The Complete Adventures of the Domino Lady

Lars Anderson, Tom Johnson

Description

“Compliments of the Domino Lady!” In order to avenger the murder of his father, socialite Ellen Patrick donned a domino mask and evening dress and packed a .45. Running for six rare stories in mid-1930s pulp magazines, these stories remain elusive. Now, these are collected in an affordable edition, complemented by an all-new Afterword by pulp historian Tom Johnson.

Sujets

• Pulp Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Altus Press
• Date de parution: 06 décembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788829567904
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Complete Adventures of the Domino Lady
by
Lars Anderson

Afterword by
Tom Johnson

Altus Press • 2018
Copyright Information

© 2018 Altus Press

Publication History:
“The Domino Lady Collects” originally published in the May 1936 issue of Saucy Romantic Adventures. Copyright © 1936 Fiction Magazines, Inc.
“The Domino Lady Doubles Back” originally published in the June 1936 issue of Saucy Romantic Adventures. Copyright © 1936 Fiction Magazines, Inc.
“The Domino Lady’s Handicap” originally published in the July 1936 issue of Saucy Romantic Adventures. Copyright © 1936 Fiction Magazines, Inc.
“Emeralds Aboard” originally published in the August 1936 issue of Saucy Romantic Adventures. Copyright © 1936 Fiction Magazines, Inc.
“Black Legion” originally published in the October 1936 issue of Saucy Romantic Adventures. Copyright © 1936 Fiction Magazines, Inc.
“The Domino Lady’s Double” originally published in the November 1936 issue of Mystery Adventure Magazine. Copyright © 1936 Fiction Magazines, Inc.
“Where Did It Start” copyright © 2018 Tom Johnson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the publisher.
The Domino Lady Collects

Chapter 1
GLITTERING sunshine was vainly attempting to bore its way through the closely shuttered Venetian blinds protecting the bedroom windows of an apartment on Wiltshire Boulevard. Across the busy thoroughfare, the fragrant buds of a California spring were shooting into life in the tiny park.
A tousled blonde head, resting in a nest of soft curls sunk deep in a silken pillow, moved slightly, and brown eyes blinked drowsily. A damp, cerise mouth deliciously shaped, opened in a delicate yawn, and, under the coverlet, a shapely leg stirred, languorously.
The Domino Lady, Hollywood’s most mysterious female, was awakening!
A fair, pink-skinned arm, prettily rounded, drew aside the coverlet as she squirmed out of bed and glided to the window to pull up the shutters and let the sunshine into the room. Then, taking a cigarette from a silver and black box on her bedside table, she threw herself back on the bed where she lay outside the covers to enjoy the fragrant puffs of smoke that would serve to clear her sleep-drenched and tired brain.
A nightgown of sheerest, green silk was but scant concealment for her gorgeous figure. A chastely-rounded body and a slender waist served to accentuate the seductive softness of her hips and the sloping contours of her slim thighs, while skin like the bloom on a peach glowed rosily in the reflected sunlight.
Abruptly, a musical tinkling broke the stillness of the room. It was the bell of her telephone which had been specially installed since she objected to the usual jangling one, and, without raising her shining head from the pillow, she picked the instrument up, and answered:
“Yes!” Her soft voice throbbed melodiously with a peculiarly emotional quiver, a little trick of hers. She never knew who might be at the other end of the wire!
“Oh, hello, Eloise!” Her voice resumed its normal tone. “I had intended calling you this morning. Anything new?”
“Not a thing, Ellen!” responded Eloise Schenick, despondently. “This affair has me desperate! If he does as he threatens, and Lew learns of….”
“Sh-h-h-h!” cautioned The Domino Lady in a sibilant whisper. “Not over the telephone, dear! You can never tell who might be listening in, you know!”
The sound of a sob came to her over the wire. “I’d forgotten!” murmured her caller, contritely. “I’ve been so worried that I’m almost crazy! If you can’t help me….”
The other laughed soothingly.
“Don’t take it so hard, kiddo,” she advised softly. “You know I’m going to help you. Never fear, that precious husband of yours will not find out a thing. I’ll have those letters back before morning, and safe in your hands, or my name isn’t Ellen Patrick!”
“Oh, you darling! If you only can….”
“All right!” agreed Ellen, quickly, decisively, “I’m taking immediate steps in that direction! And, should they fail, I’ll be seeing your friend this evening! So, either way, I promise you results, Eloise! Now, perk up, so Lew Schenick won’t smell a mouse…. ’Bye!”
As she cradled the phone for a moment, a tight little smile played about the corners of her luscious mouth. Then, lifting the instrument once more she spoke briefly:
“This is Miss Ellen Patrick, Apartment 422…. Please send a boy up in fifteen minutes.”
Sliding from the bed, she peeled the silken nightrobe from her and ran into the ornate bathroom. A needle shower quickly stung her rose body into a state of hot-blooded energy. After a brisk rubdown with a big towel, she slipped into a black velvet negligee which hid her youthful body more completely than the silk nightgown had disclosed it!
Slipping pink-toed feet into black suede slippers, she glided into the living room where she sank into a straight-backed chair before a walnut writing desk. For a long moment she was busy, writing in her usual perfect flowing chirography which was so indicative of her impressive personality. The note she handed the boy a few minutes later was inscribed in white ink on smooth black stationery, and was addressed to “Mr. Rob Wyatt, The Franklyn Arms.” It read:
“This is your last chance to come across. If certain letters are not returned to their rightful owner before midnight tonight, I shall be forced to call and pick them up myself.”
The distinctive epistle was signed, The Domino Lady!

Chapter 2
OWEN PATRICK had been one of the most feared politicians in California at one time. An assassin’s slug had put a period to his career three years before, and there were those who believed the killer to have been a hired gunman in the employ of the state machine. The big Irishman’s dauntless spirit and keen wit had been transplanted in his only child, Ellen.
Before her father’s untimely death, the girl had lived a life of comparative ease as befitted the child of Owen Patrick. She had spent four years at Berkeley, a year in the Far East and then—a cowardly bullet had robbed her of the one who meant more to her than life itself. Small wonder then that she pursued the life of a ruthless, roguish adventuress, at times accepting nigh impossible undertakings simply for the sake of friendship and the love of adventure. At other times, she was coldly involved in hazardous schemes merely to embarrass the authorities, whom she blamed for her father’s death, at the same time earning an adequate income wherewith to obtain the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. Of late, she had become well-known and feared as The Domino Lady!
Take the present case, for instance. Eloise Schenick, former dancer and wife of Lew Schenick of Trianon Films, Inc., had been a classmate at Berkeley in the old days. Married to a man years her senior, she had been indiscreet, and compromising letters were being held over her head by a well-known Hollywood character. This man, a big game hunter and sometimes character actor, was noted for his triumphs in the wild places, but his hunting was not strictly confined to the carnivore! And his parties were the talk of the town!
Wealthy in his own right, Rob Wyatt’s exorbitant demands were but an indication of the inherent cruelty of the man. As a last resort, the tearful Eloise had confided in her old chum, never dreaming that she was addressing the notorious Domino Lady, herself, or that Ellen knew the formidable Wyatt in person. And, as usual, while pitying the victim for her foolishness, the adventure-loving Ellen had unhesitatingly accepted the issue, gratis!
Pretty, shapely, talented, the “young avenger,” as Ellen liked to style herself, was in great demand in society. Many proposals of marriage had fallen to her lot, but she had thus far remained free of marital bonds. At twenty-two, she was known as one of the most beautiful girls in California’s Southland. Of medium height and willowy, there was something about her radiant, Nordic beauty that captivated all with whom she came in contact. And, as far as the sex of her was concerned, its appeal had long since been granted!
LIFTING the champagne glass to her cerise lips, Ellen Patrick’s great brown eyes flitted over the bronzed features of Rob Wyatt who was leaning toward her in the conservatory of his penthouse atop the sumptuous Franklyn Arms. He was frowning slightly, but she couldn’t help admiring his rugged handsomeness, square chin and mouth, the well-knit masculine figure. He was tall, with a finely drawn, rather nervous face, a high-bridged arrogant nose, and lips that were strangely full and impetuous; a man of queer charm and strange moods, admired for his nerve and his attainments in the wild game field, feared for his inherent cruelty of nature, loved hopelessly by many women in his life of whose existence he at times seemed utterly unaware. Ellen had always liked him, though the liking was not unmixed by a strange fear!
“He might be a rounder, a roué, even a blackmailer!” thought Ellen, “but there’s something darned compelling about him just the same! And there’s plenty of ice and iron beneath that velvety exterior, I’ll bet me!…”
She took a test sip of the wine, breathed: “Heavenly!”
He leaned closer. “The champagne?” he questioned pointedly. “Or the toast?”
She laughed softly as she remembered that he had said: “To you… and me… and tonight!” just before he had drained the glass.
“What do you think?” she parried pertly, brown eyes narrowing, languorously.
“Why, the toast, of course!” he responded, boldly. “Since i