Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

sorcery and Everhard stood aside to let me pass first. Without her noticing, I slipped my foot against the door so that it swung clear open and back to the wall—and in that way I knew no one lurked there. When I approached the screen—a four-panel screen—I had both hands in my side-pockets. But no one was behind it. I carried the screen where she wished it. It was nearly as tall as a man’s head—a lacquered screen, black, inlaid artfully with mother-of-pearl so as to form an ornate de- sign of a monstrous dragon stretching his supple body from a lower corner upward and clear across the four panels in an effort to swallow the moon. At her suggestion one of the slim-legged chairs was put behind the screen for my comfort. The scenery, so to speak, was in place; and we sat down to wait. It appeared that Hurgronje would be late to his appointment. Her face -was flushed. She frequently clenched her hands. I noticed often that she gave me furtive, appraising glances. But she was trying hard to conceal her un- easiness; she was acting, and did it quite well for one whom I knew to be disturbed. She talked fluently, gracefully, with a cer- tain lightness, accompanied by gestures and a display of energy, that did much to help me understand why men had lost their heads over her. But I have no ease of conversa- tion, no social flexibility. I am habitually stiff as an Englishman among strangers. Her vivacity was charming, and I thought it courteous of-her to waste it on me; though on the other hand I was not sure but that it was artful of her, and designed to disarm what suspicions I might have. In the course of conversation the book was mentioned. She said lightly that it was a ghastly thing, but fascinating; that it was a present to her. And I imagined that it came from some poor devil who wished fittingly to commemorate the fool she had no doubt made of him. The tinkling of a musical little bell cut short a sentence. She exclaimed, ‘“There he is!” and, answering a tee_.ione which I had not noticed on a little stand behind a cur- tain, said to have the party come right up. C) did not know exactly what I would do when Hurgronje came into the same room with me, but I rather thought we would leave together and perhaps go to I SLIPPED behind the screen. I some spot of my own choosing, where he might sincerely repent—and as sincere re- pentance always seems to be, too late. I did not run the risk of peeping as the’ man came into the room. There would be plenty of time. But I knew at once that it was not Hurgronje by his voice. ‘There was also a certain agitation in her voice; and I could not be sure whether it came from relief or disappointment. “Ah, Zora—again!” he said familiarly. His voice was pleasant and cultured as the voices of so many men are when they come out of Italy, for instance. “But Hurgronje—where is he?” The man laughed amusedly; and, peeping a bit, I saw him toss hat and gloves care- lessly to the floor beside a chair. He was a rather tall, neat, good-looking man, with a lean face and a slight, silken mustache; a very competent fellow in appearance, with much about him suggestive of passion and cruelty. Yet I repeat that he was rather handsome. He seemed in high good humor. “‘Hurgronje——” An expressive gesture filled out the ex- clamation. She asked what was the trouble and he said that Hurgronje was near to being out of his head. “Zora, you know about that —— of an Everhard?” “Yes, yes.” “Supposed to have been put away in Pittsburg. You know?” “Go on; yes.” “Cigaret?”? He extended a case. “Not yours,”’ she said pleasantly enough, but with a significance that was explained by his laugh and reply that the poppy flavor was wholly harmless. ‘As much of a little nun as ever?” he went on jestingly. ‘Wild, wicked lttle Zora! You’re a great fraud. But MHurgronje couldn’t come. He needs a doctor. He needs two doctors. I begin to fear he needs a funeral director. York at the time— What’s the matter with you? . Nerves gone?” “With me? It is you. Sit down; and don’t wear out my rug walking around,” she said. The fellow was pacing back and forth with an air of familiarity, though he had not approached the screen. He laughed quietly and sat down. From a drawer in the table Zoronna had removed a box of cigarets and a little tray. oO COmicloo 73 If I had been in New . oN Up) C©