Adventure Magazine Cover — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

86 suit with putty in his nose. Enlarged nos- trils change the facial expression and make you a mouth-breather. That’s No. 34 in ‘Be Your Own Detective’ —correspondence course. Four dollars down an’ one per lesson. Ill lead Sefior Cantello a merry chase——”’ He would probably have chattered on for twenty minutes, so I did not wait for a pause, but interrupted him with the very pointed question— “What do you know of Hurgronje?” ~ He almost had his back to me, flicking his cane at an upturned corner of a magazine page as I asked it. He did not move, but became motionless, as if instantly turned to stone. For some seconds he stood so, then twisted his head slowly over his shoulder and with a pretense of idiotic vacuity, which was far from successful under the circumstances, asked— “Who’s Hurgy?” I said nothing. “Gee, got something in my eye.” He blinked and grimaced, mentioned “handkerchief,” reached to his hip pocket— but I leaned forward, caught his wrist and twisted the gun from his fingers. He meant to shoot that time. In my life it has been as important to have a pretty reliable idea of when a man would shoot as it was to be able to anticipate the pressure of his finger; and much of my so-called quickness on the draw has been due to a guarding watchfulness and such penetration of a man’s moods.and intentions as can be learned nowhere else so thoroughly as around the green-clothed table. “All right,” said Lord Bob as he backed into a chair and cast a bewildered glance at the gun which, still loaded, I had tossed -at his feet. “All right—turn me up. Old Hurgy pays well. I can’t bid against him. Sin Chang might if I’d go into the slave trade—but I won’t. You mentioned Paris first. I might have known. You fooled me on that note-book, too. Sefior Cantello serves you well—but, —— your soul, why ’d you come here, into my apartment, as a friend?” I suggested that in moments of inspira- tion he had called himself an idiot, or some- thing of the kind; adding that if really con- vinced that Hurgronje paid well, he might advertise the presence of Don Richmond, alias Everhard, alias Richards. Adventure He blinked a few times, and shook his head slightly. “Youre a great poker-player, old man. I’m Little Boy Blue, asleep in the corn.” “What ’ll convince you?” I asked. “Nothing. No-thing.” “Nothing?” “Hurgy’s head on a_platter—might. No plaster of Paris or wax,” said Lord Bob. “Why such skepticism?” “T know Hurgy—and coincidences like this don’t happen. No, they don’t hap- pen,” he insisted. Here was a situation that I had not counted on. ~ His unintelligible obstinacy, his more unintelligible intimacy with Zo- ronna Symondi, his deadly dread of Hur- gronje, were things of mystery that seemed pertinent to my affairs. He sat quietly enough in the chair, except for a steady tap-tapping of his cane against the edge of the table; and in trying to think I found myself listening to that persistent pecking of ferrule against the polished oak. I shifted myself slightly so as to be more easily in a position to watch the door from the next room and tried to discover some- thing I could say or do that would make Lord Bob realize at once that I was no asso- ciate of Hurgronje’s. But that tapping was beginning to be annoying, though I did not say anything. J am patient. However, I leaned forward and picked the gun from the floor, rose and paced the floor slowly, turning once or twice and getting nearer to the door each time. 7 Then, coming close and noticing that it. was slightly ajar, I lunged against it with all my weight—and Mr. Jackman with his head bent low, listening to the telegraphic tap- ping of Lord Bob, was knocked unconscious. g I CAN not read the Morse code. I Re have tried to learn it, but dots and dashes are indistinguishable to my ears; but I can usually tell when anybody is tapping out a message, even when it is the comparatively noiseless patting of seemingly nervous fingers against the back of a card- hand. A poker-player must be on the alert for signals of all kinds. There was but one person and but one place where Lord Bob could be directing a message, so I had investigated. Lord Bob slumped back into his chair, dropped chin to breast and looked at me COPMICLOCLKS5eo)