Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 142: what you’re looking at

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

$32" McAuliffe shoved the automatic into his pocket, swore and sat down. “Mr. Day,” said Kilgore, picking his — a “did you draw that figure on the cloth with any purpose?” “No, ” I said bluntly. mean?” “Tt’s a Mongolian word, and it means ‘ten’.” Kilgore lhoked at his pal. ‘Mac, get the tea like a good fellow.” Redhead rose and obeyed. Kilgore must have had quite a turn, for from his first glimpse of that Mongol word his face had looked stern and set. I said nothing and waited until the tea was poured. Then Kilgore, stirring his cup, took up the gauntlet. “Woukl you mind telling us, Day, how you happemed to draw that figure?” He was very courteous, but there was steel in his words. “Not a bit,” I answered. “It was scratched on the handle of Deat!:s knife- —” Mac dwopped an oacii and sat back in his chair, his face white. Kilgore started. “Deata’s knife!” he repeated. ‘“Death’s knife!” Under those blue eyes I realized that I was closer to death this moment than ever I had been ia my own house. I knew Kilgore’s sort, and knew that something queer was afoot. “Easy, you two!” I warned them. “This stuff is all Greek to me. This chap Death was one of the lodgers at the other house——” I told them the whole story as I knew it. And, while I talked, Kilgore sat and watched me with those piercing eyes of his, unmoved and calm; but McAuliffe was gripping the table- edge, and if ever there was murderous hate in aman’s face, it sat in his. Not hatred for me, I realized. “What room in your house did this man oc- cupy?” asked Kilgore, when I was through. “The back room on the right-hand side.” “Ah! And the window overlooks this bungalow?” I caddie This question gave me the clue, the connection between these two men and the man James Death. Kilgore looked at McAuliffe and Mac at him; between them passed a word- less message. “Looks like a cursed queer name, that,” I said refleetively. “I can’t imagine any sane American or Englishman using it.’ A twisted smile curved Kilgore’s thin, aristo- cratic lips. “The man is not an Anglo-Saxon,” he an- swered, ‘He chose the name in some ignorance of our ethnic customs, I fancy. Day, you’ve done us a tremendous favor with this information of yours. From the moment you told us that you understood Hindustani, I knew you were all right. I regret that, just at present, we’re not able to make explanations to “What does it Adventure | you, but we are not the only persons involved. We have a friend——” le: harm,” growled McAuliffe, “in.warning im. “Righto,” assented Kilgore. ‘‘This man who calls himself James Death, was at one time an associate of ours in another country, Day. He left us there for dead. I’d strongly advise you to mind your step if you have any dealings - with him. You understand?” I nodded and came to my feet. “All right, gentlemen; thanks for the warning. Don’t worry about the explanations. I have no desire to pry into your affairs whatever. Perhaps you’d like to know whether the fellow comes back to get his trunk?” McAuliffe grunted. Kilgore gave me a thin, thin smile. “We'll know, thanks.” Those three words were enough to show me that Mr. Death was in for a bad quarter of an hour if he ever ventured into this neighborhood—now! I took my departure, Kilgore showing me out. My house was quite dark; not a light to show that Death or any one else was there. As I left the bungalow, I heard the voice of McAuliffe raised excitedly in Hindustani at the telephone. “That you, Fandi Singh? Get here as quick as youcan. Death has been watching us.” I shivered as I walked over the grassy sand toward my own house. There was something ominous in such words, something suggestive of the double entendre of that name, Death. But I was glad that I had met Kilgore and Mac. They were real men. iil Faq IF I took the darkness of my house for CO} surety that James Death had not re- ks turned, I was reckoning without my guest. However. MEE I stumbled over the grassy, weedy sand-lots toward home. A heavy fog had swept in and had brought darkness with it, through which: rolled the boom of the surf from the beach. This was a rum affair, and no mistake. Kil- gore and McAuliffe were linked to a third man, a man named Sir Fandi Singh—from the name either a Sikh or a Rajput of India. Other links bound them to James Death and a link had caught me into the affair. Kilgore had said that Death was not an Anglo-Saxon; what, then, could he be? Did the Mongolian character for ”? have any bearing here? And again, what experiments were Kilgore and Mac carrying on in the bungalow or garage? Somewhere, something sniffed big of world- trails and high emprise. I missed my way in the obscurity, failed of the back entrance and went ahead to the front of my house. At the top of the porch stairs "EOMmIGDOOKS (E@) Pa fan Bye : mo