The Mystery Megapack

in the shadow of the building while he studied the windows. Either there were no lights in the house, or the windows were so well shaded that no light could escape.
    A flight of stairs leading to the door of a semi-basement attracted Roy. He crept stealthily down the stairs and tried the door. It was small, but had the appearance of great weight and strength. Roy saw that the door opened inward. It was locked or bolted. He crouched down and put an ear to the sill.
    He heard the soft pad of feet and jumped to an upright position. A blow on the shoulder flung him against the door. Roy staggered. Two men leaped on him. They got inside his reach, but Roy chopped in a few short punches that brought grunts. A thumb gouged into Roy’s right eye. He pulled up his knee, thrust it into a soft body and the finger left his eye. Roy shifted from the door. A Hindu shouted in his native tongue. Roy thrust the fellow back a foot, swung a fist and it went to the jaw. The other Hindu was getting up. Roy leaped over him and made the stairs. At the top he almost collided with the tall figure of Ishan Das Babaji.
    Roy ran for the wall, but before he reached it a Hindu sprang into his path. Roy pulled his gun, flourished it before the Hindu, and waved him aside. The Hindu’s response was a leap at Roy. They both went down. They rolled over and over in a flower bed. Roy spat out a mouthful of dirt that was choking him. The Hindu clutched Roy’s gun hand. Roy tried to fling himself loose. The gun cracked and the Hindu went limp.
    Roy jerked himself free. He looked down for an instant at the Hindu. The man was dead with a bullet through the head.
    Other servants were almost upon him. Roy raced for the wall. He swarmed over and dropped to the safety of the alley. He ran to the first street intersection, then risked a glance back. No one had come beyond the wall. The handkerchief had slipped down to his neck. Roy pulled it away and walked slowly to his club.
    He had enjoyed a wild exultation on reaching the alley. But with nerves quieted, he saw little to cause satisfaction. He had failed in the purpose that had led him to the house, and he was responsible for the death of the Hindu.
    He decided to wait until morning before surrendering himself to the police. No use talking yourself into jail in the middle of the night, he thought. He bathed and threw himself into the comfort of his soft bed. Would the police believe his version of the shooting?
    He was hours getting to sleep, then woke up to find the sun pouring through the open windows. He yawned and grinned. Hellish nightmare. A torn and dirty blue suit lay on a chair. Roy jumped from bed. He drew a revolver from the coat pocket, broke it, and saw an empty shell.
    Roy telephoned for coffee and the morning papers. The Hindu’s death was not reported.
    An hour later Roy visited the morgue. Discreet inquiries revealed that the body of the Hindu had not been brought there. Evidently Ishan Das Babaji disposed of his own dead. Roy changed his mind about going to the police.
    He walked away from the morgue wondering why the home of Ishan Das Babaji was so zealously guarded. If there was nothing criminal going on in the house, why the walls of steel? Why the locked rooms? If Ishan Das Babaji were honest, why did he not report the death of his servant? Why had Roy been permitted to escape from the garden when an attempt, at least, might have been made to stop him with gunfire? Was it because the Bengali preferred to allow a prowler to escape rather than risk police investigation by alarming the neighborhood?
    At three o’clock that afternoon Roy decided to visit the brownstone house—this time as an innocent caller. He did not know if the astute Bengali had recognized him the previous night. It did not seem likely that in the darkness Ishan Das Babaji could have identified Roy as he flashed past on the run to the garden wall. But Roy did not know at what stage of the struggle the black handkerchief had slipped down from his face.
    When he reached the top of the stone steps leading to the house, the windowless doors swung inward. This little circumstance always amused and intrigued Roy. Where was the observation post? There were no windows in the vicinity of the solid doors and yet they were always opened before Roy had time to announce his arrival by ringing the bell.
    He passed before a salaaming Hindu and allowed himself to be conducted to the drawing room. Once again he experienced the