Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

64 there—waiting, it seemed, for the blow. He reeled backward, and I caught him and twisted his arms behind his back. He was only partially stunned, and he struggled feebly while I tied his wrists together. “Maxon! —— you, Maxon!” he mut- tered. And, as full strength and con- sciousness came to him with* complete realization of his helplessness, the strength of his expletives kept pace with his growing rage. Nevertheless, I could hardly dis- agree with most of his expletives as applied to the individual whose life I’d borrowed; so, while I finished binding his arms securely to his body, I let him talk on. Then— “Why don’t I kill you, then, if I’m all that?” I asked. it was my intention to give him a doubt to starton. If I’d flatly denied being John Maxon, Hardridge would hardly have be- lieved me; besides, it wasn’t in the game. But it was in the game that he be made to regard that possibility—as a possibility. “Why didn’t I kill you a few hours ago or a few minutes or any time between? TI could’ve, you know. As easily as I could kill you now. Of course, you realize that. You're really as helpless out here as an infant.” “Cut that, you 2 It is unpleasant to see a man fairly sob with rage. I suppose part of that rage was at himself for being so easily trapped and mastered. “I’m going to gag you,” I went on when he’d quite finished, “‘take you back to the house and lock you in a closet. There you'll stay all day. You'll be regularly fed; I want you to keep up your strength. In fact, I’ve a particular reason for wanting it. In the evening you'll be unbound and the gag removed, but you'll be still kept in the closet—and be sure the door of it will be covered by my gun. You should know by this time that I don’t make mistakes. Now, why do you suppose I’m doing all that?” “How the devil should I know? TI sup- pose you’re calling in your friends, the police.” “Try again,’’ I said. “I needn’t go to all that trouble to get the police. But I’m merely suggesting that maybe you haven’t quite plumbed this thing yet. Put your think-tank to work and try. to figure things out. You'll have lots of time in that closet.” Adventure He emitted a sound between a curse and a groan, I think he was i print better kill me now, John Maxon,” e- said. “John Maxon probably would,” J replied, And then I clapped on the gag, giving him that besides a new thought to chew on, It was perhaps the impact of that new thought on his brain that made him quite easy to manage on the gvay back to Crag- castle, I put him into the hall closet, which was built into the wall between the doors of the dining-room and reception-room. It was small enough that he would have practically no liberty of movement even if he got free from the rope; the door was strong, and I could figure no chance of his escape. Nevertheless, I placed a barricade of furniture against the wall. Then I went to the telephone. The wires of which—think of it!—Hard- ridge had omitted to cut. I’ve often won- dered, of dunderwittedness and crime, which is the cause and which the effect. Hardridge had been, as I was to learn next day, among the higher-ups of crimedom, but even he neglected so obvious a thing as the cutting of a telephone wire. OF COURSE, I'd provided myself with Osborne’s home as well as office address, and, by employing the ancient but usually effective catch phrase, “Matter of life or death,” I finally got a sleepy somebody to promise to call him. I admit that, aside from the fact that the hour was a suitable one for the message I had for-him, there was something satisfying in the idea of dragging the com- fort-loving lawyer from his bed at two in the morning. “Hello! Yes, this is Osborne. What is it?” I hardly recognized the voice whose suave tones had drawn me into this ad- venture. Irritable as\it was, there was clearly a touch of nervous dread in it, too, That nervous dread, the jerky, frightened notes of my own voice were by no means intended to allay. ‘ “This is Part— No, no, I mean it’s Maxon. That’s it, John Maxon. Are you alone?” Hello! comicbooks.com