Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

THE BLACK TUBE, and down, a sneering: game that v was filled with insult. ““ Good evening—sir, se ise snaries con- temptuously and swung to his desk, his sensual lips set in a hard line that gave to his overheavy i a look of malignant cruelty. An hour and a half later, Amy Thurston, Willet Sands’s niece, halted sharply on the lawn at the side of the house. She had just come from the direction of the garage, and her footsteps were checked by the wildly alarming rush of footsteps within the house. For a moment she stood tense, her in- variably pale face taking on an added shade of pallor while her eyes, big and dark, grew seemingly more brilliantly questioning. Swift action laid its hand upon her. In her light evening gown, scarf trailing be- hind, she leaped up the side steps and across the veranda. A door stood open which gave into a nar- row hall between the library—used by Sands as his office—and the dining room, On the threshold of the library—no more than a step from the open outer door —she paused, breathless. Her hand went out to the door casing; a terrible blackness swam before her eyes. Before her, his back turned, stood John Deston, revolver in hand. He had not heard her, but, standing there bending slightly forward his gaze was set—with what expression she could not say, for his face was hidden under the brim of his soft hat—upon the sight that made the very blood in her veins-turn cold. By the exertion of all her will power she glanced down again. There on the rug, a sprawling, grotesque and horrible sight, lay her uncle, his vest stained a deep, growing red—a froth -of crimson on his lips. CHAPTER Il. BANARD CRATON. -WAY from the city rushed the big car bearing Howard Marsh, Willet Sands’s attorney, and Banard Craton, - to whom Marsh had turned instantly upon the Spt of the incoherent call from Brookmeadow.- Sands had been shot; Marsh had been told that and little more. In his nervous, quick and jerky way of speaking, he had given Craton the sub- stance of the information he had. _ ‘What was the matter with the man who called you—or was it the connection?” questioned Craton in his well modulated voice. “1 don’t know,” frowned “Deston, Sands’s secretary, called—ail least I presume it was he. The voice wag no more than a whisper, but I caught a faint agreement when I mentioned his name dnd asked if he were speaking. . In truth ” —with a quick nervous fling of his hand— “I didn’t wait. I gathered Sands had been shot, and I said I’d come.” “ This man Deston been with Sands long?” “ Deston? Surely. Thirty-four or so; been with Sands ten years or over. Knows more about some of Sands’s affairs than I do. Mighty important matters left to him.” “Trustworthy then?” “ Surely. Must be; thought so. Surely.” Craton gave a slow nod and turned to other questions touching upon Marsh’s client and the big estate toward which they were rushing with maddening s 2H don’t. know; I can’t say,” snapped Sands evidently Marsh in answer to one of Craton’s ques- tions. ““ But it’s known, any one who knows Willet Sands appreciates that he has enemies. You don’t want me to try. and guess now, before we even have the facts, as to who. could have shot him?” “No,” agreed Craton, with the faintest sien of mirth on his firmly set lips. es | wouldn’t want you to do any guessing any more than I would. I simply fancied from something you said that you weren’t so sur- prised to hear Sands had been shot.” Marsh swung with a sharp lowering of his heavy brows and a quick set to the lean __ His thin face took on a troubled, — harassed expression as if the suggestion that he had implied such a possibility by any, lips. word or act was disconcerting. €O GComichbooks