Free In the Grip of the Griffin: The Complete Battles of Gordon Manning & The Griffin, Volume 3 by J. Allan Dunn

spotless. In the center was a great bowl of daffodils.
    Only one end of the long table was set. The governor’s place was at the head. He took his seat, arranged his napkin over one knee, and turned his plate in expectation of the first course. He stared at his plate. The dishes were of plain design, white with lines of green and red about the outer edge and the emblem of the club on the border.
    This was an heraldic dolphin contrived into a ring with the club motto within it.
    Simon Peter said: I go a fishing.
    Now, Governor Thorpe was gazing with changing and conflicting emotions at the inside of the platter, which should have been plain.
    It held a scarlet splotch, red as blood, a lozenge of bright crimson, an affiche that was embossed in a design that, at the first glance, impressed Thorpe as sinister before his brain swiftly gathered and aligned the data stored there.
    The design was that of the upper part of a griffin in heraldic device, showing the lion’s claws and tail, the eagle’s wings and beak of that mythical creature.
    The Griffin!
    II
    It was the title taken by the evil, murderous genius whose killings had amazed and terrorized the continent. A madman whose stupendous egomania prompted him to hate all that was good, progressive and wise. The monster who had slain a score of men who could hardly be replaced, men who stood for advancement, philanthropy and wisdom. He had thrown society and finance into temporary panics until he had been captured by Gordon Manning and sent to Dannemora.
    Manning, ex-Military Intelligence, scientist, explorer and adventurer, had been called in when the police failed. He had now a commission from the governor, endorsed and renewed by the present incumbent, besides full police powers in the city.
    Over Manning’s protests, though he knew the judgment was within the law, the Griffin had not been executed and he had escaped from the institution for the criminally insane to pursue his bloodthirsty career.
    He had slain more than once since his reappearance. Also Manning had managed more than once to circumvent his fell plans, but not to lay hands on the mocking fiend who openly proclaimed the name of his intended victim and the date on which he should die.
    These things flashed through the governor’s mind as he tossed his napkin on the plate to cover the affiche, and, leaning forward, pried at it with his knife as he told the rest an anecdote in his usual brilliant manner, that kept the girl, who was waiting to serve the consommé, in the background.
    This thing might be a hoax. Certainly not a practical joke on the part of any of the men at the table, or the employees. But—the table had been set for an hour or two; there were the open windows….
    The governor, making the point of his story, glanced through them at the new green of grass and trees. He saw nothing, yet he felt as if a shadow had passed over the lawn, as if a chill wind had trailed it, entered, congealing for a moment the marrow in his spine.
    He was a brave man, of a brave line, but he believed he had received his death warrant. As the waitress brought his soup he removed his napkin, and with it the scarlet lozenge, palming it, putting it into his pocket, achieving the jesting tag of his tale, smiling at the others as they laughed at his wit.
    Half an hour later, in his room, he looked again at the red symbol.
    He had enemies, naturally enough. He had been threatened by the friends of men he had refused to pardon, by cranks. This might be one of these, masquerading as the Griffin. The latter’s diabolical methods had been often enough exploited in the press after his satanic victories.
    But this did not tie up with the Griffin’s invariable method. He had taken up the appointment of Manning as a challenge. Likened it to a game of chess, wherein he played with living men, and studied out his moves before making the first one. Always he had notified Manning beforehand, never the man he hoped to annihilate. He