Genre Mystery & Crime. Page - 14
nd; saw also the open wonder on the reporter's pleasant face.
"Who is your friend, Norton?" Braine asked indifferently, his head still unturned.
"Stanley Hargreave. Met him in Hongkong when I was sent over to handle a part of the revolution. War correspondence stuff. First time I ever ran across him on Broadway at night. We've since had some powwows over some rare books. Queer old cock; brave as a lion, but as quiet as a mouse."
"Bookish, eh? My kind. Bring him over." Underneath the table Braine maneuvered to touch the foot of the countess.
"I don't know," said the reporter dubiously. "He might say no, and that would embarrass the whole lot of us. He's a bit of a hermit. I'm surprised to see him here."
"Try," urged the countess. "I like to meet men who are hermits."
"I haven't the least doubt about that," the reporter laughed. "I'll try; but don't blame me if I'm rebuffed."
He left the table with evident reluctance and approached Hargreave. The two shook hands
In the bottom right corner of the screen are digitized numbers reading: 00033.
I turn to my left. The woman beside me casts a disapproving look at me and says, "You shouldn't be here." Her face is covered by a half-mask made of dark gunmetal. I reach out to lift the mask, but when I see her face, I realize she's not who I thought she was.
I turn to my right and see a man sitting in the previously-empty seat, his face covered in a grotesque black mask pocked by red boils oozing puss. A long crooked nose protrudes from his mask, and underneath his lips part to reveal a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth jutting out from purple, bleeding gums.
The man in the mask starts laughing - a tinny and mechanical laugh, like the sound of a clanky old film projector.
---
When I came to, my assailant was gone. I struggled slowly to my feet, feeling my head throbbing and my stomach stinging like hell. Then to make matters worse, that damned phone in the hallway started ringing again.
Once I finally regained my bearings, I realized that the vent cover had been fully removed and the box had been taken.
My head still swimming, I staggered out into the hallway in time to see the leopard-print lady from the lobby pick up the phone.
"Hello?" she answered and then turned her head to look directly at me.
father and I are to be guests at the Gandiss home," Penny explained, volunteering their names. "We were on our way to Shadow Island when we ran out of gas."
"Let's not go into all the gory details here," Jack broke in. "We're getting wet."
"You mean you are all wet," corrected Sally, grinning.
"Sally, take our guests to the cabin," Captain Barker instructed with high good humor. "I'll handle the wheel. We're late on our run now."
"How about dropping us off at the island?" Jack inquired. "If we had some gasoline--"
"We'll take care of you on the return trip," the captain promised. "No time now. We have a hundred passengers to unload at Osage."
Penny followed Sally along the wet deck to a companionway and down the stairs to the private quarters of the captain and his daughter.
"Osage is a town across the river," Sally explained briefly. "Pop and I make the run every hour. This is our last trip today, thank Jupiter!"
The cabin was warm and cozy, t
as impassive. But for the periodical puffs of smoke which came from his big briar pipe he might have been a statue carved out of red brick.
'Hey!'
Reluctantly Tickler turned. He had been quick to identify the silent watcher. By straightening his shoulders and adding something of jauntiness to his stride he hoped to prevent the recognition from becoming mutual.
Surefoot Smith was one of the few people in the world who have minds like a well-organized card index. Not the smallest and least important offender who had passed through his hands could hope to reach a blissful oblivion.
'Come here--you.'
Tickler came.
'What are you doing now, Tickler? Burglary, or just fetching the beer for the con. men? Two a.m.! Got a home?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Ah, somewhere in the West End! Gone scientific, maybe. Science is the ruin of the country!'
Rights or no rights, he passed his hands swiftly over Tickler's person; the little man stretched out his arms obediently and sm
the wasted hand which had dropped helplessly at his side. He had evidently died without a sound or a movement--died as quietly as he would have gone to sleep. Indeed, he looked as if he had just laid his old head against the padding of the chair and dropped asleep, and Pratt, who had seen death before, knew that he would never wake again. He waited a moment, listening in the silence. Once he touched the old man's hand; once, he bent nearer, still listening. And then, without hesitation, and with fingers that remained as steady as if nothing had happened, he unbuttoned Antony Bartle's coat, and drew a folded paper from the inner pocket.
CHAPTER II
IN TRUST
As quietly and composedly as if he were discharging the most ordinary of his daily duties, Pratt unfolded the document, and went close to the solitary gas jet above Eldrick's desk. What he held in his hand was a half-sheet of ruled foolscap paper, closely covered with writing,
en grand seigneur, offered him his hospitality, here, at Charmerace, for three weeks."
"That was truly ducal," said Marie.
"But he is always like that," said Sonia.
"Oh, he's all right in that way, little as he cares about society," said Germaine. "Well, by a miracle my father got cured of his rheumatism here. Jacques fell in love with me; papa made up his mind to buy the chateau; and I demanded the hand of Jacques in marriage."
"You did? But you were only sixteen then," said Marie, with some surprise.
"Yes; but even at sixteen a girl ought to know that a duke is a duke. I did," said Germaine. "Then since Jacques was setting out for the South Pole, and papa considered me much too young to get married, I promised Jacques to wait for his return."
"Why, it was everything that's romantic!" cried Marie.
"Romantic? Oh, yes," said Germaine; and she pouted. "But between ourselves, if I'd known that he was going to stay all that time at the South Pole--"
"That's
nimated grace-- The portrait well the lover's voice supplies; Speaks all his heart must feel, his tongue would say: Yet ah! not all his heart must sadly feel! How oft the flow'ret's silken leaves conceal The drug that steals the vital spark away! And who that gazes on that angel-smile, Would fear its charm, or think it could beguile!
These lines were not inscribed to any person; Emily therefore could not apply them to herself, though she was undoubtedly the nymph of these shades. Having glanced round the little circle of her acquaintance without being detained by a suspicion as to whom they could be addressed, she was compelled to rest in uncertainty; an uncertainty which would have been more painful to an idle mind than it was to hers. She had no leisure to suffer this circumstance, trifling at first, to swell into importance by frequent remembrance. The little vanity it had excited (for the incertitude which forbade her to presume upon having inspired the sonnet, forbade her also to disbelieve it) pa
most remarkable affair I have ever been engaged in. That pleases me. Pheasant-shooting is a serious business, governed by the calendar and arranged by the head-keeper."
An electric bell summoned Smith. The barrister handed him the telegram and a sovereign.
"Read that message," he said. "Ponder over it. Send it, and give the change of the sovereign to Mrs. Smith's brother, with my compliments and regrets."
CHAPTER II
MEHEMET ALI'S NOTE
Then he turned to Lord Fairholme.
"Just one question," he said, "before I send you off to bed. No, you must not protest. I want you to meet me here this evening at seven, with your brain clear and your nerves restored by a good, sound sleep. We will dine, here or elsewhere, and act subsequently. But at this moment I want to know the name of the person most readily accessible who can tell me all about Mr. Talbot's connection with the Sultan's agent."
"His sister, undoubt
The Blue Cross
The Secret Garden
The Queer Feet
The Flying Stars
The Invisible Man
The Honour of Israel Gow
The Wrong Shape
The Sins of Prince Saradine
The Hammer of God
The Eye of Apollo
The Sign of the Broken Sword
The Three Tools of Death