Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

28 “Sure. Shoot him.” “Ja. We von shot hear vich tell us vere you are, isn’t it?” ‘They both pulled their gats and Bodiker quit cold,” continued Sawyer, warming up to the story. “And then I wanted to go after them, but Bodiker ain’t got the guts and so I soaked him good, the stiff.” “Speak English, pig!’ commanded the sergeant and smashed his fist across Saw- yer’s mouth. ‘You talk so der Excellenz un- derstand.” Sawyer growled curses as he wiped the blood which began to trickle from his mouth. “T hit him,” he snarled. “So? Ach, you der diamonds not vant to haf! You to der childer and der vife of der man you haf murder vish to send dem, isn’t it?’’ sneered von Muhlhauser. “It was that Westlake guy shot yer officer.” “So? Dot vot you say! Dot joost vot all der —— Englinder say! Nefer dey der money vant, der land nefer! To der beople dey to do goot vish so hard “Ain’t English,” cut in Sawyer. ‘“Ameri- can.” _ “Za? And your bad friends English are, isn’t it?” “Dat is notting, Herr Kommandant,” put in the Professor Doktor with the crystal glasses. ‘‘All der same schwein are!’’ “They are worse, Herr Doktor,’ said the Kommandant in German. “Tf it hadn’t been for the —— Vilson we would have eaten the Allies! Ja. But this pig will make a good specimen for you, Herr Professor Doktor!” “Nein,” snorted the doktor, rising and going round the table. ‘He has the heart of @ hyena and the brains of a sheep. Gen- tlemen, I will demonstrate.” As he put up powerful but sensitive hands, the hands of a surgeon, Sawyer shrank. The Doktor swore at him gutturally and, half-turning his own massive head toward his compatriots, ran his fingers over his vic- tim’s skull, standing in a professorial atti- tude, treating his subject as if he were a plaster cast. “This,” he went on, still in German, with one hand on Sawyer’s bullet head, “‘has no trace of the Nordic. There is the rotundity of the Alpine mixed with the Celt. Only as- set is a low cunning. Flat skull, low order of the brachycephalic. A poor specimen of class F 3.” Adventure Tony nudged Plessons, and they quietly withdrew. In the moonlight Tony saw that Plessons was grinning. “Pretty poor liar, isn’t he?’’ Tony whis- pered when they were at a safe distance. “Even couldn’t fool that boche! Now see here, Plessons, I learned a little trick back in France. Whenever the colonel—and he was a wise old bird—learned Fritz was get- ting busy to start something he’d hit first whether we were ready or not, and nine times out of ten we pulled it off. Maybe the trick’s as old as the Trojan horse, but it seems good to me. “‘We’ve got the local All Highest and his principal pal boxed in there. Haven’t a ghost of a notion how many men or perhaps machine guns they’ve got, but I’ve a hunch that if we can jump those two we can do some talking. How about it?” “That’s the bloomin’ ticket!” assented Plessons heartily. “If we wite till termor- rer they’ll have us on the run, and——”’ ‘“‘What’s that?” interrupted Tony. From somewhere in or near the camp had risen a moaning, stifled shriek with the hoarse quality of pain. “What the —— Ugh!” exclaimed Tony. “‘Reminds me of a field hospital!’ “Yus,” agreed Plessons. “‘I’d like ter maike the hounds what slit them niggers’ tongues ’owl like that! Come on, gov’nor!” VIII aa “HANDS up!” For the falling of an eggshell to the floor there was silence. cee incredulously at the muzzle of a revolver in the hands of a stocky, grizzled man against the oblong of sapphire which was the open door, the Herr Doktor stood beside the staring sergeant with one hand already in the air upon the skull of Sawyer, whose jaw had fallen. A beam of moon- light through the window and the glow of the lamp turned the heads into three masks in silver and gold. ° The officers’ cropped heads, immediately beneath the light, resembled three ripe and yellow gooseberries. At the far end of the table von Muhlhauser’s eyes bulged above his brazen beard like two fat fish swimming beneath the crags of his bushy eyebrows. One hand, sparkling with rings, stuck out, arrested in a gesture. “The lamp!” CoMmichook A) C© =