All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

756 Campbell’s interest in the door be- came more keen, and his head bent lower. “T said he could become acquainted with my thug for fifty thousand dol- lars. But he balked on the price, until a month ago when I suggested that you might marry and have children.” Campbell’s hand went to the inside pocket of his coat, and when he spoke it was in a whisper of caution. “That settled it, and we came to terms. Ten thousand when I got you over here; another ten when I intro- duced him to the man looking for Smith, and the rest—when the job was done!” What?” “Wheesht! He paid the first ter on Monday. Here is my check for it.” And he held out a white slip of paper to me! CHAPTER XIE A LOOSE END. I srarep at the thing and pulled away from it. For a few moments I didn’t know whether to laugh or run; and since I couldn't move because I was semiparalyzed, I laughed foolishly. The whole business seemed so queer and creepy—and silly. Some one was being made an ass of, and I wasn’t at all certain that it was Rollins, even when Campbell thrust the bally thing into my hand, and I saw, in open-mouthed wonder, that it was in truth a check, made out to John T. Mason by R. M. Campbell, for the sum of ten thousand dollars! “ But—good Lord, man!”’ “Wheesht! Tak’ it. Wha has a bet- ter right to the price of your life than you?” He got upon his feet, crammed his hat upon his head, and pulled the brim down over his eyes. “Come, and I'll show you _ the emergency exit. There is the reason. See it?” My mind struggled valiantly out of THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. a misty haze. The sounds in the bar- room seemed suddenly to grow louder. Glancing in the direction Campbell's large index-finger pointed, I saw, fastened to the wall, to the right of the door, a little black box, and, as I looked, a green light came and went twice. “ Jove—that’s—” “ Quiet,” Campbell cautioned. “ Not now. We'll go home.” There was nothing for me to do but follow, though I had no idea of what was up, and as I tiptoed after him it seemed as if every board was yelling out against me, while, in spite of his great bulk, he made scarcely any sound whatever. Reaching a door in the rear of the room, he turned the key in it noise- lessly, and allowed me to pass out into the darkness of a place like a kitchen. “Wait,” he whispered, and I halted while he closed and locked the door, thrusting the key into his pocket. Then he was at my side, gripping my arm. “The door is right ahead,’’ he ad- vised in a low monotone. ‘ So when you need it, don’t waste valuable time searching for it. Since the case isn’t urgent to-night, I'll give you a light.” In a moment there was a slight click, and a single electric bulb showed me that the place was really a kitchen, which, by the look of it, was not often used. “ Andy knows we are gone now,” I was told, and I saw that beside the switch was a push-button on which his finger rested. “ What does that do—ring a bell?” “Hardly. Bells talk too plainly. A little white light under the bar is telling the story, and a certain emissary from a ward politician, who is anxious to know how I feel toward the November election, will wait patiently for an hour or two, helping to swell my profits—” “Your profits!’’ I exclaimed in- credulously. *“ Exactly. This place belongs to me. If I didn’t take the money from those comlicloooks.com