Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

486 page was still devoted to commonplace events, and the second likewise. Still an- other one was barren of news on the topic that was all-important to Beckwith He impatiently cast them down and examined those of the next day, and the next. When the last ef his newspapers had joined the crumpled pile at his.feet, Beckwith sat helplessly puzzled. He was both puzzled and annoyed. His left thumb was bandaged, where Conway had dislocated it in his struggle for life. The cumbrous wrapping was still reminder of that event. Conway was dead, had been dead for three weeks, but for at least-one week after his death no mention of him had appeared in any New York newspaper. Why? Conway was well known and an important figure in the financial world. His murder, surely, would be a news item of the first importance. But not one single paragraph had been devoted to him. Beckwith had strangled him in his own motor-car, then knocked the chauffeur un- conscious and escaped to a waiting yacht. The mere melodrama of the feat was enough to make it “copy ” for the whole United States, let alone the city of New York. But every newspaper in New York had ignored it, as they had ignored Beck- with’s scornful letter, sarcastically giving his address to the police. Dusk had faded into twilight, and twi- light into diamond-studded night. Down in the city the band played faintly in the plaza, while the long lines of dark-eyed senoritas promenaded primly in a duenna- guarded circle, listening decorously to the music, but casting liquid glances at the olive-skinned young men who less primlv strolled in the other direction, twirling their budding mustaches for the admiration of the fairer sex. Now and again the muted chords of a guitar tinkled through the air. and now and again bursts of more uproar- iously amorous festivity came from the sec- tion of the town devoted to the cantinas and their less frank adjuncts. Beckwith put his hat upon his head and sallied into the cobble-stoned street. He would go to the American Club. Soon, he was grimly aware, he would be barred from its precincts, unless his importance under sular representative. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY :' WEEKLY. the Garrios government overcame thé nor- mal dislike of the Anglo-Saxon for a mur- derer. He would go there to-night in any event. The newspapers might not have printed details of Conway’s murder, but Melton, the American consul, would surely have been cabled. Beckwith had told in his sarcastic note to Wells that he would make for Bahis del Toro, and Wells would certainly wire the consilate to find if he had actually ap- peared. Beckwith grinned as he thought of the touching faith of the civilian Amer- ican in the efficacy of a demand by a con- Wells would insist that the Nueva Bolivian government turn ‘the criminal over to justice. He would ig- nore the absence of a treaty of extradition. The interior of the club was painfully hot, and most of the members sat upon the terrace above the entrance, sipping drinks from glasses that tinkled musically. Two or three cigars glowed fitfully in the ob- scurity, and the white-clad figure of the mozo moving from chair to chair was wraithlike. Beckwith stood in the doorway a mo- ment before emerging. The band was good, even for a military band among a musical people. At the moment it was playing a soft and dreamy waltz, while the young people in the plaza below eddied in their endless circles, the women inside, prim and decorous, and the men without, discreetly admiring. Half a dozen sputter- ing lights detracted from’ the romance of the scene, but made it possible to catch an occasional glimpse of some darkly beauti- ful face, outlined in the sharp glow of the arc-lamp. Beckwith paid no attention to that phase of the scene, but searchéd among the seat- ed, coatless figures for Melton, the consul. Melton ‘had drawn his chair close to the railing and was looking out and down upon the plaza with a curiously wistful expres- sion. Beckwith caught sight of him when ad the red glow of his cigar lighted up his face ° for a moment. With an assumption of in- difference, Beckwith dropped into the chair by his side. Melton turned and squinted at him through the darkness until he recog- nized who it was. Gon HOO Ss G Colin