Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1923 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

The Fool Killer The box on which Nebulus had been sit- ting crashed over. Nebulus stood, his shou!- ders bent, his hanging head shaken with fear. He could not speak for a moment; but when he spoke his voice had coarsened, and was loud and clear. “What do you know?” he cried hoarsely. Craven spat. He crossed his legs. “So you’ve heard, too?” he grunted. “Well, it’s true enough. Nero Cram killed a man and busted free last night.” “Cram,” stammered Nebulus. “You might ha’ known it,” said Craven. “Wish to God we’d hung him.” Nebulus felt around blindly for a seat. “He’s free!’ he whispered. “They'll find him, all right,” said old Judge Purly. “They say they’ve got him in New York. And Cram’ll get his. As sure as death he will.” Twice Nebulus Cairnstone tried to speak before he could speak. “Cram ’ll get me,” he whispered. doit. He said he would.” The other men watched him silently. His gray fear made them all uneasy. One man coughed, one stirred back and forth on his barrel seat, one tried to spit, but slav- ered on his chin. Cass pulled hard at a stub cigar which was without fire. “You fools!” croaked Nebulus. “Oh, you simple fools! Nothing will stop Nero Cram till he’s done for you and me!” They sat looking at each other. Cass whistled, and Craven tried to laugh. But in their ears roared like sea surge the cry— “Nero Cram will do for you and me!” And old Dan Lyons, who leaned over a counter playing solitaire, halted his play. in his hands the spotted cards looked alike, the same cards the King of Spades, which is death. “That letter Bub Ladd has for you from Sing Sing might tell you something,” Cass said to Nibbick Craven. “Better see; bet- ter see.” Reeling from foot to foot, creeping cau- tiously, Nebulus went out into the dark night. Still the other men sat silently, and each one thought of Nero Cram. It may have been ten minutes that they sat, drawing closer to the stove as heat paled in it. A telephone rang in the back of the shop, and Dan Lyons answered it. ~ “For you, Nib Craven,” he said dimly. “Tt’s old Bub Ladd calling you. It’s about that letter.” 2 “He'll 33 The marshal went to the phone. “Tt’s me—me,” he said, shifting his cigar. ‘Yeah, Bub?” Came the small voice of old Bub Ladd: “Got a letter for you from Sing Sing. Maybe it’s about that Killer. Want to read it?” Craven swore. “Not now! I ain’t worrying about him. Say,” he said, ‘open it yourself and read it to me if it can’t wait till morning.” Came the small voice of old Bub Ladd: “All right, if you say so. Hey, wait a minute. Some one’s coming in the door. Oh, it’s all right. All right. Wait a min- ute. It says here— “ “Warning. “There’s a picture—Nib! Craven!” Nibbick Craven chewed his cigar. “All right, I’m listening. Picture of Cram, hey? Not so loud, Bub. You'll bust my ear. What isit, Bub? Bub! Hey, Bub!” Came the small voice of old Bub Ladd— “Murder!”’ Nibbick Craven shouted: “Bub! Bub Ladd!” : He listened to the imperishable silences. Ferociously he clumped the receiver hook. A sleepy operator muttered: “You’re connected. Yes, sir. connected.” “What’s happened? roared Nibbick Craven. But the small voice of old Bub Ladd did not come again. ——- You’re What’s wrong?” ® OLD Valuable Perkins stumbled to @ the door of his hotel, for he heard the door creak. The night was sharp and cold, and it was past eleven. It was Marc Oren who came in. Perkins spoke to him. “You scared me. I thought you was abed. It’s pretty late.” Oren said nothing. He walked up- stairs, and out of the up-stairs door to the veranda. He sat down. Old Perkins fol- lowed him, shivering. “Nice little town we got,” said Perkins, locking uneasily at Marc Oren. ‘“Reckon you expect to do a lot of business here?” Oren said nething. He lit a cigaret and biew forth smoke with an audible puff. He watched on the Hudson a million peaks of pale light rise and toss and fade away. COMmMiClOooolkX (C@)