Adventure Magazine Cover — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

Born to be Hanged, But— rom every conceivable angle; and the most plausible conclusion I could arrive at— taking the Bryan letter into consideration, as could not be avoided—was that Mrs. — Curwen had suffered from some unusual villainy at Thrope’s hands and had con- fided with Congressman Bryan for what use he cared to make of it politically. since the pickpocket had mentioned “dreadful secret” and spoken of blackmail— though he had been drunk when he read the letter—I concluded that he had seen possibilities of extortion from her. All that was, in a way, easy enough to settle. It really troubled my thoughts less than the continual reappearance of the dark, pretty girl, who smilingly had met me at the door, but having spoken only a monosyllabic “Oh!” stared at me with enigmatic tenseness while I was leaving. I could not imagine what it meant. But James Thrope was real and omnipresent in that little home; his personality shadowed it—and yet, when I had first come in there had been every indication of happiness. I didn’t understand. I did not greatly care to understand, except in so far as lam annoyed by the incomprehensible. That is one reason I have taken some pains to keep out of the way of women, particularly of young ones. They all have something of Helen Curwen in them: something enig- matic, inexplicable, something that may be taken either as sinister or as worshipful. Whether she hated me, or was tense and inafticulate from gratitude, for having laid my knuckles in Thrope’s face was something that could not be distinguished by her manner. It might have been either. Which- ever way it was, she was deeply shaken; and obviously Miss Curwen was a passion- ate, tense, volatile young woman. Ill IT WAS soon given some other things SS * to think about, though in a way these too had a bearing on Miss and Mrs. Curwen. Zellers, the pickpocket, more familiarly known as “Hop’’—probably an abbrevia- tion of “Hop-Head’’—had evidently not been so drunk as I thought. He had talked, apparently, a good deal about “‘his letter.” He had talked promiscuously. The fact that he told conflicting reports, and elaborated what the letter contained at 9 every recital, did not at all minimize the interest his drunken blabbering had stirred up In a most surprizing fashion. I began to have people speak to me about the letter. Some ventured to intimate that they would like to read it. Two fellows of Zellers’ stripe, with himself hanging sheep- ishly at their coat-tails, came to demand it of me. It was Zellers’ letter. Not mine. I ought to give it up, et cetera, et cetera, to the point of intimating that I had appro- priated it for a little personal graftonmy own behalf. For fellows who had put on such an assertive manner and talked at such length, they made rather abrupt apologies, and retired without knowing any more about the letter than when they came. What I thought must certainly be the climax arrived the day after I had returned the letter in the presence of a stranger who introduced himself as Edwin Ellis and asked for a private conversation. He was obviously from the other world—the busi- ness world. He had brains and a knowledge of men in general, but I fancy that I added a little to his store of information concern- ing men in particular. Mr. Edwin Ellis was a small man, neat | as a burnished rapier and much like that most flexible, subtle and sharpest of all weapons. He opened with commendable directness, scrutinizing my face with flint- like gray eyes, and perhaps wondering how a young man of my age could have the repu- tation I had. “T understand,” he said in a straight businesslike manner and tone, ‘that you have come into possession of a letter from the office of Congressman Bryan.” A pause. His manner was sharply in- terrogatory. I said nothing. “Am I correct?” “Go on,” I replied noncommittally. “There is no occasion to go on until I have assurance on that point.” | “Very well,” I said. I was curious, of course. I didn’t want. him to get away without knowing why he came. But the supreme schooling in Bhuiff is had at the green table. “You decline to answer yes or no?” “T see no reason for answering yes or no until I understand why you ask.” He paused thoughtfully, not once shifting his eyes from mine. I reflected that he would have made a fine poker player; but I guessed that he had probably chosen law. NiGDoOOKS: Gc (0) (E@)