Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

Sorcery and Everhard No words were spoken; a slight gesture and pressure of Hurgronje’s hand on her shoulder served to instruct Madame Kra- schenin in what was expected. She stepped within the statue, which barely admitted her, and the doors closed with a harsh, metallic click. At once the ritualistic spell was broken. Some one laughed. The seven figures pulled back their cowls and disclosed faces hideously amused; and one of them stepped to a switch and flooded the room with light. Hurgronje bent intently over the satchel and began spreading the jewels out on the table, and the others crowded around greed- ily in a way that would have disillusioned a deaf spectator. John Gay was not deaf, but was nearly petrified. He could scarcely credit his senses; they had been so seduced, im- - pressed, by the ceremonial solemnity of the previous minutes that this abrupt and fear- ful change of attitude was unbelievable. He was not a coward, but he lacked au- dacious initiative for one thing; and for an- other he was not likely to think of meeting such numbers single-handed; but it was per- haps really because he couJd not make him- self believe that the woman had been mur- dered until it was too late. He heard, or imagined that he heard, vague cries, muffled, and even then could not force himself to realize that they came from Madame Kraschenin, who had been imprisoned in a cell of bronze. But one thought of any importance came into Gay’s head, and that was to get to me; and he was moving away to slip through the window when Hurgronje turned impati- ently from the jewels and said— “Have @hat thing taken out!’ Somebody went to a doorway and shouted, and at once two large negroes came in, lifted the statue between them and went toward the street entrance. Gay, having slipped from the house, saw them load it into the automobile—in which, no doubt, Madame Kraschenin had _ been brought—and drive away. As quickly as he could, but nearly an hour later, Gay reached me in a down-town gambling-house, of which the police pre- tended to have no knowledge. He- got in easily enough, for he was ‘not unknown there; but he had some difficulty in making me believe him. He was trembling from head to foot, his voice was shaking, his 69 words incoherent; but I knew him for a user of dope, and I am reluctant about get- ting excited over the stories of dope- fiends. I was afraid that he had been deceived by some harmless hocus-pocus of the alleged magician; but somehow the report of the muffled cries coming from that lethal statue struck my imagination and anger simul- taneously, and I saw how easily it would be for an unhuman villain to commit un- detected murder for her wealth, and be rid of the body by having the statue carried to the river. We rushed out of that house; and I, not having an automobile at hand, jumped into the first one that I found unlocked; and we were off. More than one policeman leaped from the sidewalk with an arresting hand upraised as we rushed along; but no shots were fired, and perhaps the innocent owner, the number having been taken, was trou- bled to prove that his car had been stolen. I do not know. It is a wonder that we were not followed. Perhaps we were. I did not notice. Gay knew the way, and a block from the house we stopped, and without much stealth rushed forward, using what shadows we feund easily, but not pausing to be watchful. ea ig? window which Gay had already | used several times to become an unbidden spectator;,and, softly edging my way in, I stood by the black curtain, listen- ing. It would take time to repeat what I heard, and its brutality would be jarringly incredible. The men were gloating over the ease with which the woman had been robbed of wealth and life. mire theatrical poses or exclamations, but I could- not contain myself when some fel- low, perhaps half-drunk—for there was the clinking of glasses—cried out, “... and who gives a 2 For answer I swept aside the black cur- tain and stood revealed, and I opened fire. The man I aimed at died. There was a roar, yells, and some voice—Hurgronje’s, I know—cried just as the lights were struck out— “Who are your” I told him, for I was in no mood to be anonymous. Only the vague glimmering COmicloo SCRAMBLED up to the high I am not inclined to do or to ad- : CN Wp) C©