Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

558 “ Phings equal to the same thing areequal to each other,’ im mathematics. _ And mathematics, Arthur was sure, was behind life. The custard was almost as delicious to his fevered palate as the sight of Felice to his triumphant eyes. He fairly gorged it. Mammy Poindexter, from the invisible realm just back of the pantry door, looked on in hich glee. “He'll be a preacher, some « mé my words,” she darkly told herself. ‘ Dey all eats like wolves, when dey sees mah custahd! He, he, he! He will sho’ be -@ powerful exhorter when he leaves the broad way that leadeth to—” “ Felice?’ a There was a quite foreign thrill in the hushed tone of Mrs. Moran, that spiraled down the staircase into the eee hall beyond. ~“* Ves, mother!” | The girl ran quickly te the spot. Arthur FOSEe. “ Where’s Foster?” “ Why, mother, I haven't seen him! Isn’t he in his reom?”’ “No! I rang for him three times. Felice—” “ Mothert Don’t be alarmed! Mr. Tower is right here in the dining room. Mammy Poindexter is in the pantry. What is it? Foster may have merely gone over to the garage for a smoke and a chat with Atkins—he often does, you know.” Intrigued by the semihysterical repetition of her daughter’s name by his hostess, Arthur Tower was lured to rise and to walk _ toward them—quite forgetting the conven- tions of time or place, “T went to the back of the house—the medicine chest, to get a tablet. My head- ache was worse.’ Mrs. Moran’s tone was steadier as she looked down from above, but it carried the same quality of haste that - Arthur Tower’s tidal wave of ideas had held, when he was interrupted in his pur- suit through invisibility, of the man who had stolen his bag. “Speed!” he thought. “J happened to look through the side window,” went on Mrs. Moran, clinging “How it per- x ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKEY, = ——— frantically to the banister, until her knuck- Jes showed white. “ There was a man—on —the—wall—by—the lattice!” Arthur, abreast of the foot of the stairs, did not hesitate. The mathematician in him melted into the man. He strode toward the open window, the most convenient means of . egress, “The pisioll” whispered Felice. He felt it beneath the cushion under his hands at the instant of her solicitous words. “You keep it,” said he, steadily. He was through the window and on the ground. A man loomed up. Tt was Foster, “ Oh, hello, Foster,” said the guest. “ Do you usually stay up so. late?” “Not usually, sir,” returned the butler impassively. , ae deliberately turned on his heel. “Mrs, Moran wishes to see you,” said _Arthur, frowning at the fellow’s studied in- ‘solence. Then he plunged along the wind- ing graveled path toward the lattice. He could discern no one on the wall as he drew nearer. But suddenly he distinguished a shadow much denser than the lighter umbra_cast by the restless flowered vines—a shadow that did not move until he was almost upon it. Arthur Tower metamorphosed into the mathematician. Gold that eludes the most painstaking scientific search sometimes crops up at the feet of the ignorant prospector, And so, in mathematics, there are spontaneities which no amount of labored thought can evolve. Superconsciously, they spring up in be- wildering forms, but always in soil which has been patiently tilled, from which mental weeds have been laboriously removed—and then they burst forth as if at the behest of some hidden genie touch, from realms man knows not of. “ Good evening, Detective Cassidy,” said Arthur Towers calmly, “1 rather thought Td find you here. Ill trouble you for my ~-~wnicorn.” Thus adjured, Detective Cassidy stepped from the shadowy shallows of his conceal- ment. | He looked mightily chagrined. Arthur — comicbooks Gom