Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

<7 ‘It was interesting its notice how thé Ichemy of imagination and an evil con- science transmuted my make-believe agi- tation into real panic at the other end of the wire. Osborne’s voice, when it came again, fairly shook. “Yes. Practically, that is. I don’t think— Wait a minute.” [ think he closed a door. . “Now. But be careful over the phone. What has happened?” “Nothing! That is— Well, I’m leav- ing, that’s all. I can’t go through with it. That's all: Good——* “Here, wait a minute,” Osborne cried in alarm. ‘Don’t hang up. Wait a minute. Where are you?” “In Cragcastle, where you sent me,’ I said nervously and half angrily. ‘Well— Has anything— What’s hap- pened?” “Nothing. I told you—nothing.” “But something has. It must’ve, or you wouldn’t— You're right to be careful, but I must know. For your sake—pro- | tection, as wellas— Listen! Tl ask ques- tions. I warned you of danger, you re- member.” “Yes,” “Well, did it materialize?” “Ah!” Osbore’s voice dropped a key. “Ts it—ended?” He pronounced the last word 50 signifi- cantly that there was no mistaking the meaning. It was the lawyer’s safe way of asking, over the wire, if Hardridge was dead. . “Yes,’’ I replied. : And ‘thought I heard, over the twenty miles that separated us, a quick, sharp breath of relief. “And—and I’m going,” I continued. “Tt’ll be—discovered. I had to——” “All right,” he interrupted me sharply. “Take care. I quite understand. You had to— But I suppose you're quite right—to go away. We'll have to give up the other project.” I thought he was almost too quick, for realism, to put aside the hope we were both supposed to have of dividing the Maxon estate. But, of course, I was also sup- posed to “be quite unsuspicious that our contract in regard to that estate was a d that my function from the be- PE — Rogues’ End d been ve kill or be killed by ‘ “T’m glad you agree. Well, good-by!” . “Wait a minute. Tell me. Was it only one? Was he alone?”’ “Yes.” “Have you any money?” I was waiting for that question. I knew he’d ask it, because both he and his principal would certainly desire that I travel far and speedily, and I’d led him to believe I was penniless. I laughed in a self-satisfied a fashion as I could manage and threw a touch of im- pudent boasting into my tone. Plenty of it.” “Good,” said Osborne somewhat per- plexedly. “I’m glad of that. But Id like to know— Can’t you tell me——” “T’m off,” I warned. “Where it is?” he finished desperately. 2 “Tt’ll have to be disposed of, you know. Where’ll I—whoever goes ov er—find it?” It was clear, of course, that he spoke of | Hardridge’s body—another inquiry that it © was quite inevitable he should make. “You might look,” I said with a sort of 3 boastful gibe, “near the place old man Maxon hid his sapphire.” ‘“What’s that? What do you knee about— The lawyer’s voice mounted excitedly. . ““Good-by.” zi I hung up the receiver. A moment later the phone began ringing furiously as if Osborne had managed to communicate to the inanimate instrument something of his own agitation. Then cut the wire—as Hardridge should have one. And I pulled a couch out of the parlor, placed it near the door behind which Hardridge was imprisoned, lay down on it and was soon asleep. Morning was only a few hours off, and I was quite confident nothing would happen till then. Or, in- deed, till the covering darkness of the follow- ing night. That is, if I divined correctly | the nature of the man for whom I waited. Which was, of course, not Osborne, Osborne was strictly an office worker. He ; might be imagined playing any sort of crooked game in the world—but through intermediaries only. His own physical © participation and his own personal peril would always be missing elements. NS the man who would come to see to the safety of the Maxon sapphire would i ee man who thought it nk eae y—the a Ccomicbooks.com