. I was
attempting to figure out a plan by which I might trace this call to the
Eye's hideout, but that's quite difficult with these dial phones, you
know.
"But that is how the Eye is working his get-aways. He probably has
carefully placed stations all over the city where criminals who are
fleeing from some crime can get a fast car, or hide in some unsuspicious
looking truck to be transported beyond the reach of the law. It would
appear to me--"
Every light in the big room suddenly went out. Smothering blackness
dropped like a shroud over those at the refectory table and upon Barbara
Sutton, Joe Strong, Kip Burland, and Jeff Weedham who were seated along
one wall.
"D-d-damn!" Jeff Weedham stuttered. "What's this--the well known
blackout?"
A white beam of light stabbed through the French windows at the end of
the room, spotted the wall directly above Jack Carson's sleek head. In
the center of the spot was a crude sign, projected in black lines upon
the wall. It was like a child's drawing of a human eye, round, staring,
and at the same time infinitely menacing.
Kip Burland was on his feet while the others remained spellbound by the
brand of light. Watching the projected sign of the eye upon the wall, he
nevertheless moved swiftly and silently toward the French windows.
The sign of the Eye flicked out, and in its place was a message in black
letters:
CARLSON HAS DEFIED ME.
HE WILL DIE.
Burland waited for no more, but slipped through the French windows and
onto the terrace. The white beam of light rayed out from a thick grove
of shrubs and small trees on the other side of the big yard. Kip Burland
raced across the lawn toward the source of the light.