The All-Story, March 1914 — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

626 on earth he had not yet done’ Ile was ready. His finger arched itself against the trigger. The dressing-table before which milord sat was placed angularly to a window overlooking the street, where the mirror might have the advantage of good daylight. It was Count Florenz’s whim to have the glass so tilted that the picture of humanity amove on the street below him should be reflected there, and thus be a sort of ironical background for him who was about te leave it all as something not worth while. As his finger ctrved against the trigger of his weapon a well-known figure came into the mirrored scene— a tall, well-groomed man, with thick black hair and scarlet lips, the sensual pout of which was public proclamation of outrageous self-indulgence. Count Florenz’s brows knit into an ugly scowl. So Ottaker von. Lehmann was back in town again? Fle had the effrontery to disdain the sentiment of that last unimentionable escapade of Ins. ““ Decadent!” muttered Count Flo- rez, watching the fellow i the glass, with the pistol still pressed to his heact. Von Lehmann sauntered indolently through the crowd until he came to the corner lamp-post. There he paused, surveying passers-by, heavy-lidded. cal- culatingly. Evidently he was waiting for some one—a woman, Count Florenz guessed. She came hurrying up almost as soon as Von Lehmann stopped—yust a slip of a little girl, with her braids down her back and the threadbare skirt not even ankle-long. She touched his arm tamidly and then shrunk back, hanging her head as the fellow turned to greet her. He wigwagged his cane at a passing cab, which drew up at the curb. He seemed to be urging the child to get in and she to be shyly reluctant to do so. When he assumed a bullying manner she cringed, nodded, and let him hand THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. sees her inside. He himselt, after a conf- dential word with the Jehu, was about to follow her, when— “ Beast! ** snarled the would-be sui- * cide watching them, and, turning, he fired straight down through lis win- dow. Ere the stunning detonation of the : shot had died out of the room a shout- ' ing, excited crowd was jostling all round the figure on the sidewalk, and several were pointing to the wisp of smoke that yet curled out of Count Florenz’s window. They were still staring at it when milord elbowed his way rudely through their midst, crying hoarsely : pa Pah sce aly EB ariel mas Seay YOO fk Dn] Oe Pare “Is the scoundrel! dead? Is he sure- ly done for?” Tradesman. housewife. butcher's boy, and milliner’s apprentice stopped their chatter and gesticulations to ob- serve milord with scared eyes. Count Florenz still wore his green, flowered dressing-gown, pulled awry over his scanty clothing. He was in his stockings, with his hair disheveled, and the wicked little revolver clutched in his right hand. His eyes were blood- shot lke those of a maniac. His mouth worked. The crowd scattered frantically to left and right about him, save for the one pursy burgher who knelt beside the stricken man, too frightened to move. “Ts the wretch Count Florenz. “Quite; he is shot through the heart,”’ quavered the tradesman. “ But oh, sir, do not kill me also! ”’ Two police officers pushed through the crowd and addressed themselves to Count Florenz authoritatively. “Was it you who fired the shot?” they queried, waving their swords. “Yes,” answered milord calmly. “T was just about to commit suicide when I observed this scoundrel and decided that it would be folly for me to depart this life leaving him to pollute it further. So, gentlemen. I have sent dead?” repeated him on a few momepts,2hzad ofa ao