Adventure Magazine Cover — page 131: what you’re looking at

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

The Nine Unknown “By Father Cyprian. As to where— that is ee He hesitated, giving King full oppor- tunity to frame whatever speech he had in mind. And King flung irresolution to the winds: “Fact is, we’re afraid to be seen on the streets,” he confessed. ‘‘There were inci- dents last night. Arrest would be incon- venient. We——” “T have a closed car,’ the newcomer announced. But that eased no anxieties. A closed car outside an office in that narrow street would only arouse curiosity. The first inquisitive policeman would learn the car’s number, after which to trace its course through Delhi would not call for much ingenuity. But the anonymous messenger told where he had left the car, which of itself was proof that he could only come from friends. Then within the minute, leaving Ali to guard their prisoner and gather the somnolent sons beneath his wings, King, Grim and Narayan Singh were in full flight by the private route, through the warehouse where men dealt in wholesale drugs and outlawed politics—out by a back-door to another street—across that to a sub-cellar gambling- den, whose lawless owner could not afford to tell tales—out by a window into a yard— across the yard into a shed where a Jew swapped camels and was hand-in-glove with all illicit traffickers—through his side-door into a blacksmith’s shop, and out of that into a street where a big closed Daimler with crimson curtains waited. It looked like a Maharajah’s car, but lacked the royal insignia, and there was no small platform up behind for footmen. “Tf your honors please——’ The suave guide, holding his cloak to show as little of the green lining as might be, bowed them in, followed, and slammed the door—which was signal and direction; for without a word said, a driver who looked like a Gourkha but wore spectacles, started away at the highest speed conceivable in those thronged, narrow streets. In fifteen minutes, by the grace of Those who guide the comets in their wild ellipse, having hit nothing, killed nobody, he blew his horn in the throat of a cul-de-sac; and by the time they reached the end of it a great gate opened, admitting them without reducing speed. They could hear the great gate slam, and 9 ) 129 the clang of iron bars that fell in place, but could only see ahead because of the crimson curtains. And ahead was nothing but the whitewashed stall the car belonged in, wide open to receive it. They came to a stand- still with the front wheels on its thresho!d. But their guide opened the near-side door and they stepped out into a garden .of half an acre in which a fountain played. A house, that certainly had been a temple not so long ago, stood face to the fountain, and there were flowers everywhere—in hanging baskets—in niches where perhaps the images of gods had been—on steps and balconies, in windows, on a score of ledges, on the roofs raised one above the other— and in masses to right and left of the drive- way and the walk that curved between the fountain and the house. They were thirty yards away from a pillared portico that shaded the house- entrance. Rioting colors, the splash of water and the sunlight on ancient masonry, the quiet, the coo of doves, and that peace that comes from absolute proportion of de- sign, united to make them feel in another world, or else on another plane in this one. The assurance of their guide completed the effect. Unquestionably he was confident of introducing them to wonders. ‘Please feel at home,” he said, smiling. “There should be a sign over this doorway — adapted from the famous warning above the gate of Dante’s Hell—Abandon CAN’T and CANT all ye who enter here! Another mystery? Ha-ha! You will understand it after breakfast.” — Breakfast! They could smell new-roasted coffee and hot rolls! They were willing to abandon almost anything that instant. Only manners checked a stampede! “YT would burn a city for half such im- pulse!’ swore Narayan Singh. “My belly yearns like a woman for her lover!” But a man came forward in the portico to greet them, who might have checked a royal progress. Not that there was evidence of majesty about him, or of potential vio- lence. There was nothing whatever for- bidding in his whole surroundings. He might have been the spirit of the place, but his smile was compact of all the manly elements, and hate omitted. He was middle-sized, more than middle- aged and yet so hale and well preserved that his age was difficult to guess. Nor was his nationality determinable, although like COMMICLOO® Cc <S) (C@)