Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

south, West and North Eliphalat Nickerson and one or two other officers were stuffing their pipes in readiness for the meeting, he turned into the passage and paused at the door of number three cabin, ordinarily occupied by the third mate. He knocked, but had no response. He knocked again, more loudly, since all the stern timbers were creaking and groaning, . and feet were pounding the deck overhead, but still there was no answer. With that, he tried the door, found it unlocked, and stepped into the little cabin. For a moment he was absolutely para- lyzed with horror at the sight which greeted him. Jed Barnes, clothing in wild disarray, lay on the floor beside the bunk, feebly gripping the blankets and trying to pull himself up. From his torn shirt erupted a slowly welling stream of blood, and the haft of a knife stood out from his breast. He had been stabbed, not once but several times, and the agony of death was in his wrinkled face. A sobbing cry burst from him. “Help! Help, ye rascal——” Hampton sprang forward, leaned to help him—and Barnes died in his arms, mur- dered. VI fee Be DICK HAMPTON tasted one of (@esq those queer, only half-realized in- ~ stants which come like a flash from the blue to many men. Whether to be explained by supernatural causes as some hold, or as others deem by a working of the sixth sense or the subconscious mind, they do come. They are seldom understood until later, so that men rarely act upon the message, but interpreted by events they are remembered as fearful and wonderful flashes from the great soul of the universe. And now, as Hampton stooped over and held the dead body of Jed Barnes in his hands, he experienced one of those singular and dreadful instants. He could hear the tramp of feet as men came running from the main cabin, drawn by that one dying cry, yet time seemed sus- pended. A voice yammered at his inward ear—a spiritist would have claimed it the voice of the escaping soul, but Hampton was too stunned and spellbound, too para- lyzed, to explain it or even to comprehend its meaning. None the less, he seemed sud- denly to hear it distinctly, to catch it tug- ging at his soul’s elbow, startling and terri- 2I fying him with its cry, accompanied by a flash of binding light. ‘“‘He did it! He did it! Now you are lost and damned beyond recall—caught in a net too widespread for escape. No time to move, to act, to think; there is the secret of it under your very hand—and he did it! Had you come a moment sooner, you’d have caught him at work; too late, too late! Now your life is only beginning, your task lies all ahead—and he did it!” Thus the flash of comprehension came and passed, and Hampton failed to catch it as most men fail until too late. He stood up, feeling warm blood on his hands, and stared blankly at the gaping, horrified men crowded about the doorway—Eliphalat Nickerson and the others. A shrill shout leaped to the deck above— ‘“Hampton’s murdered Jed Barnes!” That wakened him — roused him to startled alarm. He saw the thought echoed in the faces around him, and passionately disclaimed the fact— “A lie! I came The words fell away. Into the throng and through it burst the old skipper, taking in everything at a glance, facing Hampton in cold, sorrowful accusation. ‘‘What’s this, sir? What is it, I say? You did this?” “A lie! I did not,” declared Hampton vehemently. “Adam Johnson said the man wanted to see me, sent me down to him—I found him dying. I saw no one leave this cabin—before God, that is all I know of it! Would I have murdered the father of the woman I love? And look at the knife. It’s not mine. I have none with me. Mine is in my own cabin, hang- ing on the peg.” It was nonsense to suppose that the crime could be fastened upon him, yet none the less Hampton had to face the possibility. The passage and companion were jammed with men; loud voices threatened the mur- derer; the confusion was uproarious. The skipper turned to Nickerson and the other company officers. “Exert your authority, gentlemen. Every man aboard to be mustered in the waist of the ship. At once! All hands on deck!’’ Then, stooping, the old skipper grasped the knife still buried in the ribs of Jed Barnes, and with an effort removed it. “A devilish blade!” he muttered. in and found him micloool C© in