Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 144: what you’re looking at

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

154 tience. “ No, she didn’t. She drove to an old shed on the estate, left her car, walked across the fields and down to the office through the woods.” _ “ That’s better,” nodded Craton, “I happen to know she did that. One of my men tracked her and I went with him over the ground. We found one of the workmen on the estate who, returning home late at night—he lives near this shed—saw Mrs. Sands and recognized her. Now go ahead.” ‘“‘ She went down to the office because she had heard that a certain woman was going to call on her husband that. eve- ning.” -“From Akron, I suppose,” suggested Craton, turning to the sheriff. ‘Yes, from Akron,” agreed Buckwell. ** She told me on the ride to Stamford how Akron had been keeping her posted.” “With some truths and some lies, I fancy,” smiled Craton. ‘“ Anything to earn his easy money.” “Tve no doubt. It was excusable, I think, because she was bound to get free from that brute. But wait. Til hold my feelings in check. Mrs. Sands arrived at the office, saw me in the library, and lis- tened. She and I talked at my car, as I have told you. After I left she went back, looked in the window, saw Sands there alone, and as she hesitated outside a car arrived. It contained Jim Sands and a woman. Mrs. Sands ran away and _ hid. She came back and was listening at the window when the telephone rang. Mr. Sands went to the desk phone, but it would not work.” “One minute. What were Sands and his son talking about?” “Money. Sands refusing, young Sands demanding. A lovely squabble and a usual condition, I suppose,” replied Buckwell, in a tone of contempt. “Did Mrs. Sands tell you exactly the words her husband and stepson were em- ploying—just what was said? It is im- portant, Buckwell. If this story of yours is the truth I have got to know what Sands said to his son.” “ You'll have to ask Mrs. Sands. It didn’t strike me as important and I didn’t ask her.”’ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “All right. I’m going to see Mrs. Sands, of course. Go on.” ‘Mrs. Sands only told me that she heard her husband call to his son to go and see if the switch was off—the switch that cuts off the desk phone from the booth.” ‘““ And that switch is in the booth,” put in Craton, turning to Homes. ‘ Put there, of course, so that if Sands was talking in the booth and any one was in his office he could turn off the switch and prevent any one listening in.” “I see,” nodded the sheriff. “The point is,” went on Buckwell, “ that that is all Mrs. Sands knows about Jim Sands. She saw the son go into the room containing the booth and then she heard a sound from the direction of young Sands’s car. The woman had got out and was coming toward the house. Mrs. Sands fled again. She saw this woman go to the win- dow, look in and then enter the house. As she was about to start toward the veranda again she heard some one coming down the road.” “ Walking?” “Yes. A scuff of a boot—nothing more —was what she heard. It was enough to make her pause. Then a figure loomed up in the darkness, crouching, sliding along, she says. She watched. The man went to the front door and fired the shot that killed Willet Sands.” ** And the man’s name?” demanded Cra- ton calmly as the sheriff bent forward, every nerve tense. “IT do not know.” *“ She says so?” ** What do you mean?” “ Has it occurred to you, Mr. Buckwell, that there was no man, that Mrs. Sands crept back to the open front door, that she was angry, chagrined, revengeful. Sands had ruined you, the man she still loves. A strange woman was going calmly into the house where her husband was, Has it oc- curred to you that what really happened was that Mrs. Sands crept back up the steps, along the veranda, reached the front door and—” — ““ Stop!” roared Buckwell on his feet, his face aflame, his eyes raging pools of anger. know; Mrs. Sands does not Commicoooks (S@)