All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

796 his deep tones sounding like the low, reverberant roll of distant thunder. “Tm sure he does not look like a hor- rible example.” He gripped my hand in both of his. ‘“T’m sorry I could not get down sooner. I just got in from Chicago at one o'clock and found that fathead, Rollins, in my rooms, scared to death that the police were after him for get- ting horribly drunk last night and raising the dust generally. He only re- membered that you had been with him after I asked him how you had been getting along.” He laughed, and I joined him in un- qualified admiration, The captain grinned, too, and glanced up at Parks, who stood apart, studying Campbell with an intentness that I thought dangerous. “Then, of course,” Campbell went on, “the search for you began. Rol- lins was sure you had been killed. The place you were at was just that sort, he said—where men kill men for a song and get drunk on the music!” Again we laughed—all but Parks. Campbell turned to, the detective. “Where on earth did you find him? Why was he held here overnight?” Parks licked his lips. He looked un- comfortable and did not seem very anxious to reply. “What's the trouble, Parks?” the captain asked, scrutinizing the de- tective heavily. ‘ Mr. Mason looks all right to me, and I guess if Mr. Camp- bell and Judge Farquhar say he’s O. K., that about cinches it. You got him entered as suspicious. What was he doin’? ” ““Climbin’ back-yard fences,” Parks returned sulkily, and went no farther. ‘“Back-yard fences! *’ Campbell ex- claimed in horror. “ For lands’ sakes, Mason—where? ” “ Somewhere on Eleventh Avenue, I think—a bit west of a place where they keep cars,” I replied as innocently as I could, and explained why I had been climbing fences, just as I had ex- plained it to Parks. THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. The captain’s brows came together in a frown. * That’s MacGregor’s saloon, isn’t it? he asked of Parks. “Oh! That peculiar chap!’ Camp- bell exclaimed. “I own most of that section, you know, and if my memory serves me right, MacGregor rents the two stores next to his place, because he wishes to make a dance-hall out of them. JI am not particularly in favor of dance-halls—-not his sort. Would you recommend me permitting it, cap- tain?” The captain eyed his interrogator for about half a minute. Parks was watching Campbell like a hawk, and both officials seemed to have the same thought. “Have you ever seen MacGregor, Mr. Campbell? the captain asked very quietly. “Once, | think, in my agent’s office. He was a hulking man, if I am not mistaken, and my firmest recollection of him is the waistcoat he wore. Does his place make as much noise as it did?” Not the flicker of an eyelid was visi- ble, and the smile, a little whimsical, was perfect. ; The captain looked puzzled and laughed forcedly. “It’s the quietest saloon in my pre+ cinct. MacGregor runs it like a tea- roo, though the worst crowd in Christendom collects there — every man of them’s been behind the bars for everything—from petty larceny to murder. ‘wo of the classiest safe- crackers in the business are among them—the funniest pair to look at you ever saw. Each has only one eye— but even with that landmark we can’t get enough on them to put them where they belong. Did you read of that Yonkers job—where the burglars left their cards behind? ” “T believe I did,’’ Campbell replied. I glanced toward my boots. ‘“Well—we know who did it. There's only one man in the business who would open a safe like that—but comiclooks.com