Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 177: what you’re looking at

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

The Woman With the Wolves was a queer little smile on Torrance’s lips, and he began to tell me of a strange custom he had discovered in the Spring of the Old Year among the French charcoal burners. (I believe it was the French charcoal burn- ers, but Iam not sure.) I was not listening. I was wondering whether the woman in‘the picture were the woman with the wolves and what she had to do with Torrance. He saw that almost at once, for he drained his glass suddenly. drew in his breath, and spoke in quite a different voice. “T’ll tell you the story—part of it—after supper,” he said, and his voice trembled. ‘I must tell some one.” I heard the note of desperate impatience and finished my sup- per then and there. ‘Come on, then,” I said, took a cigar, and lay back in a chair before the big fire. I heard old Gregg come silently in behind me and begin to clear the table. Torrance looked into the fire for a long time, thinking. He seemed to be seeking, the proper begin- ning of the story he was going to tell. Presently he laughed a little bitterly. “T can only tell you about the affair from my own point of view,” hesaid. “Tam in it —in a sort of uninvited, superfluous way. But, really, I am little more than an on- looker.” IYe waited again. Old Gregg put a couple of decanters, cigarettes and a cigar-box on the table, and spoke quietly. It occurred to me that a tremor lay under his voice. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Charles,” he said. Torrance turned. “From what I heard in the village to- night, they are bringing out some of Coloncl Shafto’s bloodhounds from Salisbury Plain to-morrow,” said old Gregg, watching his master’s face. Torrance winced a little, and a slow flush crept up over his cheeks. He looked steadily at old Gregg and there was a queer silence for a few seconds. Then Torrance took a cizarctte. “Thank you, Gregg,” he said, and turned to me. “Have you ever seen bloodhounds at work? If not, you'll be interestcd. There’s a a SUDDENLY some one tapped at the casement door behind the heavy curtains—rattled would be a better word to describe the panic-stricken scrabble on the glass—and a quavering voice called from the darkness outside. 1123 Gregg was at the casement in an instant. He shot back the bolts, turned the catch, and a man, panting like a hunted thing, fell into the room. ~ ! They nearly got me—hairy, rank things—great eyes and teeth!” he sobbed. “Look at my coat!” He stood in the lamp-light, his face gray with fear and exhaustion, his eyes wide with terror. I remember that his mouth hung half-open like that of a frightened child. His face was veiled, as it were, with a network of tiny red scratches—as though he had fallen again and again into gorse. One shoulder of his coat was ripped to ribbons —the fragments hung down over his shak- ing arm. Torrance gave him half a tumbler of cognac, and the stark fear slowly faded out of his eyes. Then, all suddenly, he straight- ened himself and looked round the room with a quick, curiously official glance. I guessed then what he was. Detective- Inspector was stamped all over him—the hard, capable but blunt, rough-cut face, the close-clipped mustache, the short hair, the square shoulders, the quiet blue Melton overcoat. Quite recovered from his panic, he gave a hard-lipped smile as Torrance laughed. ‘“‘T warned you, Inspector,” said Torrance. “And I wish I'd taken your warning, Mr. Torrance! That was the nearest squeak I’ve ever had.’’ “The wolves, I suppose?”’ asked Torrance casually. ‘‘You were a fool to risk it. I told you they might be loose.” The Inspector looked at Torrance rather queerly, I thought. “TI believe they were only loosed for my special benefit,” he said dryly. “Oh, that’s impossible,’”’ said Torrance. “Tell me about it. Take another drink and sit down.” Before he sat down the Inspector went to the casement windows, pulling the curtains to behind him, and stared out for many minutes into the night. Then he came slowly back, shaking his head slightly. “Tt’s a queer place to get lost in—this New Forest is,” he said. Then he took something silver from his pocket and handed it to Torrance. It looked like a cigar-case. It had been flat- tened and was terribly dented—as though it had been stamped upon with heavy hob- nailed boots. CoOMmicbhook C©