All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

760 chain were of the proper size and weight, stretching from pocket to pocket of a waistcoat, which “ fancy ” does not even hint at. He carried it all as though to the manner born, with a bluster to which his height and breadth lent emphasis, and his huge, hairy hands gave me a keener understanding of why Batch, the negro, had collapsed so suddenly. With the shades carefully drawn, and one incandescent burner shedding its light upon us, we sat down in the dining-room. Apparently there was no one else in the house. A piano across the street played ragtime, accompanied by a chorus of voices in several other keys. The rumble of the trams and Ele- vated trains joined in at intervals, and in the lulls we were granted the sound of occasional footsteps could be heard with remarkable distinctness. Some of the passers-by — shuffled along as if their shoes: were unlaced, conyeying to my mind the vision of a large white pitcher that would be filled at the corner shop. Others brought their feet down sharply, others am- bled. As Campbell turned from the regu- lation furnished-house sideboard, bear- ing a bottle and glasses and cigars, which he deposited upon the table, I was going to say something about feet ; but instead I pulled the check he had given me from my pocket and laid it down before him. : “That,” I said deliberately, “ has got to have a proper explanation be- fore I will have anything to do with it. You have been very liberal with just enough information to make me un- comfortable, and I object to being Smith, even for fifty thousand dollars. A lot of good the fifty would do me if that chap Beans sent me out!”’ Campbell made up two high-balls— so he called them—and slid the cigars nearer to me. The check he ignored completely. ** Chin-chin,” raised his glass. he said listlessly, and THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. I nodded and we drank. “It's a pity that little political man interrupted us at the Clachan, Camp- bell; but there are two things I've kept my hands clear of—machine politics and murder. I don’t know which is worse. ‘Take up the check. It’s yours since it is in part payment for your life.” “ But, man alive—” “It’s strange, ['ll admit, but if you'll look at it this way it won't seem so in- definite. You know what Rollins wants, and perhaps you have gathered that I have no intention of letting him have it. If I had I would not have got Sysonsby to tell you that pretty little story he did—you remember? ” “That was your idea?” “T apologize for the hackneyed na- ture of it. In fact, I thought it too raw altogether, but you helped us wonderfully by talking of Rollins without a lead of any sort. You were very easy. But do you think that if | wanted to have you killed I’d choose your friends to conspire with?” “T suppose not. How much of what you've told me does Sysonsby know?” “Nothing. He believes it is sim- ply a trick to bring the two branches of your family together again—with a possible romance at the end of it. I want to hire your services for a few weeks, for which I am willing to pay the amount of the mortgage on the lodge—” “Using (Rollins’s money—wwhat? ” “No, man—no—my money. Rol- lins’s fifty thousand is going into an up-town bank to make life real to some one I know, and I'll make it worth double that to you if you'll as- sist me get it away from him.” “ Hang it all, man! You speak as if I was a chum of Bill Sikes. Don’t you realize that the thing is theft?” “1. never steal’ Campbell said quietly. “I collect debts. My boys are paid a weekly salary and a com- mission on their collections just like the collectors for any other charitable comicloooks.com