CHAPTER XXXI
THE MASK OF THE RED BANDANNA
It had come by special delivery, an ill-written little note scrawled oncheap ruled paper torn from a tablet.
If you want to know who killed Cuningham i can tell you. Meet me atthe Denmark Bilding, room 419, at eleven tonight. Come alone.
_One who knows_.
Kirby studied the invitation carefully. Was it genuine? Or was it aplant? He was no handwriting expert, but he had a feeling that it wasa disguised script. There is an inimitable looseness of design in thechirography of an illiterate person. He did not find here theawkwardness of the inexpert; rather the elaborate imitation of anamateur ignoramus. Yet he was not sure. He could give no definitereason for this fancy.
And in the end he tossed it overboard. He would keep the appointmentand see what came of it. Moreover, he would keep it alone--except fora friend hanging under the left arm at his side. Kirby had brought norevolver with him to Denver. Occasionally he carried one on the rangeto frighten coyotes and to kill rattlers. But he knew where he couldborrow one, and he proceeded to do so.
Not that there was any danger in meeting the unknown correspondent.Kirby did not admit that for a moment. There are people so constitutedthat they revel in the mysterious. They wrap their most common actionsin hints of reserve and weighty silence. Perhaps this man was one ofthem. There was no danger whatever. Nobody had any reason to wish himserious ill. Yet Kirby took a .45 with him when he set out for theDenmark Building. He did it because that strange sixth sense of hishad warned him to do so.
During the day he had examined the setting for the night's adventure.He had been to the Denmark Building and scanned it inside and out. Hehad gone up to the fourth floor and looked at the exterior of Room 419.The office door had printed on it this design:
THE GOLD HILL MILLING & MINING COMPANY
But when Kirby tried the door he found it locked.
The Denmark Building is a little out of the heart of the Denverbusiness district. It was built far uptown at a time when real estatewas booming. Adjoining it is the Rockford Building. The two dominatea neighborhood of squat two-story stores and rooming-houses. In dullseasons the offices in the two big landmarks are not always filled withtenants.
The elevators in the Denmark had ceased running hours since. Kirbytook the narrow stairs which wound round the elevator shaft. He trodthe iron treads very slowly, very softly. He had no wish to advertisehis presence. If there was to be any explosive surprise, he did notwant to be at the receiving end of it.
He reached the second story, crossed the landing, and began the nextflight. The place was dark as a midnight pit. At the third floor itsblackness was relieved slightly by a ray of light from a transom fardown the corridor.
Kirby waited to listen. He heard no faintest sound to break thestillness. Again his foot found the lowest tread and he crept upward.In the daytime he had laughed at the caution which had led him toborrow a weapon from an acquaintance at the stockyards. But now everysense shouted danger. He would not go back, but each forward step wastaken with infinite care.
And his care availed him nothing. A lifted foot struck an empty soapbox with a clatter to wake the seven sleepers. Instantly he knew ithad been put there for him to stumble over. A strong searchlightflooded the stairs and focused on him. He caught a momentary glimpseof a featureless face standing out above the light--a face that wasnothing but a red bandanna handkerchief with slits in it for eyes--andof a pair of feet below at the top of the stairway.
The searchlight winked out. There was a flash of lightning and a crashof thunder. A second time the pocket flash found Kirby. It found himcrouched low and reaching for the .45 under his arm. The booming ofthe revolver above reverberated down the pit of the stairway.
Arrow-swift, with the lithe ease of a wild thing from the forest, Kirbyducked round the corner for safety. He did not wait there, but tookthe stairs down three at a stride. Not till he had reached the groundfloor did he stop to listen for the pursuit.
No sound of following footsteps came to him. By some miracle of goodluck he had escaped the ambush. It was characteristic of him that hedid not fly wildly into the night. His brain functioned normally,coolly. Whoever it was had led him into the trap had lost his chance.Kirby reasoned that the assassin's mind would be bent on making his ownsafe escape before the police arrived.
The cattleman waited, crouched behind an out-jutting pillar in the wallof the entrance. Every minute he expected to see a furtive figuresneak past him into the street. His hopes were disappointed. It wasnearly midnight when two men, talking cheerfully of the last gusher in,the Buckburnett field, emerged from the stairway and passed into thestreet. They were tenants who had stayed late to do some unfinishedbusiness.
There was a drug-store in the building, cornering on two streets.Kirby stepped into it and asked a question of the clerk at theprescription desk.
"Is there more than one entrance to the Denmark Building?"
"No, sir." The clerk corrected himself. "Well, there's another wayout. The Producers & Developers Shale and Oil Company have a suite ofoffices that run into the Rockford Building. They've built an alley toconnect between the two buildings. It's on the fifth floor."
"Is it open? Could a man get out of the Denmark Building now by way ofthe Rockford entrance?"
"Easiest in the world. All he'd have to do would be to cross the alleybridge, go down the Rockford stairs, and walk into the street."
Kirby wasted no more time. He knew that the man who had tried tomurder him had long since made good his getaway by means of thefifth-story bridge between the buildings.
As he walked back to the hotel where he was stopping his eyes and earswere busy. He took no dark-alley chances, but headed for the brightlights of the main streets where he would be safe from any possibilityof a second ambush.
His brain was as busy as his eyes. Who had planned this attempt on hislife and so nearly carried it to success? Of one thing he was sure.The assassin who had flung the shots at him down the narrow stairway ofthe Denmark was the one who had murdered his uncle. The motive for theambuscade was fear. Kirby was too hot on the trail that might send himto the gallows. The man had decided to play safe by following the oldtheory that dead men tell no tales.