Adventure Magazine Cover — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

Men of the Night The door opened stealthily behind her. She scarcely heard it, but felt the inrush of fresh air, and whirled. Matty Murdock grinned at her through the smoke, and a massive Colt, muzzle ad- vanced, was set in the hand that swung low at his side., He was a solid, common- looking, ordinary fellow with rather rough features; and just then was pleased with himself, for he had let Dolly think she had shaken him off so he could follow her to Silkeen. “Out o’ the way, kid,” said Murdock with a low-voiced, preoccupied air as he peered hard ahead. He knew Silkeen and expected that it would be gun to gun. The cat-eyed chink would fight. So would Murdock. Most men will when there’s a woman in it; and theirs was more than the feud of cop and crook. Murdock took a slow step forward. The gun came up to a line with his waist. “T got you, Silkeen. Don’t move.” Silkeen Harry did not move. His eyes were open but glazed unseeingly. He heard, but with dream-like inanition. Everything that intrudes itself on the opium dreamer falls with kaleidoscopic art- istry in the beautiful pattern of fancy. Under the shadow of the poppy nothing can disturb the devotee. ‘“‘He’s dead the worl’, said Dolly with shrill, agitated contempt, her head thrust forward, her body sagging brokenly as she stared at the bed. Here was Silkeen, the deadly one, taking the collar like a drunken bum. Dolly, like the sisterhood of the under- world, had no ethics and morals, at least none that could be identified as such by pulpiteers; she had impulses only, and at that moment she hated Silkeen as every woman hates a man at the moment of disillusionment. But she was too generous, or thoughtless, to hold a grudge; more likely she was too flighty in her mood for anything sO permanent as a grudge. ‘‘Dead the worl’,”’ she repeated, her lips curled. “Be deer ’n that if he moves,” said Murdock, leaning forward alertly and watching for the first trace of movement from the crafty Silkeen. ‘“‘You’ve been a fool, Doll, to stick by this thing.” “You smelled hop ’fore you come in,” said Dolly, half-defending. herself, half- accusing Murdock. 123 ‘‘What you mean, before I come in?” “That: She gestured toward the doped Silkeen. “T didn’t!” Murdock’s tone was aggrieved. He had done a daring thing and was accused of cowardice. “I whiffed the pipe, but I didn’t know how strong he’d hit it.” “O-ah,”’ said Dolly unbelievingly. “You think I’m afraid of that—-any time— any place? Not me. No.” No answer from Dolly; but her blue eyes peered watchfully from under fluttering lids. Matty Murdock was not a bad-looking fellow. He loved her. He was a private detective, but he had a good name among crooks. Oddly enough, when an officer of any kind has a good name among crooks it is because he is square, above graft, un- afraid and unbribable. He loved her. Once, because she seemed so young, he had caused her to be run mn, and then he had talked to her like a father; but, finding her far from being the child of her years, he had talked of other things. Dolly’s great game was innocence. . And if it is true as the legend of Eve attests, that one must have a feeling of guilt to be sinful, then Dolly was without evil. But no one who knew her, or of her, would believe that... She was gaily, irresponsibly wicked be- cause she wanted to be happy every minute of the day and night, particularly of the night. She was still in her teens; but al- ready her skin was wrinkled a little; her eyes at times took on the absent, vague, tired look of the aged or the dissipated; and the mornings when she felt insufferably weary just to be alive were coming more and more frequently. But when she took a shot of coke she could snap her ‘fingers and click her heels as merrily as ever. She was generous and kind, perhaps he- cause it was too much trouble to be selfish and keep a tab of persons to be disliked. She never hurt anybody, not even their feelings—unless those feelings happened to be too sensitively connected with the pocket- book her wand-like fingers nipped. But somehow even so wise a fellow as Murdock had fallen for her, and fallen hard. If love were sensible few women would be loved and no men; for scarcely a person ever lives worthy of the idealism the magic passion puts upon her, and upon him. Murdock knew all about her; but he knew NOOK C©@