Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

THE GALLERY GODS. “ Oh, hello, Beckwith,” he said casually. “ Hot, isn’t it?” ' He turned and surveyed the prim crowd below him, without waiting for Beckwith’s acknowledgment. Melton was silent for a moment or so. ‘“ Beckwith,” he said presently, “‘ do you ' know what this reminds me of? It re- minds me of Springfield, Massachusetts, about November. It’s so different.”’ He half smiled to himself in the darkness. “I remember I used to be going about this time to. call on some girl, with a box of candy under my arm.’ “ Mozo,” said Beckwith harshly. The boy came and took his order. “You’ve been down here ten years,” went on the consul, still in that half-hushed tone of reminiscence. ‘I’ve been away five years from the States, but I can still picture it. Crowds of people going into vaudeville houses, others climbing excited- ly, on street-cars. I’d give a lot to have a street-car clang a bell at me just about now.” “TI was in New York two weeks ago,’ said Beckwith suddenly, half minded to blurt out his reason for going north and what he had done there. ‘“ Went up there, but it was all strange. I wasn’t comfort- able until I got back here.”’ “JT hope I won't feel ‘Strange, ” said the consul dreamily. “I’m going back next year, Do you know, I’m thinking about fried fish. They don’t have the same kinds of fish down here, and they don’t cook them the same way. The first thing I’m going to do when I land in New York, is to eat a meal in a restaurant. And I’m go- ing to have. fried fish and griddle cakes with maple syrup. I don’t know why fned fish appeals to me so much,” he added thoughtfully, ‘“‘ because I never cared much for them when I could get them.” Beckwithemoved uneasily. ‘““Any news lately?” he asked, succeed- ing very well in keeping his tone casual. “Nothing but the papers,” answered Melton abstractedly. ‘Your boy was down at the dock and got a batch of them. I say, Beckwith—” He launched forth in a vivid description of the joys of living in Springfield, Massa- 487 chusetts, to which Beckwith listened unin- terestedly, heit perforce, sipping at his grenadine rickey from time to time. When - he left, Beckwith was puzzled, but con- vinced that there had been no message or inquiry sent to Melton from the States concerning him. He went slowly up to his white house that sprawled over the hillside, wondering why. As-he was entering his own door the obvious solution came to him. Wells would naturally have tried te keep the murder secret for twenty-four hours. That was one of his favorite tricks, keeping a crime secret to afford himself so much start in his efforts to unravel the mystery, so that the story of the crime and the cap- ture of the criminal could be announced at the same time. Twenty-four hours was usually his limit. Evidently, however, he had been able to extend the time on this _ occasion. He must have possessed an in- credible influence with the newspapers to keep them for seven days from exploiting so succulent a morsel of melodrama. Beckwith chuckled... Wells was trying to save his face. He had held off public knowledge of his failure for a week, but would be unable to keep it up much long- er. When the next mail came, in seven days more, the newspapers would spread the news of Conway’s death and Wells’s humiliation, with Beckwith’s triumph as their principal theme. A man who so de- fiantly flouted the law, who sneered at the police to the extent of giving them his ad- dress, would surely be made much of by the press, even if they denounced him. The next mail would tell the story, and Wells’s humiliation would be the more complete for being delayed. The newspa- pers would flay him for trying to conceal the crime. | Beckwith went to sleep with a sense of profound satisfaction in spite of his recent disappointment. The steamer usually made the port of Bahia del Toro about noon, but as early as nine o’clock in the morning of the next steamer day Beckwith was looking down the coast-line for the smudge of smoke that would portend the arrival of the.vessel. He. swept the horizon with his glasses from co UCC DOO YN S Colin