Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

tale a lie. He thought over all he knew of the captain. The night he had slipped into Gib., dodging the customs and all, his worn- out state hinting at anything; his laughing when he had asked the scorpion if he cared to buy “so small a ship”—Sylvester had not remarked the significance of the phrase at the time, but now it gripped him with the pinch of a million suggestions—his tak- ing the money without counting it; his lazing around ever since until his mys- terious coming that morning. And this was what it meant. It would be well to keep on the right side of this man. A man of parts—and clever. How had he found out who wanted those options? Sylvester did not know this himself. He only knew Smith, the agent for the capitalists. But he would never let Wil- liams know that he knew so little. Later on, when the captain had made much money because of what Sylvester told Smith—then, good friends, he would make the captain very drunk—oh, he knew the way—and he would find out. But just now was no time to take any chances with a promising friendship. Not that it mat- tered who was putting up the money. *And we are good friends, no?” he. repeated as Williams swung his bulk out of the shop. “Not a bit particular—would do business with a jackal. Tell your man tomorrow morning, if he wants to see me. Very busy. Expect to go to London in a day or two—hback right away. Keep your eyes open for anything good not in the shipping line, and let me know. May help you to make a shilling or two.” He threw one of his few remaining shillings at the dirty innkeeper, conscious that Sylvester would force him to divide, and left the place to which he had come asa suppliant—as a man. Ill WILLIAMS awoke early from a dream in which old Silas Rutherford had begged for a penny, and with - Silas, needing bread, had been the woman and a long line of small Rutherfords. He got out of bed feeling like an expectant child on Christmas morning. And what did the stocking hold for him? He shaved, ing the previous day and the a . Touching the Perils 79 days before that with an angry shame. ‘But he would never be a crawler again. He thrilled to the joy of rebirth. What a pile of lies he had told Sylvester. Who the devil was behind the scorpion, anyhow? Yet he was proud of those lies. How much would he make out-of this chance if he handled it right? Might get enough out = it to make up for the four hundred and ty. Then he made a large breakfast, lit a cigar and went out to the veranda. The man behind the scorpion would come to him, all right. And he did come, which further stimulated the intuitive faith Wil- liams had in himself. He was half-way through the cigar when a boy brought him a card bearing the name “J. P. Smith,” with no address or prefix. And Smith himself was just as indefinite in appearance. An Englishman, appar- ently, with no trace of an accent to indicate his county. He was dressed neatly but simply, clean-shaven and about the same age as Williams. **Know ships well, eh?’”’ he remarked as they sat down in a quiet corner. ‘“*VYes,’’ Williams studied him; “went to sea for a while, until I came into my money. And youe”’ “Never went to sea, but I served some time in an engineering shop. Got this scar there—a furnace-tender hit me with a hot slice-bar,.”’ He turned his head so that Williams could see a scar across his left cheek, about three inches in length. “T savvy,” Williams grinned. “Had a few scraps myself, but they mostly left me alone on account of my size.” This exhausted their introductory sub- stance. For a few minutes neither spoke; then Smith said thoughtfully: “Sylvester gave me a great account of you, and, as he dare not fool me, I believe him and am willing to do business with you. He says you have already bought some options on ships, which seems to prove what he also says—that you know who the people are behind this thing. Do you?” Williams looked at the other, their eyes met and held. The captain spoke quietly: ‘I have the options, which, as you say, seems to prove that Ido know. But don’t you think it better—for me—to act as if I did not know who is really going to get the ships? I know Id like it better if I