path: root/76592-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76592 ***





                              Murder Mask

                        By EDGAR DANIEL KRAMER

                   _A brief tale about the homicidal
                  effect of wearing a medieval mask._

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                        Weird Tales June 1937.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


With conflicting emotions in his faded eyes, the stooped and wrinkled
butler bowed Colletti into the sun-flooded drawing-room.

"I will tell the master and mistress you are here, sir," the old
servitor's cracked voice quavered, as he backed away. "I would as soon
meet the Devil!" he spat and crossed himself hastily as soon as he was
out of the visitor's sight. "With his hypocrite's smile and his cruel,
green eyes!" He shuddered. "Ugh!"

Colletti, tall, dark, slender, prematurely graying at the temples, set
his hat, gloves and stick on the nearest chair and with the lithe,
slinking movements of a velvet-footed jungle beast advanced to the
center table. His inscrutable gaze fastened on the gardenia in his
lapel, he drew a bit of silk from the inside pocket of his coat. For
a clock-tick or two he scrutinized it. Then, sucking in his breath
with a reptilian hiss, he let it slip from his tapering fingers to the
sun-splashed table top. It lay like a clot of blood on the polished
mahogany. From a vest pocket he thumbed a rectangle of pasteboard,
dog-eared and time-yellowed, which bore the badly faded, delicately
penned legend:

    Who wears this mask
      Is doomed to slay
    Whom he loves best,
      Ere break of day!

As Colletti stood, holding the worn card between his thumb and
forefinger, a hideous change crept over him. The ghost of a smile
playing about the corners of his thin-lipped mouth grew sardonic. His
whole bearing became as deadly, as sinister, as a rattler ready to
strike. Like a miasma lifting from a fen, he exuded an aura of evil
that polluted the atmosphere around him and took the warmth from the
sunlight.

His features grew wolfish and hardened into olive granite, while his
eyes blazed feverishly, as he thought of his dead grandfather's will,
that left all the eccentric importer's estate to his ward, Nita Tosca,
in trust for her children, if she married either of his nephews,
Antonio Colletti or Tomaso Romani, but divided the income equally among
the trio if the girl remained single or married somebody else. In such
a contingency, upon the demise of the last of the three, the principal
was to be distributed to stipulated charities.

Nita had rejected Colletti's passionate suit and married Romani.
Hiding his real feelings, Colletti had contrived to act as his
cousin's best man. After the wedding, feeling cheated, nursing his
wounded vanity, with hatred of the newly-weds festering in his veins,
he fled to Europe. That was six months ago. Now he was back in his
dead grandfather's house with a handful of silk, a frayed card, an
all-consuming hate, an inexorable determination to get Nita and her
husband out of the picture and----

"Tony!" A voice like the tinkling of silver bells roused Colletti from
his devilish introspection.

Thrusting the card away, a quick smile driving the satanic expression
from his face, he jerked around like an automaton, as a slip of a
woman, blue-eyed, golden-haired, ivory-skinned, came fluttering toward
him. Behind her, in the doorway, her husband paused. At first glance
and to the superficial observer, he was strikingly like Colletti.
Closer study of the cousins, however, brought out subtle differences.
Whereas Colletti was soft, hinting of unclean, forbidden things, with
the unhealthy pallor of a plant too long away from the sun, Romani was
as hard as a shining rapier, as clean as the salt tang of the sea, as
frank as the day itself.

"Nita!" Colletti's suave voice was a caress, as he seized the young
woman's impulsively outstretched hands. "It _is_ good to see you again.
You are lovelier than ever."

She laughed musically.

"You're looking splendid, Tom." Colletti shook hands with his cousin.

"I've never felt better," Romani answered. "When did you get back?"

"Yesterday," Colletti told him. "On the _Normandie_."

"You'll be coming to our masque tonight, Tony?" Nita queried.

"Just try to keep me away!" Colletti chuckled. He didn't deem it
necessary to explain that he had deliberately timed his return so
that he would not miss the masque. "In fact," he went on, "I've just
arranged for my costume. By the way," he turned back to the table,
"here's a mask I thought one of you might want to wear tonight. I
happened to find it, when I was unpacking this morning. It's unique, I
think."

Nita caught up the mask and shook out its deep crimson, almost black,
folds.

"I'd wear it myself," Colletti added hastily, "but I'm coming as Death
and it wouldn't go very well with my costume."

"It's lovely!" Nita breathed, her eyes enigmatic. "So rich! So
lustrous! So soft to the touch! Why, it's actually warm! Like living
flesh!"

Colletti eyed her narrowly.

"It's been lying in the sunlight, my dear," her husband reminded her.

"I'd wear it, Tony," Nita spoke dreamily, "but I'm attending the masque
as a Watteau shepherdess and I'm afraid it won't fit into the picture
at all."

"I'll wear it." Romani relieved his wife of the mask. "As a Florentine
dandy in the days of the Medici I couldn't ask for anything better.
It's just the thing to go with my black outfit."

       *       *       *       *       *

The late-afternoon sunlight vanished. The room became a place of
whispering shadows. Nita shivered.

"What's the matter?" her husband asked anxiously.

"I'm getting jittery, I guess," she laughed nervously. "I've been going
too fast a pace lately. I'll be glad when tonight's over. We won't
unmask till we have breakfast at dawn." There was something akin to
fear in her shifting glances. "After tonight I'll be taking a long
rest."

Colletti unconsciously tautened.

"Where'd you get this, Tony?" Romani wanted to know, as his long
fingers stroked the silk.

"In Padua," Colletti replied. "In a little cubbyhole of a shop off
the beaten track. I figuratively fell into it." He chuckled at the
recollection. "The mask struck my fancy as soon as I saw it." He
fingered the card in his vest pocket. "I'll run along now. No need to
ring for Benito. I'll see you tonight."

They were not hearing him. As though fascinated, hypnotized,
metamorphosed into stone like those who looked upon the Gorgons, they
appeared completely absorbed in the mask. Colletti gathered up his hat
and gloves and stick and silently let himself out.

"After tonight," he chortled his satisfaction, as he strolled down Park
Avenue, "the house and all the income from the old man's estate will be
mine. I'll live like a lord and throw some parties that'll knock the
town's eyes out." He gloated in anticipation. "The poor, blind fools!
If the mask doesn't work, this will."

He brought a tiny vial to view and cuddled it in his palm.

"If the necessity arises, I will drop this into their wine. It is
odorless, colorless, tasteless and leaves no traces. Nita and Tom will
never see another dawn."

       *       *       *       *       *

"You're beautiful tonight, my dear!" Romani rapturously murmured his
adoration. "Divinely lovely, Nita mine!"

"You're handsome yourself, Tom!" Her eyes glowed like summer stars.

"I'm mad about you, darling!"

She adjusted her domino. He caught her in his arms and clasped her
close. Their lips met and clung.

"I couldn't," he muttered thickly, "I wouldn't live without you, dear!"

"Be careful!" She struggled for breath and reluctantly shoved him
away. "You're crushing me, Tom! You're mussing me, too! Let me go now!
Please!"

Unwillingly he released her. From below there floated up to them the
dulcet strains of a stringed ensemble mingled with shrill feminine
laughter, the hoarser mirth of men, the rustling of garments, the
shuffling of feet. The air was heady with intoxicating perfumes.

"We must be going down!" she panted through Cupid-bow lips. "Are you
ready?"

"Just about." He slipped on the mask Colletti had brought. "All set!
Let's go!"

She started and gasped, while her tiny hands flew to her slender
throat.

"What are you staring at?" he demanded, cold steel suddenly in his
voice. "What's the matter, anyway?"

"Your eyes, Tom!" she choked. "They're--they're--they're----" She
couldn't go on.

"You have a bad case of nerves!" he sneered, as he pulled the lower
part of the mask away from his face. "This thing persists in pressing
against my mouth. You'd think it was alive."

"Your eyes are wild!" she managed to gulp. "You never looked at me like
this, Tom. Oh! Your eyes are hot and cruel! Like Tony's at times!"

"Like Tony's, eh?" he jeered in a voice that had lost all its
tenderness. "I wish he had stayed on the other side," he continued
vehemently. "I wish he had broken his neck, when he fell into that shop
in Padua. If I never saw the beggar again, it would be too soon."

Blinking her amazement, she seemed on the point of saying something,
changed her mind and turned to the door.

"Listen, lady!" He seized her arm and roughly yanked her back. "Don't
be too nice to Tony. Don't encourage him. The rotter has a way with
women."

"Tom!" She fought vainly to break his hold. "You're bruising my arm!
Let me go! You're hurting me! Let me go! Please!"

"Not too many dances with Tony!" He glared at her. "Mind, Nita! I don't
like the way he looked at you this afternoon. Nor the way he held your
hands. I felt like slamming him."

"What in the world has got into you, Tom?" she almost wailed, as she
wriggled free. "You never----" Her strained voice broke. "Why--why,"
she stammered her bewilderment, "I actually believe you're jealous of
Tony!"

"Jealous of Tony and every other man!" he confessed throatily. "I'd
kill you, Nita, before I'd let Tony or anybody else have you." His
hand dropped to the haft of the slender dagger at his waist. "I swear
it!"

There was no doubting his sincerity. His eyes blazed at her
challengingly through the thin slits in the mask.

"This thing seems to be blending with my skin." He tugged impatiently
at the silk that rippled to his agitated breathing like a thing alive.
"It seems to work convulsively against my mouth."

With a stifled cry, Nita staggered from the room like a stricken thing.
For a split second her husband stood glowering after her, fighting for
breath like a spent runner. Then he came to life and darted in her
wake. He reached the top of the broad stairway, as his wife poised at
the bottom like a bird on the point of trying out its wings.

The next instant, what appeared to be a skeleton, shrouded from head to
foot in the habiliments of the grave and wearing a mask in the form of
a grinning skull, detached itself from the swirling phantasmagoria of
nymphs, priests, satyrs, ballet dancers, monks, pirates, harlequins,
tramps, pierrettes, sailors, imps and other bizarre creatures, to bow
over Nita's hand and whirl her away in a dreamy Strauss waltz.

"Dancing with him already!" Romani growled, as he leisurely descended
the stairs. "They'd better not drive me too far!" All the while his
fingers were fondling the hilt of his dagger. "They----" He broke off
abruptly, while his angry gaze searched the hilarious throng for the
dainty shepherdess and her gruesome partner.

       *       *       *       *       *

On a flood of delirious revelry Nita catapulted through the heavy
draperies into the dimly lit alcove. Her husband came bursting in after
her. The curtains trembled into place and the sounds of the frenzied
merrymaking came to them as though from far away.

"How dare you!" Nita expostulated furiously with a stamp of her foot.
"How dare you, Tom!"

He stood glaring at her fixedly, breathing hard, his slim hands
clenched until the knuckles showed like chalk. Her eyes were pools of
fire. Her breasts heaved tumultuously.

"You have been hateful tonight, Tom!" She dabbed frantically at her
eyes with a lacy handkerchief. "You have humiliated me terribly!"

He remained silent.

"You actually tore me out of Tony's arms just now!" she went on
scathingly. "You actually flung me in here!"

Romani swallowed hard.

"You'll have to apologize to Tony."

He dismissed the suggestion with a shrug.

"You'll have to!" she insisted.

"You've been dancing with Tony all night!" he rasped savagely. "Every
time I looked up, it seemed, he was holding you in his arms with his
dirty eyes undressing you."

"Tom!"

"I asked you not to dance with him so often."

"You're being ridiculous!"

"You've been acting deliberately contrary to my wishes." He didn't hear
her. "I pleaded with you but you persisted. It made my blood boil. I
saw red, while Tony exulted. Finally, I commanded you to dance no more
with him. After all, you are my wife, you know. You laughed in my face."

She tossed her head like a spoiled child.

"Hear it, Nita!" He eagerly took a step toward her. "The last dance!
Shall we waltz it together?"

"No!" She meant to punish him for his show of jealousy.

Romani recoiled as though from a slap in the face.

"I shall dance it with Tony," she told him airily. "Let me pass!"

She started to brush past her husband, as the draperies parted and
Colletti appeared.

"Nita," he began, "you----"

With a nerve-tearing snarl, Romani flashed his slender-bladed dagger
and lunged.

"Oh!" Nita started to scream. "Tom, you----"

Her strangled shriek ended in a gurgling gasp, as the dagger sheathed
itself to the hilt in her bosom. Blood gushed and bubbled around the
buried blade. An expression of mingled bewilderment, surprize and
incredulity flitted over her ghastly, painted face, as Romani caught
his crumpling wife in his arms.

"Nita!" he croaked, his red rage dropping from him like a discarded
cloak. "Speak to me, sweet! Nita! Nita! Nita! Good God! What have I
done?"

"You've killed her, Tom!" Colletti could not keep the oily satisfaction
from his voice. "You have murdered her!"

"Nita!" Romani was beside himself with grief. "Speak to me, dear! I
wouldn't hurt you! I wouldn't! I'd die first!"

He covered her face with kisses.

"Nita! Nita! Nita!"

She hung limp in his embrace.

"Speak to me, darling!" he beseeched, as he tore off his mask and flung
it across the shadowy alcove. "I love you! I love you! Speak to me,
Nita!"

"It's no use, Tom!" Colletti mocked him. "She's dead!"

Romani seemed to become aware of the other man's presence.

"This means the electric chair for you, Tom," Colletti cruelly reminded
his cousin. "You have murdered her."

For clock-ticks that seemed eternities Romani stared hard at the
speaker. Gently he lowered his dead wife to the thick-piled rug.
Carefully he pulled the dagger from her breast. Tenderly he closed her
eyes, crossed her hands on her bloody bosom and straightened her limbs.

"Thanks to the mask," Colletti pointed, "you have murdered your wife,
Tom." He handed the anguished man the time-yellowed card. "Soon you'll
be walking through that little green door."

"I can't live without you, Nita!" Romani declared brokenly, as he
deciphered the faded legend. "I won't!"

"The state will attend to that, Tom," Colletti jeered. "You need have
no worries on that score."

       *       *       *       *       *

Romani retrieved the discarded mask and, whirling on Colletti, thrust
it at him.

"Put it on!" he ordered bruskly and tickled his cousin's ribs with his
blood-smeared dagger. "Put it on or I'll drive this steel into your
devil's heart!"

Colletti paled and gulped and hesitated.

"Put it on!" Romani reiterated huskily, increasing the pressure of
the dagger, while with his free hand he tore the death mask from his
cousin's face. "Hurry!"

With trembling fingers Colletti adjusted the red silk mask over his
twitching features.

"_Who wears this mask!_" Romani growled, as through the muted strains
of the waltz the weary revelers chorused _Good-night, Ladies_. "It's
your turn now, Tony! _Is doomed to slay!_ Murder, Tony! _Whom he loves
best!_ That's yourself, Tony! You're going to kill yourself! You've
never loved anybody but yourself! _Ere break of day!_ Which isn't far
off! You'll have to hurry, Tony! You haven't much time!"

Like a man suffering the tortures of the damned, Colletti's whole body
was writhing horribly. His palsied hands clawed at his throat. He
appeared to be wrestling with an invisible antagonist.

"_Whom he loves best!_" Romani repeated hoarsely. "You're taking your
own worthless life, Tony! Hurry!"

The crimson mask moving to his labored breathing, Colletti fumbled
inside the hideous grave garments he was wearing. His groping hands
brought a tiny vial to light.

"_Is doomed to slay!_" Romani hissed, stepping back, for the coercion
of the dagger was no longer needed. "_Whom he loves best!_"

While Romani watched him balefully, Colletti slowly lifted the
fluttering mask with his left hand, while with his right he tilted the
bottle on his mouth. With a hollow gulp he drained its contents. His
hands dropped like leaden plummets. For a split second he steadied.
Then a tremor shook him from heels to crown. He swung half-way around,
recovered, his knees buckled and he collapsed on his face. Romani
rolled him over, nudged him callously with his foot, stooped and
listened to his heart.

"Dead!" he mumbled and straightened. "Gone to the hell where he
belongs!"

He sank on his knees beside his dead wife. Tenderly he kissed her cold
eyes, her carmined lips, the little hollow at the base of her throat.

"Coming, Nita!" he spoke as though replying to an urgent summons and
plunged the dagger into his own heart. "Com----"

He pitched forward over the dead woman. The music and the singing
ceased. The gray dawning peered in at the window.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76592 ***