Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

The Messenger on you. Why? Not because he was worried about the priests of the Ten Dromedaries—not much! He may be in communication with them, right enough, and probably is by his own account; but he’s free of their power and intends to remain free. What’s his one best bet, then? Why, simply to line up on this gun and interview one or two Japanese here in the city. Mac, get that bottle out of the car, . will you? So much talking makes me dry.” McAuliffe went out to the car. Kilgore stood in frowning thought, staring down at the weapon. At length he roused. “Day,” he said slowly, “youre a shrewd man.” “I’ve been told so,” “Well?” “T shan’t affirm or deny what you’ve just stated. I’ve had nothing to say in the matter; it is formed entirely of your own conclusions. I will say, leaving my end of it entirely alone, that in your deductions as regards James Death you may have hit upon the truth.” He was picking his words carefully. “In fact, if Death went to the Japs with what he knows about this gun, there’s no telling where the thing might end.” ‘Then you don’t admit that Death has been in Jap employ right along?”’ ‘“‘No—” he gave me a sharp look—“I don’t. I admit nothing. I do think that he would not turn to the Japs until the last moment, until he was in desperate straits, until he was actually forced into it.” “Which probably happened this morning?” I queried. “Exactly.” Mac came in with the bottle of Scotch in his hand and a doleful expression. “Hardly one guid dram left,’”’ he mourned. “Not to mention a r-real drink all around!” ‘“There’s another bottle in my trunk,” said Kilgore, smiling at the expression. “Go in and get it, like a good chap. We’ve reached a point of celebration.” McAuliffe winked at me and then departed. I understood perfectly well. My deductions had been absolutely correct, but Kilgore would never admit the fact. When Mac was gone, I came back to the topic. 3 “What do you expect, then?” “T hardly know.” He frowned and lighted a cigaret. “Death is afraid of Japs; he hates them and despises them, like most Russians. I imagine he’d go to them and promise details later, if they’d give him opium. He’d tell enough to get them interested. Then he’d start out alone to get the details.” “From you?” I laughed scornfully. ‘Why, the man is a weak old fool! If you’d seen him this morning, you’d have said he was fit for oe asylum. Physically and mentally gone.” was my dry comment. 145 “You failed to catch him, didn’t you?” said Kilgore dryly. ‘With opium in hii the man is superhuman. I tell you, look out for him! Mac and I know what to expect.. We’ll wait here and let him come—and finish him. That’s our only chance.”’ We stood silent for a little. I was impressed by the conviction in Kilgore’s manner. He meant his words absolutely. And now the thing was broadening out. Yesterday it had been a feud. Last night it had become a world-hunt. Today it had de- veloped into an international affair—just like that. If Kilgore got his gun into the hands of the Chinese—I mean the Shanghai govern- ment, you understand, and not the old fossils at Pekin—then the Japs were done for in China. There were forces behind Kilgore. I am not saying who; but it was not England’s game to see Japan sweep the Chinese Republic out of existence. Not America’s game either. Sud- denly Kilgore uttered an exclamation: “Mac can’t find that bottle, I imagine. Come into the house, old man; or wait here until we get back, and I’ll show you a few details about the gun. The telescopic legs lock with a split band and cam, for example.” I nodded, and Kilgore left the garage. He did not return, IX I WAS leaning over the gun, examin- ing it, when the interruption came. \-| “Hands up!” crackled a sharp voice® behind me, followed by the click of a cocking hammer. That voice spelled business, and so did the click. I wasted no time looking, but put up my hands. Then I glanced around, and judge of my amazement when the owner of that voice proved to be James Death! He held a revolver in his hand, and the gun was steady as a rock. Now I saw how true was Kilgore’s warning, for the man was not the same I had left that morning. No! The broken-down old derelict was gone completely. In his place stood a man, old certainly, but filled with a sparkling glow. of evil power which made him a dominating personality. The slack features had become taut, cruel, purpose- ful. The bleary eyes had become keen and deadly. “Keep your hands up With this, Death came cies me until he held the cocked revolver at my stomach and leered into my face. I was too paralyzed with astonishment to utter a word, as he took away my pistol. “Turn your back.” I obeyed and felt the revolver shoved into my spine. Now came an order to put my hands behind me, which I did. A moment later a Gomichbooks (E@)