Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 69: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Rogues’ End according to his evident belief, who had wreaked havoc upon his life and con- demned him to years of solitary brooding inaprison cell. I recalled with an inward grimace how Osborne had shaken hands with me that morning and wished me well, knowing, as he must have known, that I was marked for the vengeance of this man. What chance had he really-felt there was that he would ever see me again? Or had it really been his beliefi—and possibly his hope— that’ I’d kill Hardridge instead? Every thread of the tangle went back to the central mystery of Osborne’s purpose in the matter. I remembered that I had had to give some proofeof my ability to take care of myself in a pinch before Osborne would open negotiations with me at all. Surely that indicated no desire to furnish Hard- ridge with a victim. Mystified as I was, however, I think I did not permit Hardridge to guess it, and it was with an intent to carry the thing off lightly that I said to him— “I suppose you'll haunt the house like a specter and all that sort of thing.”’ “By , you know I will,” he shot viciously over his shoulder. Letting him go was really taking a little fiyer in Death, Limited, and I knew it. Then happened the second peculiar thing of the night. Just as Hardridge put out his hand to open the door, in the silence, following the cessation of our footsteps, I heard unmistakably the sound of some one else moving in the house. It was difficult to believe, for early in the afternoon I had carefully barred all doors and windows. It could hardly be an accomplice of Hartridge, but, to cover the sound from him, I asked him if he had another gun and ran my hand over his pockets. His snarl at my touch was like a wild beast’s. “Then you may need this one,’ I said as I pushed him out into the night. And, as I closed the door upon him, I flung his revolver after him, The act was, I think, based upon sound strategic principles. It would be very easy for him to get another gun but very difficult to forget my carelessness as to whether he had one, But, the moment the key was turned in the lock, I whirled and darted aeross the room. The inner door of the room opened 59 into a hall that ran the length of the house. T passed through that door and was about to cross the hall into the parlor opposite when another sound decided me. I ran down the hall and through the first door to the left into the library, which adjoined the parlor to the rear. After fumbling for a moment for the electric light switch, I finally found it. I'd been prepared for strange things when I came to Cragcastle. Indeed, the remote- ness and solitude of its setting, surrounded by miles of black rock and chaparral- covered mountainside, save to the east, where the water eternally beat and lapped against its foundations, gave the house an appearance of being fashioned for mystery and framed in it, And my interview with Hardridge had been sufficiently remarkable to have prepared me for almost amything. Nevertheless, I admit my credulity was staggered then. A woman’s figure flashed through the doorway that led back into the parlor. The door slammed shut behind her. It was in no gentle mood that I pursued her. Remember, to me she was at best 2 housebreaker, and I suppose my nerves were somewhat tense and jumpy, too. She got into the hall before I caught her arm in a grip that must have hurt, and I’m afraid it was with scant courtesy that I drew her back into the parlor. But, once there and the lights turned on, I like to remember I released her quickly. “T beg your pardon, miss,” I said. II IT’S been a saving principle of mine to apply as little thought as possible to feminine beauty. This from, I hope, no innate lack of appreciation in me—but I'll omit self-analysis and simply say that it was something more than beauty that made me instinctively apologize to the intruder. Character was stamped on her sensitive yet sanely strong and sensible face. Whatever the reason for her presence in Cragcastle, it could not be a guilty one, and suddenly I felt guilty under the blazing wrath of her clear blue eyes. As for the unveiled contempt in them, it was as hard to endure as it was, for a moment, to understand. But, when she spoke, I understood it— at least in part.